DamonUndone

by JayneFresina

  As it happened, he was glad of a day out in his sister's company, which was always enjoyable and easy. Since Raven's marriage had taken her away into Oxfordshire for most of the year, and her husband was not a terribly sociable creature, she did not often come up to Town. Damon had missed seeing her about, teasing her and laughing together at the snobbery of the people around them.

  But as soon as he stepped up into her carriage that day, she wanted to know, "What on earth is the matter with you now?"

  "Hmm?"

  "You don't look very happy, brother. You look tired, beaten and worn as one of my old dolls. I might expect that from Ransom— the wild company and sleepless hours he keeps— but not you."

  Damon was puzzled. Why would he not look happy? He was enjoying an affair with a passionate and inventive mistress who made no demands upon him outside her hotel suite bedroom; he was in good health and his career proceeded well enough. He had succeeded in managing a number of good works— pro bono— on Lady Roper's behalf, and often paid secret afternoon visits to her drawing room, where she exhibited an astounding ability to beat him at chess, despite her claim of never properly understanding the rules and her childlike "surprise" with each victory. The weather was excellent and he had been looking forward to his sister's company. But apparently none of this showed on his countenance.

  "You need a dose of salts, young man," Raven teased. "That's what Mrs. Blewett would say, if she saw you today. You need a dose of salts and one of my jam puddings. You always were her favorite, of course, and she'd make you anything you desired whenever you came home from school or were sick."

  Damon scowled across the carriage. "Mary Blewett merely likes to feed people. And when I was a boy I liked to eat. Supply and demand is our only connection."

  "It's how she shows you her affection, as you well know. But then you like to pretend you don't know how everybody is charmed by you, whether they want to be or not."

  "Charmed?" There it was again. Lady Roper's words continued to haunt him. What the devil was he doing that made people think he had charm? He drew a nervous hand back through his hair, fingers scraping at his scalp. "There is nothing charming about me."

  She laughed. "There shouldn't be. You can be so very insufferable and, of course, we all know you have no heart. But there is something about your darkness that is, in itself, strangely endearing. Or perhaps enthralling is a better word. I suppose the more horrid you are, the more we want to save your soul. The more you need us."

  "You make no sense, Raven. Marriage has pickled your brain."

  "On the contrary. It has made me see things with greater clarity, because the world has stopped rushing by and I can look at people in a way I never did before. And I see before me a very clever young man who, today, for some reason, is sad. A young man who once thought he had everything, but, today, feels as if he has nothing and he can't understand it."

  He thought of the way Lady Roper had patted his hand and how everything after that moment had suddenly seemed different. Changed. As if a candle blew out and forced his eyes to adjust in the dark.

  "So why are you gloomy today, brother?"

  "I can assure you I'm perfectly content," he replied.

  "Stempenham and Pitt treat you well?"

  "Well enough."

  "I'm surprised they haven't made you partner yet. I read of your successes all the time."

  He winced at her enthusiasm. "It's only been three years since I joined them."

  "But you're a prodigy. Everybody says so."

  "Really?" he muttered scornfully. At Stempenham and Pitt they mostly called him an "upstart" or a "young whippersnapper". The fact that he was a Deverell meant that he was eyed with a certain amount of distrust still, despite his many successes for the firm. His was a hard, uphill climb, which made it all the more frustrating when people like Ransom assumed he had everything handed to him as their father's favorite.

  He said none of this to Raven, of course. There was no point, for when she had an idea in her head she galloped off with it, heedless of any cautionary shouts.

  "Soon there will be room to move up. Surely the principals are old men now and ought to retire," she said.

  "Hmm. If you say so." But extremely unlikely. Tobias Stempenham came into work every day merely to escape the ceaseless nagging of his wife and the shrieking demands of his six daughters. Another example of why a man should avoid marriage.

  "No interesting clients of late?" she asked.

  "Nothing you'd find very exciting." Swiftly he changed the subject. "How's married life?"

