Damen's Secret: Novella (Regency House Party: Somerstone)

by Jen Geigle Johnson

  Introduction

  You are about to see into the mind and heart of a villain. Villains have their own sense of morality. But villains make terrible choices. I hope you enjoy this exploration in just what it is that makes Damen tick.

  Even villains fall in love.

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  Read all our books. They can be enjoyed in any order:

  The Unwanted Suitor

  An Unlikely Courtship

  Mistaken Identity

  The Stable Master’s Daughter

  Tabitha’s Folly

  Damen’s Secret

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  DAMEN’S SECRET

  Regency House Party: Somerstone

  JEN GEIGLE JOHNSON

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  1

  Damen Laconi stalked out of the grand hall of Chatwick, keenly aware of his own livery in the face of the grandeur around him. The servants of the Duke of Smalling looked away as he passed. He couldn’t hear Hadley, the butler, but he knew the stiff and stately servant and two footmen followed behind, ready to intimidate Damen if he stalled or deviated on his way to the door.

  With every step, Damen’s breath came shorter, his hands flexed and clenched, and he fought the urge to turn back and place a well-aimed punch into the duke’s face. The man didn’t deserve the title. He didn’t deserve anything that life had handed him, and he most certainly didn’t deserve to be called father.

  But Damen would have embraced the role of son, if the man had claimed him. He ached with a yearning for acknowledgment, an ache that never quite subsided, present in all of his greatest happiness and darkening all his sorrows.

  He should be grateful for the life he was given, his stepmother so often explained. His heart softened when he thought of her. He loved the woman and their home in Yorkshire, outside Somerstone Manor. He was grateful for his upbringing and counted himself blessed to gain employment with the countess—another opulent home and family. And of a truth, he had led a very satisfactory life, which he appreciated, until he learned of his true heritage and the sad story of rejection from those who gave him life.

  He stormed out the door and leapt up into the hired hack. “Somerstone.” Was all he trusted himself to utter.

  As they passed through the village, his mother in all but birth waved to him. He rapped on the carriage ceiling and, when it stopped, stepped out to greet her. “How are you, dear mother?”

  “I am well, Damen.” She kissed his cheek. “I have a surprise for you, a distant cousin.”

  Something in her eyes said this was more than a familial meeting.

  “Can I come tonight to meet this mysterious cousin?”

  “No son, you must come right now.”

  He sighed. “I’ve had a bit of bad news mother, can’t he wait?”

  She grinned, a new twinkle in her eyes. “No, she cannot. Now come and try to look handsome.” She laughed.

  He shook his head but followed her, signaling the carriage to wait. He couldn’t stay overly long and trespass on the countess’ great kindness in allowing his leave for a petition to the duke. Thinking on the worthless rug, he again fumed. And mentally kicked aside all the man’s offers of respectability. The duke called them positions of respectability. In truth, he offered Damen all but what he truly wanted.

  He stomped after his mother, growing more angry with each step as he humored aggravating thoughts until the door to their home opened and the swish of skirts brought his eyes to the face of the loveliest woman he had ever seen. Her dark hair cascaded all around her, her dress draped down her slender frame, her full, wide mouth showed rows of white teeth. He swallowed and then stopped, looking to his mother.

  She kept back a grin, but just. “Damen, this is your distant cousin, Giorgia.”

  His eyes flew open, and she nodded. “She is from Italia, the land of your fathers.”

  His grandfather. His mother. He eyed Giorgia with a touch of suspicion and a great deal of curiosity. “Why have you come?”

  “Your mother sent me. She wonders after you.”

  “She gets our letters.” Damen couldn’t help his anger. He owed this new Giorgia, and the woman who gave him birth, nothing.

  Giorgia smiled and held out her hand. “Could we go for a walk?”

  He hesitated for a moment but then reached for her hand, ungloved though it was. He found her fascinating. Even with irritating news, he couldn’t look away from her deep brown eyes that sparkled up at him, or the lovely upturn of her nose. She was exquisite. And her hand in his made it difficult for him to concentrate, all senses in his fingers sending warm sensations up his arm.

  After they had walked for a minute, he couldn’t stand the wait. “And you are here, because?”

  She turned to him. “You are much more handsome than I imagined.”

  He puffed out a breath of air. He was used to the reactions he created in women. He was hired at Somerstone because of his handsome face. The countess prided herself in the best looking footmen in these two counties.

  He stopped their walk. “I need to get back. Perhaps we could meet again this evening, late. Or on my day off?”

  “Damen, your mother sent me with the hopes that we could become betrothed.”

  He let his jaw drop. “Pardon me?”

  Her musical laughter warmed him. “I was not to mention it unless I too thought it would be acceptable. After speaking with your maman, and well, seeing you in person…”

  Her cheeks blushed prettily. “I might be in agreement.”

