DamonUndone

by JayneFresina

  "I don't believe you."

  "Oh, come on. She's American. They do things differently there. She's very casual, very free and easy. You've heard the rumors. And now," he waved his flask toward her bed, "here you sit as if it's entirely proper to be in her room. That's surely evidence enough of her...lack of morals and discipline. And virtue."

  Damon walked slowly to where the other man and watched him take another gulp from his flask. "Miss Piper was never engaged to you and never would be. She has too much self-respect."

  "Her word against mine."

  "Oh." He smiled slowly and raised both hands to straighten the collar of Boxall's coat. "You might think that now. But you'll change your mind."

  "No, I won't, old chap. I need that money, and I'm going to get it one way or another."

  "Well, that's awkward."

  "For you perhaps. Better luck next time."

  Abruptly, Damon lifted the other man by his collar and half dragged him to the nearest chair, dropping him hard into it. Boxall lost his grip on the flask, but when he reached for it, Damon grabbed him and pushed him back into the chair. "You're not going to waste another minute of her time. You're going to pick up your sorry behind out of this chair, go back downstairs and walk out of this house, never to return." He spoke slowly and quietly, but only inches from Boxall's pale, sweaty face. "You're going to get back into whatever grubby vehicle you used to come here, and go back to your poor, delusional godmother, and tell her you've decided you're not ready to marry. Certainly not to marry Miss Piper."

  "Why," the other choked out, "would I do any of that?"

  "Because I want you gone from here," he replied, his tone sad and somber, "and since I'm a Deverell, I get what I want."

  "You bastard. I'm not going anywhere. You can't intimidate me. If you lay a finger on me, she'll know and she won't like it. Go on. Hit me. Let her see you for the brute you are."

  Damon thought about for a long, painful moment and then he tightened his grip on Boxall's throat and leaned closer still. "I'm not going to hurt you. This time."

  He felt the other man trying to swallow.

  "I'm going to do you an enormous favor, for which you will be forever in my debt."

  Boxall tried to speak but couldn't do more than rasp out a high cry of dismay.

  "I'm going to give you some money to go away, your lordship. Rather than beat you to a pulp here and now, I'm going to make it easy for you. I'll put some money in your pocket and I'll let you go. Back in London I'll arrange for your debts to be paid. At least, some of them. And in return, you'll never mention an engagement to Miss Piper ever again. Nor will you ever call her Pip." He finally released his hold on the other man and straightened up. "I trust those terms are agreeable."

  He had some money saved—a considerable amount, although a man always needed more. For Miss Piper to be rid of this leech, he would gladly spend it, even if he was left a pauper. He'd find a way to make more.

  Bertie jumped to his feet and reached for the flask, fumbling and coughing. "You Deverells...think you can get anything you want."

  "Yes. Odd that, isn't it? I don't know where we acquired the idea."

  "The Hell that your father came from. and right where you're going."

  He smirked. "Quite probably."

  * * * *

  As Pip came out of the kitchen with a plate of treacle tart— a new discovery for which she had developed an acute fondness— she saw the two men walking across the hall to the front door.

  Much to her relief, they were arm in arm.

  "Lord Boxall! Are you leaving already?" she exclaimed, going after them.

  "Er. Yes." He looked at her sheepishly. "It was only a brief visit. My godmother can't spare me too long. And with Christmas..." His voice tailed off as Damon placed an arm around his shoulders.

  "Have a safe and swift journey back, your lordship."

  Bertie stumbled out, almost dropping his hat.

  "Are you sure you cannot stay to dine?" Pip cried. "After coming all this way? Have some treacle tart, at least."

  But he didn't seem to hear her. Having walked part way across the yard, he suddenly looked back and shouted, "By the way, Deverell, you're lucky Stanbury mistook your brother for you. Nearly killed him, by all accounts. But I don't suppose you care. You're a family of animals, as my godmother says. Not a human feeling among you." With that he turned and literally vaulted into his carriage, the door opened in the nick of time by his startled groom.

  Pip looked up at the man beside her. Standing in his shirt sleeves, hands on his hips, Damon was frowning hard at the carriage as it turned speedily and took off up the lane, whip cracking and wheels rattling. "What was that about, pray tell?"

  He turned away and walked back into the hall.

  "Damon Deverell, you will answer me." She marched after him. "What did you do to Bertie Boxall. You made him leave! I told you to make peace. I—"

  He swiped the slice of treacle tart from her plate and shoved it, whole, into his own mouth.

  She stared as he chewed slowly, his eyes gleaming with menace. "How— dare you? That was mine and the very last slice to be had. I insist you tell me what happened. Why can't the two of you be friends? I left implicit instructions before I left that room and not half an hour later you're escorting the poor boy out."

  With one last swallow, he emptied his mouth, wiped his hand across his sticky lips and said, "That was your slice, was it? And the last one?"

  She frowned. "Yes, it was. I was looking forward to eating it."

  He leaned down to her and said, "Then you know how it feels. And that's why I got rid of him."

  Pip had nothing to say to that. Clutching her empty plate, she watched him walk away, stooping as he passed through the low, medieval arches that were clearly not constructed for men of his size and intolerable arrogance.

