Jo Beverley (20 page)

“That’s a very ungracious proposal.”

“Answer me.”

She looked away, but he waited, and in time, as he knew she would, she looked back at him. “Maybe.”

“You want to be a duchess,” he reminded her, unhooking her leg. “One of the grandest ladies in the land.”

But she clung onto his shirt. “I’m not sure I want to be mistress of a grand establishment.”

“Don’t take Cheynings as your model.”

“I’m not. I’m serious, Fitz. I want a home. A real home.”

He tore free and left the bed. “You certainly won’t get one from me.”

She raised a hand to him, tears in her eyes, silently pleading. He took it, but used it to pull her up and off the bed.

“You want to marry a man of title and position, and you should.” He tried to be harsh, but he had to wipe away one trickling tear from her cheek, and he wanted to take her back into his arms and comfort her. “Yes, there’s passion between us, Damaris, but it’s nothing important. If I let it trap you, you’d hate me all your days.”

He began to refasten her robe, but she snatched free and did it herself. “I might not.”

Dear Lord, had he done this? With hindsight, he realized he shouldn’t have chased after her that first morning. She’d have been better off by far if caught later by Lord Henry. Even a beating wouldn’t have ruined her life.

He retreated to the fireplace, where flames licked sullenly at the last of the dark logs. He knew what he had to do, even though it would feel like plunging a saber into his own belly. “It’s time you knew the truth about me.”

She looked at him with wide eyes that anticipated pain.

“I am not received in society,” he said. “Ashart and Rothgar are exceptions—Ashart from friendship, Rothgar for Ash’s sake and because I am of use to him. Those who shun me are justified.”

It took effort to meet her eyes, but he did it. “I had an affair with my brother’s wife. It wounded everyone involved and tore apart my family. It caused a fight with my brother, during which he fell and hit his head. Ever since he’s been prone to wild rages, which makes the situation of my mother and sisters even more difficult. His wife, my partner in sin, threw herself down the stairs shortly after the event and broke her neck.”

Her eyes were dark with shock.

“The story is widely known,” he continued, “and my brother still thirsts for my blood. I will not lay the burden on him of killing me, so I must leave the country as soon as I can. Now, go back to your bed and forget this ever happened.”

She grabbed her cloak, perhaps with a sob, then just stood there, swallowing tears.

Unable to help himself, he took the fur and placed it around her shoulders. “I’m sorry, Damaris.”

He couldn’t begin to list all the things he was sorry for.

She looked up at him, wrinkling her face as she sniffed back tears. “But you’re involved in something important here—keeping people safe. You can’t deny that.”

“The one doesn’t affect the other.”

“It should.”

He didn’t attempt a reply to that.

“Right, then,” she said, chin firm and raised. “I said I’d help and I will. Tomorrow I’ll find a way to keep the dowager occupied so you’ll be able to search again.”

She left, and Fitz suddenly turned to the wall, shaking with loss, with tears, and with the violent remains of unfulfilled passion.

T
he next morning Genova and Lady Thalia fussed over Damaris, seemingly unable to believe that she was none the worse for her accident. Quite possibly the signs of her sleepless night and her anguish over what Fitz had told her accounted for that.

She was a realist. She didn’t expect men, especially worldly men, to be pure. But what Fitzroger had done…The worst possible betrayal of a brother, which had gone on to leave the poor man injured and deranged and his wife dead.

No wonder his family wanted nothing to do with him—and neither did she. The pain of that thought was measure of her folly, and showed the blessing of her escape.

At the same time, she’d tasted ecstasy in his arms, and her body would not forget. She felt bruised and almost ill with it. The thin winter sunlight dazzled her eyes, and the cold air abraded her skin. The brush of her own furs made her shiver with remembered need. Her mind could not reconcile what he’d told her with what she knew of him in her heart.

The men were off somewhere, so she didn’t have to face Fitz yet. She didn’t know what would happen when she did. She had no idea how to treat him.

As Lady Thalia chattered, Damaris thought of asking her about Fitz’s story, but she had no scrap of doubt that he’d told her the truth. It had rung in every stark word.

It didn’t bear thinking about, but she couldn’t stop. Even if no one else in the world knew about it, she could have nothing to do with him. As it was, she was weak enough to mind that so many people did know. Any wife would share his shame.

Wife. Yes, she had been thinking of buying him for her pleasure.

No more. Her broken heart ached.

She had to stop this or go mad! Lady Thalia’s story about a youthful adventure suddenly reminded Damaris of other things. There was still the matter of Ashart’s royal blood. If her speculations about Prince Henry were correct, it was important.

Last night she’d promised to help Fitz search the dowager’s rooms, but it would be better if it weren’t necessary. Lady Thalia had known Betty Prease in her old age, and she might know something.

