Edith Layton (2 page)

She stopped struggling when she finally realized Damon’s intent was only to calm her. She stood still, breathing hard. He dared release one of her hands. She raised it to brush back a bit of bright hair that had fallen over her eyes. She stared up at him. They were very close. He looked down, warily, into that enchanting face.

“Thank you,” she said, keeping her eyes riveted on his, “I—I believe I was extremely vexed and seem to have lost my head.”

“No,” he said, fascinated, “actually, you almost removed his.”

She glanced down at the man on the ground at their feet. So did Damon. Dearborne was laying still enough to alarm him. But after a second Damon was relieved to note one of the man’s hands starting to claw feebly at the ground, and he heard him finally utter a muffled groan. He turned his attention back to the sprite. Her lovely mouth twisted.

“Remove his head? I wish you’d let me! He’s not really damaged. It’s just blood,” she said with a sneer. “Huh! Although he’s willing to try to maul a woman, he’s just a dainty flower himself. After a week or two he’ll be mended and up to his foul tricks again. His face is still pretty enough. Too bad a man’s character don’t show in his face.”

“Nor does a woman’s,” Damon said, with a hint of laughter in his voice. “I thought I was going to have to rescue you. I didn’t know there was an avenging angel hidden behind that innocent face of yours.”

He could feel her shoulders stiffen and realized he was still holding her. He dropped his hands at once. “Were you following me?” she asked suddenly, her eyes widening.

“I might ask that of you,” he said reasonably. “I was here first, having a nice, quiet smoke, when you decided to cut up my peace and go a few rounds with that cad.”

“Oh. Well, I didn’t see you. He told me there was a puppy in trouble out here.”

Now Damon groaned. “And you believed him?”

“I’m not such a flat,” she said, her chin coming up.
“Well, I
almost
believed him. He sounded convincing. But I knew his reputation. I decided to have a look anyway. I wasn’t worried,” she said to his expression of astonishment, “because I knew that if he was lying I could take care of myself.”

“Indeed,” Damon said with wonder, “and so you did. But what if….”

“If he’d had a pistol? Or a knife?” She gurgled with laughter. “I doubted it. Not that I couldn’t deal with that if I had to.”

“You astonish me,” Damon said honestly.

Long lashes dropped down over her eyes, and for the first time, she looked disconcerted. “Well, I’d just as soon you didn’t tell anyone about it. Not that
they’ll
be vexed with me…for
they’ll
know I’d no choice.
They’d
approve of me defending myself, too. But it isn’t the sort of thing one wants bruited about, you see.”

“They?”

“My friends. I don’t care for my own sake, but I’d hate to make them the subject of gossip.” She raised her eyes to his and now the moonlight struck deep gold in her eyes. It took Damon a moment to answer because he had to catch his breath.

“No, of course not,” he said, “I won’t say a word, but—what about Dearborne?”

“You think
he’ll
tell folks I beat him to bits?” she asked with a grin.

Damon smiled, too. “Hardly. Well, then. I think the first thing we have to do is get him up and back to the ball. Or failing that, into a hackney and on his way home. We can’t just leave him here. Not that he doesn’t deserve it, but if you want to avoid gossip….”

“Right, right!” she said eagerly.

“You go back, I’ll take care of it,” Damon said.

She put her hands on her slim hips. “What sort of a female do you take me for?” she asked angrily. “Leaving you with my messes? I’ll help. More than that, I’ll leave him with a flea in his ear in case he thinks of saying anything to anyone.”

“The man would be a fool to try,” Damon said, and meant it.

Damon went to the stricken young lord and raised him to a sitting position, propping him up against his own leg to steady him. The sprite snatched a handkerchief from Dearborne’s pocket and, grumbling, went to the fountain to wet it down. She returned and briskly and none too tenderly wiped the blood from the young man’s face. Making a terrible face herself, she went back to the fountain and rinsed out the handkerchief. Then she silently handed it to Damon and stood looking down at her erstwhile attacker. He was sitting on his own now, with his eyes closed, and not just because one of them was swelling shut.

