DamonUndone

by JayneFresina

  "However," he added slyly, "once you're married and can take a lover on the side, I'll have to become better versed in the art, shan't I?"

  She glared across the table.

  "You're still holding that post for me, I hope? A man must have something at which to aspire."

  "How very amusing, Mr. Deverell. Since I have no plans to marry, I can't have a man on the side, can I? And if I did take a lover, it wouldn't be one who thinks I'm going to cause bodily harm every time I go near him. We wouldn't get very far, would we?"

  He laughed. Couldn't hold it back any longer.

  More wine. Yes, that would help numb his thoughts. Lord, he was weary of traveling, still felt the rocking, bouncing forward motion.

  Meanwhile his dinner companion continued her unbound chatter, for as he sank into sleepiness, she, it seemed, became more wide awake.

  "My sister Serenity would never conduct a clandestine love affair," she announced decidedly.

  "Very well then." He sighed. "Think what you will. I tried to help."

  She looked skeptical.

  "But what will you do, Miss Piper, if your sister does not return to walk down the aisle?"

  "There is no if about my sister's return." Wiping her hands quickly on her napkin, she added, "When my sister Serenity returns and proceeds with the business of marrying The Honorable Edwyn Mortmain, I shall petition my father to bring me home. With one success he will surely be content. The climate here does not agree with Merrythought's health and she ought to be home. As for me, I've tried for a year, and he cannot ask more of me than that. He understands the difficulty of selling a product that has stood too long upon the shelf."

  More laughter sputtered out of him, unpreventable. "Ah, but I know you didn't try very hard to market yourself, don't I?" A new thought suddenly came to him. "I suppose the masquerade with Bertie Boxall in London was meant to keep everybody happy. Make them all think you made an effort, when in reality you had no intention of accepting him or anybody."

  Miss Epiphany Piper had been caught out. She glared, the color draining from her face. "How very clever you are, Mr. Deverell. I knew there must be some reason for your head to be so large."

  "Madam, you are, without doubt, the most amusing creature I ever met." He laughed again. It was as if a cork had been released to let it all out. She was beautiful, obstinate and frustrating.

  And he was damnably in love with her.

  No, no. That couldn't be. Was it the wine he'd drunk, clouding his mind? Yes. He was tired, his nerves torn after the quarrel with his father. That pain was still raw. It had left him vulnerable to odd thoughts.

  He quickly set down his goblet. Just in case.

  The laughter abruptly halted, he snapped, "Where is that damned landlord with the bill? I'm supposed to wait around all night, it seems."

  Eyeing him coolly, she said, "What's the matter with you now?"

  "Naught."

  "Your face is peculiar, Deverell."

  "Thank you."

  I don't know how to do this. This is not supposed to happen to me. It wasn't in my plan.

  I am unmanned.

  I am undone.

  "I don't like unpredictability," he growled. "Or feeling trapped."

  "Trapped?"

  "By the weather. This wretched damnable weather."

  Head tilted, she studied him thoughtfully for a moment and then declared, "You, Master Damon Deverell, are all tied up in smug little knots. You may not like to feel trapped, but you have done this to yourself. I hope, for your sake, the right woman comes along one day and unbinds you. So you can breathe again and enjoy life— and all its colorful unpredictability— before it's too late."

  "When we first met I thought you interesting. I might even have liked you."

  "How positively alarming."

  "But it passed."

  Any man in her life would probably be driven mad trying to keep up with her, trying to out-think her. Any man in her life, of course, ought to be him. But it was too late and he'd got himself into this mess with Elizabeth.

  Irritable, he scratched his cheek and felt the bristles he had not taken time to shave since he began his journey. He must look a sight, he thought.

  "Well, I'm going to bed, since I can't arrange transport to Darkest Fathoms until morning," she said, getting up, his coat still around her shoulders. Apparently she'd forgotten it didn't belong to her. "Thank you for the delicious chicken dinner. Good evening to you, Master Grumbles."

