She pushed the bedroom door open, and stopped short. Damon stood before the fireplace, jabbing at the logs with the poker. He met her eyes. Now that the time was here, her stomach knotted.
“I have something to say,” she blurted out before her courage could desert her.
One eyebrow lifted. Damon set the poker into the rest, and leaned against the mantel. He lifted a hand in encouragement.
“I love you.” This was not how she meant to tell him! She meant to do it right, not just blurt it out, and especially not until she had done the apology. “I mean – ”
He raised his hand, and turned his head away. “You don’t owe me anything for finding Roderick.”
He thought that was gratitude? Her heart had just popped out of her mouth, and he could not believe it. She guessed she could understand why. Verbena gathered her courage, shut the door, and walked slowly over to him. Her rich black opera gown, which she had not thought to remove, rustled in counterpoint with the fire’s crackles.
She stopped in front of him. The fire scented the air with a rich woodsy aroma, and cast Damon’s face into sharp relief. She reached a hand up to that beloved face, those sharp features. “It is not gratitude, although I am grateful. For Roderick, for how you took on all the children, for not caring who I am. Your friend Fitz, at the theatre? When I told him the children adored you, I realized it was not just them. It was me, too. I wanted to tell you as soon as we were alone, but the news came about Roderick and there was no time to even think of it. I could hardly – ”
Before she could finish, Damon’s strong arms pulled her close. Just before his lips captured hers, she saw his black eyes were glowing with a heat that blazed as warm as the fire at his back. His lips, warm and firm, merged with hers, compelling a response. She had to return that kiss, to feel his mouth. His hands roved over her, holding her close, sliding around her curves.
She did not want to move, did not want him to ever stop, but finally they both needed air.
He rested his forehead against hers, and kissed the tip of her nose. “You only realized this today? Why did this not happen last summer when I was trying so hard to court you?”
She leaned back far enough to meet his eyes. The heat had faded, but a softer warmth still glowed there. “You were courting me?”
He gave a muffled laugh. “Clearly I was not doing a very good job of it, if you could not tell.”
“I knew you wanted something,” Verbena said, settling back against Damon’s solid chest, his steady heartbeat sending little pulses through her, “but I did not think I could love you and remain true to Edeline. You took such good care of us, but I had that terrible secret to keep. I could not even stop to wonder what I felt. I remember how much it hurt when you left last summer. Maybe it started back then. All those lonely months – I kept waiting and waiting for you to come back. Everywhere I looked, there were memories, so many things you had done to help.”
Beneath her cheek, she felt him let out a long breath, a sigh felt but not heard.
She wanted to see him when she said the rest. Verbena leaned back just far enough to look up at his face, so dear, a beauty far beyond the surface. His dark eyes looked down at her, as warm as a chocolate drink. “That day when you came to Aunt Mabel’s, I was so relieved.”
He chuckled. “You hid it very well.”
“I had been carrying the load all alone for so long, and when Edeline died, I thought I would break under the strain. And then you were there. Breathing fire, but you were there.” Verbena reached up to touch his face. It was bristly with whiskers, and she did not care. “But I had to take a stand for Edeline. Without Roderick to smooth the way, I do not think this blending of our two families would have been so easy. Do you understand?”
“Of course I understand. You will remember how patient I was when you would not share Roderick with me. You sat on one side of the carriage with Roderick, and I sat on the other.” He lifted her chin with one gentle finger, leaned down and kissed her, quick and hard. “I shall not let you take those words back. I have waited nearly eight years for them.”
“Eight years?” Her mouth dropped open and she stared at him, stunned. Eight years? Why eight years?”
“That is my secret. We have better things to do now than talk, don’t you agree?” He pressed a kiss against her mouth, starting gently, but gaining intensity as the tension of the day found release in the merging of their mouths. The kiss ended, his hands cradled her face as his dark gaze fixed on her face. “I wish I could pick you up and carry you to that bed, but we both know that can never happen. I wish I were whole for you.” Deep regret filled his eyes.
She could not bear to see that expression, could not bear that he thought anything about him disappointed her. Verbena pressed one hand over his mouth. “Shush. I would not change a single thing about you. Those scars are badges of courage and honor. They show me how strong you are inside, the power of your will. Your shoulders are broad enough to carry all my burdens. Look what you have taken on! You have won over the boys. They want to be just like you – and I can’t think of anyone finer to emulate. Annabelle and Lizabeth fairly worship you. Do you think they care about your limp?” She wanted to shake him. “You are perfect to me. You have defied your family for mine, you have rescued Roderick. I shudder to think what dangers you risked. And you worry about a few marks on your body?”
He kissed her softly this time, his lips caresses on hers. “Very well, then, my dear. I would not wish to argue with you.” His fingers worked busily along her back, finding buttons and undoing them. “I love you,” he whispered as each little fastening gave way. “I love you, my sweet.” The words were balm, washing away all the months, all the worry, all the fear, her burdens taken away by this man, her husband.
Her heart overflowed with happiness. He loved her. In spite of everything, he loved her.
