Anne Herries

by Rosalynand the Scoundrel

  His own anger and disgust at what had been done to her was such that he had not been able to think sensibly; he had shown his feelings too clearly, and as a consequence of his neglect a girl had died. He had killed a man because of that—but it had not brought her back, nor had it eased his own guilt. Indeed, when he had discovered the wrong man had paid a cruel penalty, it had made his burden harder to bear.

  But that was so many years ago! It was foolish to let the old memories haunt him still. No more! He would put them from his mind, crush the fears that lingered and take the happiness Rosalyn had brought him with both hands.

  Damian waited alone in the parlour, to have a word with the physician when he came down after examining Rosalyn.

  ‘Is she ill, sir?’ he asked, torn with anxiety. ‘Has she been doing too much?’

  ‘Your wife seems to think she is with child,’ the physician replied with a reassuring smile. ‘Although too soon to be certain, I think she is possibly right in her diagnosis. It is not unusual for ladies to faint in this condition. However, you would do well to keep an eye on her—and she should rest for an hour or so in the afternoons.’

  Damian thanked him, asked him to call again in a couple of days and then went back into the parlour. He sat down at the elegant rosewood desk he had bought for his wife in Paris. Rosalyn liked to sit at it when writing her letters, so that she could gaze out at the garden. What to do now? Rosalyn had begged him not to call the comte out, but Devere could not be allowed to insult her and get away with it.

  Frowning, he looked down at the desk and saw there was a little pile of letters waiting for his wife. The franking showed that two of them had come from England, the third from Paris. He could smell Charlotte’s perfume on that one, but who were the others from? He looked at the writing. One of the hands seemed familiar—he thought it had probably come from Maria—the other was unknown to him.

  He rang the bell, summoning a servant. Letters from home were always welcome to his wife. Rosalyn would enjoy reading these while she was resting.

  A maid had come in answer to his summons. He gave her the letters for Rosalyn, requesting her to take them up to her mistress immediately.

  ‘Please tell my wife that I have had to go out,’ he said. ‘I may not be back in time for dinner. Tell her that I think she should stay in bed and rest. I shall see her in the morning.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Damian left the parlour after the girl had departed. There was something he needed to fetch first, and then he would pay Comte Devere a little visit.

  He went into the room he used as a study, taking a polished mahogany box from his desk and opening it. Inside lay a pair of perfectly matched pistols. It would be Devere’s right to provide the pistols, or indeed to use swords if he so wished—but Damian thought it best to be prepared. He doubted the comte had killed a man in his life—and certainly not a maddened tiger at close range. It took a certain kind of man to hold his nerve under those circumstances. If Damian were any judge, the comte was not the type to wait until his opponent had fired.

  Devere might be able to hit a practice target, but not many had the courage to put a ball in a man’s heart. A grim expression drew Damian’s mouth into a hard line. If he chose, Devere could die this night. No matter what the cost, this business must be settled for once and all.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Rosalyn took the letters from her maid without enthusiasm, scarcely glancing at them before laying them on the chest beside her bed. She had recognised Maria’s hand but did not feel in the mood for reading her cousin’s letter. Her head had cleared a little. She realised she was at last beginning to feel better, and would have liked to talk to Damian.

  It was time they talked. Something had been bothering him for a while now. He had confessed that he did not truly believe she had betrayed him, even in her thoughts—so what was it that lay behind the moods that had come on him since they left England?

  Was it possible that he had killed Bernard Harrington? Had he done so to protect her—and was it the act of murder which lay heavy on his conscience?

  Rosalyn shook her head. No, for a while she had wondered, but she was able to think more clearly now and she would not believe any such thing! She had dismissed the idea as impossible from the beginning, even thinking that Freddie might have been the culprit for a while, and then something very different had occurred to her. Her doubts had been roused by Damian’s haunted expression, but she believed there was a different explanation for his moods. Damian was innocent of murder—but something was causing him to be uneasy.

  Was it his memories of the woman he had loved and lost? Had he been unable to forget, despite his love for Rosalyn? She knew a moment of terrible jealousy but fought it. This was unworthy of her. She could not be jealous of a girl who had died of shame!

