Twice Fallen (27 page)

Luke Daudet was a tall man—they were of a height,
and he was fair in comparison to Regina’s rich dark hair, but they had the same signature eyes of that crystal gray color that was so unusual. James stood quickly as Madeline rose. She said, “I think there was a hint of dismissal in your tone, darling, but I am going to forgive you because it is time for my afternoon nap.”

“I wouldn’t dare ever dismiss you, which you know, my love.” Lord Altea’s smile was affectionate. “But”—he pulled out his pocket watch theatrically and opened it—“it does seem to be four hours since your last nap, so you must be exhausted.”

Her dark blond brows drew together. “Trust me, if
you
could have this child, I would arrange it.”

When she left in a swirl of silk and disappeared through the French doors back into the house, Regina’s brother sat down, eschewed tea altogether and poured whiskey into his cup, then said dryly, “If it were possible, I think she would.”

James looked him in the eye. “And if you could do it for her, wouldn’t you?”

Luke sprawled back in his chair and lifted his brows. “The image it brings to mind is a bit disconcerting, but yes, of course. Childbirth is not without its dangers.”

“Regina mentioned your wife was breeding.”

“And since my sister does not gift casual acquaintances with personal disclosures, I assume the reason she told you is because you aren’t a casual acquaintance at all.”

“I certainly hope not.”

Men didn’t need to fence and riposte in the same way females chose to avoid confrontation. Altea, if James had to judge, was neither friendly nor antagonistic.

Luke murmured, “So you are my sister’s lover and the father of her child. She must have told you.”

“What if she hadn’t?” James adopted the same cool tone.

“Regina would never keep the pregnancy a secret.” Her brother’s conviction was unmistakable in the firmness of his tone. “When her mother did that to our father, it cost her five years of childhood memories of him before he found her. No, she informed you of the coming child, and that, of course, is why you are here.”

In the past, they’d known each other on very casual terms as members of the same club and the same circles on a social basis. Not friends, but not strangers either, Luke Daudet having spent years in Spain and only returned from the war within the last two. James liked him, but he didn’t really know him.

“Just the other evening, I asked her to marry me. I would have asked her before except I was certain it would make her cut me immediately out of her life.”

Short and heartfelt. If Regina’s brother didn’t believe him, so be it, but he wanted to make his position clear to her family.

“Very astute,” Luke said finally, his tall body relaxing a little. “God help me if I have a plethora of daughters. I already have two sisters and a wife. More than enough females for one man. What are your plans?”

“Plans?” James gave a short, mirthless laugh. “If we have plans, I am not privy to them. That is part of the reason I’m here.”

“I see.”

“Do you?”

“I’ve known Regina my whole life.”

That was a valid point. James stared at the tips of his boots, trying to recall the clever speech he had at the ready before he arrived. “I’m at a loss,” he finally admitted. “I’m afraid I’ll lose her, lose my child… I can’t—I won’t—coerce her into an arrangement she doesn’t want, but I don’t want to make the mistake of not doing my best to persuade her.”

“I hope that’s sincere.” Luke gazed at him over the rim of his cup.

James looked back steadily, forcing himself to sit politely when what he truly wanted was to get up and pace. “It is.”

After a moment of consideration, the other man nodded.

“I can talk to her.” James managed to hold on to his composure. “That isn’t why I’m here. I don’t need an advocate.”

“Clarify and I will do my best to help.”

James focused his gaze on the nearby park, the grandly held branches of the trees green, the air fragrant. “I don’t know how to proceed. I’m not asking you to intervene on my behalf, but just for some advice. As you said, you’ve known her longer. She stated frankly I shouldn’t feel trapped, and I never would, but I think it might be the other way around.” He paused and waited a moment before saying with as much detachment as possible, though it was difficult, as he was anything but distant from the situation, “I know the reasons she lists for not having married. Her freedom, her financial stability, her art… but there’s something more, isn’t there?”

