A Summer Seduction (Legend of St. Dwynwen)

by Candace Camp

  “Yes.” He ignored the bite in her tone, preening a little, as if she had complimented him. “It was inspired, I always thought.”

  “You tried to kidnap me to keep me from recognizing you and revealing who you really were?”

  “I could hardly let you ruin everything when I had the shy little bird right in my hand.” He held out his hand, cupped palm up, and snapped it closed. “The Engleton heiress was all but mine.”

  “What did you plan to do? Kill me to keep me from talking? Hold me prisoner the rest of our lives?”

  “I wasn’t sure. I couldn’t decide whether to take you out of the country and threaten you so you wouldn’t return or just keep you locked away somewhere for a few months until I could secure the silly chit. I thought of selling you to white slavers so you would disappear entirely but, alas, I did not know any.”

  “You are a vile creature.” Damaris looked at him with contempt. “Is that why you are here? Do you mean to snatch me out of Rawdon’s garden? Knock me over the head and lock me up somewhere? You are a fool if you think you can go against the Earl of Rawdon. Alec will crack you like a nut.”

  “His mistress’s husband? I think not.” Barrett’s smile was not reassuring. “You see, I thought about the matter more closely after those fools managed to lose you time and again. It was excessively annoying, but then I realized that perhaps it was all for the best. I wasn’t looking at it the right way. Why bother with that bacon-brained Eleanor Engleton when I already possessed an heiress? One, moreover, who is not plump as a pigeon and possessed of a fatuous giggle. It has been eleven years, after all, and I realized that you will soon come into your fortune. You’ll get it at age thirty, isn’t that right?”

  “And, being my husband, you could get your hands on it.” Damaris narrowed her eyes.

  He smiled. “I think a trip abroad would appeal, don’t you? We could go back to Italy, revisit the places where our romance blossomed.”

  “You are mad if you think I would go anywhere with you.” Damaris whipped around and started toward the house, but Barrett caught up with her, grabbing her by the wrist and pulling her to a stop. “What are you doing?” Damaris tried to jerk her arm from his grasp. “Let go of me, or I shall scream. If you have any sense, you must know that Alec will tear you apart.”

  “You forget, I have made a study of the wealthy and titled for some years now. I know very well who the Staffords are. I know that while they are a—how shall I put it—a vengeful lot, they are also unbearably proud. Arrogant, some say. And the Earl of Rawdon will not subject his family to scandal just for the sake of his bastard mistress.”

  Damaris paled, and Barrett let out a chuckle.

  “Ah, that hit home, did it not? We both know you are enticing enough for Rawdon to dally with, but not enough to ruin his good name for.”

  “He will not let you take me,” Damaris said through gritted teeth. However little Alec might want a scandal, she was positive of that. “He may not want a scandal, but if you know the Staffords, you know that no one takes what is theirs. Castle Cleyre has fearsome dungeons, I have heard.”

  She had the satisfaction of seeing her no-longer-dead husband flinch at hearing those words, but he recovered quickly, digging his fingers into her arm and giving her a shake.

  “Then I guess I shall have to make sure you leave now before he comes back.” Barrett grinned at her expression. “Ah, you underestimated me. Not surprising, since you are accustomed to dealing with clunch-headed nobleman like Rawdon. I know the earl is not here; he went out hunting with his friend and won’t be back for hours. Which gives you ample time to go back to your room, gather a few of your things, and come away with me. I have our horses waiting in the copse below.”

  “I told you—I am not leaving with you!” Damaris jerked her arm back, and this time he released it, so that she stumbled back and came up hard against a tree, scraping her arm.

  “Oh, I think you will. You see, if you do not come with me, I shall reveal to the world that you are my wife. It is uncommon, true, for a husband to apply to Parliament for an act of divorce, but I shall do it. On the grounds of adultery. I have a clear case against you and, of course, the earl. As the guilty party, Rawdon shall have to pay a tidy sum, but that will hardly compare to the scandal it will bring upon him and his family. No doubt his sister will find it a trifle difficult to make a suitable match with that stain on the family name. It won’t be as much money as I would get when you turn thirty, but then I would be quite free to marry again, with none of these worries about being found a bigamist. And it might just be worth it to see the Earl of Rawdon brought low.”

