by Kate Rolin
“And, will you? Will you return?” She whispered the words and Damon could feel her warm breath on his chin as she looked up at him.
A tiny sliver of moonlight shone on her face through the leaves and he could feel his pulse quicken. “I will. But not for the beauty I spoke of. I find the beauty of the people, of one in particular, far surpasses even the grandest surroundings of nature. Argel, I…” Damon could control himself no longer. He lowered his mouth to Argel’s and gently kissed her, her lips soft and warm just as he’d imagined them to be.
He knew himself. There would be no going back for him now. His obsessive nature wouldn’t allow it, but he didn’t care. Everything about Argel—her goodness, her beauty, her innocence—it was all what he was not and he craved her for it.
And this fact reminded him that she was not his—she did not yet belong to him.
It took every wrenching ounce of self-control to pull away. When he did, he felt her fall towards him, a soft moan on her lips, indicating she was not ready for the separation either.
As quick as the lightning yesterday, he kissed her again, this time crushing his mouth to hers. It was frantic, the familiar need to conquer consuming him. She tasted divine, a flowery scent tingling his senses as he plundered her mouth. He could feel her small hands grasping his coat, pulling him closer until no space remained between them.
Damon shifted, backing her up against the tree, bracing himself with both hands on either side of her head against the rough trunk as he willingly conceded under her spell.
He had moved his lips to her neck, so warm, when she softly gasped, “Damon!”
He paused, fists clenched against the tree, their labored breathing the only sound in the night air. Control. He was losing control—something he couldn’t afford. Agonizing seconds ticked by, and at last he pulled away, groaning.
What was he doing?
Never again, he’d vowed, would he relinquish his control to a woman. Love was only for fools…
And, yet, here he was.
“Argel, I—” he panted, breathless, “forgive me. You must know, I am a very…passionate person by nature.”
“You don’t say,” she breathed, sounding dazed.
His fingers tightened around her arms where he now held her, her sultry voice making his blood sing in his veins. “I would have never taken advantage of you,” he said hoarsely. “I’m afraid I am a man who is relentless in going after what I want once I find it.
“And, Argel, I want you.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Argel’s head felt swimmy like Cefin’s pet frog, still swooning after the glorious kiss. Was kiss even an adequate word for such a passionate embrace? This dark stranger had drawn her in, lured her with kindness, somehow convinced her to reveal her deepest, darkest secret—and was now telling her that he wanted her.
Goodness. Never had she even been kissed before.
Perhaps he was some supernatural being after all.
She nearly laughed at the thought—and at herself. Two days. She had only known him for two days, and yet, she found she didn’t care. He was the most exciting thing to have ever happened to her. Already, she craved his presence, and now, his touch. She felt a safety with him that was non-confining, unlike the beautiful mountains surrounding Beddgelert.
Taking a deep breath, she whispered, “Damon, I-I want you too.” His grip on her arms suddenly tightened at her soft-spoken statement.
Silence greeted her. For a moment, panic began to rise. Had she misheard him? Dreamed his words? Spoken her thoughts foolishly aloud?
“I think ’tis best if we go now,” came his deep voice, husky to her own ears. Reassuring. Gently, he lifted her up. Despite the use of his cloak, her skirts were still damp from the night grass, but she did not care one whit at the moment.
They walked the remainder of the way to her abode slowly, neither speaking a word until they reached her doorstep. For the first time, the thought of entering her home alone made Argel feel…lonely. She hesitated, standing there with Damon instead. Looking up at him, she smiled—perhaps what she had feared yesterday to be a foreboding was actually a promise of good. Perhaps her own refuge had come at last.
Tentatively, she reached up, smoothing the deep lines in his forehead away with her fingers. His narrow eyes became hooded, never leaving her face as she worked, when suddenly he firmly grasped wrist, slowly bringing it to his lips. Sparks shot through her arm, causing her to jump. This was all so new to her—new, but not unpleasant.