Regina’s brother considered him from across the table, the muted sounds of birds in the trees in the background,
the breeze moving softly. Eventually he sighed. “Damnation, you don’t ask much, do you? She won’t thank me if I tell you. It’s extremely personal.”

“More personal than her carrying my child?”

“You have a valid point, but I don’t interfere in her life.”

He hadn’t come there lightly, and though he couldn’t force Altea into any confidences, James could be frank about his position. “I didn’t either, before now. She isn’t alone in this.”

“No, she doesn’t seem to be.” Luke Daudet fingered his whiskey glass and then said in a neutral voice, “It happened when she was barely seventeen. On a visit to our aunt in Bath, she caught the eye of a French aristocrat named Fortescue. His family had been slaughtered in the Terror and he fled to England. He was waiting to see how high Bonaparte’s star would rise, I suppose, before he risked his neck trying to retrieve his estates. He was a royalist, though he was adaptable enough to become a favorite of the empress when he did return to France. Loyalty was not apparently his forte.” Luke’s smile was brittle. “And while he waited for his country’s destiny to be decided, he was inclined to amuse himself with Regina. He was handsome, charming, flatteringly attentive, and she was very young and idealistic.”

“He seduced her.” James said it flatly, a tiny white-hot flame flickering in his brain that might have been jealousy or anger, or a combination of both.

“Why not?” Luke asked sardonically. “After all, she was just the illegitimate offspring of a Frenchwoman who had become the mistress of an English lord, born into sin and destined for a similar fate as her mother, or
so he scornfully told her when he discontinued the affair and left her heartbroken and disillusioned.”

“That
bastard
.” It surprised even him that he had such a violent reaction. James normally was even-tempered and in control, but he felt a surge of murderous rage. He could only imagine the humiliation and pain. It was no wonder she guarded herself so closely.

“He’s dead.” Luke reached over and helped himself to more whiskey.

That was satisfying. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask how he might know that, but James managed to not articulate the question, something about the tight line of Luke’s jaw telling him more information was not forthcoming. Instead, he moodily contemplated the line of trees beyond the formal gardens. “Thank you for telling me.”

“I told you for her sake,” Regina’s brother said succinctly. “What are you going to do?”

“If I knew,” James informed him, “I wouldn’t be here, trying to gather information. I suppose now I understand a bit more her wariness, but that was a long time ago.”

“You do not get over that first foray into love. Years pass, but the memory does not fade.”

The words were said in a pragmatic, even tone, but it wasn’t hard to discern Luke spoke with some authority on the subject.

“This is my first experience,” James told him simply.

It was true. There had been some memorable moments as he’d grown into adulthood; he’d seduced and been seduced, and the ladies of his acquaintance who had graced his bed had given him pleasure, but all had
been transient interludes, designed to please them both but never destined to go any further.

“Regina’s was very painful. That was when she threw herself into her painting. I am enough younger I didn’t really realize at the time what had happened, but I did notice she’d changed. She was still very much a free spirit, but certainly not a carefree one.”

It was easy enough, considering her obsession with her art, to see her seek solace in her work. James could picture her at such a young age.… She was beautiful now; no doubt she’d been just as stunning then but in a different way, fresh and inexperienced, yet adventurous enough to allow herself to be seduced.

“I am younger than she is also,” James murmured, thinking back over their last conversation. “It bothers her, not me. I don’t care. I’ve told her, seven years… it’s nothing. Certainly not a rational argument against accepting my proposal.”

“She’s emotional from the pregnancy,” Luke informed him with an ironic lift of his brow. “It is, I’m informed, part of the process.”

“
I
wish to be part of the process,” James said then, his conviction clear. He did. This was his babe on the way, and Regina was the first woman he’d ever loved. It should be simple and she was making it complicated. He wasn’t titled, but he was currently the heir apparent to an earldom, and while he wasn’t fabulously wealthy, he wasn’t a pauper either by any means.

“Some would call you a fool. She’s giving you a chance to walk away from her unexpected pregnancy and the burden of it all.”