  She looked smug, sinking back into her seat. "Perfect in every way."

  Ugh. He couldn't bear it when folk talked glowingly of matrimony. It was either a fib, stupidity or deliberate blindness to save face. He had no patience for any of that. "Of course it has only been a few years," he pointed out briskly.

  Raven laughed. "Don't worry. I'm not going to recommend that you try it."

  "Good."

  Plenty of time for the joyous lovebirds to grow tired, he thought. Soon they would feel crowded in their cage and start pecking at each other, for that was what usually occurred. Raven was hardly the sort of woman for whom the bounds of marriage could stay comfortable for long. Soon they must chafe. Damon often wondered, in common with many, whether the Earl of Southerton knew exactly what he'd taken on when he married Raven Deverell. Everybody said the man was eccentric, which might explain his fascination with a wife who could only make his formerly peaceful life messy and noisy in the extreme.

  But she was looking damnably pleased with herself. Was she expecting again? He certainly would not ask.

  Within half an hour of arriving at the racecourse he saw Elizabeth and her husband, standing with a large group near the royal enclosure. He had known she would be there, of course, for most of society was in attendance. She was probably surprised to see him, however. Damon had not told his lover that he'd been invited there. Elizabeth, like most of her class, always claimed to be shocked and appalled by the way the Deverell family managed to go wherever they wanted, take whatever they wanted, and nobody seemed capable of stopping them.

  Her eyes met his, and he felt the usual shiver of anticipation for the next time she would rake her sharp fingernails down his back. She did not look away demurely, but glared hard, as if she hated him, before she turned her head.

  He wanted to laugh out loud. Elizabeth did love to remind them both of his "inferiority" and how fortunate he was that she came down from her lofty heights to roll around in his bed, what a great favor she did for him. For him, the grubby little lawyer who also happened to be a Deverell.

  But however she wanted to play the game, whatever made her feel better about fucking him, he didn't particularly care. Women always needed a fantasy in their head. Men just got on with it for the raw pleasure, they didn't dwell upon the whys and wherefores.

  Yet another reason why marriage —a permanent commitment— was such a bad idea for both parties.

  "I didn't know you were acquainted with the Stanburys," his sister remarked, her tone edged with a distinct chill as she said the name.

  Damon realized she must have seen the look pass between him and Elizabeth. There was not much Raven missed. He'd have to be more careful. He still didn't know whether Miss Piper's aunt had merely thrown a lucky guess at him; whether she, like Ransom, knew there was an affair but didn't know with whom, or if she truly knew of his involvement with Elizabeth Stanbury.

  "Lord Stanbury is a client," he muttered. "He hired me to manage a land dispute and some other legal matters of his estate last year."

  When he looked at Raven, her face was grim. "George Stanbury once used a very dear friend of mine extremely ill. He is a cruel, selfish, arrogant... arse."

  He managed a half smile. "It's business, Raven. It's not necessary that I like my clients. As long as they pay me, that's all that matters."

  "Working for such a snake would make my skin crawl!"

  "Snakes have
as much right to fair representation in law as any other creature."

  "Ugh. You would defend the serpent in Eden."

  "Why not? There are always more sides to a story than just one. Trust nobody."

  "I do not know how you can be so mercenary and heartless."

  "Which is why I am the lawyer and you're not."

  "And, perhaps, the reason why you are so unhappy."

  "For pity's sake, I am the happiest damned soul I know. I can't help it if my face doesn't suit your idea of mindless, carefree euphoria."

  Sudden loud laughter. Something familiar about it. A warm recognition.

  He turned his head and saw, a short distance along the railing, Miss Epiphany Piper, with her sisters and— much to his annoyance— Bertie Boxall. None of them had seen Damon.

  She wore lilac and carried a white parasol. He stared.

  Nobody else laughed the way she did. Genuinely, richly, lustily. Unapologetic. No attempt made to stifle it.

