DamonUndone

by JayneFresina

  "You don't say? Next thing you'll tell me is that it's snowing. How glad I am to have you pointing out the obvious. So very helpful and typical of a man." Then she took a step toward him, yelped and crumpled to the ground again. It was a genuine sound of distress and one he could not ignore.

  Oh, damn and blast. Now he'd have to help her. As if he had nothing else to do and not enough woman trouble already.

  When she looked up at him the second time, he had moved aside to let the carriage lantern lights gild her face.

  And thus he recognized her.

  With eyes widened and lips parted, she drew a breath that could only be preparation for a protest— he'd been on the wrong side of a woman's temper enough times to recognize that sound— but Damon swiftly stooped and lifted the figure out of the snowy road, carrying her back to his hired carriage before her startled mouth could make any further noise. Or before he could change his mind and remember the danger of touching her.

  The coachman, watching him emerge through the screaming snow with this strange, noisy parcel in his arms, called down from his perch, "What you got there then?"

  "A woman. And lucky she's not a dead one. Get the door for me, man."

  "You don't have to carry me," she cried. "A helpful arm to lean on would have been sufficient."

  "But much slower. You've already caused me a delay, woman."

  "I can assure you it wasn't deliberate," she exclaimed grandly, chin up, the frozen feather in her hat scraping his cheek. "My ankles are generally very sturdy. As is the rest of me."

  He grunted. "You're certainly no light and dainty bundle."

  "Well, gracious, why didn't you just leave me where you found me? If I'm to be rescued I'd rather wait for somebody good-looking, polite, obliging and pleasant."

  "Don't want much, do you?" he muttered. "Keep still, woman, or I'll drop you."

  Holding the carriage door open, the coachman yelled through the beating snow, "Looks to me like a bundle o' trouble."

  "Yes. But somebody has to help her, I suppose."

  "I thought you were a Deverell," the old man added, chuckling. "Ain't you riskin' your reputation, sir? From what I 'ear, Deverells don't ride about the country rescuing women. They're most often the ones getting women into trouble."

  He heard the bundle give a low groan of despair, as she turned her head away to utter a curse, and that partially frozen feather slapped him once again in the face. Deliberately, he was certain.

  Chapter Fifteen

  He dropped her to the seat opposite his own, where she commenced grumbling under her breath about the indignity of being carried.

  "On our way then, man," he shouted to the coachman before he pulled the sash window back into place, shutting out the worst of the wind. A second later the horses resumed their journey and the carriage rocked again, as it did before, like a small rowboat tossed about on a storm-whipped ocean.

  She tugged the torn veil and crisp feather on her hat to one side and glowered at him across the carriage. "Deverell," she exhaled gustily, eyes afire with disdain. "We meet again."

  Her flare for the dramatic was entertaining. She ought to be an actress, he mused.

  "I suppose you don't remember me," she added.

  Could she seriously suppose that to be possible? He kept his expression disinterested— a certain way to annoy any female. "Should I?"

  "Lord Courtenay's ball last May—"

  "Ah, yes. The American. Fanny Flipperwill... or something."

  Her brows arched. "Close enough."

  But he was only teasing, of course. "Miss Piper. What are you doing in Yorkshire?" He could still hardly believe it was her. "It was, I think...Ascot...the last time I saw you. Was it?" As if he didn't know exactly where and when. Two o'clock in the afternoon and she was wearing lilac. He'd eaten bread and bacon for his breakfast that day, washed down with beer. It had been warm day, slightly above average for the month of June at 19 degrees Celsius with a light south westerly wind. There had been a grass stain on her hem, approximately two inches in length. Three stitches on the middle finger of her left glove were loose. She had smelled of peaches and lily-of-the-valley. He hadn't fallen asleep afterward until twenty minutes past two the following morning, tossing about so badly in his bed that the landlady thought robbers had broken in.

  He supposed most people would remember that a horse named Hagley won the Royal Hunt Cup that day, but what most people remembered was boring to him. No challenge in it.