“He’ll have to turn his neckcloth inside out if he wants to wear it again tonight,” Damon said, mopping up a blotch of blood on Dearborne’s chin and eyeing his patient consideringly. “It will feel terrible, but he can’t go into public with a naked neck or looking as though he was almost decapitated. It’s getting late. We have to dispose of him one way or the other. And I don’t mean finally,” he said to the sprite’s hopeful expression. Sighing, Damon began to unwind the bloody cloth from around the young man’s neck.

Between them, working silently and in concert, they
got the fallen man cleaned up. He sat slumped when they were done, his face ghastly gray in the moonlight, his neckcloth crushed and rumpled, his jacket stained, his face mottled and bruised.

“Still…I’ve seen drunken bucks look worse,” the sprite announced critically after circling him a time or two.

“Not much,” Damon said, “but it will have to do. Here,” he said, squatting Indian-style to speak to the man. “Dearborne—you want us to put you into a hackney cab? You can’t spend the night here, much as you might feel you want to right now.”

One eye opened and looked at him balefully. “Ah’ll be aright,” Dearborne said through swollen lips, “Jus’ gimme a moment to get mah wits togetheh, eh? Ah’ll go home—but through the house. Doan wanna jus’ disappear. N
ot
done. Jus’ a moment—and keep that witch away from me!”

“H
uh
!” the sprite said in disgust, and moved away toward the house.

Damon rose to his feet. “You might as well go back in now,” he told her. “I’ll see him in and then enter the house again after he’s there.”

“What, do you think me such a poor piece? I’ll wait with you in case you need me. I’ll nip in after he goes back. You can come in after that. No one will notice. If anyone does, and asks, you can always say you saw me getting a breath of air and had a word with me. I’ll say we knew each other because we met before tonight.”

“But
did
we meet?” Damon mused.

“Oh.” She paused, then laughed. Not a giggle, he was pleased to note, but honest full-bodied laughter.
“No, we haven’t actually, have we? But I’ll change that right now. Allow me to present Miss Gillian Giles,” she said formally, making a deep curtsey. “‘Gilly’ to her friends. And you certainly are that, sir.”

Damon bowed. “Damon Ryder, at your service my lady. ‘Damon’ to my friends, because ‘Da’ would be too familiar, I fear.”

She laughed again. “No, not a
lady
, Mr. Ryder. Which is just as well because I never act like one, I fear.”

He smiled. She paused, really looking at him for the first time. Such a handsome fellow, she thought fleetingly. Even the wan light couldn’t leech the gold from his thick brown hair. Though he dressed and spoke like one, that smooth handsome face didn’t have a gentleman’s pallor. It was vivid, lightly kissed by the sun. Thin straight brows highlighted the way long eyes, graced with starry lashes, turned down at their corners. And such a perfectly formed, suggestively kissable mouth! Any woman would have envied it; it was only saved from looking feminine by that straight narrow nose and the rest of that virile face. Gilly was shocked at herself.

But he
was
a pretty fellow. Not too tall, not short at all, lean but well built. The man probably could handle himself against all comers, she thought with admiration. And a charmer, too.

Too bad, she thought, because it couldn’t matter to her. She shrugged, and said, “I’m in your debt, Mr. Ryder, and don’t think I’ll forget it. If you’re ever in need of a friend, please count me as one.”

Damon blinked, surprised and enchanted by the comment. It was a thing a young man might have said
to another, but charming to hear from the lips of a such a lovely young female. He bowed. “I’d hoped we might meet again even if I’m not in need, because I can always use a new friend.”

She laughed. “Yes, who can’t? But the polite world don’t think men and women can be just friends, and that is all I can be to you, Mr. Ryder. In case the gossips haven’t bent your ear, I’m hopelessly ineligible for such as you, because even a blind man can see you’re a gentleman. And I’m a female with no noble connections of blood, only those of friendship. Though that suits me to a nicety, it don’t impress the matchmakers, and certainly not noble mamas. That’s why Dearborne attempted me. There are prettier ladies here tonight. But they
are
ladies, you see.”

“Why, even that blind man of yours could tell you your mistake, Miss Giles. As you said, a man’s character doesn’t show in his face, and Dearborne’s a famously successful rogue because of his. I’ve just returned to England after two years abroad and even I’ve heard of his exploits. He doesn’t attempt any females but diamonds of the first water, my dear. You sparkle so, it’s no wonder he was taken with you.”