  "Yes. If you say so."

  She waited a moment, her head tipped to one side again, and then she gave a gusty sigh of frustration and marched off to find her room.

  Damon watched her go. Carefully he made certain no other men watched her likewise. Once she was safely out of his sight, he summoned another jug of wine.

  He expected her to leave his thoughts soon too, just as she left his view. But she did not. The untended, unmanageable American woman lingered in the dark corridors of his mind and would not leave.

  Was he in love with her? This surging need to touch her, kiss her, hold her in his arms— even to quarrel with her, if that kept her in his company just a while longer— is that what it meant to love?

  He sincerely hoped he was merely drunk.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The landlord showed her to accommodation that was every bit as tiny as he had sadly promised earlier when he told them he had only two rooms left.

  "It has no fireplace, as you see," he pointed out, "but the good thing is, no drafts either, and the heat from the tavern below will help warm the boards at your feet."

  "Yes. I see."

  "The gentleman below has already paid for the rooms and a bit extra, to make sure you had whatever you needed. So if you find yourself in want, pull on that chord there in the corner and one of my girls will come at once to see what you need. There's water in the pitcher there and a pot under the bed. And I put a bit o' bread and cheese there for you, with some of my wife's bakewell tart."

  From the landlord's bowing, scraping manner, Deverell must have paid quite a lot "extra".

  "That's very nice," she said firmly. "Thank you."

  Finally he left her alone and by the light of a single candle inside a lantern, Pip surveyed the tight space. It must have been a cupboard at some point in its history, for one wall was full of warped shelves, the sticky rings left by storage jars still visible. Another wall held a small, square, rusted window, against which snow had spattered and stuck, filtering a meek and sorry winter's moonlight. The "bed" was actually no more than a short couch with a bolster at one end, an old quilt, and a curtain, thoughtfully provided to pull around it, should she need to feel even more enclosed.

  Fortunately Pip was not a woman who suffered fear of tight spaces. In her life she had slept in many different places, which, she supposed, made it easier for her to adjust, no matter what the circumstances. In the early years, with every swing of her father's fortunes, they had changed residence— from a half burned-out riverboat, to an abandoned railroad carriage, to a white-painted Baton Rouge church, left without spire or congregation after a lightning strike; from a fishing cabin on uncertain stilts, to a haunted New Orleans mansion. She was at home anywhere she set down her hat and took off her boots.

  In pursuit of a little comfort, Pip did that now, placing the items carefully by her couch and then removing his coat. This certainly was not the place to discard more than that, even with a bolt on her door. What if there was a fire in the night? One should always be prepared for disaster. Something else her childhood had taught her.

  Her ankle throbbed and looked swollen. No surprise after the way she'd wrenched it. If she kept it up for the night, it should feel better by morning.

  She'd asked the landlord whether there might be any chance of finding a messenger to take a note to Darkest Fathoms— Pip didn't want her little sister worried by her absence too— but he had assured her nobody would travel now until morning, when daylight and the calming of the wi
nd should improve conditions. Poor Merrythought would fret that she'd been abandoned by both sisters! This was a wretched turn of events, but the weather was out of her control. As were several other things lately.

  Oh, Serenity, where have you gone?

  Damon Deverell said he would have tanned her hide. The thought made Pip smile, imagining her indignant elder sister, with skirts tossed up, receiving a hard spanking for the first time in her life. Serenity was never the daughter in trouble, never punished, so a spanking would come as a great surprise to her. Pip had often pondered, with no little amazement and envy, her elder sister's ability to remain unsullied and clear of any suspicion. Nobody could be that well behaved all the time.

  She remembered how her elder sister used to hold her breath if she could not get what she wanted. The little girl would turn blue in the face, until Delphine, who looked after them, picked her up and set her bare behind on the nearest cold surface. Then, of course, she caught her breath in a startled gulp and got her color back. But that was an example of Serenity's determination to get her own way, which, although better hidden these days, was just as forceful as her sister's.

