Somewhere I'll Find You (15 page)

It wasn't difficult for Damon to read between the lines. The Wyvills, a well-landed and titled family of Warwickshire, were notorious for their bad dispositions. From what he recalled, Sybill couldn't be more than sixteen or seventeen. Any offense to her would be taken as a mortal affront to the family honor. “What did you do, Will?” he asked in a threatening tone.

“All I did was kiss her! It was nothing—hardly worth risking my neck over, I can assure you! George and I have never gotten along. I suspect he was spying on us merely to have an excuse to challenge me—the hotheaded bastard—”

“Let's save the name-calling for later,” Damon interrupted dryly. “The only way to solve this is to approach old Lord Wyvill. He rules the family with an iron, fist, and he's the one who can put a stop to the whole affair if he chooses.”

William's blue eyes widened hopefully. “Will you talk to him, Damon? If you could convince him to make George withdraw the challenge—”

“First I want the truth. Are you certain all you did was kiss Sybill?”

William didn't quite meet his gaze. “For the most part.”

Damon scowled. “Dammit, Will, with all the doxies and barmaids between here and London, why did you pick a sheltered girl to molest?”

“I didn't molest her! She was staring at me all soft and doe-eyed, inviting me to kiss her, and when I did, she most definitely reciprocated…and then George came leaping out of the bushes like a madman.”

“And Sybill, not wanting to earn the censure of her family, claimed complete innocence and said you had lured her out there and attempted to seduce her.”

William nodded vigorously. “Yes, that's exactly what happened. And don't look at me as though you were never tempted by a pretty young innocent before! Hell, you probably did the same thing at my age.”

“At your age I was trying my damnedest to keep the family from sinking beneath a mountain of debt. I had little time to dally with girls like Sybill Wyvill.”

His brother crossed his arms defensively. “I may not be as saintly as some, but I'm not as bad as others.”

Damon smiled darkly. “An appropriate family motto for the Savages.”

After washing and changing his clothes, Damon went to the Wyvill estate, located just a few miles from the castle. In spite of a substantial fortune, the Wyvills lived in a quaint country manor half-buried in a grove of silver birch and rhododendron bushes. Wearing an appropriately sober demeanor, Damon asked the butler to give his regards to Lord Wyvill and perhaps allow him a few minutes to visit. The butler disappeared and returned shortly thereafter, then took him to the library.

Lord Wyvill, who was only a little older than Damon's father Frederick, was seated in a large leather-upholstered chair before a small fire, his feet extended toward the crackling blaze. Having met Wyvill many times before, Damon knew that he was an ambitious, self-important man with boundless pride in his children. Sybill was his only daughter, and he had made no secret of his plans to secure a splendid match for her. Only a duke or an earl would suffice, not to mention a man with a fortune as impressive as his bloodlines. Damon doubted that William was what Wyvill had in mind for a son-in-law.

Wyvill lifted a pudgy hand in a gesture for Damon to sit in the chair beside him. The firelight danced in a wavering gleam over his balding head. “Savage,” he said in a deep voice that sounded incongruous coming from a man of such short stature. “I see your brother—the insolent scoundrel—has summoned you to protect him. Well, this is one time you won't be able to spare him. He has acted dishonorably, and he must answer for it.”

“I understand your feelings, sir,” Damon replied gravely. “It appears that William has indeed gone too far. However, in the interests of your daughter's welfare as well as your son's, I came to ask you to stop the duel. George will withdraw his challenge if you demand it.”

“And why would I do that?” Wyvill asked, his round mouth pursed with anger. “My precious Sybill, a naive and innocent girl, has been ruined, her reputation
besmirched
—”

“By one kiss?” Damon asked, raising one brow. “Isn't that putting it a little too harshly? A beautiful girl, a moonlit garden…surely anyone can understand how William lost his head.”

“He should never have been alone with my daughter in the garden, insulting her on my own estate, no less!”

“Yes, I know. I give you my word that William will make amends in any way you choose, if you will convince George to withdraw his challenge. Surely we can come to some other arrangement. I'm certain you are as reluctant as I to have bad blood between our families. Moreover, if the duel takes place tomorrow, Sybill's reputation will suffer. What is only a small, easily forgotten incident at the moment will become a scandal. Rumors will follow her wherever she goes.” Damon carefully watched the other man's face as he spoke, seeing with satisfaction that he had scored a point. If Sybill were the focus of a scandal, it would become much more difficult for her to marry well.

“What kind of ‘arrangement’ do you have in mind?” Wyvill asked suspiciously.