  Today she wore short gloves that matched her gown. He remembered the softness of her bare hand crushed in his fingers, the rapid pulse in her wrist; the taste of her lips yielding under his— but not too much, still ready to argue, wanting everything her way and on her terms. Which made her difficult, and yet even more delicious. More alluring. Was it the challenge that drew him in? Whatever it was, it was fierce, hot and without mercy. It was quite different to what he'd felt when he first saw Elizabeth and decided he wanted her. But surely it came from the same place, didn't it?

  His chest began to hurt, as if he'd been running and was out of breath.

  "Who's that?" his sister demanded, linking her arm in his to keep him at her side.

  "Who? Where?"

  At that very moment the one he referred to in his mind as Nonesuch looked over and caught his eye. She quickly glanced down, but a few seconds later stole another peep from under her lashes. "Do you know them?" Raven demanded. "And don't try to lie. I can tell from your face— and hers— that you are acquainted. I am intrigued, brother."

  He cleared his throat. "They're Americans. Exiled here because of some...some scandal at home." In his four and twenty years he'd never been tongue tied over a woman and he'd be damned if he let it happen now. Over that little menace whose aunt wanted to crack his nuts.

  "You've met them?"

  Damn. He'd almost steered his sister into the railing. Why on earth was he acting this way? Concentrate on your feet. Yes. Better. "Their father is a client." He felt confused. Hot. Irritable. He hoped that would be an end to his sister's curiosity. But he might have known it would not be.

  "She keeps looking this way. Of course, you are intolerably handsome. I suppose she can't help herself." Raven shook her head. "That charm again! That devilish charm about which you profess to have no control or even knowledge."

  He exhaled a tight groan. "I can assure you she does not think me charming. All Englishmen bore her apparently." So what the devil was she doing with Boxall, possibly the most tedious of all men he knew?

  No sign of her aunt, he noticed.

  "The last time I met an American, I bit him," Raven said proudly. "Cornelius Vanderbilt was his name, I remember."

  "I have no doubt he remembers your name fondly too. I am surprised he hasn't put it in a lawsuit."

  "How like a lawyer to think that. You would scout for his business and put your own sister in the dock, mercenary brat!"

  After a while he shot another quick, sideways glance along the railing. Ah, Nonesuch talked to Bertie and her attention was on the horses.

  Still no sign of the fearsome aunt.

  Now that he knew it was safe, Damon risked another, longer glance, taking her in slyly and rather greedily. He hadn't seen her since that day in his office and the unexpected kiss, but of course he still did his part to make certain any gossip about her was stifled, or at least partially discredited. With Ransom's help he'd traced that story about Ernest Moffat's blackened eye back to the Winstanleys, who apparently had a cousin in Boston. Miss Piper's aunt would be shocked to learn that her niece's problem had followed them across the ocean and into London drawing rooms through the mean-spirited loose tongue of a woman she apparently thought her friend— Lucille Winstanley. Women were treacherous toward each other in sly ways that men never employed, he mused. Two-faced was a term that barely scratched the surface.

  Trust nobody. Miss Piper's aunt should have been taught that lesson.

  His gaze wandered across the grass again to the lilac hem of a particular gown. He'd often caught himself musing on the curves hidden under those skirts. The warm, soft treasure he wanted to trail his fingers over. To possess. To conquer.

  Christ, the sun was hot today.

  It was odd that another woman's figure should steal her way into his mind, even now that he had Elizabeth to slake his lusts and keep those necessary parts in good working order. And he had wanted Elizabeth for a long time, worn her down determinedly until she succumbed. She was all he needed. All he had time and space for in his life. Other men would envy—

  Why was Nonesuch laughing? That idiot Boxall could not possibly have anything clever enough to say that would amuse her.

  Of course, Boxall would know she had a rich dowry purse. Young women with their sort of wealth, as Ransom had said to him, were unheard of. She might think she could escape marriage, but other people would put a stop to that and if she was not careful she could become prey to the worst sort of fortune-hunter. He supposed that was one of the reasons why Prospero Piper had hired a law firm.

