Miss Featherton's Christmas Prince (The Marriage Game Book 9) (24 page)

By the time the dowagers arrived, Damon hoped to hell they planned to rescue him.

“Mama, Your Grace.” His lordship poured them glasses of wine. “You will be distraught to know that the jewels on Hawksworth’s shoes were paste. He is apparently not devoted enough to fashion to waste money on such fripperies.”

“I, for one, think there is nothing wrong with that,” Meg said loyally.

Her father considered her for a moment. “What if he wished you to wear paste?”

Her chin rose. “I dare say that if finances did not allow jewels, I would simply do without.”

“There is absolutely nothing wrong with my finances”—Damon had to stop himself from growling—“and although I do not have access to the Somerset jewels, I have my mother’s, if Me—Miss Featherton should desire them.”

Damn. He had almost given away that the two of them had been using their first names.. Her father was sure to disapprove of that. That he was being goaded Damon realized, but for what purpose? He had given his lordship all the information he had asked for.

“Even if the duke cuts you off for marrying a lady of whom he did not approve?”

No matter the provocation, he would not give in to his frustration. He could not keep his jaw from clenching. “Even then, I have sufficient income to support my wife and a family as well as command the elegancies of life.”

“Excellent.” Lord Featherton sipped his wine and turned the conversation as if he had not asked a question that had come just short of insulting Damon.

Yet the more he thought about it, the stronger the feeling that the question had not been about his ability to provide for his family.

That had been the real issue. Not the money.
Hell!
Did Meg’s father know something he did not? He had been counting on presenting Meg to his father as a fait accompli.

“Damon?” she whispered.

His gut twisted. Taking her hand, he held it in a tight grip. What
would
he do if his father discovered his intent and tried to stop the marriage?

M
eg squeezed Damon’s fingers. The moment she had heard her father’s voice, she’d dashed down the corridor to save him from what was bound to be an uncomfortable discussion.

His face had briefly lost its mask, and the stern expression he had shown when answering her father’s questions changed to a look closer to despair. Whatever was wrong had to do with Papa’s queries. She glanced around the room. If she could draw him to the other side, near the windows where they could be alone, she could ask him what was troubling him.

A second later, Benson announced dinner. Damon was summoned to escort her grandmother to the table. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the children did not appear. Her father must have decided the conversation would not appeal to them. Well, it didn’t appeal to her either. She had returned home in order to get to know him better, and so that he could meet her family, not for her father to upset him.

Although the hours alone in the coach, where they had done nothing but talk, had given her almost all the knowledge of him she needed. The rest would come with time. She scoffed at herself. She had spent eons more time conversing with Damon than she had done with Swindon and Tarlington combined. If they had remained at the inn, she would have given herself to him, made him hers, as she would have been his. Then none of the discussions that had occurred to-day would have mattered. Grandmamma would have already sent for a special license.

Since their numbers were uneven and the table had been shortened, she was able to sit next to Damon. As at Lady Bellamny’s house, he selected dishes for her. Not as many as he had before, but there was still an ample amount of food on her plate. His eyes smiled down at her, and she wanted nothing more than to wrap her arms around him and kiss him until their breathing was ragged.

Oh dear God. She must be in love with him. Nothing else could explain her feelings toward him. She had never before wanted to protect a gentleman, or throw herself into his arms. Now she would just have to find the right time to tell him.

After tea had been served she pleaded fatigue, hoping he would escort her to the first-floor landing. Although she had caught his eye, he was unable to escape her mother. She climbed the stairs more slowly than she ever had before, trusting he would be able to join her. Yet by the time she turned into the family wing, he had still not appeared. Why had she ever thought being home would be better?

Damon almost missed what Lady Featherton was saying as he watched Meg leave the drawing room. Granted, he and Meg had only been here a short while, but he’d had barely one moment alone with her since they had arrived. Truthfully, they had not been by themselves since he had decided to flee the inn and his overwhelming desire to make Meg his.

“Have you made plans for the Season, my lord?”

He jerked his head around.
Marry your daughter and dance every waltz with her at every entertainment we attend.
Starting a family was actually higher on his list, but if he thought about Meg naked in his bed, his cock was sure to stiffen. Damon shifted in his seat and wished frock coats had not gone out of fashion. “I would like to find a place to live before too long.”

