Moonspun Magic (6 page)

“Evidently he's still very much with us. He isn't at all a man of sterling reputation.”

“I know,” she said on a weary sigh. “I suppose I should thank you for saving me.”

“Yes, you should.”

“Thank you.”

Rafael pulled the tired horse to a halt in front of the Sir Francis Drake Inn. He wasn't known here, thank God. “Do you wish to be my sister or my wife?”

He felt her go perfectly still.

“Quickly, it must be one or the other.”

“Sister.”

“Very well.”

A stable lad was there, thankfully, and Rafael tossed him their valises. Slowly, careful not to hurt her, he dismounted, Victoria close against his chest.
Her arm was around his neck. “Good girl,” he said against her ear.

If the innkeeper didn't believe them to be related, he didn't say anything. He did, however, assign them adjoining rooms, a fact that made Rafael shake his head at the cynicism of his fellowman.

He carried Victoria into her small bedchamber and gently eased her down onto the bed. A maid stood close by, lighting a branch of candles.

“You may go now,” Rafael said over his shoulder. He didn't turn, for he was staring down at Victoria Abermarle. Even dusty, a smudge of dirt on her cheek, her hair wildly disheveled, he saw that she was a beauty. And young, as fresh as a new winter snowfall. Chestnut hair, thick and lustrous, and blue eyes—not a faded, washed-out blue, but a vivid dark blue. No wonder Damien wanted her.

Victoria, in her turn, was looking up at him. He was so much like Damien, even those silver-gray eyes of his, that she flinched unconsciously in fear. Even in the light, she saw but one major difference—this man was deeply tanned. Unfortunately, the tan would fade.

“You are so like him.”

“Yes, as I told you, we are twins. Now, I am off to fetch you a doctor for your ankle.”

“No, please don't.”

He heard the anxiety in her voice and frowned down at her. “Why ever not? You are obviously in pain. At least the doctor could dose you with laudanum.”

She shook her head. “Please, just leave me. I'll pay you for your trouble. I'll leave in the morning.”

Rafael said abruptly, “Have you had your dinner?”

She shook her head.

“Nor have I, and I'm hungry.”

He strode to the door and left her alone.

Victoria stared about the bedchamber. It was spartan, with only the single narrow bed, a rough-hewn dresser, and a very old armoire in the far corner. There was a small circular table against the single window, two chairs beside it. A commode and a washbasin were, thankfully, close by. She forced herself to rise, gritting her teeth at the protesting muscles in her leg. She washed her face and hands and removed her cloak.

Rafael quietly opened the door to see his young charge clinging to the bedpost, breathing hard, her head lowered.

He noted on a purely male level that her body seemed to be as lovely as her face. Slender, tall for a girl, and as soft-looking as sweet butter.

“Come,” he said, “let me help you. Our dinner will arrive in a few moments.”

Victoria closed her eyes a moment, getting a grip on herself.

Rafael didn't move. He said only, “Can I assist you?”

He could see the quiver in her shoulders, see her arguing with herself. To trust him.

She decided in his favor, for she nodded.

Without another word he picked her up in his arms again, carried her to the table, and gently set her down on one of the chairs.

He moved away from her and sat in the opposite chair. He saw her lean her head back, close her eyes, and knew she was trying to control the pain.

“May I call you Victoria?”

“If you wish. I suppose it isn't any more improper than all of this.”

“No, you're right about that. Call me Rafael.”

“That is an odd name.”

“Surely you must know that my mother was Spanish. It was her wish.”

“Yes, I suppose I did know. But Damien never spoke of you, at least in my presence.”

“No, I don't imagine that he would. Ah, our dinner.”

He helped the serving maid with the tray. Delicious smells of roast lamb curled toward Victoria's nostrils and her stomach rumbled.

Rafael grinned. “Not a moment too soon, I'd say. Do you also like mashed potatoes and peas?”

Her stomach answered for her. He smiled and served her.

