He would consider things. He dropped her off at his family’s house, kissing her passionately until she melted in his arms. Then he turned and hurried back to Somerstone, where he would shine the boots of any noble who asked, take out that ridiculous pug, and submit to all manner of inane requests from the house party guests. But inside, he would remember Giorgia. Masters of their own paths. The possibility enticed him more than any other thought.
He groaned. But she offered no title. His desire for acknowledgement, for validity, to be legitimate once and for all, battled all his other hopes. And this house party was full of women with titles or noble family lines. A few of the ladies had caught his eye. Naturally Tabitha Easton—she intrigued him more than any other.
Just before he reached the house, horse hooves drew his attention. He stepped out from the woods as Tabitha raced past him on her horse. When she saw him, her head turned to stare long after she had already past. Given his fascination with her and her willingness to follow him into dark hallways, perhaps she was the one to pursue first.
But none of them excited him, made his blood to race quite like the lovely Giorgia. Did a title matter that much to him? What if he went to Italy and titles were not as important as in England? What if he could learn to forget and let it all go?
He entered through the kitchen, grinning at Miss Agatha, he left the empty basket for them to clean up and hurried to change into his livery. The countess would be wanting to talk with him about his particular duties that evening.
As he hurried down the windowed hallway, a huddled couple out on the lawn drew his eye. Lady Tabitha, surrounded by her brothers, dripping wet. And following her, equally wet, was Henry. If Damen was not mistaken, the man had suddenly woken to Lady Tabitha’s value. He looked completely besotted. Damen shook his head. What a dolt. And now Henry might get in his way, attempting to prove his love or other such nonsense, and interrupt the good friendship he had with Tabitha.
After a full afternoon doing all manner of tasks for the countess, Damen stood at the door to the front drawing room. They were to have a musicale, and he looked forward to it. The countess knew his interest in music, likely knew his mother’s talent, and had assigned him particularly to stand at the wall behind the piano. He sang better than most of them. Another proof of how he belonged in this noble life—that he was of noble parentage. As he listened to the many voices that would perform, several were not accomplished at all, one abhorrently so. But he kept his face impassive, only once sharing a glance with the countess as she too kept a stoic expression.
Tabitha sat down at the piano. Henry turned pages, watching her like she might do something fascinating at any moment. And she was completely unaware of Henry’s changing interest in her. That suited Damen just fine. When she started to sing, her voice so mellow, so easily blended with his own, he couldn’t resist—he hummed. Her voice flowed over him, filling him with a sweetness, a purity he had never known, and he wanted it. He wanted her. His humming blended perfectly with her song. He tried to stay quiet, but she heard him and lifted her stark blue eyes and held him captive. They sang to each other, his hum, her trills. The whole room quieted, and he at last felt whole. She could complete him like no one had. Legitimacy, a title, all would be his. Surely she could feel how perfect they were for each other.
As she stood to great applause, Damen and Tabitha’s shared gaze remained locked. She looked into his eyes until she again returned to her seat and Henry distracted her.
Giorgia was dark and enticing, and he was drawn to her. But Tabitha represented everything he wished he could have. Legitimacy. Purity. She demonstrated an aura of wholesome goodness that he found lacking in his life. And when he was with her, he found himself rising to be what she most needed, what she desired. Imagine who he could become were he to stand at her side in all things. Lord Laconi. The name felt delicious as he rolled it around on his tongue.
5
Giorgia waited for Damen as dusk settled over the small village. He had promised to get away to see her, and her heart thrilled at the thought. Though she couldn’t fathom what her friends in Italy would say if they could see her, waiting outside the grounds of an English estate, hoping for a bit of attention from the footman. She shook her head.
But not just any footman. The most handsome man of her acquaintance and son of the famous Margerite, cherished and loved all over Italia. No one need know his bloodline. They could arrive in Italia and create their own story. He would start over again, leave this servant lifestyle behind and become the noble he was meant to be. Her smile started slow and secretive and then grew until it filled her face. Then she faltered and bit her lip.
If he would be willing to give it all up to marry her. Perhaps she was foolish, but she did not want Damen if all he wanted from her was her title. She needed him to succumb, to give himself to her.
Her father had recently passed away, leaving her all of their estate and the promise that the man she married would receive his title. If she didn’t marry by the time she reached the age of five and twenty, the estate would pass to her cousin. Petro wasn’t so bad. She had considered marrying him for about six months. But she couldn’t feel anything for him, not even close to what she felt at the mere thought of Damen. When Petra kissed her hand, it felt as cold and lifeless as a dead fish. She shuddered at the thought. But if she rejected him and encouraged any other man from her set, the act would be seen as the greatest embarrassment to him, and not many men would be willing to pursue her because of it. But if she could bring back a foreigner, one of noble blood, then all would be forgiven. One could not help the finicky matters of the heart. And no one need know Damen’s questionable bloodline.
And there were other reasons, she admitted, her heart filling with fear.
Damen was late. And growing later.
At long last, the light of a lantern swung back and forth as it came toward her down the hill. Her heart picked up and she forced herself to stand still and wait. But her heart was already running toward him, picking up her skirts and falling into his strong arms that swung her around before he kissed her mouth.
