Forever My Love (Historical Romance) (26 page)

"Yes, I suppose," she agreed, trying to hide a smile. "You are welcome to come as often as you like, Mr. Elman."

"I'll do that, Miss Royal—I surely will."

He stopped short. "He asked me to let them know at Swanhouse about his troubles and to get word to his unit. I'll have to ride hard to notify his unit since it's more than three days from here."

Royal was thoughtful for a moment. "If you will inform his unit, I will notify Mr. Bartholomew."

"You must have a care, Miss Royal. It wouldn't do to let the king's men find out what you were about."

"I'll take every precaution, Mr. Elman."

The man beamed at her as he moved to the door. "I'll be seeing you, Miss Royal," he promised, "just as soon as I can come without drawing attention to myself."

26

Royal balanced a dinner tray with one hand while she opened the door with the other. Seeing Damon propped up against the pillows, she smiled at him. "Alba has prepared you a feast. Deep-fried fish, green beans with potatoes, and corn muffins. For dessert she made gingerbread. Have you any notion how difficult it is to get ginger, or any spices, with British warships blockading all the ports?"

He crossed his arms over his chest and gave her a noncommittal glance. "Little I care." His eyes burned into her. "Why haven't you been in to see me today?" he demanded. "All I have to do all day is sit here and look at these four walls."

She placed the tray on the table near his bed, knowing how difficult it was for a man like him to be inactive. "As a matter of fact, I have been at Swanhouse Plantation. I rode out early this morning to inform Mr. Bartholomew that you were here. He sends his compliments and asked me to tell you that he will come to see you as soon as he can do so without raising undue suspicion."

Damon sighed heavily and lay back against the pillow. "I don't know what's going on with this damn war. I'm caught here in Savannah, surrounded by enemy troops, and even the doctor who tended my wounds owes his allegiance to King George." His eyes targeted her parted lips. "And, if it comes to that, I'm not all that certain about your allegiance."

She poured cream into his coffee and placed the tray across his lap, unruffled by his sarcasm. "As soon as I decide, I'll let you know." She shook out a snowy white napkin and handed it to him. "You really should eat. Alba took particular pains so everything would be to your liking."

He picked up a fork and stabbed at the fish. Breaking off a flaky piece, he raised it to his mouth and took a bite. "Alba is to be complimented. I have been wondering if I could steal her away from you. Swanhouse could use a woman with her authority."

Royal warmed to his light banter. "Alba would never leave me."

He cocked his head. "Don't be too certain. She told me just the other day that she grew up on a farm outside Yorkshire and sometimes longs for country living. I could offer her the rule of Swanhouse and that would satisfy her need for country living."

Royal propped her arms on the table and watched him devour the fish. "Don't you have a cook at Swanhouse?"

"Not one who can rival Alba."

She waved her hand in the air. "Alba is most temperamental. I doubt you have the fortitude to endure her imposing presence." She peeped at him with humor dancing in the depths of her blue eyes. "While I, on the other hand, have grown accustomed to dictatorial... people."

He paused with the coffee cup halfway to his lips. "If you mean me, I can be as gentle as a lamb when the circumstances warrant it."

She gave him a doubtful glance. "Not from what I've seen."

His eyes sparkled as he looked at her. "I can be gentle," he repeated, his tone reminding her of a time when he had gently taken her into his arms.

For a moment they stared at each other, until Royal stood up and moved to the window. "I believe it's time we talked, Damon." She turned around and found him watching her. "You know about what."

"Yes, you want to talk to me about Preston Seaton."

She was amazed by his perception. "Since you know Preston, it will make it all the easier."

"I owe him my life."

"Preston once saved me from a rather... awkward situation. So you see, we both owe him a debt of gratitude."

Damon's lips thinned. "Don't put too much stock in my gratitude."

His eyes ran the length of her hungrily. God, how lovely she was in her soft yellow gown. With the sun playing on her golden head, she looked like the image that every man carried within him of the perfect woman—or, at least, his image of the perfect woman.