  "My elder sister is engaged to marry the Honorable Edwyn Mortmain, and his family live near here," she was saying. "Didn't my aunt send you a note?"

  "She did. But there was no mention of any Yorkshire, or any Honorable. I was merely informed that you were leaving London."

  Once the rumors had calmed down and the eldest girl was safely guaranteed a good match, he had, it seemed, served his purpose in her aunt's eyes and been swiftly disposed of.

  "Not much to entertain you here, I should imagine," he added. "In the way of eligible bachelors, I mean."

  "I'm not interested in bachelors, eligible or otherwise, as I told you before."

  "Humph." He sniffed, folding his arms. "There was a rumor in London this summer about an engagement, but I heard it to be Bertie Boxall who had landed himself a Piper sister. Naturally, I assumed—"

  "You know me better than that, even with so short and strange an acquaintance."

  Yes, he thought, his grim mood tempered now, soothed by her confidant reply. He did know her well enough. He never had quite believed she would do such a foolish thing. But even so, it had smarted when he heard the gossip, when he saw other folk, like Lady Roper, believing in it.

  "I was not entirely sure," he muttered. "You young girls have a tendency toward romantic fancies, and you might have been swept away by that handsome idiot. That is why I prefer a mature woman— those who have experienced a little more of the world and do not expect a fairytale."

  She was removing her wet gloves and huffing on her fingers. "I'm certain one conversation with you can disabuse any young girl of her fanciful notions. Prince Charming you are not."

  "Really? I've been told I have charm."

  She chuckled. "Let me guess. The woman who told you that wanted something from you. A favor of some sort. I don't, of course, so I have no cause to lie."

  Damon shifted on his seat and unfolded his arms. It was one thing not to want her gratitude for this rescue, quite another for her not to offer any, he decided. So he said, "It was fortunate for you, that I came along when I did tonight. I've been informed that this road is plagued with undesirables."

  "I'd be right at home then, wouldn't I?" came the arch reply, before she turned her head to glare at the snow-spattered window and they rode for a while in rocking silence.

  After all this time, here she was again. What strange twist of fate would bring them together once more? If the carriage ride was in any way comfortable he might have assumed he'd fallen asleep and begun to dream.

  Her lips were decidedly pinker now that warmth returned to her skin, and a shade of summer dusk still lightly kissed her cheeks. The last snowflakes melted from her hair and the feather on her hat turned limp, drooping as it thawed. He could almost imagine he heard the frost crystals crackling and sighing as they transformed into teardrops, dripping to her sleeve and shoulder. When she shivered and rubbed her arms, a very soft scent, little more than a hint of lavender, meandered across the short distance to where he sat. Instantly he was reminded of last spring, that kiss and her sun-warmed forehead against his lips.

  He shouldn't think of it, of course. It was too late for that now and he had other problems.

  "I suppose you want my coat," he ventured.

  Without moving her head, she slid her wary gaze back to him. "But then you would feel the cold, surely. And I have my paletot."

  "That thin, fancy piece of nothing? It's not fit for a middling day, let alone a winter's storm. Why do women never think?"

  "We leav
e that to the men, because in the space of time it takes them to mull it over and discuss the matter, we've usually already done what was needed anyway."

  "Do you want my blasted coat or not? I don't need you dying of pneumonia in my company and on my watch. Deverells are blamed for everything, as it is."

  Her eyes glittered with silent laughter. But the warm kind that made him think of summer rain. "I'll try hard not to die in your custody and make things messy for you, Deverell."

  "Too late." For so many things, he thought with a burst of self-pity. "You've already delayed me. I daresay it couldn't be helped. Women never look after themselves and then they complain when men try to do it for them."

  "I can assure you, sir, I've looked after myself for a very long time."

  "You haven't been alive for a very long time."

  "We Pipers have the gift of youthful looks. Don't be deceived."

