A Summer Seduction (Legend of St. Dwynwen)

by Candace Camp

  It made more sense that the men were hired by someone who lived in London, but she knew almost no one in the city. Alec and his family. Sir Myles. Mr. Portland. It was nonsensical to think that Alec or Myles would have hired the men, much less Alec’s starchy grandmother or sister. Mr. Portland had been her father’s friend and banker and then Damaris’s friend and banker for years.

  She stopped and forced herself to look past her instinctive rejection and consider Mr. Portland. Could there be any reason that kind and dignified man would want her gone? Money was a powerful thing, and he did, of course, handle her money. He was one of the trustees who had been placed in charge of the trust fund her father had left her, and he was the one who actually handled the money. The other two were her father’s solicitor and one of her father’s friends.

  Could Mr. Portland possibly have been embezzling money from the trust and now be trying to keep her from finding out? But that made no sense. She had never seen anything wrong in the figures he showed her; if he was stealing money from her, she obviously had no knowledge of it. It would be much more likely that the solicitor and his fellow trustee might discover it, so that would be the person to get rid of, not she. Unless, of course, Mr. Portland and the solicitor were working together to defraud her.

  Damaris burst into giggles as she tried to imagine those two distinguished gentlemen engaged in such skulduggery. No, it was absolutely absurd. The only villains possible were her father’s family. She was merely grasping at straws, reluctant to admit that her own blood kin despised her enough to do this to her.

  She sighed and lay back on the bed, staring at the low ceiling above her. Whatever motivated her attackers, there was nothing she could do about it now. Of more immediate concern was Alec and his involvement in her affairs. She had to admit that there was something primitive and thrilling about the way he had come to her rescue. It warmed her that he wanted to protect her, and there was a part of her that wanted to bathe in that warmth, to relax in the strength of his embrace.

  But it was wrong, surely, to encourage him in siding with her against her family. Whatever he said about not caring what his peers thought of him, she knew that he was not immune to the sting of gossip. And the fact that his name had already been embroiled in the scandal about Jocelyn would only make it worse if he was involved in an argument with the Sedburys over one of the late lord’s by-blows.

  Still, even though it might be wrong to involve him, Damaris could not refuse his help. She was in desperate need of it, frankly; she knew that she would not have managed to get this far without his aid, and she would face a world of difficulty if she tried to go back to London without Alec. His plan seemed more likely to end these attacks on her than anything else she could think of. It would be silly to refuse his help just because what he offered filled her with happiness.

  Damaris was pulled from her reverie by Alec’s return. She saw as soon as she opened the door that he had been successful in his quest, for his light blue eyes were sparkling with excitement.

  “I found a ship going to Newcastle, and the captain was willing to take us for a fee. They’re weighing anchor in two hours; we will need to leave soon. There was money left over from my transaction with the moneylender, so I picked up a couple of things. First…” He had been holding one hand behind his back, and now he brought it out, holding out to her a simple white dimity round gown.

  “Alec!” Damaris clasped her hands together in awe. “You didn’t! How—” Emotions swelled in her throat, and she was not sure whether she was about to laugh or cry.

  “I picked up a few notions at the haberdashery, and it so happened they had a gown hung there to advertise their materials for sale. I was able to talk the shopkeeper into selling it to me. It may not perfectly fit you, but—”

  “It’s wonderful!” Impulsively Damaris hugged him. “Thank you!”

  His arms closed around her, squeezing her to him for a moment, before he released her and stepped back. “Careful. Don’t want to break this.” He reached inside his jacket and withdrew a simple wood comb. With his other hand, he pulled out a blue ribbon and a little box of hairpins.

  “Oh, Alec!” Tears sprang into Damaris’s eyes, and she pressed her fingertips to her mouth, unable to speak.

  “There, now, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

  “I’m just—oh, you cannot imagine! I so wanted a comb! You are the best, kindest, most wonderful man!”

  He chuckled. “If only I had known how much women valued a comb! To think that I have wasted my money all these years on rubies and diamonds.”

  Damaris made a face at him. “Do not think you can fool me into believing you did not do me a kindness. You knew very well how sorely I missed a comb. I do value it. And I thank you very, very much.”

  She took his hands between hers and gazed up into his face. She was afraid that she was perilously close to doing the very worst thing possible for her own well-being—falling in love with the Earl of Rawdon.

  Fifteen

  The ship Alec had found was a rather unprepossessing-looking vessel, a medium-size ketch with a faded and battered figurehead of a woman in a dress that must once have been blue, as the name Blue Betty was written on the side of the hull. Damaris clutched Alec’s arm tightly as he led her across the gangplank onto the small ship. She had been on edge during the entire trip from the inn, and now that they were so close to the safety the ketch represented, her stomach was jumping with nerves.

  All around them the crew was busy with their tasks preparatory to casting off, and only one or two men even glanced their way as Alec whisked Damaris across the deck and down the narrow steps into the narrow hallway below. He knocked upon a door at the forward end of the corridor, and when there was no answer, he opened the door and ushered Damaris inside.

  “Good,” he said, casting an eye around the snug cabin. “He has already moved his things.”

