Logan still stood by her side. “My wife and I were brought together by our shared love of the heavens and the stars that would daunt our night sky. The moon blessed our union.”
Feminine sighs rippled around the hall.
Logan addressed them. “This work was all my wife’s. She made the observations, and the credit is all hers. I wanted her to prove it by herself.”
To hide the tears of joy that sprang to her eyes, Damaris looked down at her notes. Twenty minutes had passed since she climbed onto the stage. She swallowed. Her husband was perfect in every way except one. She would learn to live with that, especially when he made such romantic pronouncements in public. She only wished he would make them in private.
Lord Macclesfield walked straight past Sir Peter to shake Logan’s hand and then Damaris’. “It appears I owe you an apology,” he said to her. “But now is not the time.” He raised his voice and addressed the crowd. “We owe her grace of Glenbreck a debt of gratitude. If it were not for her diligence, this country would have fallen behind in its search for accurate measurements. I perfectly understand how Sir Peter could have fallen into error and I am sure he will join with me in congratulating her grace.”
Now Damaris was blushing in earnest. She would have dearly loved to bury her face in Logan’s coat until she recovered but, instead, she faced the crowd and took her applause.
As he walked past Sir Peter, Logan turned his back on the audience and addressed him directly. “I know you stole her work. I know you tried to take credit for everything she has ever worked for. Now, after her exposition, everyone knows what you are. I’ll be doing everything in my power to see that your application to the Society is rejected. You are a fraud and a thief.”
As he led her back down the steps, Logan said in a voice of resignation, “I suppose you know that the whole world will say that I married a woman more clever than myself? I daresay I can live with that if you can.”
Even in her triumph, Damaris felt deep sadness for the failure of her marriage. They would become like so many other couples; united in public, but living separate lives. “Yes, but I do not know if I can live with everything else.”
Chapter Nineteen
Logan had heard his wife’s final words with a sense of foreboding. He could not allow this situation to continue. Besting his mother was only part of it. He had far more to do.
After an hour, they were finally cleared of the hall. He shook hands with Gerald and Annie, thanking them for taking care of Damaris. Gerald gave him a wry smile. “All three of my sisters are headstrong, but I would not change them for the world.”
“I got the best of them,” Logan said.
“If I am not mistaken,” Annie said, “you have some explaining to do.”
His spirits fell. He could not blame Damaris for telling her family of her troubles, but he would have preferred to have spoken to her first. His fault, everything was his fault. If he did not repair the damage now, he would lose her.
He helped Damaris into the town carriage and settled himself on the opposite seat. “I would appreciate a conversation with you. If you prefer to stay with your brother, I will understand and I will not stand in your way. But please listen to me first.”
She nodded, her face pale as if lit by the moon.
He said no more until they drew up outside the Glenbreck town house. She had said nothing, but sat, white-faced, clutching her file. He had no clue what she would say or decide to do, but he would find out soon enough. He hated uncertainty and hated what he had to do now, but he had no other choice.
The house was a scene of chaos. The orders he’d given were being diligently carried out, but there was more to it than that. His mother’s sharp–nosed maid was supervising two harassed footmen in their shirtsleeves carrying a traveling-trunk downstairs, and the sound of girlish sobs were coming from the front parlor. With an apologetic glance at Damaris, he waded into the fray. “Take that back up. You know better than to bring luggage down the front stairs.” He ignored the maid’s affronted glare.
The footmen sighed, but halted their progress and began to go the other way, with shouts of “To you!” And “Mind that corner!” Logan let them get away with that, because at least they were obeying him. The maid squawked, but when the footmen shot him a glance, he gave them a better glare than she could have mustered.
The large, faded rectangle on the wall showed where his father’s portrait had hung for far too long. He went back to Damaris and addressed the butler, the only person who possessed any degree of calm. “I take it my mother has decided to leave town?” He jerked his head towards the front parlor where his sister was weeping very loudly. “And she is taking Lady Georgiana with her?”
“Indeed, your grace.”
“Where does she intend to go?”
“The Scottish castle, your grace.”
Ah, that explained matters. Georgiana would hate being dragged from London, all the way to Inverness. That would destroy her chances of appearing at any country house party. Logan knew they had been invited to quite a few, and Georgiana had been looking forward to it.
Logan made an instant decision. “Request my mother’s presence downstairs, please.” He turned back to his wife, but then reconsidered. “Now. Tell her that if she is not in the front parlor in five minutes, she will have missed her opportunity to see me, and she must not expect to leave London at all this summer.”
That would please Georgiana more than spending the summer in the wilds of Scotland, and would annoy his mother. “I am sorry, Damaris.” He spoke to her directly. “May I ask you to wait on our business a mere quarter-hour?”
“Of course,” she said, her voice prim and quiet.
Ushering her into the parlor, he confronted his sister. “It’s all right, Georgie. Dry your eyes. You are not going to Inverness quite yet.”
Georgiana sniffled and peeked over the top of her lacy handkerchief, which appeared perfectly dry. “You promise?”