  The maid had told Rosalyn that Damian would be out for the evening. He had requested that she should rest, have her supper sent up to her on a tray, but she did not feel like eating. Nor did she want to stay in bed now that the dizziness had passed.

  Where had Damian gone? Had he decided to challenge the comte to a duel for insulting her? She was suddenly sure in her own mind that he had gone out for that very purpose.

  Rosalyn felt cold all over. How foolish of him! Surely it was not necessary? She had been upset at the time, but no real harm had been done, and now she thought about it calmly, she did not believe the comte would have carried out his threats to abduct her and kill Damian. He had spoken in the heat of the moment and would surely reconsider his hasty words once he’d had time to reflect. He did not love her, he had merely wanted to add her to his collection—which was not worth the risk of fighting a duel.

  Unable to rest, Rosalyn threw off the bedcovers and went over to her dressing table. She brushed her hair; the action was soothing, easing the headache that had plagued her since her fainting spell.

  She felt restless. It was impossible to sit here in her room, not knowing where Damian was or what he was doing. She would go downstairs and wait for Damian. Surely he could not be gone all evening?

  If her husband had gone to fight a duel, he might be killed.

  The thought filled her with terror. She could not bear it if he died. Oh, why must men be so foolish? It was such nonsense, to fight a duel for so small a thing!

  Alone in her parlour, Rosalyn ran her fingers over the ivory keys of a pretty little spinet. She sighed, wishing that Damian would come back and take her in his arms. She was missing him, the more so because they had come close to quarrelling again, and that distressed her. Why was Damian behaving so oddly of late? Was it only jealousy?

  She turned as she heard a sound behind her. Rajib was standing in the doorway, staring at her strangely.

  She felt a sudden coldness at the nape of her neck.

  ‘Yes, Rajib—what is it?’

  ‘I wanted to speak to you, mem-sahib.’ His dark eyes were intense as he looked at her. ‘May I speak openly?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ She rose to her feet, waiting for him to begin.

  ‘I have decided to return to India, and Nessa is to come with me.’

  ‘Oh…’ Rosalyn hesitated. ‘I do not quite understand. You should properly say this to my husband—or to Jared.’

  ‘Jared knows of my decision. He has grown away from us. We are no longer needed.’

  Rosalyn heard the resentment in his voice. ‘I am sorry that you should feel rejected,’ she said. ‘I know you love Jared—both of you.’

  ‘He is my master’s son.’ Rajib said. ‘I did what my master bid me. Now I must go home.’

  ‘But you are angry?’

  Rajib’s eyes met hers, then he inclined his head once. ‘You are not to blame. Nessa blames you for taking Jared’s love, but I do not. I came to tell you this—and one other thing.’

  ‘Thank you for your confidence,’ Rosalyn said. ‘What else did you wish to tell me, Rajib?’

  ‘The sahib has gone to fight a duel with the man w
ho came here today. I thought you should know.’

  ‘A duel…’ Rosalyn stared at him in dismay at having her fears confirmed. ‘How do you know this?’

  ‘He took his pistols with him. Besides, it is a matter of honour. The man who came here today attacked you. The sahib must kill him. It is his destiny.’

  ‘No!’ Rosalyn cried, her heart standing still with fright. ‘Please, do not say so. He must not fight the comte. He could be killed.’

  ‘The sahib will not die,’ Rajib said and bowed his head to her. ‘I shall not see you again, mem-sahib. In the morning Nessa and I will be gone.’ He was about to turn away when Rosalyn stopped him.

  ‘I should like to thank you,’ she said. ‘For what you did earlier today.’

  ‘You saved my life,’ he said. ‘I have only given back what was owed.’

  Rosalyn felt the barrier in place between them. It had always been there, though once for a few moments it had lifted—but they were from different worlds.

  ‘Goodbye,’ she said softly. ‘I wish you and Nessa good fortune, Rajib.’

  He bowed his head, his dark eyes giving nothing away. Then he turned and left her standing there alone.