*
They lay there in silence, the only movement Verbena’s hands stroking up and down Damon’s back. She relished the peace that filled her. For the first time since he came into her life last summer, she knew exactly where she belonged. No confusion, no uncertainty, no tangled loyalties, just Damon and her in their marital bed, relishing the touch and scent of each other.
His words of earlier came back, but without urgency, just curiosity. He had said they were a secret, but somehow she thought, after what they had just shared, that he would tell her. “Why eight years?” she asked as she toyed idly with the crisp hairs on his chest.
“What?” He lifted his head and looked at her, the blankets making a tent over his shoulders.
“You said you waited eight years.” Verbena held her breath.
“You want the truth?”
She nodded, and smiled at the rueful expression on his face.
“Very well.” He rolled to his back, sinking into the soft down mattress, and tucked her into the crook of his arm before he pulled the blankets over her. “Eight years ago – the day in the woods, my dear, when you were but a girl. You and that basket of bread, on the path through the trees, and your hair as bright as sunshine. You kept me alive, my sweet, during the war. Remember when I saw you in those same woods last summer, when Andrew died? We both remembered that first day those years ago, but you could not know what a shock it was to see you, my vision in the flesh. During all the blood and the death, I would dream of you. You were so bright and wholesome, so untouched, and I needed something clean to hold onto. I had a vague thought of trying to find out if you still lived in the village, but I hardly dared believe you were unwed. To find out that I could have you – ” He broke off and his mouth captured hers again.
“You were so huge on that horse,” she said softly when their lips parted, “so high above me. I was very intimidated.”
‘You did not show it,” he said, and shifted to press a kiss into her hair.
“Father had always warned us about men, how we must always beware when they are being nicest because they only want one thing.”
> Damon chuckled. “It is a very nice thing, don’t you agree?”
She found she could laugh, too, now. “Yes, I guess I do.” But serpents had a way of sneaking in where they were not wanted, and the mention of her father had left its poison.
Damon must have felt something because his arm tightened. “What is it?”
Verbena shook her head, feeling it rub against the strong shoulder underneath her cheek. “Nothing.” But he had shared his deepest secret, and she could not betray this new trust. “Just – Father.” She sighed. “I cannot believe he did such a horrible thing. I never thought he loved us, but I never would have expected him to do such a thing as kidnapping a baby.”
Damon sighed, too, matching sighs for the identical reason. He closed his eyes, and Verbena felt tension slip back into him, too. “Don’t worry about your father causing any more problems.”
“How can you be so sure? If he could do this, I don’t want to think what else he has planned. This is so embarrassing to talk about.” Verbena tried to get a hand free, to cover her face, but their bodies were so wrapped together that her hands were trapped under his muscular arms.
Just the mention of her father made her feel low. She forced herself to continue. “I think it would be worth it to hire a guard and transport him back to the village, if he would stay, or even someplace further. Scotland, or Australia?” Damon pulled away to look at her, and she slipped from under his arm and rolled onto her side. “Would that be too expensive, Damon?”
He tucked her back where she had been, and rested his chin on her head. “No. I had the same idea. I don’t think Australia is necessary, though.” He took a deep breath. “I need to tell you something, about him. Your father is dying, Verbena.”
The words just hung there on the air. Verbena did not move, she could not react. She should be sad, should she not? But the words brought no answering emotion. She should say something. Her father was dying. “How do you know?” Even the question came out flat, just like her insides. Underneath the dullness, though, there was a strange sensation, a tiny bubble, like something was beginning to brew.
Whatever that something was, she did not want it. She would rather have the nothingness.
“It is the drink,” Damon answered in a quiet voice. “I saw it in the war. His eyes were yellow.”
Damon let go of her, and rolled onto his back. They lay there, the two of them, in silence.
She stared up at the ceiling, the rich crown molding around the edge, the top of the curtains. Someone had not been able to dust all the way up, because a cobweb glistened in the flickering firelight. “Father did not use to be like this,” she said softly, “but after Mother died, he lost the will to live. Not even the children were enough for him.”
Her husband did not say anything, just waited.
“I should be crying. He is my father,” she said, and it hurt that her voice did not even show a hint of tears beneath it. “Why am I not crying?”
His hand found hers under the covers, and squeezed. “Give it time,” he said. He rolled his head so he could see her. “Get some sleep. Everyone here is safe, and he won’t be able to get back in. I don’t think he will try again, anyway.” One more soft kiss, and he turned on his side and settled into the mattress. Those strong arms pulled her close, and cradled her head under his chin.
Sleep did not come. Thoughts chased themselves around her head.
Father was dying. Whatever he had done to them, he was still her father. Even if she did not really want to, she needed to see him.
What did Damon plan to do with him? Whatever time he had left, if he went home alone, he would be going to an empty house.
She rolled over carefully, and watched Damon sleep. What thoughts went through his dreams?
Life was hardly fair. She did not want her father in their lives, did not want to worry about his madness, or fear another threat against them, but she did not want him to suffer needlessly, either.