  “What things? Who are you talking about?”

  “The captain. When I told him that I needed a cabin, since my wife was accompanying me, he offered to give up his own, as it was the only place suitable for a lady.”

  “Oh.” Damaris gazed around the small space somewhat doubtfully. “It seems quite pleasant.”

  Alec chuckled. “Cozy, one might say.”

  “It is a trifle small, but then, that is the way it is with ships, isn’t it?”

  Damaris could not help but think about the fact that she and Alec were apparently going to be spending the night in this room, which made their chamber at the inn last night look positively spacious. There was not even a chair here for Alec to sleep in. Indeed, there was almost nothing besides the bed. This piece of furniture seemed to dominate the cabin, and she could not look anywhere without seeing it.

  “So we are still a married couple?” she went on carefully.

  “It seemed wisest, given the circumstances. You need not worry,” he went on a bit stiffly. “I have no intention of taking advantage of the situation.”

  “I know you would not.”

  Damaris turned away, taking off her bonnet and setting it down on the bed. She had been unable to resist putting on the new frock Alec had bought her. It was entirely too short, showing much more of her ankles than was seemly, and the bosom was also a trifle tight; but all in all, it was heavenly to have on a clean dress again, particularly one that was at least a bit stylish.

  However, she had not taken the time to use the comb Alec had brought her; that, she knew, would take more than just a few minutes. Instead, she had merely stuffed the tangled mass of her hair under her bonnet so that it did not show. Now, however, it tumbled free again, and she took the comb out of her reticule and began the slow process of combing out the snarls.

  There was a sound behind her, and she turned to glance at Alec. He was leaning against the closed door of the cabin, his arms crossed over his chest, watching her. There was something in the set of his mouth, the heavy-lidded look in his eyes, that stirred the now-familiar ache deep
within her. Her hands stilled on the comb and dropped away. She could not look away from him, could not think of anything except the touch of his lips on hers, the curve of his hand over her breast. She could feel her body responding to that remembered touch, tingling and throbbing at the thought of its happening again.

  He straightened, pushing away from the door. “I—ah, I should see how things are going. Um, on deck. Let you”—he made a vague gesture around the room—“get settled.” He cleared his throat, then gave her a quick nod, turned, and left.

  Damaris sank down on the bed, her knees suddenly giving way beneath her. She had the uneasy feeling that this night was going to be very long.

  Sometime later Damaris felt the ship begin to move beneath her. She had finished combing out her hair and had pinned it up, then sat staring around her and wondering how to occupy her time. She knew that Alec wanted her to stay belowdecks until the ship left. It was, she suspected, not at all necessary: her would-be abductors were probably nowhere near Gravesend, and even if they were there, there was little chance of their happening upon this ship and recognizing her from the docks. However, she knew that if she went on deck, Alec would rush her right back down here, and anyway, there was no reason for her to be there, where she would only get in the way of the men doing their jobs.

  But when she felt the movement of the ship, she got up, reasoning that it would no longer matter if she could be seen, and made her way up the narrow steps to the deck. The sails were fully open as Blue Betty nosed into the middle of the river. Behind them, Gravesend was receding in the distance. The wind tugged at the wide brim of her bonnet, and she put her hand up to hold it in place as she walked toward the rail.

  The Thames was broader here than she had seen it in London, and it widened even more as they moved away from Gravesend. Ahead the river made a deep curve to the left. Relief washed through Damaris, and she could not help but smile. The men who had chased them could not catch them now; here on the water, she no longer needed to worry about the possibility of running into them again or being tracked down. It was a wonderfully freeing feeling, one she would not even have guessed at a few days ago.

  “Have you ever seen the Thames from here?” Alec moved up beside her at the railing.

  “No.” Damaris turned to smile at him. “But I have to say, it looks wonderful.”

  He nodded. He was still hatless, and the afternoon sun danced along the pale gold strands of his hair. It was a beautiful summer day, and Alec was so handsome that it caught at her heart to look at him. From the moment she first saw him, she had found him arresting and intriguing, if somewhat cold. But now, she realized, when she looked at him she saw so much more—the strength, the subtle humor, the hidden kindness that lay beneath that arrogant high slash of cheekbones and square jaw. She knew how that firm mouth could soften and turn seductive, how his eyes could warm with admiration or passion or flash with anger. Now she found him immeasurably more attractive, the stark angles and lines of his face imbued with character.

  He raised his brows at her inquisitively. “What? Have I sprung a third eye? A horn in the center of my forehead?”

  “No.” Damaris shook her head, smiling. “Far from it. I was just thinking how handsome you are.”

  His eyes widened and he drew in a sharp breath. “Dear lady… just when I think I have steeled myself to your charms, you sneak in beneath my guard and lay me low again.”

  Damaris looked away. “’Tis a wickedly forward thing for me to say, I know.”

  “I am particularly fond of ‘wickedly forward’ women.” He reached out and brushed his hand over hers on the railing. “But you do not make it easy to hold on to my gentlemanly intentions.”

  “I beg your pardon.”

  “No. Don’t apologize. I savor the temptation. Believe me.” He slid his finger down the length of her hand, light as a feather. “I know that looking at you will only make me want you more, and yet I cannot keep my eyes from you.”