On the contrary.
“Argel, this is your chance. If you wish to be left alone, you may say so.” His dark eyes bore into her own, as if he could see into her soul. Argel shivered. “Otherwise,” he continued, “know this: I am not a man to be trifled with. I find what I want and will not stop until it is mine. Were you to change your mind a day, a week, a year from now, I would pursue you to the ends of the earth. I am relentless, driven, obsessive—all things that have served me well in business. That also means I am faithful, unchanging—you need never fear where my loyalties lie. Once I have what I want, I never let it go. I cherish what I possess.”
Argel’s breath stuck, her legs feeling wobbly like a new lamb’s beneath her.
“So, again, this is your one chance Argel. If you wish me gone from your life, ’tis your choice—but I won’t ask you again.”
Choice.
Fate had given her little to no choice as to the direction of her life after the fire—a fair punishment. Yet, here this man stood, offering one to her—which made her want him all the more.
“May I visit you tomorrow, Argel? Before your work shift?” His deep voice came slowly, cautiously.
Her heart beat frantically in her chest. It was all her choice. Argel sensed that either way she could answer would seal her future somehow, and in that moment she knew she didn’t want that to be one without him. “Yes,” she nodded, “You can find me at the old widow’s place tomorrow. I’ve a need to visit her again.”
She felt his gloved hands grip her arms again, his dark eyes searching her face. “You are sure? I won’t ask it again. This is your choice?”
“Yes, Damon,” she breathed. “I choose you.”
Those eyes of his widened so that even the moonlight reflected in them. “So be it,” he murmured as they narrowed once more. His lips curled into a slow smile then before he bent to claim her own for another kiss.
For just a moment, one thought fought its way to the forefront of her mind: Argel couldn’t help but feel that perhaps she had just made a deal with the devil.
And she found she didn’t care.
Chapter Four
After a rather peaceful night kept company by dreams of Damon and kisses and trees in the moonlight, Argel readied for the day, preparing to make her way to the old widow’s house.
It was a bit later in the morning than she’d intended, but she had one last piece of mending to finish first. The poor widow needed the few items sooner rather than later, which was why Argel was making another trip so soon. Usually, she only had to endure the would-be matchmaker’s lecture once a week.
Perhaps with Damon there, it would put a halt to the old woman’s discourse. Although, she would be mortified if the widow assumed too much about Damon and discussed such things as a betrothal or impending marriage instead.
Was she betrothed? To a man she barely knew? Argel paused, needle held still, as she contemplated the matter.
Again.
Truthfully, she wasn’t sure. It seemed as if that was his intention in his offered choice last night. He wasn’t going anywhere, ever—if she hadn’t misunderstood his words.
If.
If she had really been listening to him. If she had not been simply caught up in emotion. If it had not all just been a glorious dream.
Well, there was only one way to know for sure—talk to the man. Argel sat up straighter and worked quickly to finish her task at hand.
At last
, she had her basket ready and set it on the table as she went to retrieve her shaw. The sun was shining, but it was still early enough that the morning breeze would be cool.
Her reflection in the small looking glass caught the corner of her eye as she hurried by, giving her pause. She turned her head this way and that, making sure her mousy brown curls were under control as much as possible, and gave her cheeks a small pinch for color.
Would Damon already be there, conversing with the old widow? Or would he be stopping by later, no doubt to be subject to the widow’s discourse on Argel’s need for a husband? What would she say when she saw him? Would they speak about what happened last night?
She smiled at her reflection, too distracted to be overly critical. Last night, oh, she had never felt anything like that before! If what Damon had said was what she thought he’d meant, she may very well have that elusive husband after all.
Wouldn’t the widow be happy?
Her reflection blushed in the glass as Argel thought on what it would be like to be married to such a man—so sure and confident, yet kind. Handsome, tall, and strong. Only last night he’d had his arms around her. What would it be like to—
Argel shook her head. It was far too early in the day to think such…such thoughts. Best to be on her way, she was late enough as it was.