  Could it be true that she'd run off with a male companion, a secret beau of whom they all knew nothing?

  But who was this other man, if he existed? Serenity had never shown any particular interest in one beau, even at home, preferring instead to keep several in a circle around her, all admiring from a careful distance. She wanted as many as possible at hand, to catch her if she tripped. Serenity's greatest fear was finding herself alone one day, old and abandoned, with no man to cosset her vanity. She'd admitted as much to Pip one evening, after yet another dreary ball when they sat up late, both unable to sleep— Serenity because of her sore feet from so much dancing, and Pip because she'd enjoyed one too many glasses of punch and her mind was busy scheming of ways to take over the world.

  Since their arrival in England, no particular gentleman had stood out among Serenity's admirers. In fact, the competition had been so dull that she was obliged to accept a Mortmain and had done so quite cheerfully under the guidance of Aunt Du Bois.

  One must do one's duty. This is what I'm meant for.

  Perhaps, after the excitement and champagne of her engagement announcement wore off, Serenity had opened her eyes, seen The Honorable Edwyn Mortmain for what he really was, and realized the consequences of her decision. When she heard the wedding arrangements being made all around her, Serenity must have felt penned in, and with Aunt Du Bois gone soon after they arrived here, there was nobody left to keep whispering assurances and encouragement in her ear. Nobody to tell her what a wonderful thing she was doing for the family and how proud their father would be.

  It must have been a shock— like one of those bare-bottomed contacts with a cold surface.

  But to run away without saying anything to her sisters, without boasting about a secret lover? Not even to Merrythought, who, unlike Pip, would always provide a sympathetic, kindly ear?

  A sudden doubt crept into her mind as she recalled her younger sister's countenance when Serenity was first discovered gone yesterday. There was something not quite right about it— as if she acted surprised rather than felt it. Hmm. At the time, Pip had merely assumed her little sister was still half-asleep when she dashed into her room to tell her the news and show Serenity's note. But now she thought again.

  Merry had not appeared overly concerned about their sister's fate, even when the next morning dawned and Serenity failed to reappear. The girl had been a little anxious and fidgety, perhaps, but that was all. She might simply have been fearful of facing Pip, because she knew more than she could tell. Already laid low with a bad cold, Merry was limp and damp-eyed even before their sister disappeared; a convenient circumstance that helped her hide away in bed and complain of weariness if she were questioned.

  Pip sneezed. Oh no! She could not become sick too. Not now.

  Below her, the noise of the Whalebone Tavern rumbled away, shaking the floorboards. Was Damon Deverell still down there, getting steadily drunker and grumpier? Would he find some hussy to warm his bed tonight? She'd seen a few women glancing his way, their admiration everything but discreet.

  But he had given her all his attention at dinner. He liked teasing her, apparently, and not many men, other than her father, ever dared. Pity he was such an arrogant devil.

  And he chased after a married woman.

  There was no doubt in her mind that the woman he chased after was Lady Elizabeth Stanbury. He didn't have to tell her the name. Pip had two good eyes in her head.

  Foolish fellow was so intent on solving other folk’s problems that he neglected his own.

  Her gaze drifted left and rediscovered the black lump by the door where she'd left his coat. He must have forgotten he gave it to her.

  She got up and fetched it from the back of a chair, once again inhaling the masculine scents and hugging the heavy warmth of the coat.

  Oh, there was something inside the lining of his coat. A square lump. A book?

  In the dim candlelight she fumbled for an opening and soon discovered a small pocket. Within that pocket he had wedged a little, leather-bound book. It was much weathered and worn, a ledger of some sort, lists of numbers and items purchased. Household accounts, records of coin spent on tailor's services, rent, candles, visits to the farrier and the blacksmith, books, ink, coal... Not terribly interesting. But the old paper lining inside the front cover was torn. Tucked inside that was a folded, yellowed scrap.

