DamonUndone

by JayneFresina

  "The term is googly, not goggly."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Absolutely."

  "Ah." She nodded. "Your turn to choose a subject then."

  But instead he stood there, staring at her until the silence became heavy and charged, like the air before a storm.

  "Is that how you intimidate defendants in court?" she chirped, determined to keep the mood light and teasing. "I daresay I would find all my darkest secrets wrenched out of me by such a look. I would talk myself into a hanging."

  "Silence makes you uncomfortable?" He came over to put some pens back in a line after she'd moved them about as she spoke.

  "I'd much rather know what a person is thinking, than have them hide it from me with stony silence. Although I have been told that I should learn to be a little less transparent myself. Chatter less and conceal more." She briskly brushed crumbs from her skirt into her cupped hand. "I'm not sure I shall ever manage it and, as you see, when there is a silence I feel compelled to fill it. I suppose it's because I tend to think I've done something wrong if the other person is too quiet. My sister thinks I have too many opinions, but once we're in the grave it'll be too late to express them. While we're alive we ought to make noise, in case somebody mistakes us for a corpse and buries us, don't you think?"

  "Nobody, madam, could mistake you for a corpse."

  She walked by him to toss the crumbs through his window, the rusty latch giving her a fight until he came to help with a stern, quick pull. "Will you take one of your muffins to that newsboy? He looks hungry, poor thing."

  "They're my muffins, and I'll do with them as I please."

  There was little conversation after that. Pip drank her coffee and then was ushered out again. Having gone to the trouble of inviting her back, he now seemed in haste for her to be gone. She stopped in the door, resisting his efforts to push her out.

  "I think you're the oddest man I've ever met."

  "You haven't met the rest of my family."

  "I've been advised to stay away from Deverells."

  A slight smile turned up one corner of his lips. "Not doing a very good job of it, are you?"

  "I am too easily tempted by cake," she replied ruefully.

  He huffed, but it was almost a laugh. "Come tomorrow." And he hastily averted his gaze. "If you like."

  "If I like?" She put her hands on her waist. "You can't admit you might like me to come?"

  "We will never get along, remember?" His gaze returned to her face. "It's been decided. And this is not romantic."

  "True." The sun had moved around since she entered his office and now it stung her in the eye as she looked up at him. She squinted. "I daresay one might share delicious muffins with one's sworn enemy. As long as you don't poison them."

  "Sworn enemy?" He quirked an eyebrow. "Has it sunk that far?"

  "We Pipers don't do anything by halves."

  Oh, even closer to a laugh this time, but it was curbed quickly. He adjusted his neck cloth. "Come if you like. It's up to you. I'm sure I don't care, and I'd just as soon have the peace and quiet. I'm boring that way. You know us Englishmen and our stiff upper lips."

  He was not only the oddest man she'd ever met; he was also the most frustrating.

  "Grinding one's teeth is a terrible habit," he reminded her smugly, before closing the door in her face.

  * * * *

  She came every morning for almost a week, always very early so that he was alone.

  Every day she said the same thing. "What shall we talk about today?"

  Usually he didn't answer, because she already had a subject in mind and needed no encouragement to rattle on. History, science, the state of the roads, the bond she'd formed with a stray dog... Damon never knew what it would be.

  Finally, on the fifth day, he answered, "Must we talk at all?" Sometimes talking tired him out; he did so much of it every day, persuading people in court and out of it. Words could be exhausting.

  "I'm trying to be sociable," she said, pert, sitting with her hands in her lap, like a little girl at her lessons.

  "I'd rather not."

  "What would you rather do then?"

  Damon swung around on his heel and paced the other way, his pulse quickening. Only an artless innocent would ask that question of him, he mused. He had no right to invite her here like this, clandestine, illicit— call it what you will— he knew what he was doing and no good could come of it. Not for her. He was not looking for a wife and marriage. Tempting as she was, he couldn't have her, not under the terms he wanted. "Eat your muffin, Miss Piper," he snapped.

