‘Only because I could not arrange the ceremony sooner,’ he said. ‘It was your choice, Rosalyn. I would have waited.’
She knew that she had unwittingly touched a raw nerve. She lifted herself on one elbow, her hair hanging forward so that it brushed his face and chest as she looked down at him. What lay beyond that closed expression? Why torture himself so?
‘I did not wish to wait,’ she said softly. ‘Do not be angry, my love. Wife or mistress, I love you—and I know you love me. Believe me, I do not feel used, nor have you taken advantage of my innocence. I came to you willingly, because I love you. All I want is to be yours, totally and forever.’
For a moment he stared at her, his expression hard, unchanged, then he reached up, tangling his fingers in her hair as he drew her face down to his and kissed her with a fierce hunger.
‘I shall always love you,’ he said as she slid down beside him, burying herself in the curve of his shoulder, melding her willing flesh with his. ‘You may come to wish one day that you had thought twice about leaving your family but—’
‘Never!’ Rosalyn said, nipping at him with her sharp teeth. ‘Do not be foolish, Damian. I love you…you are all I need, all I shall ever need. I want only you. You are my life.’
‘I know. Forgive me.’ He kissed her forehead, stroking her hair, letting it slip through his fingers as she pressed herself closer to his side. ‘I was angry earlier, but not with you. Go to sleep, my darling. I am a strange, foolish creature, but I love you.’
Rosalyn muttered something against his shoulder. He smiled as he realised she was almost asleep: she possessed that enviable gift of being able to curl up like a kitten and sleep when she was comfortable. The fresh, clean scent of her hair filled his nostrils as she filled his senses. He could feel desire stirring deep within him again, but he quelled it with an iron control. She was always responsive to his needs, but he would not wake her. Let her sleep. He was too angry to let sleep claim his mind—angry with the man who had hurt her, and himself for being unable to prevent it.
When Rosalyn whimpered in her sleep, his anger deepened. She would never give him reason to think her unhappy, but he could not rid himself of his guilt. He had taken her from her home and family. She was content enough for the moment, but what of the future? Would she come to regret all she had lost? Would she begin to wish that she had never met him, never thrown her hat over the windmill for the sake of love?
Damian had known the pain of exile. Although he had finally won fortune and friends in India, he had never quite forgotten the hurt of being cast out by his family. Now, because of him, Rosalyn too was an outcast—at least as far as her brother was concerned.
What made Damian feel so frustrated was the charge of murder. This was the second time such a charge had been levelled at him, and it rankled deep in his soul. The first time he had believed in his heart that he was indeed guilty—guilty of killing the wrong man, and that had lain heavily on his conscience for many years. But this time he was innocent. Yet there was nothing he could do to refute the charge, no way he could clear his name—the name he was about to give to Rosalyn.
He had taken her from home and family, and all he could give her was a tainted name.
‘Will you be all right by yourself?’ Damian asked for perhaps the tenth time that morning. ‘I hate to leave you, my dearest, but it is business. I have several calls to make, and you would be kept waiting for ages.’
‘Of course I do not mind,’ Rosalyn said. ‘You do not need to be with me all the time. I am quite capable of amusing myself for a few hours. I shall write to Maria and Aunt Susan. I ought to have done so sooner, but we have hardly been in the house.’
‘Give poor Maria my love,’ he said with a twitch of his lips. ‘Tell her we shall be leaving Paris after our wedding. We must go to Jared soon or he will think himself deserted.’
‘I have enjoyed our stay here very much,’ Rosalyn told him. ‘But I shall not be sorry to be in the country again.’
Damian nodded and kissed her. After he had gone, Rosalyn sat down at the pretty little inlaid writing desk in the back parlour; it was set in the window embrasure and looked out at a garden with rose-beds and secret arbours. The top of the desk was littered with expensive trifles Damian and she had bought during their stay in Paris. She had just picked up a rather attractive gold and enamel pen to begin the first of her letters when she heard the front door-knocker.
