“I am not interested in marrying again, I assure you,” Vanessa replied with conviction, ignoring her friend’s other advice.
She was sorry when Lettice shortly begged her leave and went to seek out another acquaintance. She had enjoyed seeing a familiar face among strangers, and she was pleased that her friend had found happiness in such unlikely circumstances.
Yet the conversation had disturbed her. If Lettice assumed she and Damien were lovers, no doubt others had, as well. It seemed obvious now that that was a better explanation for the cold reception she’d been given than her lowered status as a mere servant. Her attempt to hide their relationship behind the respectable post of companion had failed. Lord Sin was simply too notorious a figure to support so frail a pretense.
It also was becoming clear she wasn’t likely to escape the relationship without being branded as a wanton.
Suddenly warm in the heat of the ballroom and needing a respite from the crowd, Vanessa slipped through the open French doors, out onto the terrace. The summer night air was cool on her flushed skin, the scene peaceful, with the moon a huge, brilliant disk bathing the landscape below. Yet even the beauty couldn’t calm the turmoil of her thoughts.
Her reputation would perhaps be in tatters by the time her term as Damien’s mistress ended. Even so, Vanessa thought defiantly, she would have made the same decision again. Being ostracized by society was not too high a price to pay for her sisters’ sake.
But she still had the difficult question of their future to resolve. She bit her lip. Perhaps when her association with Damien concluded at summer’s end, she should indeed consider seeking an arrangement like the one Lettice suggested.
Such dreams as love were probably beyond her reach. And she would never remarry and put herself at the mercy of a philandering husband. Yet it might be possible to achieve a comfortable relationship of sorts, one based on companionship and mutual attachment.
Vanessa had only a few moments for contemplation before the scrape of footsteps behind her warned her that she was not alone. She turned to see a gentleman weaving toward her-the elder son of a local squire whose name she couldn’t recall. He was more than a little foxed, it seemed. When he reached her side, he favored her with a leering grin and leaned heavily against the stone rail of the balcony.
“Ah, m’lady,” he said, slurring his words. ““Tis my good fortune to find you alone.”
“I was about to return to the ballroom,” Vanessa replied, not eager to encourage familiarity.
“Pray don’t go.” He placed a restraining hand on her arm. “Since Lord Sin has abandoned you, I will be delighted to take his place. What do you say that I prove how agreeable I can be?”
“I doubt you wish to hear what I would say, sir,” she said acerbically.
When he flung a heavy arm over her shoulder, she was not alarmed as much as angered. But when he groped her breast beneath the satin decolletage, Vanessa recoiled.
He refused to let her go, even when she tried to twist out of his embrace. With a muttered oath, he tightened his hold on her arm, surprising a cry of pain from her.
Then suddenly Damien was there, yanking her assailant away and hauling him up short by the cravat.
“I suggest you offer the lady an apology at once, Henry,” Damien ordered coldly, his grip tightening.
Giving a choking sound, the young man nodded. When Damien released him, he staggered back, clutching his throat and breathing harshly as he stammered out an apology.
“Now you may take yourself home. No, the stables are that way,” Damien added, indicating the stone steps leading down from the terrace.
When Henry had stumbled away into the night, Damien turned to Vanessa, who stood rubbing her arm where her inebriated assailant’s grasp had bruised it.
“Are you all right?”
She fixed her gaze on him, shock still flowing through her. Her late husband might have dragged her through any number of scandals, but until tonight no man had ever treated her so disrespectfully. Because of Damien, she was now vulnerable to any number of indignities.
Her resentment flared. He must have known when he made her his mistress that her reputation would not survive. Indeed, that no doubt had been his goal in the first place.
“All right? But, of course! I am quite accustomed to defending myself against physical assaults. I’m overjoyed to have been made a byword, a target for any drunken fool who chooses to accost me.” If her accusation held any injustice, she was too angry to acknowledge it.
“Would you like to go now?” Damien asked quietly.
“Certainly I would, but I shall endure the rest of the evening. To leave now would be to admit defeat, and I am not craven.”
Her chin lifting, Vanessa swept past him through the doors to the ballroom, ignoring the questioning glances of several guests who had gathered to watch the spectacle.
She spent the next hours pretending she was not at the center of a brewing scandal. By the time Damien ordered the carriage, however, she had regained at least a semblance of composure and managed to feign an attitude of cool disdain.
Neither of them spoke much on the journey home.
“I was wrong to insist you come here tonight with me,” Damien said at last, breaking the brittle silence.
“It was a mistake,” Vanessa agreed coolly. “My presence only lent credence to the notion that we are lovers.”
“I’m sorry you were subjected to such boorish treatment.”
“Are you? I would have thought you’d be pleased. Isn’t this precisely the retribution you wanted? My ruination for your sister’s?”
Damien hardened his jaw, feeling a sharp stab of guilt. He had cared nothing about Vanessa’s reputation, at least in the beginning. But that was a long time ago. Now he could only regret the insults she would doubtless suffer because of him.
If he had any nobility, he would set Vanessa free of her obligation to him. But he couldn’t bring himself to be so noble, not yet.
“The damage is not irreparable, at least,” he observed.
