DamonUndone

by JayneFresina

  "I'm not—" He swayed again. "Hinebriated."

  She'd seen men drunk before, but she'd never seen one who looked even more somber while under the influence. "I beg to differ, Master Grumbles. I wouldn't breathe near naked flame if I were you."

  Suddenly he put his hand on her cheek, tipping her face up toward his. "Why are you so...damned...damnably...difficult?"

  "I was born this way."

  "Me. Me too."

  His lips hovered far too close and they were very fine lips. Uniquely beautiful for a man. Oh, she wished she'd never laid eyes on those lips, for now she knew she would compare them with those of any other man she met.

  "For all our differences," he muttered, "we are well matched, you and I." Then he laughed huskily at the oxymoron. "How can it be possible?"

  "It can't," she whispered, placing her hand gently to his chest. "So put it out of your very sensible mind." The lord knew she was trying hard to do the same.

  Pip was usually very decided about men the moment she met them, but her thoughts on this one had veered wildly back and forth, worse than an outhouse door in a hurricane. In that moment she wanted him unbearably, to kiss him, put her arms around him. But it was all wrong. He was there chasing another woman and she had a missing sister to find. He liked things predictable, orderly, and her life was anything but.

  Be sensible, Pip. Don't let him know what you're thinking, or else he'll know where to find all your weak spots.

  In the sober light of day, he would not want to remember this, even if she could never forget the thump of his heart under her palm. So strong, hard, powerful. Savage as that of a wild animal.

  "I am not...not tied up in knots," he said suddenly. "You're wrong in your assessment, Miss Piper."

  "Oh?"

  "What I am...is undone."

  Pip knew that if she was not firm now she would soon drown in his eyes gladly, readily, and to the devil with tomorrow. "What you are is drunk," she said, keeping her voice as steady as possible. "I hope you find your lady friend tomorrow. And that you get what you want in the end."

  His eyes darkened. "My lady friend."

  At last her fingers found the strength to give him a firm push back into the narrow corridor. "Good night, Deverell." With that she shut her door and bolted it.

  Her heart twisted painfully and her skin tingled with a strange, keen awareness of everything that currently touched it— the crepe fabric of her gown, a lose strand of hair against her neck, the top of her stockings under her petticoat. Every tiny part of her was vividly alive in a way it never had been before.

  And he caused it all by simply touching her face.

  Of course, she still felt the imprint of his hands from months ago, where they had gripped her somewhere else. Possessed her. Marked her as his own. He didn't seem to fear that she would break or bruise easily.

  "Nonesuch," came the whisper through her door. "Don't think to leave me in the morning."

  "Go away, Master Grumbles," she whispered back.

  There was a thud against the door, as if he'd fallen against it. "Don't leave without me in the morning. You... need me."

  "What for?" she asked again, as before, amused.

  "Your aunt should never have brought you to Yorkshire without me, without even conferring with counsel. What do we know about these Mortmains? Now see what happened. Your sister's gone off, and you're wandering around in the snow chasing after men. More men I know nothing about. I'm the one who'll answer for it when you get yourself in trouble."

  She leaned against the door and whispered back, "I relieve you of the responsibility."

  "Your aunt thought she knew what was best for you. Now I see where you get it from!"

  "Go to your room." And then she lied, because it seemed to be the only way to be rid of him. "We'll discuss this in the morning."

  Eventually she heard Damon muttering to himself as he stumbled back to his own room, bouncing against the walls from side to side. Then a door slammed. Tomorrow he would wake with a sore head and forget all this.

  Confer with counsel, indeed!

  Now all she could hear— apart from her own heart beating— was someone singing a cheerful tune in the tavern below, accompanied by a fiddle.

  Pip took a deep breath and waited there, leaning against her door, until the foolish giddiness that careened through her body finally calmed to softly bubbling murmur.

  She'd never imagined, until she met that man, how she might be tempted.

  But what exactly was a "Nonesuch"? He had called her by that name too.

  And why, pray tell, did she feel tears in her eyes?

