Twice Fallen (33 page)

Chapter 27

I

t was hardly a secret that she could make a decision or two that weren’t precisely conventional, but as Regina alighted from the hired hack, she wondered if calling in the middle of the day at the residence of the Earl of Augustine was precisely how she should handle this matter. Her arrival would be duly noted by the neighbors in this fashionable neighborhood, and the servants would talk.

How much does that even matter
?

Perhaps this was
exactly
how she should deal with her uncooperative emotions. Expedience was much more the order of the day. The package she’d brought was bulky in her hands.

All she knew was that the very august butler informed her at the door that Mr. Bourne was not there at the moment but he would present her card to Lady Lillian, who was receiving visitors at the moment in the drawing room if she wished to see her.

Regina didn’t particularly, and she hadn’t dressed for a social call, though she’d had the foresight to take off her paint-stained apron in the vehicle and bundle it into a ball. Lady Lillian might not be who she wanted to see, but if James wasn’t there—she knew he handled business
affairs from the residence frequently—she did need to know when he was going to return.

This could not be put off any longer.

The trouble was, she wasn’t sure yet what she was going to say to his proposal. Was it yes, or no? The reservations over a marriage were still prohibitive… lack of autonomy, her money would belong at once to her husband under English law, not to mention James would no longer be just a welcome visitor but a permanent fixture in her life.

But he claimed to love her, and she believed him.…

She believed him.

Damn all. It would be easier if he
didn’t
love her. Then this decision would involve only
her
feelings.

“Deuced complicated,” she muttered out loud, making the butler glance up in polite inquiry even as he opened the drawing room door with a flourish.

Instead of introducing her, the man gasped out loud.

The tableau was not exactly what she expected from a proper drawing room in the residence of an earl. No doubt it was the presence of two young women, one of them bent backward over a very superlative library table next to the wall, the other one, dark-haired and attired in a beribboned gown, with what remarkably seemed at first glance a dagger in her hand, which the intended victim was keeping from plunging downward by a hand clamped around her assailant’s wrist.

For once, her height might actually be an advantage, Regina decided, one glance at the elderly and aghast butler telling her he was not in any condition to go to the rescue. She swiftly set aside her package with care against the wall and then dashed forward, catching the
arm of the attacker firmly enough to twist the knife away. It fell to the soft carpet with a dull thud, and she chided, “That is a Queen Anne piece, superbly crafted and no doubt worth a small fortune. Do not desecrate art in any of its forms with blood or a scratch from that nasty knife. Now, then, which one of you can tell me when James will be back?”

Instincts had always been his forte. As Damien jumped out of the still-moving carriage, the ring of his boots loud on the cobbled street, he hoped this particular premonition was dead wrong.

When he limped up the steps of the town house, he found the front door slightly ajar so he just pushed it open, to an entire retinue of servants whispering in the hallway. He snapped out, “Where’s Lady Lillian?”

One of the footmen, whom he recognized from a previous visit, pointed at a doorway. “In there, my lord.”

To his relief his worst fears weren’t realized. The only occupants of the room were a statuesque brunette, her striking silver eyes gazing at him in open query, and his future wife. Lily leaned against an ornate table, at first glance unharmed, but then he noted several droplets of blood on her bodice and the pallor of her face.

His heart stopped.

“Lily?”

Ashen, she turned, and then an extraordinary thing happened. She whispered his name and moved toward him, at first haltingly, and then in a greater rush, as if he was a destination that provided safety and comfort, and in a moment she was against him, enfolded in his arms, her body trembling in his embrace.

He’d never been anyone’s sanctuary before. Yes, he’d saved lives—at a guess many lives over the course of his service to Britain. Under his command had been soldiers and agents of the Crown, and various not-quite-as-savory characters, but never in his memory had he experienced someone clinging to him as if they were adrift in a stormy sea and he was the mast of a sinking ship.

Only this ship had fair skies and a trade wind at its sails.

He smoothed his hands down Lily’s back, noting the small cut on her slender neck, the wound vivid and open. Still holding her, he fumbled for his handkerchief. “What happened?”