She could try again to question her, but she didn’t think Lady Thalia was keeping secrets. She might, however, have forgotten something. If they checked through the last of the Prease papers together, perhaps one would trigger a forgotten memory.

It was better than sitting here moping.

She suggested it, and they all went into the library, though Lady Thalia was not enthusiastic. She mostly sat by while Genova and Damaris sorted papers, saying what they were.

The old lady did come up with some gossip, but nothing that seemed important, and she soon yawned. “Such dull old stuff,” she declared. “I shall leave you to this and read a book.
Candide
. So wickedly amusing.”

When the door shut after her, Genova put down a laundry list, showing she had little interest either. “Do you know what Fitzroger was up to last night?”

“I’m not sure, but he truly does want to find out about Ashart’s royal blood. And if there are any papers to do with that royal affair, the dowager probably has them.”

“So he
was
searching her rooms. There’d have been explosions if he’d been caught.” Then she stared at Damaris. “You threw yourself down the stairs to help him escape?”

Damaris rolled her eyes. “Why does everyone think I’m stupid? Of course not. I made all the right noises, then arranged myself in a tragic sprawl.”

“How quick-thinking.”

“I am quite proud of it, though with time to plan I might have done better. Fitzroger keeps things to himself too much.”

“I suspect it’s his way. With his history.” She cast Damaris a worried glance. “I did ask Thalia for the details.”

“Don’t worry,” Damaris said quickly. “I know all about it. He’s a wicked, incestuous seducer, and I can’t have anything to do with him.”

Genova looked shocked at that blunt description, but she didn’t argue.

“I’m surprised that Ashart and Rothgar allow him in their houses to endanger innocent ladies,” Damaris snapped.

“There’s a deep affection between Ashart and Fitzroger,” Genova said gently. “Friendships can be like that sometimes. Almost like falling in love. In Ash’s opinion, the scandal was so long ago it should be forgotten, but the world is not so obliging.”

“But Lord Rothgar allowed me to come here with Fitz,” Damaris said, relieved to be able to talk about these things with someone. “He instructed me to come here. He must have known I’d be thrown into Fitz’s company.”

Genova frowned. “Yes. That is strange.”

“So it’s not so bad?”
Ah, pathetic hope.

“I don’t think that’s it. Perhaps Lord Rothgar takes it for granted that a woman under his protection is untouchable.”

“Which deprives me of any choice!”

“Of any
wicked
choice,” Genova corrected.

Damaris blushed. “I don’t see why I shouldn’t make my own decisions.”

“In the eyes of the world, Rothgar is now responsible for your safety and well-being. Damaris, do be careful,” she added with new urgency. “Think of Ashart. In sending you here, Rothgar has in a sense given his guardianship to Ashart. You wouldn’t want a quarrel between Ashart and Fitz over you.”

Damaris looked at the paper in her hand—a burial record for a stillborn child.

Genova took her hand and squeezed it. “Dear Damaris, things are so strange just now. In London it will be better. You’ll meet other men. It could be that you’ve known so few, especially of the handsome, charming variety.”

Damaris hated to cause such distress, and found a smile. “I’m sure you’re right.” She put the paper on the pile she thought of as birth, marriage, and death.

“Back to Betty Crowley and the king,” she said briskly. “There’s something important about it, so I think we should help Fitz to search the dowager’s rooms. He can’t try at night again, because I’m sure she’ll take extra precautions. So it must be during the day, and we need to draw her out of the way.”

Genova looked startled, then shook her head. “I’m sorry. I can’t do anything like that without Ash’s agreement. Not when we’re talking about stealing from his grandmother.”

“It’s not exactly stealing.”

Genova would not be moved.

“Then ask Ashart’s approval.”

“He’d never give it.”

Damaris managed not to lose her temper. “Then please remind him to demand to see any papers she has at dinner today.”

And when she refuses
, Damaris thought,
he may be more willing to approve larceny.

Fitz had dealt with Ash’s inquisition by using the best weapon: the truth. Or most of it.

“I didn’t think the dowager would give up any papers no matter how courteously you were to ask. So I thought it best to sneak in and get them.”

They were in the nether regions of the basement in search of a spot where water was supposed to be seeping in during rain. Ash had wanted a ride today, but Fitz had managed to head him off with this problem.

“There’ll be no more of that,” Ash said, grimacing as he brushed aside thick cobwebs.

Fitz wasn’t surprised that Ash was displeased. If their positions were reversed, he’d be furious. “As you will,” he said, aware that he might have to break the implied promise. “It was a whim of the midnight moment.”

“What of Damaris falling downstairs?”

“’Struth, do you think I recruited her to provide a distraction? I assure you, I did not.”

“Good. She’s in my charge here, and no harm shall come to her.”