  He shook his head. "If I had charge of you, you wouldn't go wandering about alone in this weather."

  "We may both celebrate the fact that you don't have charge of me. In case you haven't already guessed, you'd find me dreadfully disobedient and impossible to train and I'd probably resort to impaling you on a roasting spit."

  "You could try," he replied coolly, amused, as he was before, by this small creature's fighting bravado.

  "But you needn't worry because nobody has charge of me. Nor will they ever." She paused. "You have a very odd look on your face."

  "I... was just thinking of someone I once knew."

  "Oh?"

  "A long time ago." And her name was Nonesuch.

  His bloody heart ached because he had missed her so.

  He thought of Mrs. Blewett once asking why his invisible friend was a girl. Although he'd had no answer for that at the time, now he wondered if it was because he already had enough brothers and his one and only half-sister, Raven, never had time for him when they were growing up. In those days she had little time for any of her siblings, other than Ransom, and together they were thick as thieves, possessing a bond that nobody else could intrude upon. Damon supposed he must have been envious of that relationship.

  Whatever his reason for creating "Nonesuch", she was an invaluable ally in those early years, a girl brave and fearless, just as prone to scabby knees as he, but who occasionally showed a vulnerable side and needed rescue— just to remind them both that he was in charge. Together they played bloodthirsty pirate games along the Cornish cliffs and the wind-blown sands, before his father sent him away to boarding school and he had to leave Nonesuch behind. The last sight he remembered of his friend was of a shadow waving from the cliff road as the sun rose out of the sea behind her and made the waves froth.

  By the time he had returned home at the end of the first Michaelmas term, Nonesuch was gone. Forever, or so he had thought.

  "Isn't it odd, Deverell, that we should meet again like this?" Her stunning eyes twinkled with teasing playfulness, even as he saw her shiver again. "I might almost suspect you of following me."

  "I can assure you I have problems enough without chasing after another, Miss Piper."

  He scowled with as much fierceness as he could conjure. "Now take my coat, damn you."

  * * * *

  Apparently he found something so terrible about the sight of her person that he couldn't look away. The feeling, she realized, was mutual. Always had been.

  The offer of his coat was so churlishly given that she decided she would rather catch cold than accept it.

  "No, thank you. My own coat is adequate."

  But to her surprise he leaned across and swept his coat around her shoulders, not paying any heed to her resistance. The heavy warmth quickly surrounded her limbs and had the unexpected effect of a calming caress. She was forced to remember the last time they met, at Ascot, when she was left feeling bereft because she'd lost her chance at making peace— had been too busy quarrelling and putting up her prickles. And then, in her prize foolishness, had made the stupidest remark ever about keeping him as a lover on the side once she married.

  She'd promised herself that if she ever saw Damon Deverell again, it would be different. She would be sensible, mature, not say anything without thinking carefully first. Not be so swept off her feet with excitement to see him again, that she blurted out any ridiculous comment that came to her head.

  Oh, but it was not easy.

  He sat back on his own seat, the angry stare renewed. "So I know what you are doing running wild in the county of Yorkshire, Miss Piper, but what were you doing in the blessed road? In a snow storm? Alone? Unprepared for the weather again. I don't suppose I can expect any sensible excuse. Americans are known for daft, independent, foolhardy tendencies, of course."

  She thought of that crow in the tree earlier, trying to chase her off. So that was it! Here was the very man of whom that rude bird had reminded her.

  "I had been to visit a friend. I took the mail coach to Thorford today and started back toward Whitby before the snow began in earnest. I must have missed the mail coach on its return."

  "This friend you went to visit did not offer you accommodation or some safe transport? Not much of a friend."

  "It would have been difficult for him to do either service, since he wasn't in when I got there."

  His eyes darkened. "He?" The word exploded out of him like sparks from a magician's firecracker. She felt the stinging heat.

  "I thought another carriage of some sort would come along," she replied. "This is the London road, after all."