Damon was surprised by his own assessment, and his voice came out in a gruff whisper. "I have come to suspect that you intend to marry Preston. What you may have forgotten is that your father endowed me with the right to approve or disapprove of your marriage."

"I hadn't forgotten that."

"Yet you plan to marry him without my consent," he accused in a dry voice.

She looked confused. "Although Preston has asked me to marry him, I haven't agreed. I'm very confused about many things, and his family does not approve of... me."

"I cannot think anyone would object to having you in his family."

"Then you are saying you would not object to my marrying Preston?"

"Would it not matter to you that he is an Englishman?"

"Not if I loved him."

"Obviously," he said, his voice deep with insinuation, "it appears you have chosen England over your own country." There was hidden meaning behind his words that went unnoticed by her. His eyes hardened. "Will you tell him about the night you came into my arms?"

She had forgotten how intently those amber eyes could burn into a person. She dropped her eyes and studied the tip of her kid-skin slipper. "I... no, I will not tell him that."

"I wonder if there is much of your aunt in your character?"

Her head snapped up, and she met his gaze. "How dare you imply that I... that..."

Both she and Damon knew about her aunt's weakness for men, and though Royal loved her aunt Arabella, she did not want to be compared with her.

Damon lifted the tray and held it out to her. "Take this," he ordered. "I have suddenly lost my appetite."

Royal wanted to strike out at him, to hurt him as he was hurting her. She came forward and took the tray from him, set it on the table, and turned upon him furiously.

"I will marry Preston, with or without your consent."

"Will you?"

She nodded.

"Come here, Royal, and I will explain why that would be a mistake."

She took a step in his direction and then stopped. "I'm making no mistake."

"Perhaps you aspire high, and you are only anxious to become a duchess?"

She shook her head. "That's the only part I don't like. I would much rather Preston were an ordinary man."

He held out his hand to her. "Come here."

Reluctantly she placed her hand in his.

"So you intend to marry Preston out of wild, unbridled love," he said, bringing her closer to him.

“I-I love him," she admitted, her gaze locking with his.

With a sharp tug he pulled her across his chest, and her golden hair fanned across his face. She was unable to move as his hand toyed with a curl that had fallen across her lips. "What are you doing?" she asked in a throaty voice.

"Can't you guess?" I... no.

She was frozen in his hard embrace and could feel the rise and fall of his chest against her cheek. "Have a care of your wound," she whispered, wondering if he felt the same excitement that coursed through her veins.

He slowly raised her chin so she was forced to look at him. "I will show you, Royal, why you should not marry Preston Seaton." His gaze dipped to her lips. "Just a reminder of how fickle you are in your affections."

She tried to twist away from him, but his grip was too binding.

He raised her so her face was even with his. "I keep reminding myself that I'm your guardian, but it does no good—you're in my head and I can't get you out. Even when you are across the room from me, I can smell your perfume."

He pulled her now pliable body so she lay beside him. He looked into eyes that were sparkling with desire, yet there was also bewilderment reflected there. His finger traced down her neck to toy with the lace around her throat. When he saw her pulse beating there, he brushed his mouth against hers.

"Damon, I don't think we should—"

"Don't you?"

She looked into his eyes and saw desire, but she wanted to see those eyes soften with love. "You are killing my soul," she whispered.

"Really? What I want to do is make you feel more alive than you have ever felt in your life. I can't seem to forget holding you in my arms. Do you ever think of that night, Royal? Do you?"

"Yes," she admitted, pressing her body against his, feeling his arms close about her and crushing her to his chest.

His hands slid into her hair, and he brought her face even with his. "Tell me that you want me...."

"Don't make me say it, Damon!" she cried.

His lips settled on hers in a drugging kiss. She could feel the heat of his hand as he gently caressed her breasts.