Under the cover of the table, she massaged her thigh. Slowly the muscles began to ease, the painful spasms growning more tolerable. As she gained control of the pain, she began to see everything more clearly. For all she knew, this twin could be as bad as his brother, or even worse.

They ate in silence.

“Where are you going?” she asked finally, wiping a drop of gravy from her lower lip.

“To London. Unfortunately, my ship is in Falmouth under repair, so I couldn't sail there.”

London.

“I have business in London,” he added.

She met his eyes. “So have I.”

Rafael cracked a walnut between his long fingers. “Oh? Were you planning to walk there?”

“No, I have twenty pounds. Rather, I have eighteen pounds now. I didn't realize the cost of things. I shall have to be careful.”

“Did you steal the twenty pounds?”

Her eyes flew to his face, but his concentration was seemingly on the walnut meat.

“Not that I blame you, of course. I wonder what
Damien will do. I wonder what he has done already. I assume he would know you're long gone.”

He looked up at that moment and saw her go perfectly white. He felt like a bounder, scaring her like that.

“You didn't stop at Drago Hall?”

“No, I didn't. Look, Victoria, I can't leave you here. Do you have relatives in London? Anyone who could take you in? Were you going to someone?”

She shook her head and at the same time said quickly, “Yes.”

“Ah.”

“I will pay you for this room and for the meal. How much was it?”

“Eighteen pounds,” he said mildly. He poured himself some thick black coffee, warmed his hands on the mug, and sat back in his chair, at his ease.

“You're not a gentleman.”

“It appears to me that you haven't experienced many gentlemen in your life thus far. Actually, I suppose I am, but I also understand that it would be difficult for you to judge. Now, what am I going to do with you?”

“I'll leave tomorrow. Alone.”

“With your eighteen pounds?”

“Yes.”

“The devil you will,” he said. He rose and stretched, then turned toward her, his features softening.

She felt herself go rigid with fear.

Comparisons are odorous.

—S
HAKESPEARE

“M
y God,” Rafael said, coming to an abrupt stop. “Did he frighten you so much, then? You believe I am like him? You're afraid of me?”

“No. Yes. Go away.”

“Very clear. Thank you.”

“It is just that you look so very alike and . . .” She stopped and drew a deep breath. “I'm sorry, it's not your fault.”

“But you're wondering if blood runs the same in twins? Bad blood or good blood?”

She raised her face at his serious tone. “No, really not. Indeed, I've never known twins before.”

“Nor have I, for that matter. Suffice it to say I am not Damien. I would appreciate it if you would cease comparisons. Now, does your ankle still pain you?”

“No,” she said sharply, wishing he would simply drop the subject. “Really, I'm fine now. I want to go to bed.”

That, he thought, careful to keep his features expressionless, was an excellent idea. He was frankly surprised at his reaction to her. He'd certainly met and bedded more beautiful women. Not that she wasn't lovely, of course. It was just that . . . Oh, the devil. He didn't know what it was about her. Lord
knew he wasn't in the market for a damned wife.
Wife?
He was losing his mind, that was it. He shook his head at himself, saying as he did so, “Shall I order up a bath for you?”

Victoria felt sweaty and dusty. She knew that warm water would soothe the muscles in her leg. She nodded gratefully. “I must look a skelter-patty.”

“No, just something of an urchin.”

She was still sitting in the chair when he returned some five minutes later. “It will be up soon,” he said, sitting across from her. “Did you eat enough?”

“Yes. The lamb was delicious, the carrots not overcooked, the potatoes—”

“All right, I'm not your nanny. Now, tell me about the baron.”

“There's really not all that much to tell. I simply couldn't let him come into my room and . . .”

Her voice faded into the wainscoting, and Rafael didn't push.

“All right, we'll leave that for the moment. I gather you have no wish to return to Drago Hall?”

“I will never go back there. Never.”

“What about your cousin, Elaine?”

“I don't know,” Victoria said, lowering her head, her eyes on her clenched hands.