“I am actually not sure,” Lily whispered in response.

“I believe I know,” the brunette answered, her smile holding a trace of cynical humor. “Some bloodthirsty woman tried to kill Lady Lillian for reasons as of yet unknown to me. I suppose we should have detained her, but quite frankly, I was not expecting an attempted murder when I called. The madwoman ran out of the room.”

Damien examined the wound on Lily’s neck, gently forcing her away enough so he could get a good look. She’d taken a glancing cut from the knife along her collarbone, and had it been an inch either way…

He folded his handkerchief, pressing it against the welling wound. “Maybe my arrival could have been a bit more timely, but I am undeniably here now.”

“My wife… where is she?” Arthur had followed him in and he wasn’t surprised. Lord Sebring had insisted on riding along and was resolute, though obviously shaken, his concerned gaze flicking to Lily’s face.

“I’m afraid she left rather abruptly in her carriage,” the brunette said in a very forthright way.

Sebring said earnestly, “She harmed you, Lily. I’m sorry. It seems like I am eternally sorry.”

Any apologies would have to be addressed later, and Damien wasn’t positive he was comfortable yet with their lost romance. He said pragmatically, “Your wife can’t have gotten far, but it is possible she will try to flee England. I am sure I can prove her a murderess.”

“I’m… not dead.” Lily stared at him, the scarlet drips on her bodice stark, her blue eyes luminous.

“No, but others are, and I think I have figured out why.”

“Others?” Arthur spoke sharply. “You said you were worried about Lily’s safety, but you made no mention of anyone else.”

“Why would Lily need protection?” A new voice entered the conversation, James Bourne appearing in the doorway. “Would anyone mind informing me of what just transpired? Regina, why are you here?”

The dark-haired woman answered cryptically, “I brought you the painting. But word of warning, I am reluctant to part with it, so we might have to marry after all.”

Damien sat, his legs crossed at the ankles, his gaze intent. Despite her protestations it was nothing, a physician had been summoned, and her wound treated and bandaged. Lily wasn’t positive it needed doing, and she had outright refused laudanum, her only concession to accept some hot tea.

Her future husband, she noted, was a little pale himself as he’d insisted on accompanying the doctor, and she doubted somehow that pallor was usual in the life of a man who had survived those blood-soaked years battling Bonaparte.

“Would you like for me to ring for your maid?”

“No.”

“Are you certain you don’t wish to lie down?”

“You are the very one who told me at once it was just a scratch.” She looked pointedly at him over the rim of her cup.

“I was trying to be reassuring, and I have certainly seen worse, but what if—”

“I’m fine,” she said for about the fifth time, now that the furor had died down, feeling a bit of amusement for his concern. “Stop fussing.”

The duchess was going to be quite perturbed at missing all the excitement.

“Fussing?” Damien actually looked chagrined, but his mouth finally twitched into a smile.

“Yes.” Another voice chimed in, this time holding a distinct bit of laughter. “Hovering like a mother hen.”

Regina Daudet, she noted, had arrived wearing an eclectic ensemble: a vivid yellow silk dress with lace at the sleeves, one of which had been dipped in what appeared to be paint in a brilliant cobalt hue, and there was a suspicious smudge of red on her right wrist. Not to mention the glorious disarray of her coiffure, the jeweled pins stuck in haphazardly, yet somehow managing to make her even more striking.

It had not been an auspicious morning, but Lily
was
happy for her cousin. James, once reassured she was fine, was visibly elated over his engagement. He was there also and said in staunch masculine support of Damien’s questions, “His concern is understandable.”

“Concern, yes, but I feel confident Lady Lillian is capable of asking for something if she needs it.” Regina
Daudet lifted a hand in a graceful gesture. “Now, then, as it appears we will all be family, will someone please tell me what in heaven’s name happened earlier? Who was that woman?”

“Lady Sebring,” James responded, sprawled in a chair, his handsome face holding a perplexed expression. “Lily, why would there still be a quarrel between you? Your engagement to the viscount was severed years ago.”

