Love's Fiery Jewel (41 page)

The rattle of a carriage drawing alongside him at the
curb breaking into his thoughts, Damien slowed his step,
turning to see a vehicle that was all too familiar.

"Damien... Damien, darling." Motioning him toward the carriage, Merrell Bristol smiled brightly in
greeting. When he hesitated in responding to her
beckoning, Merrell coaxed appealingly with a pouting
expression, "Surely you aren't still angry with me over
that little incident two weeks ago, Damien. It isn't like
you to hold a grudge."

Considering her warily, Damien approached the
carriage. His response was hesitant. "Were your devious
plans worked against me, Merrell, I should not have held
my anger. And, for all you sought to embarrass
Amethyst, your plans did backfire, didn't they? You
merely succeeded that night in establishing the fact that
Amethyst possesses the gift of a beautiful singing voice.
Your intention, however, can't be ignored. You sought to
make Amethyst a laughingstock and I can't countenance
such actions."

Merrell's expression hardening, she directed a venomous glance into Damien's icy expression. "You are so considerate of your young `ward,' Damien, and so loyal
to her honor and good name. It's unfortunate that she
doesn't bear the same devotion to you and your wishes,
isn't it?"

His mouth tightening in anger, Damien snapped
sharply, "Is this another attempt to blacken Amethyst's
character, Merrell? If so, I warn you, you're wasting your
time. Amethyst..."

"Amethyst, your sweet, innocent `ward' is spending
her spare time in clandestine meetings with one of the
most notorious womanizers in Philadelphia! A devastatingly handsome and appealing man, I may add, but
doubtless a rake with the experience to make full use of
her rather obvious attributes."

"Damn you, Merrell," Damien swore in a low voice
meant for her ears alone, "you bitch, if you start
unfounded rumors about Amethyst Greer, I'll see that
you suffer the consequences if I have to choke..."

"Save your threats, Damien." Merrell's expression
held the light of victory as she rounded to deal Damien
the final blow, "She has been seen by a number of our
acquaintances both inside and on the street in front of
Madame duMaurier's shop with Armand Beauchamps.
Have you noticed that your precious ward has been
spending an inordinate amount of time with fittings in
the last month? Armand Beauchamps has taken to
spending the duration of her fittings with her in intimate
conversation. A convenient rendezvous, is it not? And so
easily overlooked by a concerned... `guardian.' And
from what I've been told, their relationship has passed
polite conversation to the point of open displays of
affection."

"And by open displays of affection, you mean...'

"If I must be more explicit, Damien, to satisfy your
burning curiosity, I will relate exactly what I've been
told." Her eyes gleaming with pleasure at Damien's strained expression and rising color, she continued in an
insidiously sweet voice, "They have been seen inside
Madame duMaurier's boutique in extremely close
proximity, heads together in whispered conversations.
Armand was seen fondly caressing your ward's cheek on
the street, holding her possessively by the arm, kissing
her hand far more ardently than would be considered a
polite gesture. As I recall, Damien, his favorite pet name
for her is 'ma petite amour'..."

Her voice trailing off suggestively, Merrell's eyes
moved slowly over Damien. Satisfied at last by the
rigidity of his frame and his stiffness of expression that
she had done her work well, her face relaxed into a small
victorious smile. "Of course, darling, you don't have to
believe me...but you must realize I would never have
come to you if there was even the slightest possibility
that what I've told you is untrue..."

"Of course, Merrell." His clear eyes frigid, Damien
continued softly, "And I really must thank you. If I had
any doubt before, you have today confirmed my
assessment of you. You truly are the spiteful, jealous
bitch you recently revealed yourself to be. I'm thankful
to be rid of you!"

Turning on his heel, Damien ignored the quick intake
of breath his words had produced and the shrill command
issued to her driver seconds before Merrell Bristol's
carriage pulled away from the curb.

