Damien's Destiny (18 page)

“I’ve a picture in my mind of a beautiful girl leaning against the huge fallen tree near the coast.”

Debby looked startled, pleased and then practically stuttered in her haste to accept.

Damien grinned.

“Just in time, Rafe, I was going to ask the new steward to clear that tree as soon as he arrives.”

He hadn’t told them Jason had phoned with his recommendation for a new steward and a firm goodbye. He’d promised to keep in touch but was vague about his plans. Damien doubly ached for Jase’s pain, not only for his friend but because he missed him so much.

Debora looked up, alert to his hidden meaning.

“You’ve heard from Jason.”

“Yes,” Damien answered. “I don’t know when we will all see him again.”

Silence greeted this pronouncement. But then there was really nothing to say. They all loved Jason and probably didn’t understand why he’d left. For him Debora’s type of affection would never be enough. Although Damien couldn’t betray his friend he noticed Toria’s beautiful eyes looking at him with sympathy.

Once again he admonished himself for not giving her enough credit for her empathy. Her heart was big, even though it didn’t include him in the way he craved.

He said nothing more. He saw no reason to dwell on the fact Jason was already on his journey to wherever he’d decided to go.

* * * * *

Rafe looked at Debby and dipped one brush into his paints. Then with an impatient shrug he dropped his palette and strode over to pose her exactly the way he wanted. He’d positioned her sitting on the grass, leaning against the trunk of the huge fallen tree. An open book lay beside her but her eyes looked out at the distant, calm sea. If you studied the background closely, you could see a few small sailboats on the horizon. They were so far as to easily glide out of sight.

He wanted to express beauty in a perfect setting, seemingly at peace. He was striving to show beauty and contentment, as well as a hidden yearning to be free of something. It wasn’t necessary to know what she desired, just the yearning. He stood close to her, looking at her critically as he analyzed how to come closer to expressing what he meant.

She was quite beautiful. Her features were never difficult to portray. They were classic, the face that of an Italian Madonna. Dark hair and gray eyes just like Damien’s. But it wasn’t those perfect features he wanted to put on his sketch pad. Thousands of artists had painted women as lovely. He wanted to show the warmth and kindness, the solicitude that made her so uniquely Debora. And a little of the unfulfilled tension he could feel in her.

He started to change the angle of her shoulders and found himself standing mesmerized, looking into clear eyes that showed such trust and faith in him he dropped his hands.

“Debby, don’t look at me like that.”

She reached up and lightly touched his cheek.

“Like what, Rafe?”

He swallowed the impulse to kiss her half-parted lips.

“Like I’m some kind of god. I’m not, Debora.”

Huge gray eyes, warm with a passion he couldn’t bring himself to believe, gazed at him.

“You are to me, Rafe.”

Suddenly the body he’d thought extinguished of all passion surged to life and he found himself trembling with a desire he’d never expected to feel again. He had no right to kiss her. He was a shell of a man, with nothing to offer a wonderful girl like Debby. No certain future, nothing but what he now realized was a long-unacknowledged love.

Her gaze didn’t waver and he suddenly had no more resistance than a boiled leaf of lettuce. Less, probably.

He groaned and lowered his lips to hers. Her hands crept around his neck and she seemed to flow into his arms and his kiss.

He kissed her for a very long time. When he stopped he looked at her in amazement and then buried his head against her hair.

“Debby, be very careful. I have nothing but a pittance from the money my grandmother left me. I’m scarred physically and mentally. I’m no one you should permit to touch you.”

He lifted his face as her smile warmed his cold soul. Her obvious delight broke through the lingering haze of his dreadful time in Africa and he felt wisps of his horrid memories begin to float away.

“You’re someone I’ve always wanted so much to touch, Rafe. No matter what nightmares haunt you, I long to help you handle them. As to any outer scars, how can you even think they matter?”

He kissed her once again, deeply and long and then turned back to his paints. Reluctance to stop was evident in his face and his body. Even though he didn’t realize Damien’s attentions had reduced his outward scars so they were barely obvious.

He felt a little tug on his sleeve and found Debby’s big eyes fixed on him in appeal.

“I’ve waited so long for you to kiss me, Rafe. Can I please have one more?”

He wheeled around and grabbed her to him and kissed her with an emotion he’d never before allowed himself. Then he lifted her in his arms and set her forcibly aside.

“I have a few matters to take care of before I have the right to do more, Debby. Believe me, I’d like to kiss you again and again and then go much further.”

He shook his head as she moved toward him.

“We’d better start back to the house, Debby.”

As they walked Debby stole her hand into his free one and he wrapped his fingers around hers.

Rafe looked down at their joined hands in wonder. He’d so much time to make up for. Time when he could have been courting Debora instead of wandering the globe. He had no doubt she shared his sympathy for the downtrodden. Her heart was big and all-encompassing. The next crusade he went on he’d want her at his side.

For the first time the idea of becoming a Duke appealed to him. He could give Debby everything she deserved and she’d be steadfast in helping him perform duties he’d always considered onerous. And he’d have money to fund some of his more worthy projects.

It was time to visit his father. A more unpleasant task he couldn’t imagine but his father should know he hoped to marry. Whether he’d even listen would be up to the man. Not that his opinion would matter to Rafe. He intended to woo Debora with all his strength and resolution.

To his surprise he realized he had quite a bit of both.

He stopped and drew her eager body to his. She seemed to melt into him and once again they kissed for a long, hot time, his hands roving over her supple body. He finally raised his head and taking her hand again, led her home without saying another word.

He must settle a few things before actually proposing.

