Anne Herries

by Rosalynand the Scoundrel

  At least she was financially independent—her father had seen to that years ago. She would not be able to afford a house like this, of course—but she might buy a medium-sized cottage or even a house in Bath.

  Either would be preferable to living with Aunt Susan or her brother. The trouble was, of course, that she was far too independent. Perhaps that was why she had never married.

  A picture of a man’s face flashed into her mind and she sighed. There was no point in thinking of Mr Wrexham. She had not met him on any of her walks or rides these past days, which seemed to indicate that he might be avoiding her.

  She had sent him an invitation to her dinner for the following night, but so far he had not answered. It was her own fault. She must have shown her feelings too plainly the last time they met. Since he did not wish to become more involved with a woman who was too old to be thinking of marriage, Mr Wrexham had clearly decided to stay away from her as much as possible.

  Chapter Four

  Damian threw off his capped travelling cloak as he entered the hall. He greeted the housekeeper with a nod, answering her kind inquiry about his journey pleasantly, before striding into the study where a cold meal and wine awaited his coming. There was also a roaring fire in the large open hearth, which was welcome after a long, hard ride.

  He had made a brief, angry inspection of the property left to him by his grandfather, and returned to the Hall almost immediately. He was tired and frustrated by what he had seen—the neglect of a once great estate—and did not immediately bother with the small pile of invitations awaiting him on his desk. When he did, he discovered the invitation from Rosalyn and a smile came to his lips.

  Damian relaxed as he sat before the fire with a glass of wine, letting the tiredness and the frustration seep out of him. He glanced at the invitation again; it was very formal. Miss Eastleigh was simply repaying his hospitality.

  He had hoped for this when he had first invited her to the Hall. If two respectable ladies like Miss Eastleigh and her cousin showed they were willing to be his friends, he would soon be accepted by the whole county. That had, of course, been his aim when he’d first heard of the spinster living nearby…but that had been before he met Miss Eastleigh. Now his feelings were very different.

  He recalled the way Miss Eastleigh had looked into his eyes the last time they had talked. He had known she wanted him…really wanted him, as he wanted her. There was nothing of the milk-and-water English miss about Miss Eastleigh! No, indeed there was not! She was a goddess come to Earth, Diana the huntress, beautiful, brave and passionate. He felt desire stir inside him, burning its way to the centre of his manhood as he thought of her—and the resolution it had taken to let her walk away the afternoon he had accompanied her to her home.

  She would have come to him in love if he had asked it of her, though, having heard the old scandal, she must surely be aware that a marriage between them was impossible. He could never ask her to share the shame attached to his name. He had hoped it might be possible to rehabilitate himself into English society, to make a new life here in England—but now he had begun to think it would never work. There would always be someone to point the finger and whisper behind his back. He could not ask Rosalyn to share that, even if she would. He would be a fool to let himself hope—to wish for the moon. He had learned long ago that to hope for too much brought only despair.

  Besides, his business was unfinished. He had come back to England unaware of the true situation. Now, after his shocking discovery, he knew that he must settle an outstanding debt. Something that should have been done long ago. As yet he was not quite sure how his objective was to be achieved, but he would discover a way—and when he did, his disgrace would be complete.

  Rosalyn had asked if he meant to return to India, and he had told her he was not sure. But things had changed. He had a score to settle, and when he had, there would be no question of his remaining in England.

  She had been tossing and turning for ages! Rosalyn could not understand why she was so restless. She sat up and yawned, then reached for her dressing robe and slipped it on. It was impossible to sleep! Her thoughts were chasing themselves round and round in her head like fallen leaves swept up in a gale. Yet surely she was not letting her brother’s imminent marriage distress her? Why should it? She could put up with Mrs Jenkins for as long as necessary, even if it meant biting back the angry words that sometimes leapt to her tongue.

  The woman was both rude and careless of the feelings of others, but Rosalyn could cope with her. She would find the strength from somewhere. Not like poor Maria, who had been almost in tears when she went to her room before retiring for the night.