  Rosalyn felt suddenly light-headed. She was so tired! She sat down on the elegant daybed, gathering the cushions so that they made a pillow for her head.

  She was concerned for Damian, but knew there was nothing she could do, except pray for his safety. She must think of her child and rest—but she would stay here for a while before she went back to bed.

  The sound of a chair being overturned woke Rosalyn. She sat up, startled and blinking in the semi-darkness. Was someone in the room?

  She strained her eyes to see, then got to her feet as she heard a muffled curse. ‘Who is it?’ she said. ‘Who is there?’

  ‘Rosalyn?’ Relief swept over her as she heard Damian’s voice. ‘Damnation! Stay where you are—let me light a candle. I thought you long abed and asleep. Why are you sitting in the dark?’

  The candle flared to life. The effort to fetch it had almost been too much for Damian. He was wounded! She saw him slump down on a sofa, a grimace of pain on his lips. Blood was seeping through his breeches. She strangled the scream of fright that rose to her lips. Now was not the time to become hysterical. He needed her help.

  Oh, the foolish, foolish man—to fight a duel over such a small thing!

  ‘Damian!’ She went to him at once, her heart racing. ‘What have you done? Have you fought a duel with the comte? Have you killed him?’ She bent over him, catching the smell of brandy on his breath. ‘You have been drinking!’

  ‘Yes…a glass or two,’ he muttered, sounding a little slurred. ‘It helped to dull the pain when the physician dug Devere’s ball out of my leg. Damn him for being a poor shot!’

  ‘If he had not been, he might have killed you!’

  Damian gave a snort of laughter. He seemed vastly amused and she wondered if he were drunk.

  ‘Not a chance in hell. He meant to fire into the ground but the pistol misfired, his arm jerked and he hit me by accident.’

  ‘How do you know he did not mean to hit you?’

  Damian pulled a wry face. ‘It would not have mattered if he had, he could not have done it in his condition; he was three sheets to the wind and could barely stand straight. Damn it! We should never have come to a duel in the first place if he had been sober.’

  ‘You did not force it on him?’

  He shook his head. ‘Devere insisted. I tried to reason with the fool, but there was no dissuading him. He was adamant we should settle it between us in a gentlemanly fashion—and that it should be immediately.’

  Rosalyn was looking at his wound. It had obviously been bound up but the blood had started to seep through the bandages.

  ‘You should be in bed,’ she said. ‘Your wound has opened again.’

  ‘I had to ride home,’ he replied. ‘Couldn’t stay there all night. Devere wanted to give me a bed for the night, but somehow it didn’t seem quite the thing to do in the circumstances.’

  She saw a gleam of laughter in his eyes and recognised it: this was the old Damian, the man she had fallen in love with so desperately. He had come back to her. Whatever had happened that night had somehow released him from the shadow of his past.

  ‘No, I would not think so,’ she said, a faint smile on her lips. ‘You have not killed him, then?’

  ‘If I went round killing every man who wanted you, I should wipe out half the male population of wherever we happened to be,’ he said, a wicked look in his eyes. ‘I never intended to kill him in the first place. I just wanted to let Devere know he was not at liberty to insult my wife.’

  ‘But you took your pistols with you…didn’t you? You meant to challenge him to a duel.’

  ‘Who told you that?’ Damian groaned as he tried to stand. ‘Was it Nessa? She is forever spying on me. Damn her impudence! She will have to go, Rosalyn. Jared won’t like it, but it cannot be helped.’

  ‘Rajib has already decided to leave,’ Rosalyn said. ‘He told me this evening. He believes Jared has outgrown him and Nessa—and I think he is right.’

  ‘I shall not be sorry to see them go,’ Damian replied with a frown. ‘Rajib has proved his worth, but they have both resented me from the beginning. It will be better for us all if they leave.’

  Rosalyn agreed, though she did not say. Her concern at that moment was for his injury.

  ‘If you were to lean on me, Damian, I might be able to get you upstairs. Then I could change the dressing on your leg.’