“You didn't speak to her, then, about her husband's behavior toward you?”

“No, I did not. You see, Elaine is increasing. The baby is due after Christmas. So I really couldn't upset her, not in her condition. I really didn't know what to do. I think, however, that she has guessed something. She became more curt toward me.”

Looking at her, Rafael didn't doubt it. But still, the thought of a man taking advantage of a young lady under his protection made his stomach turn. Her jaw was stubborn, he saw. She'd refused to stay and
become a victim. She'd escaped with but twenty pounds. Yes, very stubborn. He admired that.

“Here's your bath. We will speak some more when you're finished. I trust you have a dressing gown in that valise?”

“Why?” she said, looking at him blankly.

“Because,” Rafael said with exaggerated patience, “I wish to speak to you about what we're going to do. I have no wish to frighten you again.”

“Oh.”

He nodded and walked to the adjoining door. He said over his shoulder, showing his white teeth in a roguish smile, “I too have a dressing gown.”

“I am exquisitely relieved,” she said, showing her own white teeth. He gave her a mock salute and strode into his bedchamber, closing the adjoining door behind him.

Victoria didn't undress until the maid had left. It was more a habit than anything else. Ever since Elaine had seen her leg with its knotting muscles she didn't want to feel another's pity or revulsion. She spent fifteen minutes in the hot water, feeling the muscles loosen and relax. She sighed deeply, and leaned back against the copper tub rim. She started up when she heard a light tap on the adjoining door.

“Victoria? Are you ready for me?” Why the devil had he phrased it like that?

“No,” she called, “not yet.”

“Is your ankle all right?”

“Yes, please, I'll just be a moment.”

He should have fetched a doctor, Rafael thought, staring at the closed door. But she seemed to have eased during their dinner. He turned back into his room and sat down, waiting. He was tired, weary to his bones. He was a long way from Falmouth and Lindy and a long way to London. A very long way.

When she called to him, he was half-asleep. He
blinked his eyes and wits awake and went to her. She was seated again in her chair, her nightgown covered by a very prim schoolgirl muslin dressing gown that was tied by a ladder of blue ribbons to her chin.

“How old are you?” he asked abruptly.

“Nearly nineteen. December the fifth.”

“In that maidenly casing you're wearing you look like a little girl. Didn't your cousin, my dear sister-in-law, clothe you properly? Aren't you to have a Season? Meet gentlemen, attend endless balls, and all that?”

“No, and I didn't expect to,” she said with no regret that he could detect. “You see, I thought I was the poor relation until I just happened to see—”

Her eyes widened as she realized what she'd given away. She ducked her head down, color rising on her cheeks. Stupid fool.

Rafael sighed. Trust, he supposed, was an elusive sort of thing. Not given lightly. And after all, he was the spitting image of his brother.

He let the fish gently off the hook. “You said you are going to London.”

She nodded, mute.

“You said you had business there. Relatives also?”

“No, no one. But you already guessed that, didn't you?”

He said very patiently, “Listen to me, my child; a young lady doesn't go alone anywhere. Look what very nearly happened to you tonight.”

“I shall be more careful in the future.”

“I applaud your courage, but your naiveté will bring you low.”

“I might not be of your advanced years, but I am not all that naive.”

“If not naive, then stupid.”

“That is unkind of you. I think I would rather fit the pattern card of naiveté than stupidity.”

He grinned and said without further consideration, “All right, dammit, I'll escort you to London.”

“Escort me? Are you certain? Are you jesting with me?”

“Do I sound like I'm carried away with hilarity?”

“No. Rafael, you don't mind, truly?”

He winced at the plea in her voice. “No, I don't mind. However, what am I going to do with you once we're there?”

Her chin went up. “I have someone to see there. After I have seen him, I shan't have to worry about money. I will be able to see to myself.”

Rafael wasn't either naive or stupid. “So you discovered you really aren't Elaine's poor relation?”

She paled under his interested gaze.