Still seething in anger, Damien ascended the staircase.
The house was oddly silent and not bothering to
announce his presence, Damien turned down the hallway
toward Amethyst's room. Stopping still in his tracks,
Damien saw Mary outside Amethyst's door. The young
woman was unaware of his presence as she stood, her
stocky body pressed as close as she dared while she
listened at the door. So intent was she that she
maintained that posture for long moments before realizing there was another presence in the hallway.
Suddenly raising her gaze, she jumped with alarm, her
face flushing guiltily as Damien motioned her toward
him. Coming to stand before Damien's condemning
glance, Mary's eyes filled with tears, her discomfort
acute.

Unable to withhold the anger from his voice, Damien
demanded softly, "What were you doing outside Miss
Amethyst's door, Mary?"

"Nothing... nothing, Mr. Straith," Mary stammered
thickly. "I wasn't doing anything."

"You were eavesdropping, weren't you?" The anger in
his voice escalating sharply, he added, "Are you the one I
should thank for the rumors being circulated about Miss
Amethyst? Have you been..."

Interrupting hastily, the tears brimming in her small
brown eyes falling to streak her full cheeks, "Oh, no, Mr.
Straith. I wouldn't do anything to hurt Miss Amethyst.
She's been so wonderful kind to me.. .telling Mrs.
Dobbs to allow me to take home sweets each night to my
sisters and brothers. They're only babies, you know, and
terrible fond of sweets.. .No, Mr. Straith, I swear, I
wouldn't hurt Miss Amethyst..."

"Then what were you doing listening at her door,
Mary, for there is no doubt in my mind that is exactly
what you were doing."

A trapped expression covering her face, Mary sought
to escape his assessing glance, her eyes darting away to
fix on the toes of her shoes as she maintained an uneasy
silence.

His voice softening slightly, Damien pressed for an
answer. "You must answer me, Mary, or I'll assume you
meant to do Miss Amethyst harm and you'll be
dismissed."

Her eyes snapping up to his in horror, Mary gasped, "I
was only worried about Miss Amethyst, that's all. She asked me not to tell anybody, not even Mrs. Dobbs, but
she's been awful sick of late, and she's getting worse..."

"Sick?" A stab of fear piercing his stomach, Damien
urged softly, "What do you mean `sick,' Mary?"

Her eyes again avoiding his, Mary said softly, "She's
been throwing up, Mr. Straith. Every morning she
retches when she awakes until she's so weak she has to
return to bed before dressing. She fainted twice, Mr.
Straith, once in her room while she was trying to dress
and once in this hallway, but she made me promise not to
tell anyone because she said she didn't want you to
worry. She says she's alright, but she's not and..."

His expression unreadable, Damien prompted stiffly,
"And you were listening outside her door just now
because..."

"She's sick again ...I heard her choking and
gasping..."

Not waiting for Mary to finish speaking, Damien
interrupted softly, "You may go downstairs now, Mary.
I'm sure you had Miss Amethyst's best interests at heart,
and you'll not be dismissed this time, but should I ever
find you listening at her door again..."

"You won't, sir." Mary's voice was relieved, her
expression momentarily brightening.

"And you'll continue to keep Miss Amethyst's
confidence as she requested."

"Of course, sir!"

His face expressionless, his eyes already on Amethyst's door, Damien stated dismissingly, "You may go
downstairs, now."

Only vaguely hearing the soft padding of Mary's feet
down the staircase behind him, Damien advanced toward
Amethyst's door.

Gasping weakly, Amethyst wove a faltering path
toward the washstand, stopping to grip the side tightly as She reached it in an effort to stabilize herself. Pouring
some water into the washbowl with a shaking hand, she
moistened the washcloth and lightly sponged her face.
The coolness was refreshing, reviving her slightly, and
raising her head, she took several deep breaths to steady
herself. Try as she might to ignore the fear nudging
relentlessly at the back of her mind, she was beginning to
panic as her condition continued to worsen. She had
been vomiting daily now for two weeks, the main bouts of
nausea confined to awakening, but this past week found
her also assailed with the same malady whenever meals
were delayed beyond the usual times. And now it seemed
certain foods, or even just the aroma of them, caused her
to retch. She had not had her monthly flow since she
left Kingston, and had at first assumed the interruption
was due to her illness, but each day that passed only
seemed to add more evidence to confirm her fears. She
could not be pregnant! No! She did not wish to bear
Damien's child! When she bore a child it would be
conceived in love, not Damien Straith's lust or the
strange black magic he practiced that held her powerless
against him. A child would also work untold complications on her plans. Damien had only this week told her
that the Sally would be ready to sail in March. He had not
indicated what would be expected of her after he sailed,
but she had been looking forward with great anticipation
to the time when she would be free of his domination.
She would then make good use of the few friendships she
had made during this time. Above all, she wished to
return to Jamaica. She sorely missed Tillie and although
she dared not think of William, she longed to know how
he fared. He had been so desperately ill when she had last
seen him and she had never had an opportunity to
explain. Once in Jamaica she would return to the theater
and become self-supporting, and when the troupe
decided to return to America, she would reenter the country an independent woman with a future.

