As the last of her bonds fell away, Jason shouted, “Look out! Behind you!”
Sir Percival had roused, and he pointed his little pistol at Damien’s back. Blood dripped from a gash on his head where it had hit the mantle. Damien swung about, and his hand went to his sword hilt.
“Not so fast,” Sir Percival sneered. “The wench has been promised to me, and I mean to have her.” He wiggled his little pistol. “I won’t hesitate to use this. I killed your brother. It won’t bother me to kill you.”
Damien threw an astonished glance at Jessica.
“It’s true,” she said. “Margaret had Sir Percival hide in the bushes during the duel between my father and your brother. When they fired their pistols, he shot your brother to be sure he was killed. My father never meant to kill him.”
Sir Percival snickered. “It was a simple matter,” he gloated. “The young Duke was easy prey. He never suspected foul play. Why should he? He was dueling against the honorable Earl of Braeleigh.” He motioned with his gun. “Stand away from the wench. She’s coming with me.”
Jessica stepped forward. “You’ll have to shoot me right here, Sir Percival. I’ll go nowhere with you.”
As Sir Percival’s attention was on Jessica, Damien gave his hand a little twist, and his stiletto slid into his palm. Like lightning, his hand came up and he flung the blade at the man. It hit its mark, piercing Sir Percival’s upper arm. He cried out in pain, and the gun slipped from his grasp. Jason was quick to kick it out of reach.
Damien hurried to untie Jason. The fire had gained ground. It raged up one wall of the room and was threatening to engulf the door. Damien removed his coat and placed it over Jessica’s head to protect her from the flames and heat. With his arm about her, and another about Jason, he hurried them out the door.
When they were safely outside, Damien had Jessica and Jason wait, then he returned to the house. Jessica waited several agonizing minutes until he reappeared with Sir Percival. Donny arrived with the footmen, and Damien handed the murderer over to his men. Sir Percival would be given over to the authorities and tried.
Damien wrapped his arm around Jessica. “I couldn’t get up the stairs to Margaret,” he said. “She had piled draperies and linen at the top of the stairs and set them alight.”
Jessica, Damien, Jason, and the others stood and watched the house burn. They could do nothing to prevent the fire from spreading. It had taken on a life of its own, devouring whatever was in its path. The flames caused windows to shatter, and they licked up the side of the house. Smoke billowed, threw a shroud over the building and reflected the light of the flames back to the ground. The whole area was lit by the conflagration.
Margaret emerged on the roof and walked back and forth along a parapet. She carried a candle and seemed not to notice the destruction, nor the danger.
“Braeleigh is mine!” she screeched, throwing her arms wide. “No one will take it from me!”
There was a roar and a crash as a main beam gave way. The whole house shuddered as sparks blossomed above her head. With a piercing scream, Margaret fell to her death into the house she had fought so hard to keep as her own.
Jessica watched in horror. Margaret had been jealous, cruel, and, finally, insane, but Jessica had never wished such a horrible end for the woman. The house, which held so many happy memories for Jessica and so many painful ones, was now truly Margaret’s. She had claimed it by setting it afire and dying in it.
Tears streaked Jessica’s cheeks. Damien’s arm tightened around her.
“You have a new home, Jessica,” he reminded her gently. “One where you can create new memories, happy ones for our children. When Jason is older, he can return here and rebuild Braeleigh.”
Jessica turned to her husband, away from the terrible destruction. Her tears soaked his shirt. In her heart, she knew what he said was true. The pain of losing her family home would fade, to be replaced by the joy of creating a home filled with love for the new family which would surround her.
She looked up into the face of the man who held her so safely. “I love you, Damien.”
He placed a soft kiss on her temple. “You are my heart, dear one.”
She had gambled her heart and lost it, only to win more than she had ever expected—the love of her life.
Epilogue
Damien rose from his chair near the hearth and paced the floor of the library for at least the tenth time that night. The fire which had blazed so cheerily earlier in the evening was beginning to die. With a sigh, Edward Johnson heaved himself out of his comfortable seat and threw another log onto the embers.
“Careful not to dislodge the holiday greenery,” Damien warned his friend. “Jessica spent hours decorating the house for Christmas.”
The holiday was only a few days away, and his wife had draped swags of holly and evergreens across all the mantles and down the main staircase.
Edward turned from poking the fire and grinned. “I would wager you don’t mind all the mistletoe she’s hung in the doorways.”
Damien shrugged. “What’s a man to do when his wife wants to decorate?” He walked to the door of the room, opened it, and listened. There was no sound from the floor above. “What the devil is taking so long?” he muttered.
Leaving the door ajar, he walked back to the fireplace, absentmindedly picked up a glass from the mantle, and drained its contents. It was one of several he had left about the room during the long night. He glanced at his friend.