  Suddenly he heard the legs of his chair scrape across the stone floor. "If I eat another crumb, I'll burst out of my stays."

  He smirked at his reflection in the window. "Can't have that, can we?"

  "Doesn't your lady friend wonder who eats her muffins with you?"

  "No."

  "If you don't like conversation, what do you do with your lady friends then?"

  Before he knew what was happening she was behind him, tapping him on the shoulder with one finger. She'd taken her gloves off to eat.

  He turned to face her.

  And had a second thought.

  Perhaps she was not so innocent after all when she asked her questions. A sultry gleam lurked under her lashes, heightened color suffused her face in the warmth of the sun through the window, and she had just dampened her lips, which made them look even fuller. The damnable woman was clever, witty. She must have come there knowing what might happen.

  When he gripped her by the arms she made no protest, although her lips parted a little and a small gasp exited her mouth. It was not a sound of shock or fear, but excitement. Anticipation wrought of curiosity and a certain adventurous spirit. She lifted her face, her gaze locked to his.

  Damon's heart raced as it had not done in a very long time. It almost took his breath away. He forgot, for just a moment, where he was, and imagined himself back on a Cornish cliff side with his childhood partner in mischief. The only difference being that they were both grown up today and other games were afoot.

  Oh, and she was real. Flesh and blood. Warm and soft. Sweetly scented, mouthwatering in a way of which she could have no understanding.

  He lowered his lips to her forehead and closed his eyes, inhaling her perfume. Lavender. Just the faintest trace of it in her hair. Slowly his lips moved to her temple and then back down to her nose, planting the lightest of kisses upon the tip.

  "You want to know what I do with my lady friends," he murmured.

  "Yes," she gasped out. "Clearly you don't have much conversation." And then she, impatient, rose on tip toe to press her mouth somewhat clumsily to his.

  Pulling her closer, he moved out of the light of the window and deepened the kiss, tasting her thoroughly, restlessly. He needed more. Much more. Her bare fingers ventured to his cheek and then his hair, exploring, stroking. Something— a raw sensation he'd never before felt— flooded through him so fiercely that he feared he might fall. Needed the wall to hold them both up.

  Damon took her hand and felt that smooth skin, his thumb sweeping over her palm. A hard, driving rhythm pounded through his head and all the way down to the soles of his feet.

  Deverells always got what they wanted. So why shouldn't he have her? In that moment all other considerations vanished, snuffed out like a candle in a draft too strong, too forceful to withstand.

  He kissed her again, savagely this time, greedily, his blood hot, his head dizzy. He clutched her body to his, her thumping heart to his, fitting her against him so that she would be left in no doubt of his desire for her. He felt her lips parting, yielding. Damon let his hand slide down to haul her closer still, his fingers spread around the alluring curve of her bottom. Her gasp shattered against his tongue, and he delved deeper, plundering and claiming.

  But suddenly she stepped out of his grasp, tugged her hand from his, reached for her discarded gloves and tried to pull them on. "Don't get any ideas, Deverell," she excla
imed on a taut rush of breath. "It was just a kiss and I was curious. I don't want a man, as I told you before. I haven't the time or the patience and there are a great many things I want to achieve with my life. Just because I'm a woman it doesn't mean I can't."

  "Make up your mind. You started this, madam."

  "Indeed I did not. You lured me with muffins." She fumbled over her gloves so badly that she dropped one. "This is not a romance. Kindly don't mistake it for one."

  He pushed himself away from the wall, regrouped, licked his lips where he could still taste her, and somewhat breathless himself, said, "Let me help."

  "No. Thank you. I can manage. I never need help, for pity's sake. Help is the last thing I would ever ask for."

  After watching her for a minute, as she puzzled over the number of fingers on her hand and tried to match them with the corresponding holes in her glove, Damon stepped up and gave his assistance. He expected another protest, but none came. Instead she seemed to feel the need to explain her behavior.