  ‘I am sure I don’t know what I shall do when Sir Frederick marries,’ she had told Rosalyn, sniffing mistily into her kerchief. ‘Mrs Jenkins has made it clear I shall not be welcome here.’

  ‘It really has nothing to do with her,’ Rosalyn said gently. ‘Cheer up, Maria. I shall not stay here for ever, and I do assure you—you will always have a home with me. Indeed, if I decide to set up a house of my own I shall need you more than ever. You must know that I would not allow you to be turned out without a feather to fly?’

  Maria had brightened a little at that, though it was obvious she was greatly distressed at the way their lives were about to change.

  Of course she could not desert her cousin, Rosalyn told herself as she walked over to the window to gaze out at the night. Yet the idea of them both settled in a country cottage was somehow very lowering. The purchase of a house would naturally eat into her capital, and that meant she might not be able to live in quite the same style as she had here…but, she scolded herself, if all she had cared for was consequence she might have married long ago and none of this would have arisen.

  Rosalyn took a branch of lighted candles and went down to the parlour she had always thought of as her own. She had left a favourite book of poems lying on the sideboard and thought perhaps it might help to lift her spirits. However, when she reached the parlour, the book had mysteriously disappeared and, having set down the candlestick, she wandered towards the French windows, unlocking them and venturing out into the gardens.

  Perhaps a little fresh air might help to ease the headache that had begun soon after dinner. Mrs Jenkins had such a loud, harsh voice. Rosalyn truly pitied her brother if he was forced to play host to her too often, and wondered if even the considerable fortune she was intending to leave to her niece was worth having to put up with her company.

  Money had never meant a great deal to Rosalyn, but she was beginning to realise she had taken it for granted. Her father had never questioned what she spent, never allowing her to use one penny of her own money for household expenses. All that would change now. She would not be poor, but she would have to learn economy.

  A shadow moved from out of the shrubbery, making her start with fright. For a moment her heart beat so madly that she could scarcely breathe, then, as the clouds obligingly moved away, she was able to see him clearly in the resulting moonlight.

  ‘Did I startle you, Miss Eastleigh?’

  ‘Mr Wrexham,’ she said, a note of welcome in her voice. Her spirits leapt gladly. It seemed such an age since she had seen him, but she tried not to show how pleased she really was by this surprise meeting. ‘I was startled for a moment. What are you doing here?’

  ‘I brought Sheba for a walk,’ he replied. ‘She ran into your gardens and I was forced to follow. I’m afraid I seem to have lost her for the moment. I was looking for her when I saw you.’

  ‘She will find you when she is ready,’ Rosalyn said, smiling in understanding. ‘It is such a lovely night, do you not think so? I came out because I could not sleep. I thought the fresh air might do me good—take away my headache.’

  ‘I am sorry you are unwell.’

  ‘More like out of temper,’ Rosalyn said with perfect truth. ‘Perhaps we could walk together for a little, sir? You must take Sheba back with you, or Jared will wake and miss her. I believe s
he usually sleeps at the bottom of his bed. Or so he has told us.’

  ‘Yes.’ A smile lifted Damian’s mouth at the corners. ‘I know. She was there when I looked in on him on my return this evening. She must have followed me downstairs, and when I went out for my walk, she decided to come with me.’

  ‘Do you often walk at night?’ Rosalyn glanced at him as he fell into step beside her. ‘I have not seen you for some days…’ She blushed at what she had said but did not apologise for it: it was, after all, only the truth. ‘Have you been away?’

  ‘Did Jared not tell you?’

  She shook her head, her eyes dwelling intently on his face. He had such strong features and, she suspected, a character to match. Those broad shoulders would be such a comfort to lay one’s head against in times of stress, even for someone as independent as she. An inquiring look came into his eyes as she continued to gaze at him, and, blushing, Rosalyn looked away. He seemed always to read her mind, and that might be embarrassing when her thoughts were so confusing.

  ‘No, he did not mention it.’

  ‘I dare say he was relieved to have no lessons for a while. Yes, I was obliged to leave him for a few days…on business.’