  Rage rushed through Damaris, filling her until she thought she might explode. “You snake! You absolute, utter blackguard. Go away and leave Alec alone. I shall pay you to do so. I shall arrange with my trustees to fund you; they accede to my wishes now that I am older. And when I turn thirty I shall pay you more to stay out of our lives!”

  “And allow my wife to continue to cuckold me with the fair-haired earl? I think not. Besides, I shall have full right to all your money in two years. Why should I settle for only a part? No, the only way for you to make sure your precious lover survives his mistake of sleeping with you, without drowning in public humiliation, is for you to come away with me now, quickly and quietly. Go upstairs and pack. Oh, and leave him a short note explaining that you are ending your affair. We don’t want him following us, after all.”

  “I cannot keep him from doing that.”

  “He won’t stoop to chasing you if he thinks you are tired of him. Don’t beg him for help or imply that I am forcing you.”

  “You are forcing me!”

  “I am merely offering you a chance to let your lover escape the scandal. It will be all for naught if he chases us down and we have a very public brawl. And since I have no doubt that he would come out the victor in any such struggle, well, I would simply have to forestall that by shooting him as soon as he appears. No court would find me guilty of murder for shooting the man who was diddling my wife. On the other hand, if you tell him you are ending it, pride will not let him crawl after you.”

  Damaris stared at him, numb with shock. “You would murder him? I would not have thought that even you were that low.”

  “My dear girl, I have no desire to lose several of my teeth or have my jaw broken by that lovesick giant. I would shoot him in an instant.”

  It was all Damaris could do not to fling herself at him, clawing and kicking. If she had had a gun in her hand, she would have fired it at him—indeed, she thought she would have attacked him with a knife or stick or anything that was at hand. But she held not even her trusty hatpin, and the fury just burned through her, leaving her empty and shaking.

  “I—I will be only a few minutes,” she said dully. “Wait for me here.”

  Damaris turned and started back to the house. She felt numb, as if she were stuffed full of cotton batting. Her mind worked frantically, searching for some way, any way, out of this nightmare, but her thoughts skittered all around like leaves in the wind. She could not pin them down, could not think, for any thought was swept away by the cold, hard image of Alec lying dead on the floor.

  She had no doubt that Barrett—or whoever he was now—would follow through on his threat to shoot Alec if Alec attacked him. Nor did she have any doubt that Alec would attack him if he believed the man had seized her or hurt her. The only way to keep that from happening was to do as Barrett had suggested. She must write Alec a simple note ending their affair in a cold, clear fashion. The only way to save him was to cut him to the quick.

  Tears filled her eyes at the thought of Alec discovering that another woman had run away from him, and her resolve almost melted away. She did not have to go with Barrett. She could stay inside the castle and be safe until Alec returned home. She would tell him what had happened. But no, she knew if she did that, Alec would charge out into the night to find Barrett. As soon as he drew close enough for Barrett to see him, B
arrett would kill him.

  Barrett clearly had no moral qualms, and he was right in thinking that any court would rule shooting his wife’s lover justifiable. Barrett would not hesitate to hide somewhere and shoot Alec in cold blood as he approached.

  If she could by some miracle keep Alec from pursuing him, Barrett would do as he had threatened and put Alec squarely in the center of a scandal. His reputation would be in tatters, especially after the beating it had taken when Jocelyn jilted him a year and a half ago. Damaris might tease him for his arrogance, but she could not bear to see that proud tilt of his head change. She refused to be the cause of his humiliation before his peers. And he would not be the only one who suffered; his family would be hurt as well. It would damage both the countess and Lady Genevieve, and while Damaris had no great fondness for either of them, she could not let innocent persons be harmed. More than that, she knew how Alec would suffer at the thought that his actions had hurt his sister and grandmother.