But if she was pregnant, she would be entirely at
Damien's mercy. Her relationship with Damien would no
longer be a secret and she would be ostracized from
society. And once the child was born, the complication of
its presence would work untold hardships on her attempt
to regain her old lifestyle.

And Armand... what would he think of her? Having
received numerous calls for fittings in the last month,
she had gone to Madame duMaurier's boutique each time
to find Armand either waiting or arriving within a few
minutes of her appearance. Despite his reputation, he
had treated her with faultless respect and courtesy and
although she chose to ignore it, she had sensed the
growing warmth of his regard. Earnestly doing her best to
discourage his visits to the boutique while she was
present, she nonetheless enjoyed their brief encounters
more than she dared acknowledge.

But just this morning she had returned from a fitting,
stimulated as usual by Armand's witty conversation and
ardent attentions, only to find when she arrived at the
door of the Chestnut Street address the aroma of baked
apples was too much for her delicate stomach to
withstand. Moving with haste to her room, she had
undressed and lay weakly on her bed, valiantly fighting
nausea until it finally overwhelmed her. Suddenly
straightening, she pushed aside her wrapper to consider
her waistline in the washstand mirror. Madame duMaurier had been mumbling complaints about constant
adjustments in that area, and she searched the mirror
frantically for any telltale signs of widening. Abruptly
gripped with another bout of weakness, Amethyst
clutched the washstand tightly and dipping the washcloth into the bowl, she was running the cloth across her
forehead when the bedroom door snapped open unexpectedly.

Turning her head weakly toward the door, Amethyst
began quietly, "Mary, I told you I wanted to be
alone...", her words dwindling off as she met Damien's
inscrutable expression.

"Damien.. .what are you doing here this time of
day? You must leave my room. Mrs. Dobbs will see you
here. I'm not dressed and..."

"You're not well, Amethyst?" Damien's voice was
cold as he deliberately advanced a few steps further into
the room and closed the door behind him.

"No, I'm fine, Damien. Just a little upset, that's all.
Madame duMaurier convinced me to sample some sort of
pastry this morning, and I'm afraid it was too rich for my
stomach." Her eyes moving slowly over Damien, she
awaited his response. Something was wrong. She could
sense his tension, could see it in the tightness of his lips,
the cold manner in which he assessed her expression.

Slowly unbuttoning his coat, Damien took it off to
throw it casually on the nearest chair, advancing as he
spoke. "That is unfortunate, isn't it. But I'm sure
Armand Beauchamps found the pastries delightful,
accustomed as he is to the excesses of French food."

Her violet eyes springing wide with surprise, Amethyst
managed to stammer ineffectually, "Yes ...yes, Armand was in the shop this morning also. I suppose he was
buying something for a ladyfriend..."

"And, of course, you were surprised to find him there,
weren't you, Amethyst?" Damien was advancing continually closer, his chest heaving with the anger now
openly apparent on his face. His eyes like gray ice as they
stared piercingly into hers, chilled her, stimulating a
return of the weakness she fought so desperately.

"Yes.. .of course..."

"You're lying, Amethyst!" Taking the last step that
brought him directly in front of her, Damien gripped her
shoulders roughly, his eyes no longer cold but blazing with fury. "You have been meeting Beauchamps at
Madame duMaurier's shop for over a month! Have you
enjoyed deceiving me, Amethyst? It is my sincere wish
that Mr. Beauchamps has also enjoyed your little
escapade, and will find it worth his life!"