  Her gaze swept the small room as if she might find all these answers written on the walls. And then she spied that little book again. It must have fallen from his pocket when she gave him the coat. In her anxious haste, Pip had not pushed it far enough inside the lining pocket.

  Well, she could not return the book to him now. It would be exceedingly unwise to go to his door. For both their sakes. Better let him sleep it off.

  She ran her fingers over the worn leather cover of the little book and brought it to her nose. Yes, it smelled like his coat, like him.

  Pip returned to her narrow couch and sat there, clutching his book to her breast and wondering about Nonesuch.

  Then her gaze wandered to the plate on the small table beside her.

  Ooh, bakewell tart...

  Chapter Nineteen

  "Thank goodness you're back!" Merrythought sat up in her giant, worm-holed, four-poster bed looking very limp and damp-eyed. "I thought you had both left me here. I even imagined," she lowered her voice to a hoarse whisper, "that you had both been imprisoned in the attic by Mortmains. That they had some dire plan for me."

  Pip hurried across the room, pulling off her gloves to feel her sister's forehead. "Nonsense. You've been reading novels again. What have I told you about that?" Two books on the bedside table— one of them entitled "The Vampyre"— confirmed her suspicions, as did the candles, now extinguished, but burned down almost to the holders.

  "I didn't dare snuff them," her sister confessed with eyes like saucers, "until daylight crept through the curtains."

  "At least you had Junior to protect you." Pip paused to fuss the big hairy mutt sprawled on the bed with the patient. "I knew you'd be safe as long as he was here with you."

  "Yes. He has turned out to be a very good dog, even though he scared me a little when you first took him in. Now I'm glad you did, despite our aunt's protests. I don't even mind when he takes up all the room on the bed. I'd rather that than be alone. In case the Boggart comes out."

  "The Boggart?"

  "Old Lord Mortmain told me a story about the Boggart. It's a mischievous spirit that lives in the chimneys and comes down them to play tricks sometimes on the residents of the house. Especially, Lord Mortmain said, on young ladies. The Boggart likes to torment young ladies and sometimes steals their pins and slippers, or ties knots in their bed sheets, or grabs their ankles when they step out of bed."

  "Merry, you really must learn not to believe everything people tell you."

  "But it's true. There is a cupboard by the kitchen, and it has a knot hole in the door. If you stick something through the hole, the Boggart will poke it back out again."

  "What a pity this Boggart can't return our sister the same way."

  Merry quickly tugged her coverlet up under her chin and sank back down as if suffering a sudden relapse. "Ooh my head aches so."

  Grumbles Junior lumbered upright to lick Pip's face while she scratched behind his ears and planted a kiss on the end of his wet nose. "At least you look brighter today and you are not nearly so hot, sister. I'm sorry I was gone all night, but I got caught in the snow storm and missed the mail coach. I was stranded at the Whalebone Inn, a place of much jollity and considerable debauchery."

  "Oh, Pip! Were you afraid?"

  "Not really. I was more concerned about you."

  "About our sister too, I suppose."
/>
  "Yes." Pip walked around the bed. "I thought a great deal about Serenity last night." She glanced over at the door. "The Mortmains haven't been up to see you, have they?"

  "No, of course, it wouldn't be proper, but the maids have been in with trays of food and they are very kind. One of them took Grumbles Junior out for me this morning. And Edwyn sent a message to say he hoped I was feeling better."

  In light of what she overheard yesterday— Edwyn being pushed into marriage with one of the other girls if Serenity changed her mind— Pip knew she had better keep her little sister out of his way. Merrythought was far too kindhearted to let The Honorable down if he turned his bloodshot eyes on her as a consolation prize. She might feel sympathy for him, for she had already remarked that she thought him a poor, sad fellow and that she wished she might teach him to dance so that he would be more comfortable in society. As Pip had said to her father, Merrythought could not have been better named, but that goodness made her susceptible to the slightest tug upon her heartstrings.

  Pip took a second look at the books by her sister's bed. Perhaps she should take them away to prevent Merrythought's imagination turning to romance. Novels, like fairytales, were notorious for leading young girl's astray.

  "I do hope Serenity is back before Christmas," said her sister.