  It was wrong to poke her nose into his business, she told herself. She ought to put the book back where she found it, go to sleep and have the landlord return the coat to him in the morning. She supposed she'd have to give it back. It didn't belong to her anymore than he did.

  Unfortunately she was not very tired and the more her mind speculated upon the possible contents of that hidden scrap, the more awake and restless she became. Finally she tugged the paper out, unfolded it with care and held it up to the lantern. The ink was faded slightly, the handwriting very neat and studious— as if long labored over.

  Items Reqwired to Sayle Arownd the Worlde

  Damon Deverell, Nine yeres aged, hys lyste.

  I. Nonesuch

  II. Compasse

  III. Goode dogges (two)

  IV. Mrs. Blewett's pye (plentye as wille keepe)

  V. Sorwde (sharpe)

  VI. Fishing nette (welle mended)

  VII. Oyle Clothe Hatte for rayne

  VIII. Coin

  IX. Grogg Barrells

  X. Sundry spare womyns for poiposes of barter wythe natives.

  Clearly an expedition of some length and daring had been planned all those years ago.

  She laughed out loud. How funny that he had kept this list tucked away. A reminder of something undone, a childhood desire for adventure unfulfilled.

  But her laughter petered out as she imagined the little boy who once penned this list. He must have bent over a writing desk, diligently pausing every so often to dip his nib in the inkwell, his tongue squeezed out between his teeth as he applied his attention to the paper.

  Carefully she refolded the scrap and slipped it back where she had found it, feeling a little wicked. She shouldn't laugh at something that was not meant for her eyes. Or for anybody's, but his— Damon Deverell, nine yeres aged.

  With such proud flourish he'd written his name, as if he anticipated great things in store for his future. As she'd always done for herself.

  Oh, she should not have eaten so fast and so greedily, for now she had indigestion— a terrible pang in her chest and she could think of nothing else that might have caused it.

  She jumped guiltily at the sudden rap of knuckles against her door.

  "Miss Piper, you have my coat."

  "Oh. Yes. Er...just a moment." In haste she pushed the little book back inside the lining pocket where she'd found it, dashed to the door and slid back the bolt. "I was almost asleep." Why she felt the urge to lie was anybody
's guess. But she threw in a yawn for good measure.

  He didn't look convinced. Slowly he reached for the coat. "You seem very flustered. You're breathing heavily."

  "As I said, I was almost asleep when you woke me, just beginning to dream." Was it possible, she thought in alarm, that her bosom had finally learned how to heave? No. It was just another sneeze.

  He took a step back from the resulting spray and winced. "Dreaming of something pleasant, I hope."

  "What?"

  He looked beyond her to the small, narrow couch and the flickering lantern, to the boots set neatly, side by side on the floor, and the hat placed carefully on the table. "I heard you laughing."

  "I have a tendency to laugh at the least appropriate moments. My aunt was driven spare by it."

  "Humph." He moved forward again, taking another glance around the small room. "Doesn't look very comfortable."

  "I'll manage. I'm adaptable."

  "Mine has more room. You'd be much more comfortable there."

  "Do you mean to offer an exchange?"

  He looked confused for a moment. "Yes. That's what I meant, of course. It is my—"

  "Your job," she finished for him with a sigh. "I know."

  But he remained there, now leaning against her doorframe. "Don't think to leave without me in the morning. You need me."

  "What for?"

  "Guidance. Wisdom." Now he tipped the other way, until his shoulder abruptly contacted again with the door frame. "Protection."

  His eyes caught hers and she couldn't blink. Couldn't look away. But there was a fogginess there tonight. "Here's your coat." She thrust it at him. "That's what you came for, isn't it?"

  He leaned down to her, his breath warm, tickling the side of her face. "Leave all your problems to me. I'll fix them."

  "Well, that's ...very obliging of you. But now I suggest you go to bed." She choked out a soft laugh. "You cannot do much for me until you sober up. You, sir, are inebriated."