“Good for you, my boy,” the duchess said. “The Dowager Lady Featherton and I have an excellent land agent. As a matter of fact, you may have a look at some of the documents he sent us. No time like the present to begin your search.”

He thought he had been dismissed, and was about to rise when Lady Featherton again commanded his attention. “A house in Town?” she said, as if no one else had spoken. “Or an estate?”

From the corner of his eye, he saw the Dowager Lady Featherton grimace slightly. So the duchess had attempted to rescue him.

“Both. There is much I must learn and accomplish.” And the sooner Meg decided she would wed him, the sooner he could begin the life he wanted.

Lady Featherton asked another question, and he felt like he was repeating himself, until he remembered she had not been present when her husband had interrogated him earlier. Or was she merely calculating the time it would take for her daughter to climb the steps, tire of waiting for him—assuming Meg did wait for him—and go to her room?

He took a surreptitious glance around the room. Lord Featherton had left as well. Was he speaking with Meg? As far as Damon knew, neither of her parents had consulted Meg about her wishes. Of course, he would dearly love to know that as well.

Damon took a sip of tea.

“What exactly is your income, my lord?” Lady Featherton asked.

He swallowed and must have inhaled more, because it went down his throat like a painful lump.

“Or do you not know?” This was accompanied by a raised eyebrow.

The gauntlet had been cast down, and it was for him to either pick it up or attempt to avoid the battle. He set the cup down and met her gaze. “To a farthing, my lady. Would you like the amount in actual figures and holdings?”

She waved her hand airily. “An approximation will suffice.”

“I am not quite as wealthy as Mr. Ball is said to be, but neither do I have his extravagant habits.”

“Which is the reason your shoe heels were paste.”

Damon inclined his head. “Precisely. None of my personal wealth derives from my father, although I do receive an allowance from him.”

That should satisfy her that he could easily support a family. He had said as much at dinner. Still, once again he was left wondering what the real question was that had been asked, and what the lady was deriving from his answer.

She studied Damon for several moments, and he forced himself not to fidget under her appraising gaze.

Finally, she nodded slowly and rose. “I shall bid you a good evening.”

He’d stood the moment he had seen her start to rise, and bowed. “Good night, my lady.”

After the door closed behind her, one of the dowagers let out a breath.

“My daughter-in-law is usually more direct.”

The duchess harrumphed. “I will send you the list of houses, Hawksworth. I am going to seek my couch.”

“I shall join you.” Meg’s grandmother stood. “As you are aware, Meg breaks her fast early. Unfortunately, it won’t do you a bit of good in this house; they all do. A pity it is not summer.”

On that perplexing remark, the old ladies left the drawing room. He waited several minutes, mulling what Lady Featherton had asked. Then it struck him. She wanted to know how well he took care of what he owned, or if he left it all to others. Which many gentlemen did, and as far as he was concerned, that was a recipe for disaster.

Nevertheless, he prayed Meg’s parents were satisfied with what they had learned from him. For starting in the morning, he planned to find a place in this huge house where he could be alone with Meg, and discover how receptive she was to a proposal of marriage.

 

Meg had waited for at least a half hour before giving up hope that Damon would be allowed to leave the drawing room. Around midnight she awoke, and toyed with the idea of finding his chamber. Yet before she could make up her mind whether to go or remain, she had fallen asleep. The next time she opened her eyes, her curtains had been opened and a weak ray of sunshine greeted her. She would not arrive in the breakfast room before the rest of her family, but she could spend time with Damon.

Perhaps they could steal away for a few minutes, or even longer, and she would tell him she loved him. He was the kindest, most honorable man she had ever met, and she trusted him as she had no other. No matter what happened, he would never hurt or betray her. Then there was their passion. How had she thought she could live without desire for her husband? Thankfully, now she would not have to.

A mere forty-five minutes later she strolled into the breakfast room to find her father and beloved deep in a discussion. “Good morning.”

Both men stood, but Papa resumed his seat, while Damon came to her and took her hands. “Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

If only she could tell him that she had wanted to go to him last night. “Well enough. You?”

“Yes, the room is very comfortable. Your brothers and sisters have eaten and gone. We are commanded to appear in the morning room for the Pantomime practice.”

He began to fill her plate with the selections she indicated. “That is hardly fair. We have not even read our parts yet.”

