Gayle Buck (4 page)

Mrs. Lummington’s offer to help her undress surprised Victoria. “Thank you, Mrs. Lummington. You are very kind, but I can make do.”

“Now, that you can’t, my lady,” said Mrs. Lummington, shooting a comprehensive glance at her tired face. “The old gentleman would fair have me hide if I left you to struggle with those heavy wet skirts, and you worn out. You just undo those lovely pearl buttons while I finish with the warming pan and then I’ll have you popped into bed before you know it.”

  Victoria laughed at the housekeeper’s motherly bullying and obediently began unfastening the mother-of-pearl buttons that closed the front of her pelisse.

Mrs. Lummington was as good as her word. Before Victoria realized it she was under the coverlets, warm and snug. The housekeeper closed the door softly behind her, leaving the room silently warmed by the fire’s dying red coals. Victoria sighed and turned her face into the feather pillow.

Chapter Four

The breakfast room was empty when Victoria entered, but she was not unhappy to find herself alone. She had woken with a sense of well-being she was loath to have spoiled so early in the day by the inevitable tensions her arrival would cause.

The morning’s chill penetrated her long-sleeved muslin gown and she drew over her slim shoulders a Kashmir shawl bordered in red and gold. The rich motif contrasted vividly with the subdued mourning color of her gown, but Victoria had unpacked it when her trunks were brought up earlier. The shawl had been an extravagant gift from Charles March and in some fashion it seemed to lend her courage.

Tall narrow windows shed pale sunlight across the mahogany breakfast table laden with covered dishes. Victoria seated herself in a highbacked chair and lifted the silver covers from the dishes. Small clouds of steam rose, enticing her with fragrant aromas. The healthy appetite that she thought she had lost forever during the rough passage across the English Channel was suddenly revived. She reached out for the serving spoon to a dish of bacon and poached eggs.

A browned masculine hand was before her. Victoria looked up to meet Lord Damion’s sardonic gaze. “Allow me,” he said with just the proper touch of civility. Victoria threw him an unfriendly glance before lowering her lashes. Deftly Lord Damion served her and himself. He seated himself on her left and with a glance at her composed expression asked blandly, “Marmalade, Lady Victoria?

“Thank you, no,” said Victoria coolly.

“Come now, it is really quite excellent.” Lord Damion snapped his fingers as though in sudden inspiration. “Or perhaps you would prefer the honey?”

Victoria contemplated him for a long moment. His exaggerated anxiety to please her contrasted sharply with the devilish laughter lurking in his eyes. Wary of him, she summoned up a smile and said demurely, “Your recommendation persuades me in favor of the marmalade, my lord.”

Without a word Lord Damion passed the serving bowl to her. He sat back and watched while she spooned marmalade onto her plate. His gaze remained fixed on her as she prepared a biscuit. By the time Victoria had finished eating the biscuit, she was beginning to be made nervous by his undivided attention. She picked up her fork and cast a casual glance toward the breakfast-room door. Surely Sir Aubrey would soon put in an appearance.

Lord Damion laughed softly. “My dear Lady Victoria, you must be content with me. My mother, Lady Hortense, does not rise until noon. And as for Sir Aubrey, he is an unsociable devil in the morning and prefers to take his breakfast in his room.”

Victoria gave him the briefest glance before she plied her fork. Mimicking his tone, she said, “My dear Lord Damion, I can well conceive why Sir Aubrey prefers solitude to the company of those possessing strange humors.” Immediately she was annoyed with herself for allowing him to provoke her. Her vexation was too apparent, for Lord Damion smiled faintly and turned his attention to his plate.

The ensuing silence was broken by little more than the clatter of cutlery and Lord Damion’s request for the salt. Once he stared over at her with a familiar dancing glint in his eyes and Victoria readied herself for a snub, but he made only a banal observation on the weather.

Victoria did not think that her temper could support Lord Damion’s sole company for much longer. She knew that he needled her deliberately. If he had been Charles March, she would have ripped up at him long before. But Victoria was well aware that she dealt with a different sort of man in Lord Damion St. Claire. She sensed a steeliness in him that she was wary of and she decided that it would be wise to wait until she knew him better before she challenged him.