Turning, she grabbed her basket, reached for the door and—
Oh!
“Uncle! You’re home!” Argel jumped back from nearly colliding with the man—her one living relative, her blood, her family.
“Argel,” the graying man smiled warmly, opening his arms for her.
Without hesitation, she embraced him. “Oh, Uncle, I wasn’t expecting you for weeks! But I’m so glad you’ve come. Oh, I’ve missed you so!”
“Argel, love,” he laughed in between coughs, “you’re choking me dear. There now, that’s better. Now, come inside and tell me all I’ve missed—unless you were going somewhere?” He eyed her basket.
Argel turned and looped an arm through her Uncle’s, returning inside. “Only the widow’s place, but I can take her mending over later. Oh Uncle, I do have some exciting news! A friend of yours is here, come all the way from England to Beddgelert!”
Her uncle, who had seemed quite glad to be home, though a little tired, suddenly stilled, his matching brown eyes cutting to hers. “W-what? A…a friend, you say?” He sounded more nervous than Wynny that time they traveled too far into the woods one night.
Odd.
“Yes,” Argel answered slowly. She returned her basket to the table before turning to smile at the man. “A business associate, rather. Said he’s known you for a few years now.” The more she spoke, the worse he looked. “I couldn’t think where you would have possibly met him, but I assumed at one of the markets you—”
“Argel,” he cut in sharply.
Was that sweat beading on his forehead? “Uncle, aren’t you feeling well? You look…pale. Here, sit down, let me get you some wat—”
“I don’t need to sit down!” He pushed her hand away, before grabbing her shoulders. “Now, Argel, love, who is this…friend?”
“Mr. Westlake. Come all the way from London!”
She watched as her uncle paused. “Erm, Westlake you say?”
“Yes, Westlake. Mr. Damon Westlake.”
At that, her uncle blanched. “Argel, we must leave at once,” he whispered urgently as he began to look around the small cottage, hands trembling. “We must, we must leave here. Quick! Gather your things. Food, anything!”
Argel merely stared. “Uncle, what is this? What’s—”
“Argel, now!” he turned and roared at her.
She turned without another word as her mind raced, unsure of what was happening. Her uncle had never spoken to her so. And, go? Go where? She had never ventured beyond Beddgelert since arriving as a child. It wasn’t safe for her, that’s what her uncle had been protecting her from all these years.
Before she could even feel excitement over the prospect of finally seeing beyond the bordering mountains, a thundering racket caused her to jump, squealing as she turned to the source. “Oh, Damon,” she was relieved, but startled and breathless, “it’s you!”
There he stood, fists on his hips, his broad frame filling the doorway. The door had flown open, and was gently tapping against the wall following the initial beating. Despite the sunshine, he looked as intimidating as on the stormy day she had first met him.
Something metal fell to the floor just then, breaking the silence, followed by a whimper. Uncle?
“Argel,” Damon calmly spoke to her, voice low, but his eyes remained on the other occupant in the room, “I see your uncle has returned.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Damon had awoken with the sun, his mood just as bright. Eagerly, he had readied, leaving the hotel without breakfast or even seeing Pendenny. Walking through the village, he stopped at the cobbler’s shop to ask for directions to the widow’s house.
Did the old woman even have a name?
Before he could head in the indicated direction, Cefin had walked up, wanting to show Damon some odd-looking rocks that he had found, apparently no longer considering him an evil being to avoid. Damon couldn’t resist the boy’s eagerness and followed him to the other side of the road.
He smiled distractedly as the child chattered on, his mind drifting to Argel.
He knew himself, knew full well that she had quickly become his newest obsession, one he would never relent from. Even now, remembering her breathless words from last night, I choose you, sent the thrill of conquest through his veins.