“I won't tell my brother. To tell you the truth, Victoria, there's little love lost between us. Now it's your turn for some home truths. Go ahead, I'm listening. You stole the twenty of Damien's pounds . . .”

“Yes, from Damien's strongbox, in his study. I will pay it back. It was then that I saw a packet of letters. One of them wasn't folded quite properly.”

“And you unfolded it unproperly?”

“I saw my name written on the unfolded part. It was to Damien from a solicitor in London. I'm not poor. I'm really quite well-off, it would appear. At least I hope I still am.”

“Damien is your guardian?”

“I don't know. I suppose so. He has never spoken of anything to me. No one told me I had any money. I guess it is from my mother's side of the family. Father had the good name, you see, but few farthings in his pockets.”

“I imagine that Damien has been making free with your funds,” Rafael said quietly, more to himself
than to her. “Hopefully he has shown some good sense in his financial dealings.” Rafael sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers, lightly tapping them together.

“I don't think so,” Victoria said in a morose voice. “The letter from the solicitor said something about his concern about the principal. I don't know anything more.”

“So you were going to leave Drago Hall even before you knew you were an heiress?”

“Yes. I really don't know if I'm what you would call an heiress. There is money, that's all I know.”

“You planned to escape with a paltry twenty pounds?”

“I had no choice. In my position, what would you have done?”

I would have beaten him senseless, Rafael wanted to say. But of course he was a man, a very strong man, not a young girl dependent on a man for the roof over her very head, the same man who also wanted to make her his mistress.

“I would have perhaps done the same.”

“No, you wouldn't have. You're just trying to make me feel better. Less naive, less stupid.”

“Victoria, you couldn't very well have coshed him on the head or planted your fist in his face. You did very well until the smugglers.”

“If it weren't for a kind Fate, I should be a morsel on this Bishop's plate.”

Rafael had never before been a kind Fate. It wasn't the worst thing a man could be. He grew thoughtfully silent and she watched in fascination as he began again to tap his fingertips rhythmically together. He was thinking that he was a bachelor, that he knew absolutely no proper female in London. He was at an impasse. Suddenly he remembered Lyon Ashton, the Earl of Saint Leven, laughingly telling
him of his tartar great-aunt, Lady Lucia Cranston. She lived in London, the old martinet, and tried to govern his life whenever he was within firing range. She had, Lyon said, decided that he and Diana Savarol would match up perfectly. And damn the old lady's hide, she'd been right.

“I know what to do now,” he announced, straightening.

At his smile, she stiffened a bit. “It is something proper, I trust, sir?”

“Pure as the driven snow. My idea, that is.”

“Well?”

He grinned as he rose. “I think I'll leave you in a bit of suspense. We'll leave early in the morning.” He paused, looking at her carefully. “I will hire a carriage.”

“I can ride.”

“It would take us three days' hard riding to reach London, perhaps even four.”

Victoria thought of her leg and the inevitable strain. She knew Rafael wouldn't think she was suffering again from a sprained ankle. Nor could she see herself limping into the solicitor's office. She sighed. “All right, a carriage, then. And, Rafael, I shall pay you back.”

“Of a certainty you will,” he said smoothly. “With interest from your immense fortune.”

“It might not be all that immense.”

“We shall see.”

“I shall see. Once you've escorted me to London, you can be on your way and well rid of me.”

“We shall see about that too.”

He turned slightly at the adjoining door. She was still seated in the chair, her profile turned toward him. Why the devil did he have this near-compulsion to kiss her and smooth her hair and tell her he would
give his life to protect her? I am becoming a half-wit, he told himself. She had a very stubborn jaw.

 

Elaine sat in front of her dressing table, rhythmically brushing her long hair. It was thick and black as a raven's wing and it was her vanity and a source of great pride. She saw her husband enter her room and said, “I simply don't understand it, Damien. How could Victoria be so ungrateful? Damaris is carrying on and Nanny Black can't quiet her.” She was studying him closely in the mirror, alert and watchful, but his expression didn't change.