She grinned. “Nicely said. And thank you for it. Ah, look, he rises. Want to escort him back in to the ball? Or do you think he can make it under his own sail? I’d offer to help, but the temptation to trip him would be too much for me.”

“Allow me to do the honors,” Damon said.

He helped the taller man to stand and make his way across the garden again. Dearborne staggered slightly, but shook off Damon’s helping hand once he got to the
bottom of the terrace. Damon stood in the shadows as Dearborne lurched up the steps. As the beaten lord emerged from the darkness of the garden he surprised two gentlemen who were standing, smoking there. He made a wobbly bow to them, then stepped to the long French doors, flung them open, and walked into the blare of light and music that was the ballroom. The doors closed and the garden was cast into silence again.

Damon heard a light sigh behind him. He turned. The brightness from the house had temporarily blinded him. But he couldn’t mistake the sweet scent of freesias surrounding the figure standing beside him.

“Well, then,” Gilly said lightly, “over and done. Thank you again for your part in it.”

“I wasn’t joking,” Damon said. “I’d like to see you again.”

“Nor was I,” she replied. “Believe me, there’s no future in it. You can ask anyone. But thanks for that as well.”

“At least allow me to see you in,” Damon said, offering her his arm.

“What? And have the scandalmongers link you with me? Poor payment for such a good deed.” She laughed. “I’ll slip in by the side door, thank you. There’s one to the left, see? That’s how that wretch led me out.” She snorted. “While the other gents are checking their coats and hats at a ball, I expect he checks all the exits and entrances.”

“Then I’ll go in by the terrace doors,” he said. “But wait! I don’t give up that easily. You
are
staying with the Sinclairs?”

Gilly hesitated a moment. Her voice was low and sad when she spoke again. “The gossips got to you already, I see. Well, they’re right. But so was I. Adieu, my newfound friend. As I said, I don’t think I should see you again—except in passing.”

There was a blur of movement and she was gone. Damon strained his eyes but only saw her in the brief stab of a sliver of light, quickly doused when she slipped in the hidden entrance at the side of the house.

He would see her again, though, and talk with her, too, he decided as he strolled up the steps, nodded to the two smokers, and entered the ballroom.

But he didn’t expect it to be so soon.

Because although the music was still playing, no one was dancing now. Instead, the glittering company was stopped in place, looking to the side of him at one slender figure standing facing them, alone. She was pinned by their stares, looking like a woman facing a firing squad.

“Yes, an’ now there
he
is,” Dearborne said triumphantly, his slurred voice strong with indignation. “See what happens to a fellow who only tries to help a lady in distress? But she wasn’t—’til I came along. I saw her locked in his arms and knowing she was a single chit, and he a stranger to us all, thought she was being attacked by him. Attacked? H
ah
! They turned the tables on me, all right. I tried to rescue her from an ardent embrace. He pounded me for it. S
he
kicked me. My friends, it’s a scandal, is what it is.”

It was. Undeniably and damnably. Gilly refused to cringe. But she turned her head and stared at Damon,
too. They exchanged a long look. Her eyes, he realized, were golden as amber, bright now with distress.

He wouldn’t have it.

Damon laughed and walked to her side. He put his hand on her shoulder. “Ditched, my dear,” he whispered, and said, loudly to the gaping company, “So much for keeping secrets, eh? Well,” he told the fascinated onlookers, “what would you have done? There you are, newly returned to civilization. And after months of letter-writing, you finally have your lady close at last. More than that, she’s just said yes—she’ll marry you! You clasp her to your bosom, give her an exultant kiss—and then some strange man comes boiling up out of the shadows, snatches her away, and tries to plant you a facer. I ask you, wouldn’t I have been justified in murdering the wretch?”

Gilly turned an astonished face to his. Damon dropped a kiss on the tip of her nose and said, smiling hugely, “The secret’s out, puss.” And remembering her quick reflexes, quickly clipped her close to his side and turned her to face the delighted company, just in case she disagreed.

But she didn’t even raise a finger. She just stared up at him, looking as amazed as he was by what he’d just said.