He nodded and ushered Damaris to a chair. He could not resist dropping a kiss on the top of her head, noting with pleasure that at least one of the servants knew where their priorities lay and had relieved her of her hat and gloves. Damaris blinked at him, eyes widened. But all he could do was give her a reassuring smile because, at that moment, his mother came through the door like a whirlwind.
She was, naturally, dressed for traveling. Her habit was a somber shade of purple, which she had enhanced by wearing no jewelry, paint or powder. She looked every inch the mourning widow. Logan had to admire her sense of drama.
“Madam.” He bowed. His sainted parent glared at Damaris, but Logan pressed his wife’s shoulder, preventing her from rising. He continued smoothly. “I fear you will not be traveling to Scotland today.”
“The yacht is in dock,” she said, “and I have sent orders for it to be prepared.”
“It will give the crew good exercise,” he replied. “Of course you may use it, but only as far as Edinburgh. You have forgotten, madam, that you are the dowager duchess, not the duchess. I have to remind you of what I said earlier today. By the terms of your marriage settlement, you are entitled to use the Dower House for your lifetime, and the manor in Hampshire. You must decide which to visit now. I offer the use of the Edinburgh house, if you wish.”
The dowager duchess’ eyes flashed. “You meant it? You are restricting me to those hovels?”
“I would hardly call them hovels. If you had more care to Georgiana’s position, I might have reconsidered your situation. However, madam, this is nothing more than a sulk.”
“You poor, sainted father—”
“Would have taken solace in the arms of his latest mistress, which you know quite well. Your campaign to beatify him has worked reasonably well, but while several of his by-blows continue to populate the social scene, people are not likely to forget.” He would rather Damaris had not heard that part of his unsavory history in public. Her gasp was testament to her shock, but he could not afford to stop now.
His mother would likely castigate him as a cold-hearted, uncaring son to her many acquaintances, including the Duchess of Illingworth, Lady Elizabeth Askew’s mother.
That could not be helped. But he had warned her against it, and he would take steps if his mother continued to defy him. “I would prefer to hear that you have decided to go to one of the country parties you have been invited to. That would give Georgie the opportunity to further the acquaintances she has made since her come-out. However, if you prefer Hampshire or even Edinburgh, I can do nothing to stop you.” He glanced at the table that usually held a collection of relics of his father. They were, thankfully, gone.
His mother sniffed. “Do you have no respect?”
“A great deal of it. More than my father had for you.”
The dowager duchess sent a pointed stare at Damaris, who sat calmly, one hand laid on top of the other. “Do you have to do this now?” The implication was in front of someone who was not family.
“Madam, my father worked hard for the estate and the title, and I am fully aware that I am reaping the benefit of that. I do my best to continue his good work. However, as a man, he was sadly lacking. Society bows to your desire to make him a saint, but none are taken in. So I do this with a loving heart. The houses will be stripped of all except what is proper to show him respect. His portrait will always have a place in the gallery where family paintings are displayed. His improvements will be acknowledged. But that is all. I will no longer tolerate every house I own containing relics of his presence. His clothes will be delivered to you to do with as you wish. I will be occupying the ducal apartments in the houses, as is right and proper. Naturally, you will have time to move to the dowager’s rooms. I would not inconvenience you more than I have to. And you will not be going to Inverness with my sister today. She will remain here to continue her season. Is that clear?”
Leaving his mother open-mouthed, he held out his hand to Damaris. “Come, my dear. I daresay we will have to shift for ourselves in my old apartment for the time being, but I promise you that state of affairs will not continue.” He sent his sister a smile. Georgiana was gazing at him as if the sun shone out of his eyes. At least he’d gained one supporter.
“I will leave you to make your decisions, madam. If you stay, you accept Damaris’ jurisdiction. If you leave, you will behave as befits the Dowager Duchess of Glenbreck. You will not gossip or spread scurrilous stories. Is that clear?”
Getting all his concerns off his chest had done him no end of good. He had no doubt that his mother would still leave the house, but he would not allow her to martyr his sister as well as herself. To wave the prospect of house parties and friends in front of Georgiana’s nose and then snatch them away would have been beyond cruel. At least in Edinburgh, Georgiana would have the company of Scottish society, but he rather suspected his mother would select the most prestigious house party and elect to go there instead.
Logan had more important considerations, and he would put them off no longer.
Damaris allowed him to help her up, and then he tucked her hand under his arm and walked her from the room.
Outside, servants were less in evidence, but that space where his father’s portrait used to hang would have to be taken care of. It could wait for a day. Leading Damaris upstairs, he started for the drawing room, but recalled his father’s portraits and the relics there. Every room in the house had reminders of his deceased parent, except for one. He took her to his bedroom, which he’d had cleared of memorials years ago. Nobody would have reason to come in here.
He closed the door and locked it, letting her see him place the key on a small table next to it. “That is to keep people out, not to keep you in.”
A smile kicked up the corners of her mouth. “I assumed so.”
He returned the smile with a wry one of his own.
She twisted her hands together in her lap, inordinately interested in her rings. “I will not object if you choose to follow your father’s example.”