When he at last approached, he tried to look aloof. But as soon as he saw her, his own mouth broke into a grin, and then he was picking up his steps towards her. Instead of swinging her around, he placed the lantern at their side and ran his thumb down the side of her face. “I’ve missed you.”
“And I you.” She thrilled at his touch.
“I have only a few hours. What shall we do tonight?”
“How about a visit to the folly?” She had heard of a lovely structure with a statue in the middle, covered with benches on the inside.
He raised an eyebrow. “I’ve never heard of a more perfect idea.”
She reached for his hand. When his fingers curled around hers, she thrilled at his touch.
When they reached the folly, he bowed and held out his hand, “May I have this dance?”
A great laugh bubbled up inside. “Why of course.”
Then he pulled her close and began the three step of a waltz. They spun and spun until the moon rose in the sky.
“Giorgia.” He stopped. “Those people at the house party.” He shook his head. “They’ve got nothing on you. Full of pompous do-nothings, heads caught up in nothing of import and confused, every one. They love or want to be loved, and it’s one big mess. Most often they can’t see what is right before their eyes.” His gaze travelled over her face, lingering on her lips, his eyes shining into her own. “And here you are, right in front of me.”
She held her breath. “Damen, let’s get out of here. Go back home.”
His eyes lit, and she waited. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again and shook his head. “Not yet.”
She turned away. “What are we waiting for, exactly?”
“Just some things I have to finish up.”
“You are unsure.”
He nodded. “Giorgia, I’ve never met anyone like you, never felt…”
> She waited.
“But I don’t know. I have plans, hopes. I could make something of myself, maybe.”
“With what? The people at this party?”
“Maybe.” His eyes glinted in the moonlight.
“Are they beautiful, these ladies?”
“That doesn’t matter.” He stared off into the night. “One in particular.”
“And do you love her? Does she make your heart shudder and your breathing quicken?” She stepped nearer. “Can she offer you a life in your homeland? A respectable marriage?”
He faced away. “She doesn’t hold a candle to you.”
She ran her hand up his arm and felt him tremble beneath her touch. “And so why do you hesitate? We could make a world of magic together.”
He pulled her close and pressed his lips to hers. He kissed her over and over without a word and then walked away without another glance in her direction.
She filled with a quick panic. “Damen!”
But he didn’t look back. Before she could collect herself, she choked on a sob and fell to the bench behind her.
6
Damen counted his wages and added them to the money he had saved. A great satisfaction filled him. He had enough. And now to move forward with the rest of his plans. He hesitated. Giorgia. He had been shaken, struck, heart and soul, by a woman, and he would never be the same. Just the thought of trying to live his life without her struck him with a feeling of loneliness. He hesitated again. He would wait. The party still had seven more days. He had time.
Wellington barked at him in his doorway. Confound that dog. He didn’t have the heart to make Miss Greystock, the countess’ loyal assistant, take care of him yet again. She had enough to do. He hid his money under the floorboards and reached for the dog. “Come on, little fellow.” He ground his teeth. The sooner he got away from here, the happier he would be. Seven more days. No matter what he decided, he had seven more days to put up with such indignities, and then he would be free.
He hurried through the hallways to take the little animal outside. Wellington turned his large eyes toward him and whined.
“Hold on there, fella.”
One of the maids hurried towards him. “You’re needed out on the lawn by the lake this afternoon. I was to pass it on if I saw you.”
“For the painting activity?”
“Yes, the very one. Miss Greystock will tell you what to do.”
“Thank you.” He pushed open the door to the outside and placed the dog at his feet. Wellington was cute in his own way, Damen supposed. But he did not like being told what to do by a pug. “Do your thing, dog.”
He could have sworn the dog put on airs and pranced away.
Henry approached. Damen stiffened.
“Might I have a word?”
“Certainly, my lord.”
“Your demeanor is not what I would expect from a servant.”
Damen purposefully held his gaze. “Isn’t it?”
“No, it’s not. I feel like certain liberties have been granted to you that should not have been. I just don’t want you to get the wrong impression.”
Henry’s eyes were kind. That was part of the problem with him, why he would never succeed with Tabitha. He was too soft. The man actually cared for him, a footman, and his one true threat in obtaining the woman he loved. “What liberties?”
“There is an air of familiarity with you that is not normally permitted with servants, and I have noticed it far too often with the ladies.” His face was stern and Damen almost laughed. Henry was not the man to create fear in the hearts of other men.
“I find I help the guests in whatever manner they most individually require.” There, that ought to infuriate him.
Henry’s face blanched. “I am going to need you to stay away from Lady Tabitha.”
“And if she seeks me out?”
“Turn the other direction.”
Damen kept his eyes on Henry, refusing to look away in the servant custom, staring him down. “Yes, my lord.” His mouth twisted in a sneer as he accentuated lord.
Henry’s eyes flashed. He turned on his heels and walked away.
So he had noticed Damen’s attentions to Tabitha after all. The last thing Damen wanted to do was to awaken an urgency to act in Henry. As long as Tabitha continued to believe the man didn’t love her, Damen’s plan just might work.