“Is it not? And how do you recommend we repair it? I cannot see the situation changing for the rest of the summer, and then it can only grow worse. I’m under your protection now, but the instant I leave here, I will be known as one of your cast-off lovers.”
“Not if you are the one to break off the relationship. In fact, it will lend you a certain cachet to have spurned me. When our association has ended, I shall put it about that I fell out of your favor.”
Vanessa bit back a retort, knowing no one would believe that unlikely version of events. “I suppose I should be grateful for that small consideration,” she said finally, her tone more caustic than she intended.
His gray gaze held hers. “You are free to walk away now, if you choose.”
“And my mother and sisters will suffer for it,” Vanessa replied bitterly. “Thank you, my lord, but I shall fulfill the terms of our bargain to the letter.”
Chapter Twelve
“Vanessa, I am on tenterhooks to discover what happened at the ball,” Olivia demanded the following morning as her invalid chair was pushed into the bedchamber by a female servant.
Not yet fully awake, Vanessa repressed a sigh and rolled over. She winced at the bright light that flooded the room as the draperies were parted.
“I’ve brought you breakfast,” Olivia added insistently as another maid settled a tray on a table. “I thought you might eat while you tell me about last night.”
Realizing she would get no peace until she satisfied the girl’s curiosity, Vanessa sat up in bed and settled back against the pillows. Despite the delicious aroma of warm scones, she had no appetite, but she accepted a cup of chocolate and stirred it while mentally debating how much to tell Olivia about last night’s disaster.
She had stayed awake half the night, forcing herself to face the unpalatable truth. Her reputation was severely damaged by her association with Damien, possibly beyond repair-
“Vanessa,
are you attending me?” Olivia asked.
She forced a smile, realizing that Olivia had dismissed the servants and was waiting eagerly for an account of the ball. “I“m sorry, I was woolgathering. I had a very enjoyable evening last night.”
Olivia looked troubled. “That is not what I hear. Servants’ gossip says that Damien was involved in a fight over your honor.”
Vanessa grimaced. “It wasn’t as bad as all that. One of your local gentlemen became foxed and tried to kiss me. Your brother had to intervene. The few witnesses to the scene,” she added wryly, “must have embellished the tale.”
“Who was the gentleman?”
Vanessa hesitated, reluctant to spread the gossip further. But Olivia seemed determined to hear the intimate details. And she should be warned in case she ever found herself in a similar circumstance. “I believe his name was Henry Marsh.”
“Henry? How dare he!” Olivia exclaimed indignantly. “I never have liked him above half. Oh, Vanessa, it must have been horrible for you.”
“It was not pleasant,” she agreed. “But I learned a valuable lesson. In future I shall take care to avoid being alone with a strange gentleman. In fact, I think it wise for me to avoid such gatherings altogether.”
Olivia gave a distressed frown. “I feared something like this might happen, that you would become the subject of ugly rumor-mongering, simply because you are a guest here. It is all Damien’s fault. The most virtuous woman alive would be suspect in his company. I know. With the wickedness of my family, I have always had to behave like a saint, always had to be above reproach. It isn’t fair,” she added somewhat bitterly.
Last night Vanessa had agreed with the sentiment. Now, however, she felt only resignation. She should despise Damien for forcing her into such a position, but she couldn’t bring herself to hate him. It she were totally honest, she would admit even to being grateful to him for helping liberate her from her fears.
“There is a solution to the problem,” Olivia said, putting a finger to her lips thoughtfully. “Damien could undo the damage he has wrought. He could offer you the protection of his name and wed you.”
Vanessa had to smile at the absurdity of the idea.
“I am quite serious!” Olivia declared. “You must do your best to make Damien fall in love with you. Then he would be compelled to make you an honorable offer of marriage. It would be delightful, don’t you think? We would be sisters.”
Vanessa was pleased to see Olivia excited about something, even though her plan couldn’t possibly work.
“Of course, it wouldn’t be easy,” Olivia mused aloud, echoing her thoughts. “Damien seems quite fond of you, but he has always vowed he will never fall in love. He says that he’s seen love destroy too many people, including Mama and Papa. That is why he has remained so unattainable, even though he’s been pursued by countless females.”
Vanessa shook her head. The suggestion was almost laughable. Damien Sinclair was not the sort of man ever to fall in love. Most certainly he would not allow himself to succumb to the sister of a mortal enemy.
She kept her tone light, though, when she replied. “Everyone knows that libertines never fall in love. And in any event, I have no desire ever to marry again.”
Olivia’s face fell. “I suppose it was a wild notion. But I should dearly love to have you for a sister.”
They spoke of more mundane matters for a time, but when Olivia left her so she might dress, Vanessa was struck by a sudden spell of melancholy. She closed her eyes, weary from lack of sleep and emotional strain. It was hopeless to think she might redeem her reputation. As mercenary as it was to contemplate, perhaps she would be wise to consider her friend Lettice’s advice to find a wealthy protector…
Vanessa’s eyes opened. She was resigned to the loss of her good name, but it might be possible to turn her ruination to advantage.