Now who could that be? They had made several new acquaintances in Paris, but she did not expect any of them to call that morning, especially as she knew for certain that Charlotte had a previous engagement.
Hearing voices in the hall, Rosalyn got to her feet, her heart beginning to beat uncomfortably fast. Surely that was Freddie! Why had he come here? The maid entered to announce him. Rosalyn stood stiff and straight, the colour draining from her face as she saw the look on his. He was in one of his black moods, and clearly still angry with her.
‘This is not a social call,’ he said as the maid withdrew. ‘There is a small business matter which needs attention. Father’s will provided for the release of your capital on your marriage…’ His eyes went to her left hand and his lip curled scornfully. ‘I see that has not yet taken place…’
‘It is arranged for next week,’ Rosalyn said, her chin lifting with pride. ‘Will you sit down, Freddie? Beatrice is not with you?’
He remained standing, his manner indicating that he was here only because it was necessary.
‘You think I would bring my wife here—to this house?’
The note of contempt in his voice made Rosalyn flinch.
‘That is enough!’ she cried, a flash of anger in her eyes. She would not stand for this in her own home. ‘I do not intend to let you insult either me or Damian again. Say what you have to say and leave.’
‘Very well. I had hoped you might have come to your senses—but I see you have not. You were always headstrong and stubborn. I am sorry for it and hope you will not regret your choice.’
‘You have no need to fear for my future, sir. I am happier than I could ever have hoped.’
He inclined his head. ‘I shall leave you these papers, which are in accordance with Father’s will. You may look through them and return them to my lawyers when you have signed them. This will mean there is no need for further communication between us.’
‘As you wish.’
Rosalyn felt cold with anger. How selfish he was! How uncaring!
‘I have forbidden Beatrice to write to you. I do not wish my wife to associate with the wife of a murderer.’
Oh, how could he? Rosalyn itched to slap him, but maintained her dignity. ‘I am ashamed of you, Freddie,’ she said, giving him a look filled with contempt. ‘I would never have believed you could be so cruel—so unfeeling. You were always selfish, but I thought you loved me as a brother should. I see now it was not so.’
‘You chose to cut yourself off from your family. You are the arbiter of your own fate.’
‘Am I, Freddie?’ Her candid gaze caused him to look away. ‘You accused Damian of murder—but I think it was in your own heart at one time. Look into your heart, brother, and see if you can find a part of what was once there, for if you do not, I believe you will suffer for it.’
Freddie refused to look at her. ‘I have said what I came to say. Mrs Forrester told me where you were living. I know her husband slightly. We both belong to White’s Club. Should you need to contact me in the future, you may do so through my lawyer.’ He gave her a brief nod, turned and walked from the room without another word.
Rosalyn remained standing as the door closed behind him. Then she gathered up the papers he had left and thrust them into her writing box. She could not face them now, or the letters to her family.
She would go out into the garden and walk in the sunshine.
‘Oh, Damian, they are beautiful! Thank you so much. I could never have wished for anything better.’
Rosalyn stood at the head of the pai
r of magnificent carriage horses Damian had purchased for her. They were both black with a flash of white on their noses, as close to a perfect match as it was possible to find and both spirited, handsome creatures. She knew at once that he must have gone to a great deal of expense and trouble to find them for her.
‘I am glad they please you,’ he said, smiling at her evident pleasure. None of his other gifts had brought such a sparkle to her eyes. ‘When we are settled, I shall buy more horses for you…’ His brows arched in inquiry. ‘I thought perhaps you might like to set up your own breeding stables…thoroughbreds you could ride yourself or race if you chose?’
‘Could I really do that?’ She looked at him in wonder, her face alight with excitement, eyes glowing. ‘How did you know it was what I have always wanted?’
‘I did not know,’ he said, bending his head to brush his lips lightly over hers. ‘I merely hoped the idea might appeal to you—give you something to fill your days, to amuse you.’
To make up for the loss of family and friends.
‘It is what I should like of all things,’ she assured him, laying her face against that of the horse she was fondling. ‘Oh, you beauty!’