  "Did she say she might be, when she left?"

  "No, she didn't say any—" Merrythought paled. "I did not see her before she left."

  "Of course, that's right. You only knew she'd gone when I brought the note in to read it to you." Pip walked back around the bed, tugging the coverlet straight and petting Grumbles Junior, who rolled promptly onto his back, legs in the air, presenting his belly for her attention. "You are quite sure you didn't see Serenity that morning?"

  The girl shook her head.

  "Hmm. Odd. Grumbles Junior must have slept late that day. He usually wants to go out before seven, and he slept that evening before on your bed, did he not?"

  Since Pip rescued the mutt from a London street, he'd taken to sleeping on each girl's bed in turn, not wanting to leave anybody out. Even Serenity had not been able to keep him away when he scratched at her door and, although she still made a fuss, once assured his fleas were cured, she had grandly allowed him the foot of her bed. In fact, as the weather grew colder he became a much beloved bed warmer. One thing none of them much liked, however, was getting up in the winter, while it was still dark out, to let Grumbles Junior out of the house. But he could be depended upon, like clockwork, to whine in one's face at ten minutes to seven in the morning.

  "He didn't wake you on that day, Merry?"

  "No. I—no."

  Pip tapped a finger to her lips. "How strange. You're sure? Not even a paw in the face? A lick of the chin?"

  Her sister's lips turned down at the corners.

  Pip frowned, tut-tutted and looked very disappointed.

  "I was only half awake," the girl blurted, "standing on the cold flagged-stone in the passage, and I...I was not even sure what I saw at first. It was still shadowy with only a very little light from the candle in my hand. I just wanted Grumbles Junior to make haste so that we could go back to bed. I...I looked over and saw a figure in the shadows. It gave me quite a scare, for it might have been a ghost. And I know you don't believe in ghosts, but I'm sure I've seen a few walking the halls of this house. I've heard tormented wailing, and Lord Mortmain says—"

  "Serenity, sister. What was she doing when you saw her?"

  "She was outside the scullery. She looked over at me and put a finger to her lips, like this." She demonstrated, her gaze darting fearfully from side to side. "I asked her where she was going, and she said I was not to tell anybody that I'd seen her. That she would never forgive me if I woke you and raised the alarm. She said the Boggart would come out if I told. In any case, after the dog had done his business, we went back to bed and huddled under the covers to get warm. I went back to sleep and didn't wake again until you came in with her note."

  "But was she dressed to go out?"

  Merrythought screwed up her face, as she tried to recall the image in her memory. "Yes. She wore a hooded cloak and had her leather valise. When I looked again, and had rubbed the sleep out of my eyes, she was gone. Oh, don't be angry, Pip! I didn't know whether I should say anything to you. I wasn't sure if I really saw her, or if it was a dream. You might have been cross with me for not waking you, but she would have been cross with me for doing so."

  "I would not be cross with you. As if I am ever cross with you!" Pip was pacing at the foot of her sister's bed, hands on her waist. "And was she alone?"

  "No. A...a man was with her."

  She froze. "A man? What man?"

  "I wasn't to say. She'll be soooo angry."

  "What man, Merry?"

  Her sister licked her lips and sank against the pillows. "The vicar of Thorford. Mr. Lulworth. There, it is done. I told you. Now the Boggart will get me, for sure."

  Pip stared. "It could not have been—you must have seen someone else and thought it was Jonathan. Why...why would he be here?"

  "She had her arm in his," Merry chirped plaintively from her pillows. "I was just as surprised to see him there as you would be, Pip. I thought he was in love with you. Or you were in love with him, at least. You talked of him so fondly, as you never talk of anybody but our pa."

  And that was why Serenity had not told her, she thought, chagrinned.

  Jonathan's housekeeper, Mrs. Trotter, had told Pip that her master travelled north. That he wouldn't be back until Sunday service.

  Deverell had said, What other men have gone missing at the same time as your sister? That's a good place to start.

  How blind she'd been! Serenity's comments about the "sad little curate" and her teasing over Pip's visits to the vicarage.