Her father was somewhere in London, ill and alone.
And the coachman knew where that was.
CHAPTER 31
Just after dawn, Verbena slipped out of the house and raced across the yard to the stables. She hoped her movements had not awakened Damon. The coachman did indeed know where her father was staying but refused to take her unless several footmen went along.
It was a well-protected carriage that headed out for Cheapside.
The stable yard was bustling with early risers. The inn smelled heavily of fresh bacon, onions and stale ale as she trouped upstairs following Reggie. He led her down the hallway to a door at the far end, and pounded on it. Several footmen stood behind her, crowding the narrow space.
On the second attempt, a familiar voice from inside yelled an obscenity in slurred tones, followed by a growled, “Go ‘way!”
She pushed Reggie away from the door, and pressed her face close to the crack. “It is me, Father. I need to talk to you.”
The room went quiet. Then she heard the bed creak, and a low, “Oh, hell.”
They all stood in the cramped hallway while rustles came from inside, and then the door jerked open. “What are you doing here?”
She could only gape, shocked, at his appearance. His skin was sallow, his hair thin and brittle, his hands shook as they hung onto the doorframe, and the whites of his eyes were indeed yellow.
“What happened to you?” she whispered, as she stood there and stared at him.
“Well, if it ain’t the little traitor.” He swayed on his feet, and she almost reached out to steady him. “What made you think you could take my children away from me? And to a Thern, no less.”
“What were we supposed to do?” Verbena tried not to wrinkle her nose at the stench of unwashed body and drink that draped him like fog across the field. She knew better than to argue with him in this condition, but the footmen behind her gave her confidence. “You did not even leave us enough money to survive!”
He spit onto the floor, and Verbena flinched away from the foul spot. “And so you married into that family? Is that all it takes, to dangle a bit of gold in front of your nose? You and your sister, all you do is look after yourself. You think nothing of your pa.”
“You think nothing of the children!” She took a breath, and reined in her fury. “You kidnapped Edeline’s baby, Father. He is so tiny, he could have been injured, or gotten sick. What got into you?”
He glared at her through those unnerving eyes. “Both you and Edeline betrayed your responsibilities to me. And you! You are the worst. What right had you to take away my children? Have children of your own, but leave mine alone! I will expect them ready and waiting when I show up at your bleedin fancy door.”
The threat somehow had no teeth. Verbena looked at him as he was now, sick and smelly. A deep sadness weighed her heart. “Oh, Father, you missed so much. You could have had the children as memories of Mother, there are bits of her in each one of them, but instead you ran away. You ran to the sea, and you ran to the bottle, and you missed their whole childhoods.”
His eyes were unfocused, and she fought the sudden surge of anger that he was not even listening to her. She hated anger, it had eaten up too much of this past year. She and the children had suffered needlessly because she was angry at the Therns. Edeline had died because she was angry.
She was done with it. “I adored you when I was young. You were my hero, so big and brave and strong. You could hold me over your head like I was a feather. And how you loved Mother. Yet that love destroyed you. Love should make you strong. The father I adored would never have sunk so low. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life filled with bitterness and anger. I can forgive the father you once were, and when I think of you, I will try to remember who you used to be. But I can never trust you again. And I wish I could.”
Verbena took a breath, and smelled the familiar stench of drink. “Go home, Father. Go home to your memories. There are letters there, she left them for you. You can find her there in her words.
She would not want you to live like this. Go home, and find her again. Maybe someday you will have peace again.” Before you die, which I can see will indeed be soon. “I hope you do. I want you to have that much.”
The words were hard, but something released inside her. It was not this simple, Verbena knew there would be hours when memories would come back and the battle for peace would have to be fought again, but at that moment a little bit of pain and hurt let go.
Thomas’s eyes were suddenly watery. She did not know if it was genuine emotion or the remnants of drink. Her struggle for peace and a measure of forgiveness might as well start now, Verbena told herself. She would chose to think his old self was in there, grieving.
But they would still have to send him away.
She turned around to leave. Behind the bodies of the footmen, Damon stood there in the hallway, waiting for her.
The door slammed shut. Her father’s way of expressing his opinion of her husband, no doubt. “How did you know I was here?”
“I expected this. It is so like you.” They walked silently back through the inn, past the doors and the smells, out into the brittle March sunshine. Damon helped her into the carriage. His stallion was tied to the back.
He sat down beside her, but made no move to touch her. “You went to see how sick he really was, did you not? Even now, I suspect you are trying to come up with some remedy that will heal him.”
Verbena shifted on the seat to face him. “Perhaps. A little. I just could not leave him there alone.” She lifted her shoulders in a helpless gesture, and looked into Damon’s rich dark eyes. “It was all for naught, though, was it not? He won’t accept anything. It has been so many years of hurt and struggle and poverty, all of it so unnecessary. So terribly unnecessary. Where would we have been, if not for you?”
Damon tucked a curl back under her bonnet, his fingers gentle. “I would have come and found you. I was looking for you, all that time, even from across the sea, I was looking for you.”
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