“Attempted murder is not a quarrel.” Damien held her gaze for a moment but then glanced at the others. “Part of my explanation is conjecture, but I think it is valid. This really has never had so much to do with Lily as it has with Penelope Kerr’s growing desperation. She wants to not only be the viscountess, but to produce the next heir. I think the obsession went from the normal desire any woman might feel to bear her husband a child, to a form of madness. I have to say that if I had any inkling this would have happened today I would have taken steps to prevent it, but now that it has, I am not all that surprised.”

To say she was shaken and off balance was an understatement. He was right, of course. It had been the possibility she might already carry a child that seemed the focus of Penelope’s murderous visit. “She asked me some very… personal questions.” Lily stopped, clutching her cup in both hands. If she had blushed when Arthur’s wife had asked, she was no doubt a brilliant shade of red now.

“Let me guess. She wished to know if you might be with child,” Damien finished for her, looking remarkably unrepentant for being the culprit in her possible fertile state.

“The devil you say,” James muttered, sitting upright.

“Oh, James, surely you jest.” Regina interjected the comment briskly. “You can’t possibly play the outraged guardian in our current circumstances.”

At that, Lily had to shoot her cousin a look of open question, rewarded when his face took on a telltale expression of chagrin. “Just the same,” he muttered.

Damien went on. “She’s always been intensely jealous of you anyway, my sweet. If you conceived a child where she had failed… I’m afraid our engagement was too much for her. Arthur said she’d been slowly growing more and more absorbed with their failure. If you became pregnant then he would have made a poor choice. It isn’t logical to you or me, but to her, I think it is.”

My sweet
. The endearment was like being touched. Soft, beguiling—a link between them. She liked
him
also in the drawing room, large, male, and capable. Even though, she had to recall with some humor, in this case it had actually been the resourceful Regina Daudet who had come to her rescue. “I think you could possibly be right. Do you really think she will try to leave England?”

“I don’t know.” His smile was slightly rueful. “I am afraid my usual enemies are much less demented, not to mention devious. I’d guess the reason she was blackmailing her own husband was to have a cache of funds on hand if she needed it.”

“Or just to torture him in general.” Lily would never forget the vindictive tone of Arthur’s wife’s voice. “I am not sure if I am the one she truly hates.”

“It’s clear he regrets what happened four years ago.” Damien’s dark eyes were direct. “I can’t quite decide whether or not to be jealous. How much did you love him?”

It was a question she supposed needed to be asked
and answered, maybe for them both. “Like a girl,” she told him. “I think a woman loves differently.”

“Well put,” Regina said with surprising vigor, gazing at James. She repeated softly, “Very well put.”

“And yet you are leagues ahead of me, for I have never loved a woman before.” Damien lounged in his chair in his usual deceptive pose. “Will you teach me?”

“Will you be a willful pupil?” Try as she might to control it and sound lighthearted, her voice still took on a tremulous note.

“I might.”

Had he really just admitted he
loved
her?

She dimly heard the sound of the door closing and realized her cousin and Regina had risen and left the room and she hadn’t even noticed.

“Oh, devil take it, yes, I’ll be extremely taxing, I’m sure.” Damien grinned and rose to pull her to her feet. His arms slid around her and his breath brushed her lips. “I’m terribly subversive. I will need a great deal of supervision and training.”

“I think I can rise to that challenge, my lord.” Suddenly she was breathless, his mouth touching hers, the kiss meltingly tender.

“I know I can,” he told her with a wicked wink when he lifted his head.

Had not the Dowager Duchess of Eddington walked in at that moment, perhaps he would have further demonstrated his cooperation.

“What the devil is going on here?”

Damien didn’t step away immediately but kissed her again in a most satisfying way and then said with perfect equanimity, “Good morning, Your Grace.”

Epilogue

“S

o she killed them.”

“I think so.” Damien watched the houses go by, the barge slow on this early-fall day. The leaves had taken on a hint of the brilliant hues of autumn and the scent of chimney smoke was heavy in the air. He glanced at Charles, who sat, a pipe in his hand, on the deck next to him. “By her own husband’s admission, Lady Sebring is not rational or reasonable.”