  No, she could not allow that to happen. She had to go with Barrett. Later… well, later she would find a way to take care of Barrett. Once they were far away from here, where whatever happened could not damage Alec, then she would do whatever it took. That resolution was a cold, hard lump in her chest. But right now, the most important thing was to keep Alec from following her.

  When she reached her room, she stuffed a few of her things in a satchel. Her hand lingered over the comb Alec had bought her, then she dropped it into the bag, too. She could easily leave most of her things, but that gift from Alec she would keep and treasure forever. She wavered over her gun as well. She was not sure how she would deal with Barrett, but it would be of great help to have a weapon. However, the gun was empty, and she carried no powder or shot for it. Nor did she know where Alec kept such things.

  Slipping out of the room, she tiptoed down the hall to Alec’s bedchamber. If she was lucky, Alec would not have bothered to take the small knife that he often carried in his boot, since he and Myles had gone out with a full complement of guns for their hunt, not to mention the gamekeeper and his assistants and all the dogs. The knife was not lying handily about on top of the dresser or table, so she eased open a drawer and checked inside it. She felt rather guilty, sneaking about, looking through Alec’s things, and she hoped a servant would not chance to come in and find her.

  Finally, in the narrow drawer devoted to socks, she found the lethal weapon, as well as the scabbard Alec typically strapped on his calf to carry it. She had to buckle the scabbard around her thigh to make it fit, but it stayed, and she slid the knife into place and shook her skirts back down. Feeling well satisfied, she scurried back to her room, where she sat down at the delicate mahogany secretary and took out a piece of paper to write Alec a note.

  But she found that the words would not come. She wrote two sentences, then scratched them out, certain that they revealed too much. Finally, she ended up scribbling down a terse declaration that she was leaving. “The affair is over. It was enjoyable, but I have grown tired of it.” Was that enough to stop him? she wondered.

  Barrett was right in saying that Alec was a proud man. Surely his pride would not let him chase after a woman who no longer wanted him. Thea had told Damaris that Alec had not pursued Jocelyn when she ran away, at least not at first, because of his pride. Following on the heels of that betrayal by his fiancée, surely he would be yet less likely to run after Damaris. She was not even engaged to him. If he made no fuss about it, no one need know that she had run from him.

  But, she knew, nothing could take the sting away. She was fleeing from him exactly as the woman he had loved before had run from him. Damaris’s heart clenched at the thought of hurting Alec. She did not flatter herself that he loved her the way he had loved Gabriel’s sister. Certainly he was not planning to marry her. But even so, her leaving would be a slap in the face to him—salt in the emotional wound that Jocelyn had left.

  Everything in her rebelled at the thought of hurting him this way. But she knew, too, that the hurt would serve to keep him from following her, perhaps even more than his pride would. He would not let her or anyone see his pain. For that reason, she could not take away any of the sting, as she longed to do. She could not write that she loved him or that she regretted her actions. She could not beg him not to think badly of her.

  And so, tears spilling out her eyes and splashing onto the notepaper, she signed her name in a hand as small and tight as she felt inside, then folded and sealed it. She wrote his name on one side, and dashing the tears away from her cheeks, picked up her satchel and trotted down the stairs. She went first to the silver tray on the narrow table near the front door, on which calling cards and the mail were placed. Slipping the note onto the tray, she turned and started quietly down the hallway to the garden door.

  “Mrs. Howard?”

  Damaris stopped, inwardly cursing, and turned toward the stairs. Alec’s sister stood on the bottom step, her hand resting lightly on the newel post. Her pearly white cat sat a few steps above her, tail curled around him, staring down at Damaris with an imperious stare identical to his mistress’s.

  “Oh. Lady Genevieve. Good afternoon. I mean, good morning, I guess.” Damaris offered a nervous smile.

  Genevieve’s eyes flickered to the satchel in Damaris’s hand. She stepped down to the entryway floor and started toward Damaris. “Are you going somewhere, Mrs. Howard?”