  "It's been a very dull few months," she muttered, her expression glum.

  "I'm sure it's hard to be so far from your home."

  Her lashes swept upward, her eyes pinned to his face. "Yes."

  Damon looked down again, fixing the tiny buttons at her wrist. "Don't worry about me getting ideas above my station. I know what I was hired to do. This is only business." He cleared his throat. "From now on."

  Not another word passed between them that day, but he did succeed in slyly measuring her pulse with the pad of his thumb and finding it raised to a hectic pace in concert with his own heart's beat.

  When she was gone, dashing away across the street, Damon stood in his office with the gentle flood of morning sunlight warming his face, and stared at the wall paneling where he had held her as he drank that kiss from her soft, quarrelsome lips. Suddenly he could see every scratch and knick, where other folk had leaned and bumped against it over the years. Where clients nervously squirmed against the paneling as he questioned them.

  But although he had many questions for the redoubtable Miss Piper, he found himself quite at a loss to ask any, since he had, inexplicably, given her his seat. Every time she came into the room he let her have the one and only chair, while he paced stupidly like a naughty boy brought before the headmaster. He couldn't, for the life of him, understand why he did it.

  Then she had the audacity to suggest she didn't start that kiss.

  Damon made up his mind that he would not let her in again. Next time she came to his door, he would tell her he had a client and that she should go back to Belgravia. Because that kiss could only lead him down a troubled path away from a peaceful life. And clearly, just as she found it impossible to resist fresh baked muffins, he was finding it just as challenging to resist her chattering lips. She had more treacherous curves than the cliff road that led to his father's island. And too many bends in the road tended to make him sick to his stomach, so it was something of a surprise to him that he'd embarked upon this particular journey so keenly. Well, no more. He'd have to put a stop to it before he ventured around one curve too many.

  However, that evening he had another visitor. Working late by the light of a candle at his desk, he was startled by the shrill sound of a woman's voice demanding to know which was his office, followed by Tom's protest as she evidently pushed the clerk aside.

  Damon put down his pen and sighed softly. He might have known it couldn't last.

  "I know what she's been up to," were the first words out of her aunt's mouth as she pushed her way into his office. "She thinks she can hide it from me, but I'm no stranger to the tricks young girls use. She's been coming here, without my consent, and you've encouraged it. Now something's happened between you. I don't know what, for she won't say, but I know men like you, young sir, and I won't have it."

  "Thank you, Tom," he said softly to the clerk who, looking extremely bruised and fearful, slid out and closed the door behind him.

  "You have no thought of marriage, do you?" she exclaimed. "Well?"

  "I'm not the marrying kind." He'd never seen evidence of marriage making anybody happy. Although his father seemed content now with Olivia, it was early days yet and True Deverell's past history did not suggest he would go easily into the winter of his years with only one woman at his side. Most marriages, however they appeared on the surface, did not bear up under close scrutiny.

  "As I thought, and even if you did have such an idea in mind it would pass before the ink was dry on the license. Just as soon as you'd had your way with her you'd be off, leaving my niece damaged goods. Come near that girl again and I'll take those proud seed-bags off you, slowly, with a nutcracker."

  "Forgive me, madam, but I'm quite sure you have no right to tell me what I can and cannot do."

  "Try to go against me, sir, and you'll find out what I can do and how painfully I can do it. No doubt you're after the money, is that it? I won't let you feed that girl your poetry, young man."

  "I've never fed a woman poetry in my life."

  "No, but you're feeding her somethin', I guess."

  He picked up the basket from his desk and held it toward her. "Muffin, madam?"

  She flared her nostrils and pointed at his ink pot. "You, young sir, will write a note to my niece and I shall dictate it."

  "Madam, I really don't—"

  "Unless you would like me to cause trouble for a certain married lady friend of yours, young Master Deverell. Ah, yes, that surprises you, doesn't it?"

  It more than surprised him. Damon was alarmed, so much so that it must have shown on his face.