  So that was why she had not met him out walking! He had not been avoiding her after all. Insensibly, her spirits lifted, banishing the cloud that had shadowed her for days.

  ‘I see. So he will not be so free to spend all his time with Sarah Jane now you are back? They have fallen into the habit of visiting each other every day—not just for tea, but for most of the day. I think they have become great friends. She will miss him if he does not come so often to the house.’

  ‘She will be welcome to share his lessons,’ Damian replied. ‘She may find it boring, of course. Jared studies world affairs, fencing, shooting—and politics.’

  ‘Does he? Good gracious!’ Rosalyn was surprised. ‘That is rather a demanding schedule for a youth of his age. I had no idea. I imagined you might teach him some manly sports for when he goes to school here—but not world affairs.’

  ‘It is important for him to know these things. It is very possible that he will have an important role to play one day.’

  ‘Who is Jared’s father? Or should I not ask?’

  Damian hesitated for a moment, then sighed. If he could not trust his instincts now, he was lost. Besides, his inclination was to share his thoughts with her—to open his heart to her—as he had not to another person since he was sent into exile.

  ‘Ahmed is a prince. One day, when his own father dies, he will be the ruler of a mountain state in India. Jared is Prince Ahmed’s oldest son—but there has been dissent over his right to step into his father’s shoes, because his mother was not Indian.’

  ‘I see…that might pose problems with religion and other things, I suppose.’ Rosalyn began to understand the need to keep a close watch on the youth. ‘It could well cause unrest amongst fanatics, I think?’

  ‘Particularly in the matter of religion, though Prince Ahmed always insisted his son should be brought up in his own faith. Anna did explain to Jared that there were other religions, but she was not allowed to take him to her church.’

  ‘Did her husband allow her to keep her own religion?’

  ‘In private, yes.’ Damian frowned. ‘I hesitated to tell you the truth at first, Miss Eastleigh, because it may shock and disturb you. We came to England because there was an attempt on Jared’s life.’

  He did not add that it was only his own prompt action that had saved the boy, that in doing so he had been wounded and come close to losing his own life.

  ‘It was merely chance that saved him. Ahmed was terrified the next attempt would succeed and begged me to bring the boy to England with me.’

  ‘Oh, no! That is terrible.’ This was much worse than she could ever have imagined. ‘The poor child—no wonder he seemed so sad and frightened when I first saw him. But who could want to kill Jared?’

  ‘Enemies of his father,’ Damian replied, looking grim. ‘Many people—including Ahmed’s own father—think the prince should disinherit his eldest son in favour of the son his new wife has recently given him. So far he has stubbornly refused to consider it. His obstinacy was the cause of much unrest, which is why Ahmed desired me to bring his son to safety in this country.’

  ‘And why you have been forced to stop him wandering all over the countryside alone—to keep such a strict watch over him.’ She understood perfectly now what had seemed harsh before. Her intuition had been right, and she had been wrong to allow herself to doubt this man’s integrity even for a moment.

  ‘Yes, that is exactly my dilemma.’ Damian smiled at her. ‘Jared would be quite safe with Rajib, of course—but he does not like him. Neither do I, as it happens. I have begun to think I would have done better to leave both Rajib and Nessa in India.’

  ‘Oh…’ Rosalyn looked at him curiously. ‘Surely Jared is fond of Nessa, and she of him?’

  ‘Yes, he is,’ Damian said. ‘I was thinking of my own comfort. Unfortunately, both Rajib and Nessa resent my authority. They disobey my orders whenever they dare—and their influence on Jared makes him disinclined to listen to me.’

  ‘That must make things difficult?’ Rosalyn remembered Jared’s sulky looks the evening she had dined at the Hall, and that it had made her wonder if Mr Wrexham was treating his pupil as he ought. ‘Perhaps you should send them back to India?’

  ‘Only if Jared wishes them to go. If things change, settle down, his father may send for him.’

  ‘And will you go with him?’ Rosalyn could not quite prevent the catch in her voice. ‘You must have so many ties in that country…it must seem more your home than England after so many years.’