‘They are called Blackberry and Midnight,’ Damian said. ‘But you may choose new names for them if you wish.’
‘It would merely confuse them,’ Rosalyn replied. ‘If we are to breed horses, I shall have the naming of many horses in time.’ She stood back as their new coachman led the horses away, slipping her arm through Damian’s. ‘Where on earth did you find them?’
As they went into the house, Damian spoke of the contacts he had made, confessing that he had seen more than a dozen matched pairs before making his final choice.
‘I wanted them to be perfect,’ he said, glancing at her face which still carried the glow of surprise and delight. ‘So—what have you been doing, my love?’
‘Sitting in the garden for most of the time,’ she answered, avoiding his penetrating gaze. She did not wish to spoil his surprise by speaking of the visit from Freddie. ‘I did write my letters eventually.’
Damian sensed she was not being quite open with him, yet he could not think what she could be keeping from him. Perhaps it was merely that the act of writing letters to her family had made her realise exactly what she had done—what she had lost?
‘Did you finish all your business?’ she asked as he was silent.
‘Yes—everything.’ Damian frowned. ‘There were letters waiting for me at the Embassy—the news is not good as far as Jared is concerned, I am afraid.’
‘Letters—from his father?’
Damian nodded, his mouth thinning. ‘It seems he has decided to bow to the wishes of others. He has officially cast off Jared and made his second son his heir.’
‘Oh, how unkind of him!’ Rosalyn’s concern was all for the youth who had been forced into permanent exile by this act. ‘How could a father do that to his son?’
‘I do not believe Ahmed had much choice at the end,’ Damian said. ‘He has acted properly as far as Jared’s inheritance is concerned. Besides the jewels we brought with us, he has lodged a large sum of money with a bank in Paris for Jared—enough to make him a wealthy young man one day.’
‘Can money ever replace a father’s affections?’
‘No, of course not—but I hope to do that in some small measure. I wrote to Ahmed some weeks ago and asked for his permission to stand as a father to his son—and he has granted me the right to give Jared my own name. This means that Jared will now be safe from further attack—and that was perhaps the main reason for Ahmed’s decision.’
Rosalyn reached up to kiss his cheek, her eyes soft with love. ‘I am glad Jared has you,’ she said. ‘I just hope that he will not be too hurt by what his father has done.’
‘I shall tell him myself,’ Damian said, ‘which means that it will be best if we leave for the country immediately after our wedding.’
‘Yes, of course,’ Rosalyn agreed. ‘I am ready to leave when you are.’
She recalled the papers Freddie had tossed down, which were still tucked into her writing case, unread. Her brother had expected her to return them to his lawyers within a few days, but it could make no difference either way. She did not need more than her allowance; the papers could wait until she was ready to look through them.
‘You look lovely,’ Charlotte said and kissed Rosalyn on the cheek. ‘I am so happy Damian has found you, my dear. There was a time when I believed he would be haunted by his memories…that he would never forget her…’ She pulled a wry face as she realised what she had said. ‘What am I saying? And on your wedding day! My foolish tongue!’
‘Who was it you thought he would never forget?’ Rosalyn frowned. Was this what lay in Damian’s past? Was it his memories of a woman he had loved and lost that brought such a bleak look to his eyes sometimes?
‘Helen…surely he has told you? You must know why he fought that duel?’ Charlotte looked puzzled, contrite. ‘Forgive me, I believed you knew his story.’
‘I knew about the duel…’ Rosalyn turned away to pick up her white gloves. ‘I thought Helen was his friend’s sister.’
‘Yes, she was…’ Charlotte was instantly remorseful. ‘I should not have mentioned her. Especially today—but I meant only to say how pleased I am that Damian has finally put the past behind him and found happiness.’
Rosalyn smiled, her head slightly raised, hiding her confused emotions. Charlotte had not meant to hurt her, nor to raise doubts in her mind. She would not allow the knowledge of Damian’s love for the girl who had taken her own life out of shame to spoil her special day. She ought to have realised sooner that he would not have fought a duel unless the girl meant a great deal to him—but she had never suspected that he had carried the memory of his lost love in his heart all these years.