 Lord Damion made a hearty meal of the biscuits and eggs and finished off with steak and kidneys. But Victoria found her own appetite quite flown and picked at her plate. As soon as civility would allow her, she rose from the table, intending to return to her room until either Lady Hortense or Sir Aubrey sent for her.

She hoped the summons would come from Sir Aubrey. She had been surprised by Lord Damion’s mention of his mother and she shuddered to think what Lady Hortense must be like if she at all resembled her obnoxious son. Victoria felt far more capable of dealing with Sir Aubrey, whom she had at least met.

Before she could retreat, her elbow was caught in a strong grip. She looked up in indignation. Lord Damion stood beside her and the hard glint in his gray eyes warned her to silence. A manservant had entered the room and began to clear the table. He was apparently absorbed in his task, but Victoria saw his eyes flicker toward Lord Damion and herself.

“Perhaps you would care for a turn about the gardens, Lady Victoria?” Lord Damion inquired in a civil tone. The grip on her elbow left her in little doubt of what he expected her answer should be

Victoria’s temper rose, burning away her caution. Staring up at the arrogant face above her, she thought it was past time that Lord Damion learned in no uncertain terms her opinion of his character and manners. He was obviously correct that private conversation would be difficult in a household where the servants moved so freely. Victoria thought the gardens would suit her purpose admirably. Her eyes were bright as she bestowed a smile on him. “I believe I would enjoy a stroll, my lord!”

Lord Damion bowed and led her through French doors to a flagstone terrace blown with leaves. Releasing her arm, he turned to latch the doors securely behind them and effectively shut off the manservant’s curiosity.

Victoria felt the tug of a cool wind and hugged her shawl closer. She stared in dismay at the storm-torn grounds. The sculpted hedges had a curiously flattened look and the trim beds were choked with snapped branches. The graveled walks among the hedges and trees were littered with soggy leaves.

Victoria changed her mind about a walk in the gardens. She turned to tell her companion so, but Lord Damion ignored her movement back toward the french door. He again took her elbow and propelled her down the wide stone steps to the walkway. Victoria had no choice but to accompany him unless she wished to struggle, which she felt would be humiliating.

“The walkways should be free of water further on,” said Lord Damion. He looked around. “I imagine the gardeners are indoors drowning their sorrows.”

Victoria read the determination in his face and silently allowed herself to be drawn on. Their pace was outwardly companionable but there was no mistaking the compelling force of Lord Damion’s fingers on her elbow. Too late Victoria attempted to sidestep a rivulet of mud. She jerked up her muslin skirt and saw with annoyance that the hem was stained. “I assume there is a particularly lovely stretch you wish to show me?” she asked with exaggerated politeness.

 Lord Damion glanced down at her, amused by her irony. “Can you doubt it?”

“In a word, yes,” said Victoria. She suddenly felt her shoes soaking through. “And it is too wet!”

He burst out laughing. “You should have thought how thin your shoes were before we left the breakfast room, my girl!”

“You sir, are by far too familiar,” said Victoria evenly. “And you have used me abominably.”

Lord Damion glanced down at her as he guided her into an arbor trailing forlorn vinery. His fingers loosened and Victoria shook herself free of his heavy hand. He leaned a broad shoulder against the arbor’s stone support and looked into her smoldering eyes. “My apologies,” he said with an ironic smile. “Indeed, after you had retired yesterday evening I was treated to a fine trimming by my uncle for my sad lack of manners.”

Victoria took care not to allow her astonishment to show. “You certainly did me no favors last night, St. Claire,” she said, deliberately neglecting his title to emphasize her displeasure. “I dare not imagine what Sir Aubrey thought. You handled me as—’

“As a soldier handles a camp follower.” The curl of his lips was unpleasant. “Isn’t that how you trapped my cousin Charles? I imagine an earl’s son, however penniless he was at the time, seemed a worthy enough investment.”

Victoria struck out at him. He caught her wrist in a bone-crushing grip. “An open palm stings, but you would do well to remember that it has never proven effective with the Demon, my girl!” he said harshly.

“Let me go, St. Claire!” She did not deign to struggle against his cruel fingers but stood looking up at him with contemptuous eyes.

Lord Damion coolly studied the angry flush in her cheeks. “Not quite yet,” he said, and put his free hand into his coat pocket. He brought out a small trim pistol that Victoria immediately recognized. He observed her gasp with grim satisfaction. “What, pray, had you planned to accomplish with this trifling toy?”