  Damaris felt the warmth creeping up her neck and into her face, matching the one that spread deep in her belly. “We should speak of something else.”

  “No doubt. The weather, perhaps?” His finger continued that slow, tantalizing exploration of her hand, gliding up and down each finger. “It occurs to me that perhaps a man could be stirred so by the sight of you that he would hire someone to bring you to him.”

  “It seems an unlikely way to woo a woman.”

  “Perhaps he has been driven too mad by your beauty to care about ‘wooing,’ only desperate for the satisfaction of having you in his bed, however he gets you there.”

  Damaris sent him a sardonic look. “You think some man has been driven mad by the sight of me?”

  “Each day I realize more how likely that might be.” The faintest of smiles played at his lips, creasing the corners of his eyes.

  “Of course. And who do you think that man might be? It obviously is not you, as you are standing here with me.”

  “Ah, but perhaps I am so clever that I created the danger so I could save you. Have you thought of that?”

  “No. Anyway, you are much more direct than that, not to mention more principled. So if you are right, it must be someone else. Let’s see… what man in Chesley do you think is the likeliest candidate for your villain? The apothecary, perhaps?”

  His smile broadened, his eyes on his hand as it strayed over hers and laced their fingers together. “I think not. He would merely have had to slip some sleeping draught into your tea one day, and he could have carried you off himself.”

  “Then it must be Squire Cliffe,” Damaris said firmly, and Alec let out a laugh. “No doubt he has a whole harem of women back in Chesley, and he wishes to add me to them. Or the Reverend Daniel Bainbridge.” Damaris giggled. “No, that is too much to imagine, even in jest.”

  “I fear that Daniel would be much more likely to be interested in you if you were a thousand years old and Roman,” Alec agreed. “Very well, I accede to your wisdom. Perhaps it is not an ardent admirer.”

  “I don’t want to think about it anymore.” Damaris crossed her arms on the railing and leaned forward, looking down the river, which, after the sharp bend, was curving back to the right and opening out.

  A gust of wind caught the scoop of her bonnet and pulled, knocking it back from her head. Damaris reached up to adjust it, but as she did so, the wind jerked it away completely, sending it spinning out over the water, where it dropped and floated on the current.

  “Botheration.” Damaris reached up to push back the tendrils of hair that were already coming loose from their pins.

  “Don’t.” Alec reached out to still her hands. “I like to look at you this way.”

  “A complete mess?” Damaris asked skeptically.

  “With the sun on your hair. Strands breaking free to drift on the breeze.”

  Damaris sent him a look, but she lowered her hands to the railing and let her hair do as it would. “It is too much trouble, anyway.” She peered into the distance. “I wonder when we shall be able to see the ocean.”

  “Soon, I would think. I have never gone this way. We always come by road.”

  “I would guess that it is a grand procession.”

  “Indeed.” Again his grin flashed. “Especially when Grandmother is with us. Fortunately she winters in Bath these days. But in years past, my grandmother required a caravan. Genevieve and I took our favorite mounts. There was at least one wagon—and usually two—to carry the servants who must accompany us—Grandmother’s and Genevieve’s abigails, the grooms, whatever valet she was currently trying to foist off on me—as well as the trunks of clothes and hats and the various household items that my grandmother cannot live without. Then there was our coach, of course, and it had to be the one her husband bought, not one of the newer ones. They were not ‘grand’ enough—which means that I have left the family crest off the ones I purchased. She believes the world should know that the Staffords are on the march.”

  “Your grand
mother sounds faintly terrifying.”

  “More than faintly. She believes one is not a true Stafford unless ice water runs in your veins, and it is her duty to put it there.”

  “But surely she is a Stafford only by marriage, isn’t she?”

  Alec cast her a shocked glance. “Don’t let her hear you say that. She may have become a Stafford by marrying one, but that was only a formality. She has been a true Stafford in her heart from the moment she was born.”

  Something she would never be, of course, Damaris thought, then wondered why she had let such an idea even enter her mind. “What is it like?” she asked, to break from the path of her thoughts. “This castle of yours that is so impregnable?”

  His face changed subtly, and she could see both pride and affection in his eyes as he said, “It is a fortress. You shall see when we get there. It was built in a bend of the river, where the water is narrow, and it stands on a knoll, so that you can see it from afar—and from inside, you can see anyone approaching.”

  “And your tenants? You sounded fond of them.”

  “They are good and bad, I suppose, like anyone else. I like some, and others I’d as soon never see again. But they are all…” He paused, frowning, as if searching for the right words. “They are connected to me. The people of Cleyre are more than tenants. They are family. You may not like them very much, but they are still yours.” He looked at her.

  Damaris shrugged. “I fear family is something I know little about. There was only my mother and me. You can imagine that I never met any of my cousins.”

  “What about your mother’s family? Were you not close to them, either?”

  “I never met them. Mother didn’t like to talk about them. I gather that it caused a rift between her and her parents when she went on the stage.”

  “Ah.” He took her hand in his again. “Not having a family may not be a terrible thing. You probably grew up happier for it.”