* * * * *

The days crept by for Damien. Toria’s continued reserve made the hours drag. He constantly longed to compel her to talk to him, to confess her fears and accept his help. He found he didn’t have the heart to force her in any way. He must wait. Surely she would come to him soon.

He kept busy by training Edwards, the new head steward and found him intelligent and capable. He had more time than he’d expected to have with Jason gone and went back to his mathematical calculations. He’d proven to himself man could fly, he just had to put it all down in logical form and understandable equations. He knew for certain the day of a machine lifting off into the air wouldn’t be far away.

Toria helped him tremendously in his work. Not her fault if he sometimes lost himself in staring at her bronze head bent over his notes, her bright hair shining as she chewed at her pencil. He daily fought the battle not to attempt to kiss her again. The momentary relief and pleasure would only lead to more misery for them both. He knew she was as unhappy as he and as bewildered about how to terminate their unspoken estrangement. Although he knew in his heart how he longed to end their separation, he was afraid to do what his body urged him. Grab her in his arms, kiss her senseless and never let her go.

He feared to touch her. He couldn’t imagine her responding with anything but horror. He still had no idea how he’d ever overcome her involuntary revulsion to a man’s touch. Again and again he fought the urge to charm her with his mage’s powers so she knew nothing but joy from his embrace. Again and again he convinced himself he didn’t want her without true desire for him and no thoughts of anyone else in the world. Bewitchment of Toria would belittle the depth of his feeling for their relationship.

And daily he grew more discouraged that his dream of impassioned and heartfelt love was possible.

At least he thought Debora was more happy than she’d been before he’d read a lecture to them all.

The next morning he thought he’d been wrong once again as Rafe came downstairs, dressed for travel and definitely not for painting.

“You’re leaving us, Rafe?” he asked quietly.

Rafe’s smile brightened the room. “Just for a while. Debora is such an excellent subject I want my oils. I can’t do her justice with gouache and watercolors. Her color and her beautiful skin glow and I’m not catching it. I’m going to London and collect my gear. I also need to check on the couple who have been taking care of my townhouse for me. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

He strode to Debora and lifted her chin in his hand. He was fit again, strong and healthy from his hours outside, walking miles when he wasn’t painting.

“Debby,” he said simply. “Please miss me.”

His voice was soft but with a deep sincerity making his words as good as a declaration of intent.

“You know I will, Rafe. Every minute.”

Debby looked a little tearful but she smiled at Rafe.

He stood over her for a moment, then turned away. No one could miss the longing on his face to kiss her goodbye but he turned back to Damien.

“I also intend to call on my father. I want him to know I’m fit to take on his duties when they descend to me, as they inevitably must unless he disinherits me entirely. I also owe it to him to let him know I’m alive. I imagine he’ll refuse to see me but it has to be done. He doesn’t deserve much from me but I feel I must make this one attempt. Since he’s never legally disowned me I fear I’ll someday be a duke. Although he still might do so and I’d be free of inheriting the title. Either way I can now cope.”

A true and perfectly expressed statement of the facts.

Damien raised his eyebrows. Rafe might hate the life of a duke but he’d do it well. He’d do it even better with a loving wife. Damien’s private thoughts were if the duke once saw Rafe’s dignified bearing the old curmudgeon might deeply regret the separation he’d forced on both of them. Rafe’s ordeal had hardened him into an impressive man.

Damien checked Rafe’s physical health often and knew his body was well again. Scarred but strong. He’d not wanted to invade Rafe’s mind but didn’t need to. Rafe was healing mentally also. Love for Debby would finish the cure and Damien thought this might be happening sooner than he’d hoped.

Rafe now talked openly of his feelings as he’d never done before. Africa had indeed changed him. Through almost unbearable suffering and near-death he’d somehow survived and become the man he was meant to be.

Two of his loved ones were finding their way to happiness. It was a chastening thought they’d done most of the journey on their own.

He really hadn’t done a damn thing to help.

* * * * *

Rafe dressed in his recently purchased London attire as he prepared to visit his father. His flat didn’t appeal to him as it once had, although he was glad of the chance to pack his painting equipment. Debora and Tregaron were where he wanted to be. As he automatically checked to make sure he looked as respectable as he could, he didn’t realize what an impressive picture he made.

Brown curls newly trimmed but still left long enough in the back to cover his pristine white collar. A navy blue jacket and fawn-colored trousers. All new and proper for the gentleman he was. He’d be bombarded with enough criticism without looking like a down-at-the-heels artist. Although he couldn’t bring himself to the discomfort of a tight cravat and so left his shirt open. His skin was bronzed from the African sun and no sign of his injuries marred his appearance. While he was well-used to his father’s criticism and caustic comments he didn’t wish to encourage them.

He’d simply present himself for a few minutes of the sarcasm he expected and then leave. He’d have done his duty. He had no idea he looked every inch a nobleman, one a little more casually dressed than some stiff member of Parliament, but still a most handsome man. An impressive man, whose inner strength plainly showed in his bearing. More than one female eyed him longingly as he strode along the streets of London toward his father’s mansion on Grosvenor Square.

Rafe was too busy preparing himself mentally for another rejection to even notice.

When Stubbs, the Duke’s long-time butler opened the door the man gasped. With much more pleasure than Rafe had expected.

“My lord,” Stubbs gasped. “It’s good indeed to see you. You’re looking well, my lord.”

Rafe reached out and took the startled butler’s hand. “Thank you Stubbs. I’m glad to be here and able to shake hands with you. Is my father at home? I’d like you to take my card to him.”

Left unspoken was the knowledge that by sending in his card as the Marquis Chittenden he announced his presence but left a meeting entirely up to his father.