  Look at the fool, leaning all over her. Probably drunk again. Miss Piper swung her parasol casually, but Damon suspected she would use it as a weapon if the fool moved any closer. Nonesuch would.

  "Is that not Bertie Boxall?" Raven exclaimed suddenly. "We ought to acknowledge him, at least. You were university friends, were you not?"

  Damon knew very well that his sister was far more curious about the American girls than she was worried about snubbing Boxall, whom she had always called "a grievous, drunken oaf who cannot get out of his own way."

  "Ah. I just remembered!" He tried to dig in his heels. "Something I have...a man over there I have to see."

  But there was no stopping Raven, or getting out of her way, as she tugged him along toward the little group beside the railing.

  * * * *

  "Lady Southerton! You look very well. And Deverell. I thought that was you."

  Pip steeled herself to look over with nothing more than casual interest as Lord Boxall greeted the approaching couple. The woman had bright green eyes, sparkling with undisguised mischief, and lush black hair that bounced, in long, shining ringlets, over her shoulder. She walked with a confident stride, smiling, holding Damon's arm tightly as if she thought he might run off. The handsome family resemblance was unmistakable, even before Bertie advised out of the side of his mouth, "This is Damon Deverell and his sister, the Countess of Southerton."

  A countess in the family? Her aunt's friend had left out that tidbit when she sought to slander the Deverells, she mused. Surely her aunt would have been impressed by that and less hasty in her condemnation of the "drigay".

  Before Bertie could introduce Pip and her sisters, Damon Deverell who looked to be in a very bad mood, and seemed to want to get it over with as quickly as possible, exclaimed, "The Miss Pipers and I are acquainted. Their father is a client of ours."

  His eyes were very dark, his jaw arrogantly squared, as he looked from Bertie to Pip. And she, her contrary nature amused, replied, "Yes. Mr. Deverell has been appointed our nursemaid while we're in London. So watch out, Bertie, you might be subjected to some very stern questions while you're in my company. And I might even be spanked."

  "Indeed," Deverell muttered, "you ought to be."

  Bertie sputtered indignantly, "Well really, I'm quite sure—"

  "I know Lord Boxall and the impetus that drives him already." He looked at her. "I'd have a great many more questions for you, Miss Piper."

&nb
sp; "You think I have wicked intentions toward Lord Boxall," she exclaimed mischievously. "Do you think I might damage him irreparably?"

  "Very probably."

  There followed an uneasy silence, because nobody knew whether Deverell spoke in jest and his face wasn't about to give them any clues. He looked rather belligerent today, Pip thought, as if he might have got out of bed on the wrong side. Or out of the wrong bed.

  Finally his sister, the Countess of Southerton asked how they liked England. Pip left her elder sister to give the polite response, since she was too preoccupied trying to make out what was happening on Damon Deverell's face. Something must have occurred to put him in an even worse mood than he was the first time they met.

  Finally, because he was glaring at her, unblinking and rigidly annoyed, she was obliged to ask softly, "Are you quite well, Mr. Deverell?"

  He brushed his free hand across his face and she wondered if he tried to push his expression into a better shape. "Quite, madam. And you?"

  "Bursting with rude health. As always."

  Now his gaze slipped to Bertie Boxall. "So you met his lordship, after all."

  "Indeed. My aunt invited him to dine after he sent me an exquisite shawl," she replied. "Lord Boxall certainly knows the way to a girl's heart with such a beautiful gift."

  "Your heart?" he shot from the corner of his mouth. "Is that what he's after?"

  Nobody else listened to the two of them. His sister loudly entertained the others with a story about her husband's horse, which was running in the next race, and she happened to be every bit as fascinating to look at as Damon. But Pip watched him instead, taking it all in, to be sure that her memory of his features had not missed anything out. She felt oddly refreshed by the sight of him, like a thirsty plant that had been kept too long in the sun and everybody forgot to water.

  "Are you betting on your brother-in-law's horse?" she inquired softly, taking a few casual steps away from the others.