Frowning, she sat up slowly and struggled to focus her thoughts. Being a mistress was far better than being a wife, she was certain, for at least it offered a measure of freedom and independence. A mistress wasn’t considered legal property with fewer rights than a slave.
And not all fallen women faced a future of whoredom and shame. If rumor could be believed, there were Cyprians in London who commanded fortunes in their chosen professions, highfliers who had half the gentlemen of the ton at their feet.
At the moment, Vanessa acknowledged, she was ill-equipped to join their illustrious ranks. She lacked the necessary skills to enthrall any man-although she was far more experienced at lovemaking now than before meeting Damien…
Damien. Of course.
Vanessa’s lips tightened. She’d always been adamant about saving her penniless younger sisters from unhappy marriages like the one she was forced to make, and her liaison with England’s most notorious lover could prove her best chance to secure their financial welfare. Who better than the wicked Lord Sin to advise her on how to attract the attentions of even the most elusive gentlemen?
Her chin lifted defiantly. If she took so brazen a step as to join the muslin company, it would be difficult to return to her old life. As a demirep, she would have to avoid her sisters altogether so she wouldn’t drag them into any scandal attached to her name. Even then, her notoriety could reflect on them and diminish their chances for a distinguished marriage. But at least they wouldn’t be forced into wifehood against their will.
It would be an enormous step, and doubtless irrevocable. Yet she could never hope to support her family on the meager salary a governess or lady’s companion commanded, even if she could manage to find employment. Virtue and respectability couldn’t provide even the basic necessities such as food and shelter. And the world already called her wanton…
Gathering her courage, Vanessa pushed aside the covers and rose to dress. She intended to seek out Damien now, before she lost her resolve. She had to speak to him regarding the grave matter of her education.
Damien bent over the neck of the straining chestnut gelding, urging the horse to greater speed. He was coldly furious at himself-for any number of transgressions. For misjudging the difficulties Vanessa faced in society as his undeclared mistress. For underestimating how savage the petty cruelties of the ton could be. For allowing that idiot son of a squire to accost her. For feeling such guilt at her distress. For having so little control over his own passion…
Hoping rigorous exercise would temper his desire, Damien had gone riding to work off his frustrations, racing across fields and charging up grassy slopes, recklessly jumping the hedges and streams in his path, the beat of churning hooves pounding in his head.
Finally, though, he slowed to spare his horse. It was criminal to take his frustrations out on a superb animal, and physical exertion had little effect on the emotions or sexual tension surging through him.
Bringing his sweating mount down to an easy walk, he turned back toward Rosewood. Threatening storm clouds swelled on the horizon, echoing his dark mood.
After a week’s absence he should have forgotten Vanessa. But his plan to banish her from his thoughts and mind hadn’t worked. She wouldn’t be forgotten, devil take her.
He’d returned home after his journey, determined to deny his obsession, but the instant he’d laid eyes on her in the music room, sitting there so cool and beautiful, his heart had leapt. He hadn’t taken her in his arms as every primal instinct urged him to do, but instead pretended a callous detachment.
His pretense had nearly shattered when he saw her in that stunning golden gown, looking as magnificent as a queen, as enchanting as any male fantasy. His loins had caught fire, and it had taken every ounce of willpower he possessed to refrain from sweeping Vanessa off her feet and carrying her upstairs to his bed, where he could spend the night ravishing her to his heart’s content, instead of attending a damned ball.
At dinner and for the rest of the evening, her cool, regal demeanor had mirrored his own attempt at remoteness. Damnation, he should have been pleased she was astute enough not to protest his
withdrawal. The warmth that had once been so much a part of their relationship, the intimacy, the friendship, had ended, just as he’d wished. Yet, to his dismay, Damien had found himself missing the sweetness, the sharing, the softness of her smile…
And then had come the drunken assault on Vanessa and his own unrecognizable responses: his killing rage at the perpetrator and his fierce remorse afterward, when he had yearned to hold her and comfort her, to soothe away her distress. The depth of his emotion had stunned him.
Damien muttered a savage oath under his breath. He did indeed seem to be following in his illustrious father’s footsteps. He had vowed years ago he would never succumb to the blind desire that had nearly destroyed his father; he never wanted to care that deeply for any woman.
But Clune’s house party hadn’t provided an escape or satisfied his fierce need. His longing to possess Vanessa hadn’t ended, even when he’d sought out other feminine companionship in an effort to forget her. The bald truth was, he hadn’t wanted anyone else. He hadn’t been able to lose himself in the pleasures of the flesh as usual. And his restlessness, his empty longing, remained.
Damien hardened his jaw. He very much feared there was only one woman who could ease the burning desire inside him.
There was no use denying his intense need for her, Damien acknowledged grimly. He would simply have to let his obsession run its course.
It came as something of a jolt when, moments later, he saw a rider in the distance who looked very much like the object of his all-consuming thoughts. Damien hoped he might be dreaming, but when the rider grew close, he realized he was indeed seeing Vanessa.
He pulled up abruptly and sat waiting for her, cursing the quickening of his heart. Even in a worn riding habit, she looked beautiful. Desire stung him with fresh insistence, and he had to discipline himself severely to maintain an appearance of indifference when she reached him.
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