  “Yes. I—I am leaving. I have left a note for Lord Rawdon.” She glanced toward the folded paper on the tray.

  “Indeed? Then you have not spoken with him?” Genevieve’s tone was glacial.

  “No. I—I cannot. I mean, my nerve may fail me.” Damaris swallowed against the tears that threatened to rise in her throat, and she took a step closer to the fair-haired woman. “Please… you know that it is better if I leave. I don’t want to live as any man’s mistress. Even Alec’s.” She saw no need to add that, little as she wanted to, she had already decided to accept that half-life in order to be with Alec.

  A faint ripple of emotion touched Genevieve’s perfect face, but she said nothing.

  “Alec may be angry, I know, but in the end…” Damaris swallowed again. She could feel the tears swimming in her eyes, but she blinked them away. “It will be better for him. I know you think so too.”

  Genevieve’s eyes flashed. “I will not have him hurt.” There was a fierce tone in her voice that echoed Alec’s.

  “I’m sorry. I do not want that either. I never wanted…” She stopped, certain that she would break into sobs if she continued. Whirling, she ran down the long hallway toward the far door. No footsteps followed her.

  Twenty-two

  Alec strolled across the yard, casually chatting with Myles. Shadow loped along in front of them, his tongue lolling out, wet and muddy and looking as smugly pleased with himself as if he had actually behaved like a hunting dog instead of charging around, barking madly at the birds and generally getting in everyone’s way. Alec knew how he felt. They had bagged only a few grouse, but it didn’t matter. It had been a nice tramp with a good friend and his dog, and now he had the rest of the day with Damaris to look forward to.

  A footman opened the door for them, then recoiled in horror as Shadow lumbered in. Alec jumped forward, hooking his hand around the dog’s collar, catching him just before he launched into a thorough shaking to remove the water and mud from his coat.

  “No you don’t, my fine friend,” he told the happy dog. “The housekeeper will have my head if I let you dirty her nice clean floor. Here.” He handed the dog over to the footman. “Take him down to the kennels and tell one of the men to clean him up before he comes back in.”

  Shadow, seeming aware of the bath that lay in his future, stiffened his legs and leaned back, doing his best to sit down as the footman dragged him away, but his paws slid easily over the polished marble, and in a moment he was out the door, tossing back a final pleading look toward Alec.

  Myles chuckled. “Poor Shadow. You’ll be in his
black books now.”

  “Not him. He won’t remember by the time he returns to the house. He’ll simply be happy to see us again. Unlike Genevieve’s cat, who remembers the slightest transgression and holds it against you for days.”

  The cat in question was seated on the flat top of the newel post at the bottom of the stairs, studying them with a cool, unswerving gaze. Both men cast a wary eye at the animal.

  “I think he rather holds it against me that I exist,” Myles confessed.

  Alec glanced down and saw a folded piece of paper lying in the silver salver on the entry table. His name was written across it, and though he had not seen her write more than once or twice, Alec was certain that the flowing script was Damaris’s hand. His heart stuttered in his chest, and he was touched by a sudden, inexplicable dread. He stopped and looked at the table, curiously reluctant to pick up the note.

  “Alec?” Myles, a few feet past him, realized that his companion had stopped, and he turned back toward him. “What is it? You look—” He frowned.

  Alec made no answer, just picked up the note, turning it over to carefully break the seal. He unfolded it and looked at the paper, where words and whole sentences had been scratched out. It was blotched here and there, the letters streaking, but it was short and simple, and the import was clear: Damaris was gone.

  “Alec!” Myles’s voice was alarmed, and he crossed back to his friend in two quick strides. “What the devil—”

  Alec merely held out the paper to him. His face was as white as the marble floor on which they stood, his eyes distant, as if the man inside were far away. Myles grabbed the note and read it quickly, his eyebrows soaring upward. “‘The affair is over. I have grown tired—’” He raised his head, staring at Alec in astonishment. “What does this mean?”