  Would they soon receive another letter from their missing sister?

  The food here is poor, but the company a vast improvement. I bet you are all sorry I left...

  "And now poor Edwyn is left behind," said Merry suddenly. "I do feel sorry for him."

  Pip shook her head. "Don't. This is nobody's fault but our sister’s. She must be the one to feel sorry and make amends."

  "Are you angry with her, because of Mr. Lulworth?"

  "I'm angry because she left us to clean up her mess. Because she did not confide in me. Because she is never punished and I daresay she will escape blame here too."

  "But you told her she shouldn't marry Edwyn Mortmain if she didn't love him."

  That was true. After all this time and all their arguments, her sister had changed her mind it seemed, and put aside her dour view of marriage being a duty. When push came to shove she must have realized she couldn't marry The Honorable Mortmain.

  Whether Jonathan was simply a convenient means of escape from that mistake, Pip couldn't be sure. Serenity's full motive in running away was yet to be discovered.

  In the meantime, she had left her sisters stranded with another threat of scandal hanging over their heads.

  * * * *

  Pip dressed for dinner in a very uneasy mood. With Merrythought still confined to bed, it was solely up to her to entertain the ghoulish Mortmains and she knew already that they didn't like her. She was an unwanted guest in their house and only potentially useful because of her father's money. She was the "mouthy" one. They were probably wishing she could have gone missing, instead of her sister.

  And Jonathan. What was his part in all this? Was he merely a convenient man to help her sister travel? Or was there more attachment?

  Her mind kept circling back to Serenity's scornful laughter. "I do hope you're not traipsing across the moor again to bother that sad little curate... perhaps you are in love."

  Well, she certainly could not let any of this show on her face at dinner. The Mortmains would be watching her closely.

  Edwyn had already given her a chilly "So there you are" when he caught her creeping through the passage in the early hours of the morning. Even when
she explained about the snow storm holding her hostage outside Whitby, he spared her nothing more than a very sour look and informed her that there was a fire in the morning room, should she need to warm herself. For the rest of the day she had stayed with her younger sister, grateful for that excuse to keep out of his way, but as dinner approached she must face her hosts again. Alone.

  But something else happened that drew their attention away from her. Thankfully.

  They had another guest at Darkest Fathoms that evening.

  "Damon Deverell," she heard him announce himself, just as she was descending the stairs for dinner. "I was hired by Mr. Prospero Piper to manage his daughters abroad."

  Appalled, she took the remaining steps at a quicker pace and exclaimed, "Not to manage, sir."

  In the process of handing his hat and coat to the Mortmain's butler, he spun around to look at her. "Miss Piper. You cannot be rid of me, you see. Tried to give me the slip this morning, did you not?"

  Through her teeth she hissed, "What do you think you're doing here?"

  Instead of answer, he turned to address Edwyn, who looked utterly confused. "You must be The Honorable Edwyn Mortmain, our host."

  Oh, for pity's sake, what was he up to? She felt her skin getting hot. But he took her hand, raised it to his lips and kissed her clenched knuckles through her evening glove.

  "I do hope I am not intruding?" he said, turning back to Edwyn. "Miss Piper did not tell you I met her yesterday on the moor and we spent the evening together at the Whalebone Inn?"

  She gasped. "We did not spend the evening together. We shared a dinner and had separate rooms. Kindly don't make it sound worse than it was."

  "Of course," he replied gravely. "I would not want anybody to think otherwise. I have been charged with preserving your reputation, madam, not besmirching it."

  "Mr. Deverell is a lawyer with Stempenham and Pitt," she explained reluctantly to her host.

  Edwyn moved stiffly in a partial bow. "I welcome you, sir, to Darkest Fathoms."

  "What's this?" Old Lord Bedevere Mortmain shuffled forward, leaning on his cane, looking very put out because his dinner had been delayed. "Who is it now? Damnation! Let one guest in and you've got five cluttering up the place, before you know it. I knew it was a mistake to bring a lot of girls here. Girls have followers. Soldiers and whatnot. I told you, Edwyn. But no, you thought you wanted one in the house."