* * *
Hours later, Damen posed on the lawn with a bowl of fruit. He kept his face a mask, but his teeth ground until his head ached. The ladies giggled and eyed him around their canvases. But Tabitha looked off into the distance. Dash it all. She was drawing something else entirely.
He thought of Giorgia. And as if conjured up from his very thoughts, she stepped around the side of the house, a mocking grin on her face. He lifted his chin in her direction, and she nodded back, watching.
And then the annoyance of his task and the indignity of his life all paled and faded away like the night with the rise of the sun. She didn’t look down on him for being a servant. She was obviously an upper class woman, wealthy, but she sought him out, valued him. Again, he questioned his plan. Could he not make a beautiful life with Giorgia? Leave the land of his wretched father and make his way in Italy?
Everyone started to depart. Tabitha left on Henry’s arm, and Damen didn’t even care. His eyes sought Giorgia. She waited near the servants’ entrance. Damen picked up chairs, helped to gather canvas, and collected the paints, and still she waited. Her eyes on him gave him energy. And the time passed quickly. He had never had anyone in his life wait for him—not like this. Except for a chambermaid or the cook, but they meant nothing to him. Giorgia, she was special. The feeling of importance that filled him made him walk taller. He finished all his assigned tasks sooner than he would have normally, and the lawn returned to its normal state.
His pace picked up as he approached Giorgia. She had moved to a bench just outside the side gardens. Damen wouldn’t have much time at all, but he was going to stop for a moment, countess or no.
She rose from her seat as he approached, her cheeks flushed and the light of desire in her eyes. He decided nothing was more enticing than his view of her just as she was. The wind tickled the hair around her face, her bonnet tipped back, just slightly. With the roses behind, she was a picture better than any vista the others had just finished painting.
As soon as he was near enough, she whispered, “Damen.”
Her voice sent gooseflesh rippling through him. Amazed at the affect she had on him, he reached for her hand. Turning behind him, he scanned the lawn. Too many still wandered about. He led her around the bushes and into a small inner-garden courtyard. From somewhere inside the house, Lord Easton’s voice calling for Tabitha, barely registered.
As soon as they were alone, he pulled Giorgia to him. “Good to see you.”
“Good to see you as well. I quite enjoyed watching you work. I see why the countess keeps you on. You’re dashing in your livery.”
“Stop.” He growled and covered her mouth with his own. “I don’t want you to think of me like that.”
“Oh, I don’t, never you fear. To me, you are Damen Laconi, son of the most famous opera singer in all of Italia.”
Her eyes shone, and he read sincerity in her face. For the first time, he considered his lineage with a sense of pride, of belonging. His mother had sent Giorgia to him. She viewed him worthy of such a woman. He considered the fact that she was untitled, and for the first time it bothered him less. Did he need something so insignificant if he could have respectability and wealth?
“I’m happy you have come, Giorgia.”
A sparkle of hope lit her face. “How happy?” She raised an eyebrow. “Can we at last make plans for our return to your homeland?”
He stared into her eyes for a moment and then shifted his gaze out above the hedges across the hills of Yorkshire. “Perhaps.” Then he swung her around. “Would you rid me of the pleasure of courting you? Of surprising you with a proposa
l?”
She gasped. “A proposal?”
He held his hand up to the side of her face. “Perhaps. You could make me the happiest of men.”
She nodded, and tears welled in her eyes.
How gratifying for someone such as she to love him so. He caught one of her tears just as it fell down her cheek. “Come, my sweet. I must get back to my duties. But seeing you here has made even a very tedious day a special one. Thank you.” He kissed her lips once more and then turned from her to get back inside. He was tasked with the preparations for the dining room and any number of other things as the day went on.
For the first time, playing the bowing, simpering servant did not bother him. He knew someone saw him as something more. Giorgia wanted him. And for some reason that made all the difference.
7
Giorgia cinched her waist tighter, pulling at her corset. Her rounded belly was growing larger. She would have to cut back on at least one meal a day to keep herself small. Time was running out. Damen must be convinced soon and agree to marry her while still in England. Then, when her condition could not be hidden onboard the ship, he would already be hers. And once he knew of her status, his new title, he would hopefully be appeased enough to be happy in their circumstances.
She clutched a letter to her breast.
Francisco, the devil who had caused her condition, had refused her petition. He insisted she bear this burden alone. Francisco, the son of the neighboring viscount, friends with Damen’s mother Margarite. Giorgia had been visiting for tea, and the woman was so kind that Giorgia’s story had poured out of her in great heaving sobs. Margerite had reached an arm around her trembling frame and with surprising strength told her what they would do. She told her of a handsome son. Before Giorgia knew it, she was on a boat to England.
And Damen had been everything she had hoped. Exciting, handsome, strong, powerful. She shivered in delight at the thought of his arms around her. But she still had some measure of pride. She knew he was after a title, respectability, all of which she offered. But she wanted his heart, wanted him totally committed to her. There was a greater chance then that he would love the baby. If only she could seduce him early enough, then perhaps he would think the child his.
Damen’s Secret: Regency House Party: Somerstone Page 2