  ‘You will do nothing of the kind,’ he replied. ‘Sit still and listen to me. In a few minutes you can summon a footman and he will take me up. You have been told to rest. Why are you not in bed?’

  ‘I couldn’t rest,’ she said. ‘I wanted to talk. We must talk, Damian. I do not know why you have been so restless of late, but…’

  ‘Guilt,’ he said frankly. ‘Freddie was right, Rosalyn. I have taken you away from your home and family. I have laid you open to insult from men like Devere. I admit, it was in my mind to challenge him, but by the time I got there I realised it was ridiculous. Can’t kill a man for wanting you. I meant to have it out with him. I demanded an apology—to you, not me—and would have knocked him down, but he was drunk. And then he insisted on the duel. I fired into the air, of course—and he meant to do the same. He apologised afterwards, both for wounding me and for insulting you. But the fact remains, I am at fault. I brought you to France. Had I not done so, this would not have happened.’

  ‘I came because I wanted to,’ she replied. ‘Because I love you.’

  ‘That does not make it right,’ Damian said and winced. ‘This damned leg is giving me hell. Would you pour me a glass of brandy, please?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ She went over to the decanters on the sideboard and brought him back a glass half-filled with a pale golden liquid. ‘You must let me look at your leg, Damian.’

  ‘Later,’ he said, gulping some of the brandy down. He gazed up at her as she stood over him, waiting to take the glass. ‘Thank you, that was welcome. Have you seen your brother since we left England?’

  The sudden change of subject made her stare.

  ‘Yes. He brought me some papers to look over when we were in Paris. Charlotte told him where we were living—apparently he knows Edward. But why do you ask?’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me he had called?’

  ‘I did not think it was important.’ She sighed. ‘It was not a pleasant interview, Damian. He came only on business—and informed me that there would be no need for us to meet again.’

  ‘Damn him! How dare he treat you so scurvily?’ Damian was furious. ‘That settles it. I was wrong to run away. I should have stayed and sorted things out. We must go back, Rosalyn—we must face up to the scandal. Only then shall we be free of it.’

  ‘Go back…to England? Why?’ The idea appalled her. ‘Give up our dreams? What about Jared? How can we go back?’

>   ‘Jared will be safe enough now that he is no longer his father’s heir. Besides, if we do not, the rumours will follow us,’ he said. ‘Don’t you see, my love? We…I have to face those who would call me a murderer. And I intend that Freddie shall apologise to you.’

  ‘I do not care what Freddie says or does.’ Rosalyn was disturbed. He might be in serious trouble if they returned to England. He might even be accused of murder officially. ‘No, I do not see why we should go back,’ she said. ‘We both know you did not kill Bernard Harrington, so…’

  ‘Have you never thought it?’ he asked, looking at her intently. ‘Never for one moment?’

  She could not lie when he looked at her like that.

  ‘I have wondered once or twice,’ she confessed. ‘I believed it would have been for my sake, because he threatened me…and yet in my heart I knew you would have challenged him to a duel. I have never truly thought you capable of murder, Damian. Besides…’

  ‘You loved me enough to come with me whatever the truth,’ Damian said softly. ‘You put your faith in me, your life in my hands. And because of your trust, I must go back…please try to understand that, my darling. If I force you to share my exile, I can never live with my conscience. Once before I let a woman down and she died because of it. She died of shame. I could not bear it if that happened to you.’

  ‘Oh, Damian,’ she cried, kneeling at his feet and looking up at him. ‘How can you think that I…’ Tears sparkled on the ends of her lashes and he bent down to brush them away with his fingers. ‘I love you. I would follow you anywhere and never regret it for a moment.’

  ‘You asked me why I have been restless,’ he said. ‘I shall try to tell you, though I hardly know myself. It is all so confused and goes back so many years. I left Helen alone in the garden that day. She begged me to go and I went…because my feelings had been so lacerated by what had been done to her that I could hardly bear to look at her. I did not truly think of her pain. I was so angry, so overcome with disgust, that I did not realise she was contemplating taking her own life. It was my fault she killed herself, Rosalyn. I failed her—’