  * * * *

  He wrote another letter at once to Ransom, wanting to know if Stanbury had anything to do with the beating he'd suffered shortly before Damon left London. But fearing his brother would never tell him, he also wrote to Lady Roper, who had her ear to the ground in more than a few unsavory places to catch what she called, "Whispers in certain neighborhoods". He would find out, whether his brother told him or not. And then he'd pay a visit to Stanbury.

  It was typical of his damn brother to say nothing, of course, just let him leave London like that, utterly in the dark about the cause of that gruesome damage.

  * * * *

  Pip soon felt much improved, remarkably so. She thought it likely to have much to do with her aunt's silk robe, but also with not wanting more of Damon Deverell's mystical stew spooned down her throat.

  "See?" he said proudly. "It is a miracle cure."

  "You should patent it."

  "I should, shouldn't I?"

  He'd been out riding early that day. Fresh, cold air clung to him as he moved around her room restlessly, top boots kicking up the worn threads of the rug and leaving wet prints across the floor boards.

  "But you feel better?"

  "I do. And so, apparently, does Merry."

  "Good. Good."

  She sat in a chair by the fire, a blanket around her shoulders, watching Damon proceed in distracted circles around her room, Grumbles Junior padding after him. Occasionally the dog stopped to look back at Pip, but then resumed his trot behind the restless man. In the past she would have shouted at them both to stop pacing and for Damon to tell her whatever was on his mind, but she was trying to be calm, patient. Trying not to think about him removing her shoes that first night when he put her to bed. Not to think of how he had taken care of her. Not to think of how he'd chased Bertie Boxall out of the house. Poor Bertie, he had looked terrified.

  "When Lord Boxall left, he mentioned something about your brother and Stanbury."

  "Hmm."

  "Something about nearly killing him?" She hoped it was a misunderstanding of some sort. That she'd misheard perhaps.

  He turned in the window
and scratched his brow with one finger. Looking at those hands only reminded her again of how it had felt to have them touch her feet and ankles when he put her to bed.

  She wriggled her toes, which were currently tucked up beneath her. "Please tell me," she exclaimed. "I hate secrets."

  At last he stopped pacing and scraped fingers though his hair from temple to crown. "Miss Piper, there is something I must," he stopped breathed heavily, and then continued, "tell you."

  Pip waited, forcing herself to be still and attentive, although every nerve in her body was ready to leap out of that chair.

  He walked to the fire and stood with his back to the flames, feet apart, hands behind him. "Lady Elizabeth Stanbury is the woman I followed here, the woman for whom I search...she is with child."

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Whatever happened he would put this mess in order, but he needed her to know why he had chased after Elizabeth. The more he began to let himself feel for Miss Piper, the more necessary it became that she understand him.

  "I'm certain she has no lingering attachment to me, or she would not have fled, but I must do what I can. For the child."

  She was watching him steadily, her hands clasping the blanket she wore around her shoulders. "You're telling me that this is your child?"

  "Yes. I believe so."

  "I see." Her eyes had dimmed a little. Her fingers toyed with the blanket fringe.

  "My brother told me that she travelled in this direction. He met with her before she left London. I had planned to accept my responsibility, but she seems to have other ideas."

  "Lady Elizabeth Stanbury," she murmured, not much above a whisper.

  "Yes." He took a deep breath and released some of the tension in his shoulders, bouncing once on his heels. "I wanted you to know."

  Her eyes narrowed. "Why?"

  Ah.

  "Because you hate secrets and...I thought... I don't want any between us either. Now that we're no longer sworn enemies." Somehow he managed a bit of a smile, although it snapped back too quickly. Don't get ahead of yourself. All you have is Mortmain's suspicions about her feelings for you, and what does he know about women? Friendship must suffice. If that was all he could have with her. As long as he had this woman, somehow, in his life, he would try to be content. How could he ask for more now?

  "What do you intend to do then? Once you find her?"

  "First I must know what she intends, since she has not properly discussed it with me. Then I will make sure she understands that I mean to provide for my child."

  Not moving from her chair, she studied him and wrapped her fingers ever tighter in the blanket fringe. "I am glad you told me," she said finally, her expression sober, her tone sincere. "You may depend upon my discretion, of course. I know I'm a chatterbox, but I am capable of keeping secrets that are entrusted to me."

  "Unless somebody feeds you," he teased softly.

  "Yes." But she didn't smile.

  A tap at the door interrupted this conversation and her younger sister immediately ran in, not waiting for an answer. Upon seeing Damon she froze mid-step, her mouth open.

  "Gracious, you must be better, Merry!" Epiphany got up out of her chair.

  "What's he doing here?" the girl exclaimed, scandalized. "And in your room!"

  "The Dangerous Mr. Deverell is merely doing his job and looking after us, now that Aunt Du Bois has gone."

  "Has he come to fetch Serenity back? Or is there to be a lawsuit?"

  "That remains to be seen. It might be best if he packs us all off on the first ship back to America."

  Damon bowed. "Miss Merrythought Piper, I am very pleased to see your health improved."