Did it matter? Rosalyn told herself it did not; she had proof enough of Damian’s love for her. It would be foolish to let herself be haunted by jealousy of a long-dead girl. No, no, she was far too sensible to let such a trifle distress her.
‘Have I upset you with my foolish chatter?’ Charlotte asked anxiously.
‘No, of course not,’ Rosalyn said, giving her a bright smile. ‘I have known about Helen for a long time.’ She pulled on her gloves. ‘I think we should go now, Charlotte—or Damian will believe that I have changed my mind.’
The ceremony was quite brief, witnessed only by a handful of friends, the chief of whom were the Forresters. A brilliant sun hung in the sky as Rosalyn left the small church on Damian’s arm to the sound of bells pealing and a shower of rose petals, which floated on the breeze.
The reception was held at a hotel, just a simple meal shared with friends who toasted them in the finest champagne and then waved them off in the splendid new carriage Damian had purchased for his bride.
Once their journey was under way, Damian leaned across to kiss his wife on the lips.
‘Happy, my lady?’
‘Yes. Very.’
Rosalyn laughed. Damian had used his title for the wedding ceremony, and she was now the Countess Marlowe, something that she found amusing in the circumstances.
It occurred to her that if she were ever at a dinner party where her brother was being entertained, she and Damian would take precedence. Had she been of a spiteful nature she might have gained satisfaction from the thought but, possessing a certain kind of humour which saw the ridiculousness of such conventions, she merely smiled to herself.
‘Why are you smiling like that?’
‘No particular reason,’ Rosalyn replied. ‘Except that it seemed so odd to hear myself addressed as Lady Marlowe.’
‘I wanted there to be no doubt about the legality of our marriage,’ he said, a wry expression in his eyes. ‘The title means nothing to me—but you are at liberty to use it if you wish.’
Rosalyn shook her head. ‘I am content to be your wife—by what name I am known, I care not.’
The subject was dropped, and the
y turned to idle chatter and to staring out of the window at the changing scenery: fields, sloping hillsides covered with vines from which the rich wines of France were created, sleepy little villages drowsing in the evening sun—and then the cobbled yard of the inn where they were to stay for the night.
That night Damian’s love-making reached new heights, as if by making her his wife he had reached firmer ground and found peace of mind. Rosalyn slept in his arms, content and happy. By the following evening, they would arrive at the house which was to be their home for the next few weeks, though eventually they would travel on to Andalucia and their future.
Chapter Twelve
‘Here we are, my love,’ Damian said as the carriage turned into a long drive. ‘I hope you will like the house I have chosen. It is quite old, but adequate for our needs for the time being. We shall not stay here too long.’
Rosalyn looked out of the window as the house came in sight.
‘It is lovely,’ she said. ‘A charming house.’
A groom opened the door of their carriage, and Damian got out first, turning to help his wife down.
‘Ah, I see our arrival has been anticipated.’
Rosalyn looked and saw Jared walking towards them.
‘I have been waiting for you,’ he said, coming out to meet them. The evening shadows were just beginning to fall across the old courtyard, and the rays of a dying sun had turned the stone walls to rose. ‘It is beautiful here, is it not? Can you smell the fragrance of the flowers? That’s the jasmine, it always smells beautiful at night.’ He stopped and looked at Rosalyn a little shyly. ‘I do not know what to call you—should it be Lady Marlowe?’
‘No, indeed it should not,’ she said and leaned towards him, kissing his cheek. ‘We are to be a family, Jared—and my family call me Rosalyn. I should be happy if you were to use my name.’
She saw her suggestion had found favour. He bowed to her, offering his arm, every inch the fashionable young gentleman he was fast becoming. She had noticed a distinct change in him, but perhaps it was just that he was growing up. He seemed to have shot up at least two inches in a few weeks, and she told him so. They went into the house together, laughing and talking as Rosalyn described Paris in lively detail, telling him of the places they had visited and the sights they had seen.
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