Lord Altea might taunt him, but escape held no appeal.
“No,” James responded with quiet intensity. “Never. It isn’t a burden and I want our child. I want
her
.”

“Good.” Luke slid a little lower in his chair in seeming casualness, as if something in him had relaxed, his eyes narrowed against the slanting sun. “Stay for dinner and the night. You’ll get back to London after midnight if you leave now.”

“Thank you, but I must decline.” James rose, not exactly lighthearted, but lighter, his understanding clearer. “I would, but I want to make sure she doesn’t think that now that she’s told me, I’m avoiding her. I need to see Regina.”

“Not a bad strategy.”

“Do you think she’ll agree to a marriage between us?”

“If you’ll excuse the painful honesty, I don’t know.”

It
was
painful, but then again, he didn’t know either.

James had to ask, “Once again, any advice?”

“Treat her as an equal and yet care for her. It is a delicate balance, but she deserves it.”

A good point and James didn’t disagree. He stopped in the act of the leaving the terrace, turning around. “You’re sure Fortescue is dead?” James asked matter-of-factly, for really, France was not that far.

Viscount Altea said with soft, emphatic certainty, “Oh, yes, I’m sure.”

H

Damien edged forward, his back to the brick wall but not touching the filthy surface, his hand clasped around the hilt of his knife. This was what he did, he thought as he stood there, veiled in shadows.

He hunted
.

Would he be willing to relinquish the sport for a tamer existence and a wife and family?
Yes
.
No
.
Maybe
, but that was not the issue at hand.

Kinkannon lived out on the fringe of the nobility in a neighborhood that wasn’t quite fashionable but certainly close, in a town house that had black shutters on the windows and a neat walkway up to the front. At the moment there were no lights visible behind the curtains.

Yet Damien knew the owner was at home.

A perfect time for a visit.

He skirted the shadowed street and went around to the small back garden. The windows were latched but not securely enough if someone with a modicum of determination and skill wanted entrance. He managed it
with ease, opening one of the long windows into what proved to be a breakfast room, and slipped inside.

Often—all too often when in the business of gathering intelligence—he’d found himself wondering why he was pursuing a certain angle of investigation. It was no different now as he crossed the shrouded room and cracked the door. It led into a hallway, shadowed and cool, and he moved into the darkness, quiet as a cat, though he had to admit he was aware of his damned crippled leg. Escape was for the fleet of foot. He needed to make sure he gained—and kept—the upper hand.

Sharpe had gleaned a little information about the blackmail scheme, but to their mutual surprise, not all that much. On the surface, it was straightforward. Young men who got themselves in trouble were the target. Kinkannon approached them with the threats, extorting money.…

Just men? Maybe, as Lily had pointed out, that was because young women usually had very little in the way of funds at their disposal.

Damien’s instincts told him they were missing a bit of the puzzle.

Confronting Kinkannon was the logical way to resolve this nasty little scheme. The man was a thug in tailored clothing, not a mastermind, and accomplices in schemes of his sort rarely held loyalty very deep. Damien hadn’t acted before now because he was still not quite sure what he was looking for. However, considering that Kinkannon had boasted to Cyrene’s young ladies that he would soon be a rich man, that presented a certain unsettling clue that the situation needed to be resolved in a timely manner.

Up the stairs—he’d memorized the interior as described to Sharpe by a chambermaid—and he reconnoitered the hall, finding the door he wanted.

Damien tested the handle. Not locked. Noiselessly, Damien opened it enough for him to have a narrow view of the room.

That was more than enough.

Kinkannon was there, and though he couldn’t be sure these were Cyrene’s girls—Delilah was not one of them—two young ladies, also naked, entwined in the shambles of the bed. At the moment, the two women were engaged with each other and Kinkannon, naked and aroused, watched from a propped position against the pillows, his fingers idly tracing the length of his erection.

There was a distinct haze in the air.

Opium, Damien mused, the habit pervasive enough that Kinkannon could watch and become aroused but not participate, which would account for his desire to have two bedmates instead of one. The smoke in the room bore out the assumption, the odor cloying.