D
ancing and chatting stopped as everyone at the ball goggled at the young couple. Here was scandal, romance, and mystery, all unexpected and all in a night. The Merrimans’ ball was fashionable, but not exclusive enough to be thrilling, if only because poor old Merriman had so many daughters to marry off that there was almost always some kind of “do” going on at his house of an evening. But this! That young cad Dearborne staggering into the ballroom, pounded to mincemeat! And then claiming to have been attacked because he tried to rescue Viscount Sinclair’s beautiful but ineligible young ward when he found her locked in a passionate embrace with London’s newest rich, handsome, and eligible stranger!
Then
to have that selfsame stranger stroll into the room and announce
the affair was a secret of long standing suddenly resolved?
Wonderful
, the assembled guests whispered to each other—whether they believed it or not.

The couple was besieged as young Dearborne slunk out into the night. Well-wishers and gossips converged on them. They were such a pretty pair, and so everyone exclaimed. Some of the young ladies might have been envious, not a few of the gentlemen were chagrined. But they were social animals to their bones. They offered congratulations, they were full of questions. This was delicious stuff.

Gilly wasn’t a timid person but she was an astonished one, so she stood silent at Damon’s side, letting him answer everyone. He did it with ease. He was as calm and merry as a host at an afternoon tea. Even she almost believed he’d just attained his heart’s desire.

“No, no,” Damon said to the first questions. “We met years ago. Yes, in fact, that
was
why I left England. There’s only so much disappointment a man can take. Well, this man, anyway. It was a wrench to leave, but I was desperate. It was only a glimpse and a passing meeting or two, but that was enough for me. I was done for. Yet she wouldn’t even walk out with me because she refused to let me so much as dream! She was too young, I was too smitten, I don’t know. I thought maybe absence might make her heart grow fonder. I don’t know whether that did it or if it was all those letters we kept writing.” He bent a fond look at his new fiancée, who gazed back at him in wonder. “It doesn’t matter. At last, she said
yes
”

But then the happy babble of voices fell still. A tall, broad-shouldered gentleman parted the crowd. He
strode forward, the well-wishers instantly giving him leeway, as though the force of his personality alone scattered them. That, and his thunderous expression. He was a darkly attractive man some ten years Damon’s senior. He strode up to the pair, but had eyes only for Gilly—and the arm around her waist.

“Are you all right?” he asked Gilly. “What’s this I heard?”

“I’m fine, Ewen. Oh, where’s my head? I mean, my lord Ewen, may I present Mr. Ryder? Mr. Ryder, here is the Viscount Sinclair.”

As the men measured each other with their eyes and then bowed, Gilly saw the lovely woman at the viscount’s side. She sighed with relief. “My lady! All’s well, don’t fret. Just a misunderstanding. No one’s the worse for it—except maybe Lord Dearborne.” She laughed. “And that’s all right, too!”

“But they say you’re engaged to this—to Mr. Ryder!” the woman said anxiously, eyeing Damon.

“Well, they say a lot of things….” Gilly began.

“And most of them true,” Damon interrupted with an easy smile. “Viscountess,” he said, bowing again, “Gilly wrote of your kindness and your beauty so often I feel I know you well, although I’ve only seen you from afar. You’re even lovelier than I remembered. I’m very glad to meet you at last, my lady.”

The viscount and his lady did make a striking couple. He was not so much handsome as devilishly attractive. She was unique, too, with sable hair and fine features, lovely even with the scar that marred her cheek—or perhaps because of it, since it made a viewer look twice and become even more impressed
with her quiet beauty the second time. Now they were matched in their expressions of surprise and suspicion.

The viscount looked at Gilly, and then more pointedly at Damon’s arm, which was again around her waist. “You
are
engaged to marry this man?” he asked with incredulity.

“She is,” Damon said promptly, drawing her even closer to his side. “I regret you had to find out in this fashion, my lord. I’d planned to call on you and ask you for her hand, in the time-honored fashion. But events moved before I could. We can discuss it further, if you wish. But the thing is done.”

“Indeed, so I see,” the viscount said, his dark head snapping up as he stared into Damon’s eyes. Damon didn’t so much as blink. Sinclair nodded. “But since this is neither the time or place for discussion, I fear we must delay that happy moment. Tomorrow morning at my house?” he asked. “Say, ten o’clock?”

“Say it and it shall be so,” Damon said easily.