  "Well, they kept forcing me to eat some horrid green stuff and I can't bear it anymore, so I thought I'd better get up today."

  Epiphany smiled again at last. "There!" she said to Damon. "You really must patent your elixir at once."

  * * * *

  She went to the window at the very top of the tower ruin and looked out over the grey sea. Speckles of white dotted the surface, as waves clashed and curled against a colorless winter sky. There were no fishing boats to be seen today, although sometimes when she came up here, there were three or four balancing precariously on the tossing waves.

  This was where she liked to come with her thoughts, for the fresh sea air blowing through the narrow, unglazed window, helped clear out her mind so that she could concentrate. It was not a comfortable place, certainly not somewhere anybody else would chose for their reverie, so she felt safe here, not likely to be disturbed.

  A few abandoned birds' nests huddled under the rafters and wind whistled through holes in the roof of the tower, howling a sad dirge. Good thing she was not a naturally maudlin person, she mused, or she might throw herself bodily out of that tower. She wouldn't be at all surprised if Lord Mortmain had a gruesome tale about one of his ascendants doing something that dreadful and desperate. It was the right sort of place for it.

  Out there, across the sea, sat Europe. They were on the wrong side of the country to face America when looking out over water and it made her feel even farther away, but she liked to think that if she concentrated hard enough she might get a message to her father.

  What advice would he give her today in response to this latest dilemma?

  The salty wind whistled through her hair and slapped her cheeks. He would tell her to stop feeling sorry for herself, of course. Pipers didn't give up. If they came to a mountain, they went around it or over it. Simple.

  But her mountain was the largest she'd ever found in front of her and she didn't know how to master it. She didn't want to be in love, but she was. It was too late to save herself from it and now what?

  Damon Deverell was hardly a monk, and she'd known that from the beginning. He was also not the first man in the world to father a child out of wedlock, and she shouldn't have been as surprised as she was when he told her. It was admirable that he wanted to accept responsibility for the child. Some men in his situation would run the other way.

  He certainly didn't have to tell her anything about it, but he did.

  She looked down at the little book in her hand— his book with the old list tucked inside the paper lining. The list belonging to Damon Deverell, nine yeres aged.

  So far she hadn't been able to give it back to him. There were opportunities aplenty since he arrived at Darkest Fathoms, but she wanted to keep it as long as she could. It pleased her to have this insight into the real Damon— the little boy in search of adventure, yet still a careful planner even at such a young age. Then to look through the other pages and see how that same prudent nature continued into his adult life, keeping a strict budget for his expenses, marking the figures in neat columns.

  Now a child would become another item in the expense column. And Elizabeth? He thought she had "no lingering attachment" to him. But what were his feelings? Had he chased her all this way only for the child? Men seldom spoke of their emotions and he would find it harder than most, having those big feet and so much stubborn pride in his way.

  She was concerned for him.

  But was that all she felt?

  Despite the wild breeze fluttering through the tower and whistling against the old stone, Pip felt a glowing warmth in her heart.

  The first time she met him she'd wanted to brush the mud flecks off his face and the fallen lock of hair from his brow.

  How was it possible for this great, tall man to seem so in need of ... something.

  A kindness? Love?

  And whatever made her think that she could provide it? Surely she was not the first woman to imagine herself capable of that daunting task.

  She wished her father were there to advise her. Or Jonathan Lulworth. Or Aunt Du Bois. Even Serenity would put her in her place with a scornful laugh, reminding her that she was a fool

  who knew nothing of men.

  But there was nobody to shout at her, or cajole, or roll their eyes.

  All these years she'
d longed for true independence with not a soul guarding or guiding her.

  Now she had that freedom and it was not at all what she expected.

  Life was unpredictable and finite. She should simply tighten her corset laces, like Queenie Du Bois, throw on her splendid Chinese robe and get on with it.

  "What are you doing up here? Trying to catch another cold, woman?"

  * * * *

  She turned, a mere silhouette at first with the light through the narrow window behind her.

  "I came up here to be alone and think," she said curtly.

  Damon moved closer to see her face. "Sounds dangerous to me."

  "It is dangerous to you." She gave him an arch look.

  "You're plotting what to do to me."

  "It seems you can do plenty to yourself without my help."

  "Yes. I made a mistake."

  "Did you? It doesn't seem fair to call a child a mistake."

  "I made a mistake with Elizabeth," he clarified carefully, taking her hand in his. "The child is innocent. She and I weren't. That was where we erred. We never loved each other. It was pride, vanity, lust. All the sins. Well, most of them." He raised her cool, gloveless hand to his lips and kissed it softly. "It began before I met you. It was over that summer, and then she came back. Just once. I should have known better."

  "Yes. You should." Biting her lip, she looked out through the window, wind blowing her hair in all directions. But she let him keep her hand. It was a fledgling bird of hope. "You owe nothing to me, however," she said softly. "Why should you apologize to me? What you did with Elizabeth is not my affair. Ours was a strange acquaintance from the beginning, and when I left London neither of us could know that we would ever meet again. Life is capricious and often chaotic; I've known that from childhood."

  She was too understanding, he thought. Any moment now she might swing her hand back and give him that infamous right hook. Trust nobody.