The words fell like lead into his soul. “Would you not? Why is that?”
She swallowed. “I have no right after what I did, leaving you like that. No claim on you.”
“I understand.”
Her head jerked up. Her eyes were swimming with unshed tears and her voice was thick with them when she said, “I don’t deserve that you do. What you did today was more than enough. I would have become an object of ridicule. Logan, I was so angry. I would have shouted and ranted. Made a complete fool of myself.”
“You could never do that, sweetheart.” He knelt before her, and took her hands in his.
The first tear tumbled from her eyes. “Your arrival gave me a moment to collect my thoughts, and I saw how I could show that Sir Peter stole my figures.”
“You made an excellent account of yourself. You did not need me at all.” He didn’t let the second tear fall, but caught it on his forefinger. “Please don’t cry, Damaris. I cannot bear it. I should be the one making the apology.”
His thoughts tumbled over each other, and he understood what she meant, but he had nobody to stop him. Besides, he didn’t care if he made a fool of himself. “Damaris, I know I said I could not love you, but I was wrong. I was fighting it, that was all. But I learned that love does not answer to reason or convenience. It just is. If you find I have hurt you so much that you don’t care for my presence, I will go. But please don’t ask me to. I want to stay, I want to give you the world. Please forgive me, my love.”
She touched her fingers to his lips. He kissed them. “Say it again.”
He knew the part she wanted. “I love you.” He spoke with her fingers still touching him, and when she tried to take them away, he raised his hand to shackle her wrist. Lightly, so she could pull away if she wanted to.
She did not. “As you said, love just is.” She snagged his gaze. “Of course I love you.”
He released her wrist, but only to curve his hand around her neck and bring her closer for a kiss.
To Damaris, it was their first kiss all over again. That gentle embrace in the garden returned to her as if they had come full circle and were starting again. He tilted his head to seal their mouths more securely together. She clutched his arms, and his muscles tensed under the cloth. His soft moan encompassed her whole body, sinking deep. He licked her, stroking her tongue, their intimate embrace only driving her to want more.
She wasn’t sure when they stood, but their passion transmitted to hard, urgent need. She dragged his coat off, and he pulled at her fichu until it gave way, the fine fabric ripping as he freed it from her gown. Their frenzied need, entirely mutual, drove them to more frantic attempts to reach the body beneath the trappings.
Damaris had no idea how long it took them to unhook, unbutton, unlace and tear at recalcitrant garments until they gave way, but they managed to strip one another. Then their hands went to work, stroking bare skin. When he kissed her neck, Damaris leaned her head back and groaned.
He urged her backward until she lay flat on the bed, her legs dangling over the edge. When he nudged her legs apart, she opened them willingly. “I need you now.”
“Not as much as I need you, my love.” He joined them with one smooth stroke, not stopping until they were fully connected. He watched the joining, which made her arousal shoot up. He could see everything, and she wanted him to. She would do anything for her husband, the man she loved, and revel in every single moment.
How could she not forgive him? Although if this was how he made up to her, she would try to manufacture a few more arguments.
He raised his attention to her face, and a slow smile broke out. She recalled the first time she’d seen him, when he’d appeared so stern, until the smile had transformed his expression. So much had changed since then, and so little. “I love you,” he said. “It seems the only thing worth saying.”
“Then show me.” She wanted him so much she could hardly breathe. It wasn’t the powerful shoulders, the chest rippling with muscle, softened by dark
hair, the slim hips and strong thighs. It was him, the essence of him, the man inside. That was the man she loved. Of course, having him wrapped in such a delectable form did not go amiss.
“Hold on then, sweetheart.”
She curled her hands around the edge of the bed just before he drew back and powered back into her. The slam of their bodies connecting sent her up into a spiral that could only end one way. Her breasts bounced with every hard, deliberate stroke, until she lifted her legs, wrapped them around his waist and reached for him. He pulled her up, none too gently, and held her while he drove her to madness and beyond.
Damaris did not attempt to muffle her cry when her body convulsed, leaving her momentarily helpless in his arms. But he did not stop. When she moaned her protest, he stopped them with a kiss. She could not bear it. And then she could, and he was taking her to an unknown place.
Gasping and crying in ecstasy, they pulsed, clutching each other as they reached the heavens yet one more time.
Somehow, Logan managed to get them both into bed, she wasn’t sure how. He cradled her in his arms, as tender now as he’d been all-consuming a moment before. Murmuring their love, they curled up together.
“I missed you,” she said.
“I know. I’m sorry. I was trying to create a distance. I thought that I was being kind.” He gave a harsh laugh. “I was only punishing both of us.”
“When did you know?” She traced a pattern on the damp hair on his chest.
He moaned softly. “Keep that up, madam, and I can’t be responsible for the consequences. I knew when my friend Callum, the son of the man I’d gone to say goodbye to, told me. He has been married this last five years and is devoted to his wife. He told me I was a fool, and I should hurry back to beg your forgiveness as soon as possible, if not before. I did, but you had gone.”
A Hint of Starlight Page 27