“I hate to interrupt such a tender reunion,” the viscount said without a trace of regret, “but my lady grows weary. I thought we should leave soon, Gilly.”

Gilly’s eyes flew wide. “I’ll come right now!”

“No need, she’s not ill, just tiring. We’ll have the coach brought ’round, that will take some time. Meet us in the outer hall in fifteen minutes, that will do. Good evening to you, Mr. Ryder. Tomorrow, then. Come along, my dear.” The viscount inclined his head, offered his arm to his lady and led her out of the ballroom. She glanced back over her shoulder, looking more confused and dismayed than weary.

“You will forgive us?” Damon asked the guests as
soon as the viscount left. “But since I’ve only just found
my
lady again after so long and have to be parted from her so soon, if only temporarily—I’d like a few minutes alone with her before I face the thought of her being gone from me for—” He took out his pocket watch and groaned. “Twelve entire hours!”

The company laughed. Damon smiled but began steering Gilly from the ballroom in the viscount’s wake. The guests good-naturedly gave them a path through the throng, some slapping Damon on the back, all adding congratulations.

“We’ve got to talk!” Gilly whispered as they walked from the room. “And the sooner the better.”

“Absolutely,” he agreed, “that’s vital. Let me see…the Sinclairs will be in the hall waiting for their carriage…aha! The secret door Dearborne used. Let’s inch around, duck in back of that pillar, wait a few seconds behind that bank of ferns, and then make for the door and have a moment in the garden again.”

It didn’t take long. The music struck up and the guests began dancing, so they made their escape unseen. The terrace was empty, the garden dim and silent below them. Gilly swung around to Damon the minute she was sure they were alone.

Lord! He was a handsome man, she thought again, the sight of him causing her to pause before she spoke. The bright candlelight at the ball had shown it to her clear. That glowing image of him was burned into her mind’s eye, she could still see it in the muted moonlight.

He was dressed in black and white. Black fitted jacket, high white neckcloth, black silk breeches. She
couldn’t see the color or design of his waistcoat. But he didn’t need more color. There were golden streaks in his brown hair, that amazingly shapely mouth of his was a dusky blush, his gray eyes held sparks of blue and silver, and his teeth were a flash of white when he smiled.

It was somehow even worse that he was so good-looking. This was a man to whom all things must have always come easily, and she found she resented it. But she was glad of it, too. It fueled her anger now and helped dim her heart’s mutinous response to reason.

“What the devil did you think you were doing back there?” she demanded in a fierce whisper. “I know you think you were helping me, and I suppose you did, but now look at the trouble we’re in!”

It took a moment for her words to register. Damon was too busily noting how her hair had glowed gilt in the lamplight indoors, and yet became silver floss in moonlight. In the blanched light she looked ethereal. Yet no man could see that figure and think she wasn’t mortal. He watched, enchanted, as her every indignant huff made her lovely breasts rise and fall. “What trouble?” he asked absently. “You think Sinclair will object to my suit?”

She shook her head in disgust, her hands clenched. “We’re
engaged
!” she whispered. “At least in the eyes of society. Do you remember what that means here in England? Have your travels to pagan places made you forget? It’s good as married! Ewen will understand, I suppose he’ll even thank you for your quick thinking, and for saving my reputation. But now what? Have you thought of that? I mean, even if we say it was a jest, I’m
still in the soup because Dearborne said you kissed me. What’s to do?”

“This, I think,” Damon said, and reached out, drew her close, bent his head, and kissed her.

She froze in surprise, then astonishment. His lips were warm and firm, his breath fragrant with wine, his scent like warm spices. He didn’t embrace her. She felt only a fleeting pressure on her mouth. But the merest touch of his lips made her traitorous mouth tingle in response. It was dizzying, exhilarating, fascinating. She leaned forward, without thinking…then realized what she was doing and stepped back, appalled. Her hand flew to her mouth. She was even more astonished that it hadn’t flown to his, to slap him silly.
That
shocked her.

He watched her closely. “You asked and I answered,” he said softly. “And we are engaged, after all.”

“No, we’re not and you know it,” she said seriously, her brows lowering, her eyes troubled.

“No,” he said, seeing she was honestly upset and honestly sorry for it. “I apologize.”