  "I'm a lady who has seen it all and travelled the world, young sir. And like you, so I hear, I am not averse to fighting dirty when needed. Now, you've got one plaything already, so you set my niece aside, and then you and I needn't have any further harsh words between us. You do the job for which you were paid by her father— manage the gossip and keep her out of trouble, not in it. Or I can let her father know what's been going on and you can lose a valuable client."

  He gave no argument. Damon wrote the note, as she wanted, and put it into her hand. It was for the best, he thought. He had, already, decided to end Miss Piper's morning visits and at least this way he didn't have to say it to her face and risk weakening. Oddly enough, a man who had squared off, undaunted, against some of the most vicious delinquents and cunning rogues from London's underbelly, Damon suffered a considerably painful qualm at the thought of turning that small, amusing creature away from his door.

  "From now on, young man," her aunt exclaimed, snatching the letter from his hand, "you stick to what you do best."

  He couldn't resist a wry comment. "That's what I was trying to do, madam."

  "I suppose you think that's funny."

  Hastily straightening his lips, he replied, "Certainly not, madam. This is an office of work, not frivolity. Ask my clerk."

  From then on he gave Lady Roper's muffins to the newsboy across the street and decided his fascination with Nonesuch was over. Thank goodness, because it was all getting out of hand and he did rather want his chair, and his tidy office back. Not to mention keeping his nuts uncracked.

  * * * *

  The sealed message was waiting by her breakfast plate the next day. According to the butler it was delivered in the early hours of the morning.

  Madam; please do not put your reputation in danger by coming here alone again. Listen to those who would advise you wisely. Our meetings, from now on, should only be in the company of your aunt and to discuss the matters for which I was hired.

  Sincerely,

  D. Deverell, Esq.

  Well, that was decidedly more formal than his usual notes. One might even call it polite. A polite dismissal.

  Pip said nothing to anybody and put the letter away in her own writing box. In truth she'd felt foolish after leaving his office that day. What had overcome her so suddenly that made her curiosity bubble over? Although she would like to deny it began with her, she had p
ut her lips to his. Then, of course, he took the control out of her hands and she felt something like panic as the reins slipped from her fingers. There was a moment when she thought she couldn't stop it. But then she did. It took her breath away, left waves of heat pounding through her body.

  Worse, even than his improper caress of her derriere, was the calm way he then replaced her gloves for her, his own hands so steady, while she made such a mess of trying.

  Such a man could do anything and not be troubled by it, show no remorse.

  Yet, he had replaced her sister's shawl with something even more beautiful.

  Pip found that she could not shut him away into any of the boxes she usually reserved for men. He refused to fit into any. Left her confused, unsettled.

  Later that day, her aunt commented on the fact that she was unusually quiet.

  "Am I?" She smiled brightly. "I cannot think why."

  Her aunt leaned over and whispered, "Sometimes the more necessary the choice, the harder it is to make. We ladies must have all the willpower when it comes to men. It is for our own good."

  Nothing else was said, but it seemed evident that Aunt Du Bois had somehow found out and put a stop to her mornings with Deverell. It was, no doubt, inevitable that somebody would have found out eventually. And really, how far could it have gone?

  She would have needed to let out her clothes if he continued plying her with those delicious muffins.

  Chapter Eleven

  Damon would not have gone to the races at Ascot in June that year, had he not been invited by his half-sister, Raven, whose husband had a horse running in the Royal Hunt Cup.

  I hear you're all work and no play these days, Raven's letter to him had said, but that makes you in danger of becoming far too dull. I shall collect you promptly at eight.

  She never left any room for debate, never asked, merely told. Ransom liked to say that his sister had emerged from their mother's womb already ordering the midwife about and causing their father to wear his boots out from pacing. She hadn't stopped since. Being the only girl in the family, Damon suspected she had learned early on to be assertive. Certainly none of the Deverell boys would have fussed over her or treated her with kid gloves, even if she'd let them.