“You look terrible,” Damien observed.
Edward smiled. “You would not pass inspection from the general either.”
Damien had run his hand through his hair so many times that it stood up in spikes all over his head. Worry etched a deep line between his brows. Dark smudges of weariness shadowed his eyes. He fell into a chair across from Edward. Leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, he stared into the empty glass clasped in his hands.
“How can it take so long?” he lamented again. “It’s been days since I left her.”
At that, Edward laughed outright. “It has not been days, my friend, only hours. I am lacking in experience, but I know it takes time to have a babe. They come in their own time.” He motioned to a dark corner of the room. “Perhaps you would be better off like that.”
Damien turned to look where Edward indicated. Jason was asleep, curled into a ball on a settee. Damien had allowed him to stay up on this special night after the boy had declared he was a man, too, and would keep watch with Damien.
“I would not be able to sleep,” Damien told his friend. “After you and Catherine are wed, and she is having your child, you will understand.”
Incredulously, Edward asked, “What makes you think I am going to wed Catherine?”
Damien grinned. “You did not come here only to visit Jessica and me, Captain. We have seen very little of you since you arrived here five days ago. I am surprised that Catherine’s father has not thrown you out of his house for harassing his daughter.”
A flush darkened Edward’s cheeks. “The squire has already expressed his fondness for me and has informed me I could visit whenever I wished.” He shifted. “Of course, that was only after I made clear that my intentions were honorable. Catherine and I were only waiting for the babe to arrive before we made our final plans. We wanted to be sure that you and Jessica could attend our wedding.”
Damien’s face creased into a warm smile as he reached out and clasped his friend’s hand. Just as he was about to congratulate Edward, there was a long, drawn-out scream of pain from the floor above. Both men froze, and their gaze traveled to the door. Damien’s face paled. Within seconds, the thin wail of a tiny baby could be heard. Damien turned to glance at Edward. A look of relief and happiness and amazement passed between them. Damien lost no time in racing out of the library and bounding up the stairs, two at a time.
He stopped just ou
tside the bedroom door. Doubts and fears suddenly assailed him. What if something had gone wrong? What if the scream meant that Jessica was dying? What if there was something wrong with the babe? Steeling himself for the worst, he opened the door.
The sight which met his eyes caused him more panic than he had ever known. His mother, Donny, and the midwife were all grouped around the bed. The slight mound under the covers, which was Jessica, was very still. When the three women heard him enter, they backed away from the bed. His mother came to greet him with tears in her eyes.
“Congratulations, Damien,” she whispered. “You have a beautiful son.”
Relief so strong his knees nearly buckled swept through him. Then, in a daze, he walked to the bed. Jessica lay with her eyes closed. Her face was pale, and damp tendrils of hair clung to her forehead and temples.
Her eyelids fluttered and opened. She gave him a tired, but happy smile. As he knelt by the bed, she reached out and touched his cheek.
“You look tired, Damien,” she said softly.
He took her hand and kissed her palm, but before he could reply, she gently pulled back a corner of the blanket to reveal a small bundle in the crook of her arm. In the midst of the bundle was a tiny, red face topped by a fluff black hair. Damien gazed at it in amazement.
“This is your son, Damien,” she told him. “I would like to name him, Brian, after your brother.”
She unwrapped the blanket more to reveal four tiny, perfect limbs that began to wave wildly in the air. The small face screwed itself up, and a protesting wail issued from its toothless little mouth. Damien laughed delightedly and put his finger near one of the miniature hands. The little fingers clasped it eagerly.
“He is beautiful, Jessica,” Damien said with a smile. “Thank you.”
Jessica grinned as she covered the infant with the blanket once more. “You did have some part to play in this, Your Grace.”
The look of love that passed between them would have melted the coldest heart. Damien caught her hand once more and brought it to his lips. Jessica sighed contentedly and closed her eyes to sleep.
The ghost of Damien’s brother was finally put to rest. The hatred, which had germinated so many years before, dissipated like the morning mist before the golden rays of the rising sun.
“Happy Christmas, my love,” he whispered, as he watched his wife sleep with a smile on her lips.
About the Author
Patricia Barletta is a multi-published, award-winning author of historical and paranormal romance fiction. As a native of the Boston area, she has been inspired by its history, which influenced her stories, and probably had an impact on her decision to become a high school British Literature teacher so she could pay the bills. She received a Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing degree at the fabulous Stonecoast program in Maine. She loves to travel, especially to do research for her stories. When she’s not at a yoga class, gardening, or socializing with friends, she’s writing about dark heroes, feisty heroines, magic, and other fantastical things in her historic old home in Boston.
Find out more about Patricia and her books at: patriciabarletta.com
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The Duke Who Loved Me: On His Majesty's Secret Service Book 1 Page 29