"Can your Englishman make you feel like this?" he asked, allowing his hand to move lower, circling her stomach.

"No," she admitted, moving closer, her lips parting. All at once she realized what was happening, and she pulled away from him. "No, Damon, this is wrong."

His eyes hardened. "See what I mean, Royal," he said, pushing her away. "Poor unsuspecting Preston does not deserve a wife who lusts after other men."

Before she could protest, his mouth ground against hers. She pounded against his back, but he caught her hands and clasped them in a tight grip.

Damon was unaware that his anger was caused by jealousy. He did not analyze his need to punish Royal, to make her feel some of his torment.

When she went soft in his arms, he deepened the kiss, and she clung to him, pressing her body tighter against his—his harsh words forgotten.

With a suddenness that took her by surprise, he tore his lips away and stared down at her. "By the saints! Poor Preston is to be pitied after all. Should I give my permission and make him miserable for the rest of his life?" He shoved her away. "No, I do not think so. After all, he deserves better than that."

Royal slid off the bed and wiped her lips with the back of her hand. "I'm not like that," she insisted through trembling lips. "Why are you doing this to me? I was happy with Preston before you... before I..." She backed away, turned, and fled through the door.

"Damn it!" he uttered with a degree of savagery. Why had he felt the need to punish her? She did not deserve the harsh treatment he had put her through. He knew she was innocent, he could tell.

Torment clouded his eyes. He did not like himself for what he had done to her today—what he had done to himself.

***

When Royal reached her room, she sat down at her dressing table and stared at her reflection in the mirror, watching a tear trail down her cheek.

"What shall I do?" she asked herself. "Why, why does Damon torture me so? I... wanted him to kiss me. I enjoyed it. Is it so wrong when you love a man?

"Merciful heavens," she cried, burying her head in her hands. "Can Damon be right? Am I like Aunt Arabella?"

***

To Royal, time passed with the tedious slowness of the ticking of a clock. Since her humiliating encounter with Damon, she had not visited his room. Even when he had sent word by Alba that he wanted to see her, she had refused his request.

She was often restless because she had too much time on her hands. Thus far she had received no word from Preston, so she waited and watched, knowing something monumental was about to occur.

For the past three weeks there had been heavy troop movement in and out of Savannah. It was whispered in the market that their destination was Charles Town. In April British frigates had attacked Fort Moultrie, and word was that it had fallen, though this had not as yet been substantiated.

Royal was just descending the stairs when she heard voices at the front door. She recognized the man standing there as Damon's aide, Corporal Thomas. He looked strangely out of place dressed in the guise of a British seaman.

Thomas looked anxiously at Tobias, who had admitted him into the house, and said, "It is imperative that I see Colonel Routhland at once!"

"Come with me, Corporal," Royal told him from the stairway. "I know he will want to see you."

If Corporal Thomas recognized Royal as the girl in Damon's quarters that night in Charles Town, he was too polite to show it.

She led him up the stairs and rapped on Damon's door, and after he gave permission, she pushed it open and stood aside so the corporal could enter.

Damon pulled himself to a sitting position when he saw Corporal Thomas. He knew by his aide's face that something had happened. "What has occurred, Corporal?"

"Colonel," he blurted out, "all hell's broken loose, sir! Charles Town is under the gun!"

"Bloody hell!" Damon swung his legs off the bed, ignoring the pain that shot through his body. "When did this happen?"

"This last week Fort Moultrie fell. Since the fort was the only defendable position before Charles Town, the city may already have fallen." Corporal Thomas's eyes showed the distress he was feeling. "I was told by General Lincoln to inform you to come with all haste if you are able."

"Tell me what you know," Damon commanded.

"Well, sir, those loyal to the cause say that General Washington proved to be too much for the English, so they took their war to the South to avoid his genius in the North. I heard those loyal to the king are claiming that to win the South is to win the war. Whatever the cause, we've come together at Charles Town, and it's too soon to tell which side is winning."