“Do you often search women’s bags, St. Claire?” asked Victoria coldly.

“There was little need to search.” Lord Damion returned the firearm to his wide pocket. “The driver found it as he was removing your things from his seedy vehicle. He was naturally puzzled and gave it to me when I settled his account.”

“You have paid off my chaise?” repeated Victoria in astonishment. Her wide mouth tightened. “You have taken an insufferable liberty, my lord. I shall appreciate it if in future you will tend your own business rather than mine!”

“At the moment you are my business.” Lord Damion smiled with open mockery. “Need I tell you how mulish you appear? Your determination is futile, Lady Victoria. This journey shall not profit you in any way, I can promise you.”

“I should like my pistol back, Lord Damion,” said Victoria, making an effort to speak with civility. “I shall not encroach any longer on the family’s hospitality. I shall depart immediately for Belingham Manor.”

Lord Damion raised a dubious brow, certain that she was making an idle declaration. He released her bruised wrist and leaned back against the vine-covered stone with his arms crossed, eyeing her in amusement. “My dear girl, you have no choice but to stay. You cannot possibly mean to walk.”

“I am certain that Sir Aubrey will be good enough to order out a carriage,” said Victoria. Her smile held a little mockery of its own. “You have yourself informed me of your dire reputation. I have but to say that I found the Demon’s proximity too upsetting for words.”

Lord Damion’s jaw tightened. He was no longer amused. “You little witch,” he said softly, dangerously.

Victoria did not heed his hawkish expression. “I suppose that is a compliment of sorts, coming as it does from a man who delights only in insult,” she said scathingly.

Without warning Lord Damion jerked her to him. A ruthless arm pinned her against him and her chin was caught up in a vise. His breath was warm on her shocked face. “You are so wrong, my girl.” The icy glitter in his eyes was frightening. “I delight in much more!”

He lowered his head to take her mouth with brutal lips. Victoria struggled wildly, beating him with her fists. His hard fingers bit deep into her shoulders, arching her backward. His mouth was scalding, merciless. Her senses suddenly reeled. She shuddered, her lips parting under his. Immediately the pressure of his mouth gentled. She felt his arms loosen. His hands shifted to explore, tracing fire.

Sudden fear leaped to life within her. Victoria groped for his pocket and her fingers closed on the pistol. With unexpected strength she twisted free, the cold ivory-handled firearm firmly in her hand. She trained it on the second shining brass button of Lord Damion’s coat, her breath coming quickly.

Lord Damion went white under his tan. He stretched out his hand. “Give it to me, please. It is loaded.”

Victoria’s laugh quivered in her throat. A stirring of wind blew a truant curl over her wary eyes. “Do not tempt me. You are a fortunate man, Lord Damion. If Charles were here, he would not hesitate.” She half turned, lowering the pistol.

Lord Damion caught her by the shoulder and spun her around. He wrenched the pistol out of her hand and threw it into a barren flower bed. His fingers bruised her arms and Victoria cried out, less in pain than in anger.

“Oh consummate, Lady Victoria,” he said thinly. “I applaud the perfect blend of fear and outrage.” His eyes raked over her with contempt. “And I have yet to compliment you on your attire. Charles died two years ago and you are yet in widow’s weeds. Very affecting, believe me!”

“You are abominable,” breathed Victoria.

“Your opinions are of no interest to me,” snapped Lord Damion. “I feel certain you were not unaware that you come at an extremely propitious time. The reading of Lord Robert’s will is to take place in a few days. How is it you knew to come? What is it you hope to gain, madame?”

“It is none of my making, Lord Damion,” said Victoria with tight anger, “I received an invitation from Lord Robert some months ago. I chose to honor it. Until last night I did not know that he had died.”

Lord Damion released her with undisguised contempt. “You disappoint me, Lady Victoria. I expected a more plausible story from a woman of your obvious intelligence.”

Victoria swept him an exaggerated curtsy. “Your high opinion of me is overwhelming, my lord. I am persuaded I must join the legions of females gratified by your least attention!” She saw the leap of hot anger in his eyes and realized that she had once more gone too far. Victoria avoided his outstretched hand and fled back to the doubtful sanctuary of the Crossing.