“Why did you do it?” she asked, her eyes searching his. “Because you thought I was the sort of girl who would welcome it?”

“Some women do. I misjudged. Again, I apologize. It was just a whim based on an excellent opportunity. I’ve rag manners from being abroad so long, I suppose.”

“Because I’m not a lady?” she persisted, as though she hadn’t heard him.

“No!” he said angrily. He scowled, as vexed with himself as he was with her. Because it had been a delicious kiss and he didn’t know when or if he’d have another.
And because it had obviously startled and displeased her. But he never thought she’d take it as an insult. “Because I find you stunningly beautiful, and I thought it would be—no. Because I didn’t think at all, I only acted. It won’t happen again. If I kiss you again, be sure, I’ll get your full permission first. Am I forgiven?”

She nodded, becoming brusque to cover her confusion. “All right. But we have to talk this thing out. I can’t be known as a flirt! It’s all very well for young ladies of fashion to step over the line. They can cuddle in the shrubbery all night and everyone looks the other way. They’ve got pedigrees to back them up. I’ve only myself. I don’t want to bring gossip down on the Sinclairs and my sister.”

“It’s absurd,” Damon muttered. “It was only a kiss.”

“I don’t mean yours!” she said angrily. “I mean what Dearborne said. All they have to do is start thinking I’m ready for a bit of pinch and tickle in the shadows and it’s all over for me!”

He laughed. “Don’t worry. We made Dearborne look like the cad he is.”

“By saying we’re engaged,” she said through gritted teeth. “By lying about those letters. By—”

“By acting as though we
are
engaged. I won’t find it a hardship, if you won’t.”

She eyed him suspiciously. “But you’re looking for a wife, or so they all say.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Well, a person hears gossip even if she don’t add to it,” she said hurriedly, “but if that is true, being tied up with me won’t help you much.”

“We can untie when the Season is over,” he said rea
sonably. “There’s always another. I’m not exactly ancient, you know. There are other Seasons left for me. I may act old and wise,” he added, grinning, “but, in fact, I have only eight and twenty years to my name. And you?”

“Oh. I’m just turned twenty.”

“Congratulations. Now, I suggest we carry on as though we had something to carry on about. I’ll take you for drives in my carriage—which reminds me, I’d better buy one. What colors do you like? We can discuss that later. Any rate, I’ll escort you to balls, the opera, the theater, anyplace you’d like to go. I’m newly returned, newly retired from my work, there are many things here in London I want to do. You’ll see. This will be a pleasure if we play it right.”

She stared at him, stricken. “You’re newly retired from work? But I don’t even know what you did—or where you come from, apart from having just returned, as they all said. Don’t you see? I don’t know a thing about you.”

“Easy enough to remedy. For a start, I originally come from near Dover, but I’ve just returned from America. I went to make my fortune. I did. I traded English goods, chinaware and silver, for American furs and sugar…there’s too much to tell in a stolen moment on a terrace. But see? Don’t be afraid we won’t have conversation. There’s so much we can talk about. I spent two years abroad and saw a whole new world filled with wondrous things, but nothing prettier than you.”

She scowled. “Well, if we’re going to get along I have to tell you right off I don’t want compliments. Unless saying them gives
you
pleasure, you might as well cut
line. Because they don’t do anything for me. I don’t believe them, nor trust them neither. No reason a man has to keep pouring butter over a person just because she’s a female. It’s annoying, to tell the truth. Well, you’re a handsome sprig. How would you feel if I kept telling you how beautiful you were instead of talking sense?”

“W
ould
you?” he asked, entranced, “Oh, wonderful. It’s been so long since anyone composed a sonnet to my eyes. And I can’t tell you how long it’s been since anyone even spoke of how pure my skin is, not to mention how they’ve neglected commenting on my hair!”

She couldn’t help it, she laughed. He was very pleased. “Now, I return you to the viscount,” he said, offering her his arm. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow morning. Don’t worry. We’ll stay engaged until the need for it is gone, and it doesn’t trouble me, nor should it bother you. Unless,” he said on a sudden thought, his face suddenly serious, “I hadn’t considered…what a clunch I am. Is there someone you’re attached to? Do you think this fiction of ours will spoil things?”