That warning, Fitz thought, referred to more than adventures. But in that, he and his friend were in harmony. He’d hardly slept in the night, but there’d been a kind of peace in his soul. No matter what happened, Damaris was now safe from him.

They found the evidence, a white stain on the stone wall. “What does one do about something like this?” Ash asked. “Not that it isn’t exciting to plumb these depths. I keep expecting to find a skeleton.”

“Probably of the last person down here. Do you know the way back?”

“We should have unrolled a ball of string, shouldn’t we?” Ash looked up at the barrel-vaulted ceiling of rough stone. “This must be part of the previous house. Fascinating. I suppose I need to learn architecture. Or is it simple masonry?”

Fitz wasn’t surprised that Ash found this more of a stimulating challenge than a crushing burden. He had an excellent brain and, apart from his astronomy, had done little with it.

He was poking at the stained wall with a stick he’d found, but turned to face Fitz. “I know. I should have paid more attention before, but Grandy’s always taken care of things, and I knew it would be unpleasant to try to make changes. In truth, I wonder if she’ll crumble into dust without her work running the estate. Plus it’s damned hard work currying court favor, you know.”

“Am I arguing?” Fitz asked.

Ash laughed. “I’m arguing with my own conscience. Onward. We can only ever look to the future.”

Fitz followed, wishing that were true and wondering just how long he could keep Ash from an extensive inspection of his estates. This situation couldn’t go on. In his message to Rothgar, Fitz had included a cryptic request that he be able to tell Ash about the threat. He’d give the marquess a day to reply.

They found Genova and Damaris in the Little Library, replacing documents in the boxes, each of which bore a neat account of the sort of document it contained.

“I’ve acquired an extra secretary as well as a wife,” Ash observed.

“Not me, sir,” Genova protested, pushing a lock of hair off her smudged face. “Damaris insisted on this.”

Damaris looked defensive. “I like things neat and in their place.”

“And I approve,” Fitz said.

He hadn’t seen her since last night, and every nerve in his body was aware of it, especially here. Yesterday, here, they had kissed. Perhaps forevermore the musty smell of old papers would be erotic for him.

Ash was wiping marks off Genova’s face—as Fitz had so foolishly done with Damaris.

Damaris came to his side, almost as if nothing had changed, except for the new tilt of her chin and the shadow in her eyes.

“We found nothing related to Betty Crowley,” she said. “Lady Thalia helped for a while, but she recalled nothing of interest.”

The old lady came in then, brightly inquiring about whist.

Time to be blunt. “Lady Thalia,” Fitz asked, “do you remember anything about Betty Crowley’s youth? Any stories? Anything she might have said?”

Lady Thalia wrinkled her brow over it, but said, “I don’t think so. I did ask her what the court of King Charles had been like, and she said she’d never been there.”

“Never?” Genova echoed. “So where did she meet the king?”

“Kings in those days roamed the country,” Ash said. “Enough of this. We’ve checked the papers and found nothing. Rothgar will have to be satisfied with that.”

Ash’s patience was running thin, but Fitz had to persist. “You were going to ask the dowager if she had anything.”

“Very well, I’ll do it at dinner.”

To Damaris’s pleased surprise, Ashart did ask for the papers, bluntly and quite early in the meal. “Grandy, I need to see any documents you have concerning Betty Prease.”

The dowager didn’t pause in spooning up soup. “I have none.”

“None? Nothing at all concerning your grandmother?”

“Not so much as a letter,” the dowager said, unblinking. What mythical monster did people refer to? A basilisk.

Lady Thalia plunged in. “How very strange, but I have known cases like that. Sometimes people destroy all their papers before death, fearing what people will discover. Or their relatives do it later for the same reason. Likely that was the case here. She would have some spicy memories!”

“Cease your foolish prattling,” the dowager snapped. “She was a woman above reproach.”

Damaris stared at a dish of potatoes so she wouldn’t demand how this could possibly be. Or suggest how this could possibly be. She prayed Ashart would insist, but instead he asked about some problem with the foundations.

It certainly changed the mood. The dowager’s only explanation was that it was not urgent. That led to other questions about the state of the house, and an atmosphere that grew both chilly and seething at the same time.

This was completely the wrong path, in Damaris’s opinion, and, what was more, gave the dowager an excuse to retreat. As she anticipated, halfway through the second course Lady Ashart rose and stalked out of the room. Damaris would have rolled her eyes at Fitz except that she was sitting beside him.

Would Ashart now agree to Fitz’s stealing the papers?

They finished the meal quickly, returned upstairs, and tea was brought. Conversation was general. Damaris was burning to open the dangerous subject, but she would trust Fitz to choose the moment.

As soon as the servants left, he spoke. “She has something, Ash, and I’d like to search for it.”