“What do you think of our chances of finding a quiet place to learn our lines? If I recall correctly, most of our scenes are together.”

She glanced at her father, who had abandoned his newspaper and was watching them.

“Not good.”

“Then we may as well join the children.” He sighed.

“I have a better idea. We can take a ride into the village.”

An hour later, they were in the stables. He did not have his own horse with him, but Lord Featherton kept a well-stocked stable.

“Grimes,” Meg said to the master of the stable. “What do you think about Lightning for his lordship?”

The old man looked Damon up and down. “Aye, he’ll do.”

Her horse turned out to be a large bay gelding with four white socks. Not what he would have thought appropriate for a lady’s horse, but the beast nuzzled her, looking for affection. After feeding the bay an apple, she started toward the mounting block. He stopped her. “Allow me.” He cupped his hand, and she placed one booted foot into it, then he tossed her up on to her saddle. “He is very fond of you.”

It had been years since anyone had helped her mount a horse, and she enjoyed the attention a great deal. “Thank you. He is. Almost like a dog.”

Damon grinned at her. “You’re welcome.” In one fluid motion he was up on his hack. She did not think she had ever seen a gentleman move with such power and ease. “Down the drive?”

She nodded and led the way, bringing her horse to a trot once they had cleared the front of the house. By the time they reached the road, she glanced over to him. “I’ll race you to the first cottage.”

He looked at his horse. “Will he run?”

“He is one of the fastest horses in the stable. In fact, Galahad and Lightning are well matched.” What she did not tell him was that the beasts were rivals, and her horse never allowed Lightning to win.

“In that case, I would enjoy a race.”

“Very well, on the count of three.”

The moment she said “Go,” they flew down the lane, side by side for a few minutes until Galahad began to pull ahead. A few moments later, as she was rounding a bend in the road, she couldn’t resist the urge to glance back, but the curve hid him from sight.

A shout rent the air.

“Watch where you’re goin’!” a coachman called.

A carriage driven by a pair came to a halt. She wondered who it could be. The abbey was the only house large enough to warrant a visit from someone in a private carriage. Galahad danced around as she rode up to the carriage.

A gloved hand shot out, grabbing her reins. “Miss Featherton,” Lord Tarlington said. “How very accommodating of you.”

Fury and fear clashed within her. If only she had not got so far ahead of Damon. “Release my horse.”

“That would not suit my purposes at all,” Tarlington drawled. “I believe we can come to an accommodation.”

Galahad tossed his head, but the fiend’s grip tightened. “As I stated in my letter, I have nothing to say to you.” She wanted to reach out and smack the man’s hand away, but that would give him the opportunity to grab her instead of her horse. For the first time she wished she used a riding crop. That would have made short work of this situation. Whatever happened, she must remain mounted until Damon arrived.

“Grab her!”

Before she knew what had happened, she’d been pulled off her horse. Galahad’s head turned, and she heard clothing tearing.

“That beast ought to be put down,” a man screamed. “He got me arm.”

She was shoved onto the carriage floor and the door closed. Fear for herself was replaced by fear for Galahad. “He’d better not harm my horse.”

“No one has to be hurt. I merely need to make sure you’ll marry me.”

The coach had turned and it started again. “You may as well let me go. No matter what you do, I will not wed you.”

“Oh, but I think you will. It really is a much better option than ruin.”

He reached down, yanking her up. “You will be much more comfortable up here.”

The shades were open, which did not help her cause. Anyone could see her in the carriage. Which was probably part of his plan. Closing her eyes, she pressed back against the squabs. She had to find a way to escape before they arrived at their destination.

Galahad was prancing nervously and riderless when Damon found him. He glanced around, but there was no sign of her on the ground. “Meg! Where are you?” Straining his ears for any sound, he waited for a few moments. What the hell had happened to her? Lightning had moved them close to her horse.
The horse that loved her like a dog.
And he knew she had been abducted, and the only person desperate enough to do it was Tarlington. What was strange was that the beast had not made immediately for the stables. What if... Damon was out of his mind. Still, he had nothing to lose. “Galahad. Come, boy. Let’s find Meg.” Damon started forward and the horse trotted along with him a few moments, then he took off galloping. Damon followed. No matter how long it took, he would find Meg and make her his forever.