  Damian looked at her, seeing the faint flush in her cheeks.

  ‘What exactly is it you are asking?’ he said. ‘What do you want to know, Miss Eastleigh…whether I have a wife or a sweetheart waiting for me in India, is that it?’

  ‘No…of course not,’ Rosalyn replied quickly, but she could not look at him. ‘It would be impertinent of me to ask such questions. I have no right…’

  Damian caught her arm, swinging her round to face him. He seemed very intense, almost angry. His reaction was unlike the behaviour she had come to expect of him, and startled her.

  ‘No right?’ he said. ‘Why are you lying, Miss Eastleigh—to yourself and me?’

  ‘I am not lying.’

  ‘I think you are,’ he replied, an odd, machiavellian light in his eyes. ‘Well, have you no comment to make? Will you not ask why I think you are lying?’

  Rosalyn’s mouth was dry. She swallowed hard, her heart beating madly as she looked up at him.

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she whispered. ‘I…Damian…’

  Before she could say anything more she was in his arms; his lips were on hers, soft, persuading…demanding. Rosalyn melted into his body, yielding her mouth and her whole self as the kiss sent her senses spinning into space. It was the most wonderful feeling of her life, so wonderful that she wanted it to last forever and she sighed with regret when he let her go.

  ‘There, my sweet girl,’ Damian said and stroked her cheek with his fingers. ‘That is why you have the right to ask any questions you like—and the answer to them all is no. There is no one else.’

  ‘Oh, Damian,’ she murmured. ‘I don’t know what has happened to me. I have never felt this way in my life…never wanted to…’ She stopped and dropped her gaze in confusion. What had she been about to say? That she wanted him to make love to her? Surely she could not have been on the verge of saying anything so scandalous!

  ‘Wanted to what?’ he asked teasingly. ‘Are you telling me you want me to make love to you?’

  ‘No—yes!’ Rosalyn could not deny the urgings of her own body. She laughed as she saw the wicked gleam in his eyes, her natural honesty making her say, ‘Of course I want you, Damian. I should hardly have allowed you to kiss me like that if I did not.’

  ‘Was it your firs
t real kiss?’

  ‘There have been others,’ she confessed, a mischievous smile tweaking the corners of her mouth. ‘But none that I truly wanted—none that made me feel the way you did just now.’

  ‘But what?’ He gazed deep into her eyes. Her naughty, teasing look enchanted him. ‘There is a but, isn’t there, my dearest Rosalyn? You are not sure that you can give yourself to such a wicked man as I—is that it?’

  ‘You are not wicked,’ she replied, laughing. ‘No, it is not that, Damian. I have never thought myself missish, but…’

  ‘But you are not quite ready to cast the world off for love?’ His eyes teased her gently. ‘To become a fallen woman in the eyes of your contemporaries?’

  ‘I am not sure,’ Rosalyn said. Her heart and body clamoured for him, knowing no caution, yet her head told her to wait, to take care. What did she really know of this man who had shot into her life like a comet passing across the sky? ‘I know it is foolish of me to hesitate. At my age I ought to be grateful for the chance of knowing love, for however brief a time—and I am not making demands, not asking you to marry me. I know you have no thought of taking a wife.’

  ‘Do you, indeed?’ Damian’s mouth quivered. He struggled to contain his amusement as he realised she was giving serious consideration to becoming his mistress. Something that for her would be a huge step. She was unique, beyond price. More than anything, he wanted to sweep her up in his arms and run off with her—but he too was aware of the need for caution. ‘I admit I have no right to ask you or any other woman to share my disgrace—but that does not mean I have not thought of it.’

  ‘Your disgrace?’ Rosalyn gazed up at him in surprise. ‘You mean the old scandal?’

  ‘There is—or will be more,’ he said. ‘I cannot tell yet how much, or what will happen in a few weeks’ time. Until I am sure, I could not offer you marriage, Rosalyn. Any intimate relationship between us would be of uncertain duration.’