  * * *

  Still stunned by the lovely Giorgia’s announcement, Damen entered Somerstone through the kitchen. The cook smiled and indicated his plate. She always kept one ready for him. He wrapped a hand around her waist as he walked by. “Thank you, Agatha.”

  She giggled and kept kneading her bread. Damen was too distracted to do more with the enticing Agatha. He called himself a shameless flirt, but he refused to risk another child born into the world with his plight, and so he kept a certain distance.

  He couldn’t make sense of this new woman his mother sent. His blood-mother, he ground his teeth thinking of her, refusing to claim him herself, sending a distant cousin from Italy? Apparently Giorgia was the daughter of a prominent businessman there. She was pretty enough—gorgeous, he admitted. She seemed pleasant and willing. He chewed his bread slowly. But she did not have a title. He slammed his fist down onto the table. And therein lay the problem. Neither of his parents considered him worthy of a title. Why send an untitled woman when his mother could hav
e sent one with a title?

  He thought of Lady Tabitha Easton, a current guest at the countess’ latest house party, her wide blue eyes filled with rebellion. Now there was someone who would understand him. He knew underneath her innocence raged a woman who would do anything for love. He could see it in the very manner in which she carried herself, in her yearning lean whenever that dolt Lord Henry came around. If Damen could just snatch more moments with her, distract her just enough so that she fell in love with him…

  And Giorgia was a delicious distraction herself, staying in town with his family. So available. He smirked. And willing. He thought of her large brown eyes, and something stirred inside.

  2

  Days later, Damen watched the group of guests creep along through the house in the middle of the night in search of a ghost. Rumor had it that a young child visited them every night outside of the nursery, and who was he to dispel a rumor such as that one? He resisted the urge to scare them, one and all, justly and soundly. The ladies clung to their man of choice; the men reveled in stories. Damen was about to leave them to it and retire early when Tabitha passed in front of him.

  She walked alone.

  His heart raced. Her lovely profile and pert nose flickering in the candlelight as she stepped quietly at the rear of the group. She did not see him, hidden partially down an adjoining hallway, and the delicious secrecy of his position rolled through him in waves.

  Before he could overthink the consequences of such an action, he placed a hand on her arm and held a finger to his lips.

  She sucked in a breath. Happily for him, she was not the screeching kind of woman. Her eyes widened to great discs as she fought to slow her breathing.

  He beckoned to her. He knew she would come. He saw it in the pleased, adventurous glint in her eyes. Delightful. She was the kind of noble he always hoped existed in the world. He was doing her a favor, surrounded as she was by brothers and that dolt, Henry, a childhood friend she insisted on admiring. Anyone would need to get away from that bunch. The more they frustrated her, the better his chances with her.

  She reached for him. When her fingers slid along his palm, he shivered. She represented all that was enticing and forbidden; all that he hoped for in life stood before him in her lovely small frame and large blue eyes. He worked to control his desire to pull her into his arms and kiss her soundly.

  She withdrew her fingers but agreed to follow him.

  He hid his smile of victory and led her swiftly away before she could change her mind. The secret passageway would intrigue her. The curiosity in her expression told him he had her bound as long as he kept their interactions mysterious. He smirked into the darkness ahead of them. The ghost at least would not disappoint.

  They slid through the entrance, her skirts brushing against his legs, sending another rushing wave of desire through him. He reminded himself she was no Giorgia. Lady Tabitha was young, lacked experience, and in her rash decision had likely given little thought to the consequences of their secret tryst.

  He gripped the candlestick, resisting her lovely, soft smell and the fall of her slippers in the darkness behind him. At last they approached the peepholes in the wall. He showed her where to look and enjoyed her soft exclamation of surprise as she no doubt spied her friends below.

  Then she stepped nearer and watched him, her gaze on his face, sending sensations through him. Perhaps she saw what all the women saw, a handsome footman. Perhaps she saw more. With luck, she didn’t see too deeply into his dark intentions.

  3

  They carried on together for many minutes, Tabitha asking him searching questions and he trying to evade them. Once the ghost had made yet another appearance in the corridor outside the nursery, he lead Tabitha back, feeling unsettled. Her questions tugged at his inner desires, the part of himself he did not wish to show. Confound it. She made him want to make something honorable of himself, and he had long since given up that path. He swept her through the room they had all just left and away to the servants’ panel and the back entrance behind the hallway and rooms on this level.

  Her innocence flared with a desire for adventure. It fairly burst from her and Damen drank it in. And then she had started asking annoying questions. “Why are you a footman then?”

  He ground his teeth. It was too soon after his meeting with the duke, that weasel, and he could not trust himself to behave in a sensible manner.