He was just about to interrupt as little Cefin continued on about rocks and rivers and mud and frogs and the wagon that had nearly run one over just minutes ago…
“Did you see the culprit Cefin?” Damon patiently asked, deciding it better to go along with the lad’s story.
“Oh, you mean who was driving? It was Mr. Phillips, he’s back early,” the lad eagerly supplied.
Damon’s heart instantly stilled. His blood ran cold, and though Cefin continued on, his mind had one focus: Phillips. Returned. Revenge.
He gently patted Cefin’s head and turned, instead making his way to Argel’s home. He should really get Pendenny first, but that could wait. He’d waited long enough to face the scoundrel, and he would wait no longer.
His long stride carried him to the house swiftly and he flung open the door, waiting for no one. Argel’s gasp registered somewhere in his mind and he had to work to keep his eyes focused instead on the lowlife who had been responsible for cheating him of not only money, but the past two years of his life as well.
Damon unclenched his fists to flex his fingers, knuckles popping as he did so, and slowly stepped into the room. He had to duck to avoid hitting his head on the low ceiling, but he never once took his eyes off the sniveling man who was shaking like the coward he was.
“Black. Jack. Phillips.” He paused by the table, a snarl on his lips, “I see that you have arrived—and so has your day of reckoning, it would seem.”
The trembling man before him had aged a good bit since he’d last seen him. A bit more gray could be found in his hair, and his skin had darkened some from his apparent time spent out-of-doors here, making his thin scar even more noticeable. He had always been a man of average everything: height, build, brown hair and eyes. All things that made it easier for him to blend in and elude, but no longer.
“Damon?” The quiet voice gave him pause. “What is this?”
Argel.
It pained him for her to have to witness this retribution, to find out in such a way just what kind of man her uncle was, but it was too late—it must be done.
Before he could speak, he noticed a flicker, an awareness flash in Black Jack’s eyes, and Damon knew—he knew that the cunning man sensed a connection between Damon and his niece and he would try to use that to his advantage.
No longer trembling, now with a possib
ility of a way out, the man’s eyes flicked to Argel. “Argel, love, ’tis a misunderstanding is all. Be a good girl and go on to—”
“’Tis no misunderstanding,” Damon roared. “’Tis the fact that I’ve been cheated and have come for what is rightfully mine!”
“I thought you said that-that you were a friend of my uncle?”
The confusion in her sweet voice tore at him with guilt, yet he refused to take his eyes off the man before him. “I said business associate. You assumed friend.”
“You didn’t correct me,” she accused.
He narrowed his gaze on Phillips while he calmly answered her. “I said nothing wrong. This matter is between your uncle and myself anyhow. It does not concern you. You are innocent in this. Your uncle will be reckoned with and I will see to your own welfare.”
“You hear that Argel?” the man cried, a nasty gleam in his eye. “He tends to harm me—us! Whatever he’s told you, he’s lying!”
Damon felt his anger surge and he pounced forward to grasp the vermin by his shirt collar. “Why you—!”
“Stop it! Stop it!” Argel’s voice firmly rang through the air, finally bidding Damon to look at her.
When he did, his resolve waned—just as he knew it would.
“There! You see, girl? He intends to harm me!”
“Shut up,” Damon growled, whipping his head back to his victim. “It seems that your niece is unaware of your other…activities. Let’s enlighten her, shall we?”
“Argel, don’t list—”
“I said shut up!” Damon pulled out a chair from the nearby table and threw Phillips into it. Straightening, he took a deep breath. “Argel,” he said softly, “have a seat. There’s much to discuss.”
Looking over at her ashen face as she slowly sat down, he clinched his jaw and remained standing. Without a doubt, he knew she was his newfound weakness.
Deciding not to waste any more time, he got straight to the point. “Your uncle here came to me nearly three years ago at my office in London. I should first explain that I am a financier, a capitalist—I make my living from investments made, businesses backed, and loans repaid to me with interest.