  "But this snow has put a stop to most travelers. It might have been hours before anybody came along. Taking such a chance on this bleak day seems a haphazard way to look after yourself."

  "I had a...much on my mind."

  "Such as?"

  Pip barely heard the question, too distracted inhaling the masculine scent of his coat—rich spice and cigars. Having the weight of that garment around her shoulders was almost the same as having his dark embrace around her. It felt quite naughty. Yet not at all unpleasant.

  Her stomach grumbled quietly beneath her corset.

  Tugging the collar of his coat more snugly around her face, she was conscious suddenly of the fact that her ears must be very red and glowing unbecomingly. It shouldn't matter to her, but it did. Vanity, she thought listlessly. Nothing worse than vanity in a woman who had so little of which to be vain.

  "Such as?" he repeated, louder. "What could you possibly have on your little mind? I must know, madam. Your father hired me to solve your problems, did he not?"

  "Because he thinks I cannot manage my own." But if she ever wanted to prove herself capable of running the family business, she'd have to show that she could. "Will you stop this carriage and let me out? I can find my own way from here, I think. We must be in Whitby by now, for I just saw the light of a gas lamp in a window."

  "Certainly not. You'll stay here with me, so I can keep an eye on you. As your father would have wanted."

  She stared at him. "I don't want to be any further trouble. Thank you, but you can let me out now."

  "I didn't put myself out to rescue you, just so you can wander off in the cold again and fall under other men's carriages. Like any abandoned piece of baggage in the road." Was that a grin threatening his stern mouth? No. Whatever it might have been, it was gone again before it properly formed. "Once we're at the inn I can leave you in a safe place, out of the weather, and know that at least I've stopped you from getting into any worse trouble."

  "Oh, I see. How silly of me. You're being one of those painfully obliging, deadly dull Englishmen, who cannot leave me to get on with my own business. I suppose, being a woman, I'm incapable."

  "I'm doing my job, madam. It's merely business." He leaned his head back against the leather seat and she realized then, as swaying lantern light touched his face, how tired he looked. Unshaven and frayed at the edges. As if he'd been traveling for days without rest. "Why do women always resort to these ridiculous measures? Traipsing about in several fee
t of snow in a frivolous, thin coat. To visit some... man."

  "Just because you're English and a male, you think you know everything and are perfect."

  "And just because you're American and a female, you refuse to admit that I do and I am."

  "You know nothing of emotion, tenderness and sensitivity."

  "You know nothing of reason, practicality and rationality."

  Perhaps it was the soothing warmth of his coat, but she felt better now, relaxed, and amused by his pomposity. Once more he reminded her of Master Grumbles, that proudly inconvenienced wolfhound. But she hid her smile. "We're not going to get along, you and I, are we?"

  "Good God, I hope not."

  Just like old times, she mused.

  She had been foolish to think they wouldn't argue if they ever met again. It came naturally to them. It was— dare she think it— comfortable? It might even be their way of slowly circling closer. They were both cynics, cautious and yet curious. Like that crow in Thorford churchyard.

  When he stretched his legs diagonally across the carriage, Pip remembered how tall he was, how, the first time they met, he took her breath away by standing over her like a great, leaning redwood tree. The glimmer of cool bemusement in his gaze now multiplied into many more little stars of curiosity, tickling as they swept her from head to toe.

  "When we first met I thought you interesting," she admitted. "I might even have liked you." Oh, why tell him that now? She had no idea why that came out. Disaster was at hand if she could not restrain her thoughts from escaping.

  "How positively alarming."

  "But it passed," she assured him hastily.

  "Well, that's alright then."

  "I wouldn't want you getting the wrong idea. This is not a romance."

  "The thought never breezed within a hundred yards of my well-balanced mind."

  It was becoming difficult to take a proper breath with his narrowed gaze fixed upon her. She thought of his kiss, how it had taken hold of her, lifted her up, set fire to her insides. And she'd never quite stopped smoldering ever since. Not in all these months.