  He led Lady Tabitha back along the servants’ halls and almost to her bedroom. He paused and then doused the candle, the lovely rose in the air around her all the more obvious as his eyes adjusted. What would she do? They were cloaked in a thick darkness in a passageway behind the wall.

  Stepping nearer, her closeness rushed over him in waves.

  “What are you doing?” Her voice did not sound alarmed, almost hopeful. Could she be as enamored as he?

  “Hush. I’ve brought you to your room.”

  He expected her to brush past him, to hurry out, but instead she paused and stepped closer. Confound the woman. Did she not know how close she was to being thoroughly kissed? He wanted to wipe all innocence from her mouth and cover it with his own, marking her as his, forever. But he resisted, curious. He knew he must bide his time. She waited and placed a hand on his chest. His heart beat wildly beneath her fingertips. He remained still, waiting to see what she would do, and then the moment passed, and she left him in the dark hallway with only his thoughts for company.

  She was his key to a title, to respectability. She did things to him no other woman had. Her innocence called to him, her daring. She had seen past his uniform to a man beneath. His mind turned with opportunity, and he began plotting how to make them both the happiest of people.

  Tabitha would be his.

  4

  Giorgia ran a brush through her thick, dark hair and missed her maid. Damen’s mother had insisted she come to him as a commoner, as one of the working class, though wealthy. She had her reasons. His mother didn’t want Damen to know the full extent of all she offered, at first.

  And Giorgia agreed with her. Did she want to be married to one only hungry for her title? Though for someone as handsome as Damen, she might. She could conquer him, win him to her heart. She had seen a hungry glint in his eye and she began to suspect what Damen would desire. She smirked. He was no match for her. She would win him over without mention of her title, without anything but her charm. Her stomach clenched in nervous anticipation. She was running out of time.

  After styling her hair in a manner to accentuate her cheekbones and lips, she waited for Damen. They were to picnic today, and the anticipation kept her moving about the room, checking the front drive out the window, and adjusting her skirts.

  “You look lovely, now sit still.” Damen’s stepmother Miriam was a lovely woman. She had done a fine job of raising him and she loved him dearly, that much was obvious. Giorgia hadn’t told her the full extent of her plans, but she wondered how much the woman suspected anyway.

  At last the handsome man himself arrived, and Giorgia composed herself. He stood in the doorway, out of his livery, with a loose neckcloth and breeches, he was even more tantalizing than the last time she had seen him. Hanging effortlessly on his arm was a basket, which appeared to be overflowing with goodness.

  “Damen, what have you brought?”

  “The countess’ cook is a particular friend.”

  Giorgia wondered just how particular.

  Damen led her away, out the door and down the lane. “I know a place. We will picnic and get to know one another.” He turned to her and winked. “I’d like to know just what my mother has in mind for us.”

  She grinned and stepped up beside him. “I wish to know what we have in mind for ourselves.”

  Damen paused, and Giorgia was pleased to see he was affected by her.

  “We are the masters of our own path.”

  He swallowed and looked into her eyes. “Our own path. It has been many years since I have been the master of anything. I am a
t the beck and call of many, you see.”

  “But not for long. A man of your cunning, or your many talents, deserves to make his way in the world. He must do more than bow and nod and simper before the wealthy of England.”

  His eyes widened. He put his basket down on the ground and Giorgia’s heart rate picked up as he stepped nearer and swung her into his arms. “Say that again.”

  She laughed, thrilled at being so near to him, his chest pressing into her own, his capable hands cradling her back. “Say what?” She breathed.

  “Say I am the master.”

  She let her gaze sink into his. She placed a hand at the side of his face. “You. Are the master.”

  He pressed his lips to hers. Not quite the gentle expression of love, but the desperate demand of a man who wanted dominion. She succumbed and melted into him. “Damen.” She whispered under his mouth. He pressed more insistently.

  * * *

  Damen led them back after many hours by the stream. They had laughed, they had toyed, they had kissed and he had enjoyed her more than he had any woman. Nothing like the torturous and dark ache Tabitha created inside, Giorgia was powerful and freeing. Life with her could make him rise. Could he leave everything in England and go to live the life of a working class well-to-do Italian? Could he reconnect with his mother’s people? His own mother by blood?

  If he ignored the injustice of his situation, Giorgia offered a wonderful path for him. And she was sensual and delicious. Why could he not let a title go and just be hers forever?

  He would consider things. He dropped her off at his family’s house, kissing her passionately until she melted in his arms. Then he turned and hurried back to Somerstone, where he would shine the boots of any noble who asked, take out that ridiculous pug, and submit to all manner of inane requests from the house party guests. But inside, he would remember Giorgia. Masters of their own paths. The possibility enticed him more than any other thought.