Damon hesitated and met the other man's gaze. “That depends on what would satisfy you. Would it solve the matter if William were to offer for Sybill?” It was a suggestion he felt safe in making, knowing that Wyvill had greater ambitions than to marry his daughter to a second son.

“No,” Wyvill said, his double chin wagging as he shook his head. “Your brother has neither the means nor the character I am seeking in a son-in-law.” He paused for a long moment, and a crafty look came over his face. “However…I have an alternative to suggest.”

“Yes?” Damon watched him intently.

“As far as I'm concerned, honor will be satisfied if
you
marry Sybill.”

Damon felt his eyebrows crawl up to his hairline. He had to clear his throat several times before he could reply. “I'm flattered,” he said hoarsely.

“Good. I'll call for Sybill, and you may propose to her at once.”

“Lord Wyvill, I…have something to confess.” All at once Damon was struck by the humor of the situation, and he felt a treacherous laugh rising in his throat. Somehow he managed to keep it from erupting. “Sybill is a lovely girl, I'm certain, and in any other circumstances…”

“But?” Wyvill prompted, scowling like a bulldog.

“I can't marry your daughter.”

“Why not?”

“I'm already married.”

For a long time there was no sound except for the small, snapping fire. Both men stared into the dancing flames, while Wyvill mulled over the extraordinary statement. After a while he spoke, his voice heavy with suspicion. “This is the first I've heard of it.”

“It's been a well-kept secret for quite some time.”

“Who is she?”

“Lord Hargate's daughter, Julia.”

“
Hargate
,” Wyvill repeated, his short brows arched like two question marks. “I heard she was sent to a school in Europe—either that or dispatched to a convent. What has been going on all this time? Been hiding her in your attic or dungeon, have you?”

“Not exactly.”

“Then why—”

“I'm afraid I can't explain the particulars, sir.”

Looking sourly disappointed, Wyvill accepted the statement with as much grace as possible. “Pity. You would have done well to marry my Sybill.”

Damon did his best to assume a regretful expression. “I'm certain of that, Lord Wyvill. But as for William—”

The other man waved the issue away disdainfully. “I'll tell George there will be no duel. Let's just say that you owe me a favor to be determined at some future date.”

Damon let out a barely perceptible sigh of relief. “Thank you, sir. In the meantime, I'll remove William from Warwickshire to defuse any remaining tensions.”

“That would be appreciated.”

They exchanged a cordial goodbye, and Damon left the room with a sense of relief. As he crossed the threshold, he heard Wyvill mutter to himself, “
Hargate
…no daughter of his could ever
hope
to equal Sybill.”

After telling William the good news, Damon was tempted to go immediately to his room and fall asleep. It had been a long day, and he needed some private time to rest and reflect. However, there was still a duty he had to attend to. Squaring his shoulders, he headed to his father's suite of rooms. He hoped that the duke had already retired for the evening, but as he neared the bedroom door, he saw a light burning from within, and heard a woman's voice reading aloud from a novel.

Knocking lightly on the half-open door, Damon pushed his way inside. Although his father, Frederick, had suffered from a series of brain hemorrhages that had left him partially disabled on his right side, he had retained much of his vigor. He had the coarsely handsome looks of a philanderer, a man who had enjoyed more than his share of worldly pleasures and had never regretted a moment of it. He loved to recount stories of his past debauchery to the many friends who still came to visit him regularly and reminisce about their youth.

Propped up on a pile of luxurious pillows, a glass of steaming milk in his hand, the duke seemed entirely comfortable. It was difficult to tell which he was enjoying more, the novel or the charms of the attractive young nurse who sat at his bedside. The woman paused in her reading, and the duke looked up expectantly.

“I've been waiting,” his father said, his voice slightly slurred from his physical condition. “Why didn't you…come earlier?”

“I had something to take care of.” Damon paused and added darkly, “A matter involving William.”

“Again?” The duke always enjoyed listening to tales of his youngest son's escapades, clearly feeling that he and William had a great deal in common. “Tell me.” He gestured for the nurse to vacate the chair she occupied.

As the nurse left the room, Damon sat by the duke. “You look well,” he commented.

“Yes, I'm quite well.” Frederick reached behind his pillow, withdrew a silver flask, and poured a liberal amount of brandy into his hot milk.

“You never change,” Damon said ruefully, shaking his head as his father offered the flask to him.

The duke seemed momentarily disappointed by his son's refusal of the brandy, then shrugged in resignation. “Neither do you.” He downed a large swallow of brandy-flavored milk and smacked his lips. “Now…about William?”

As matter-of-factly as possible, Damon enlightened him on the events of the past two days. As Damon had expected, the account seemed to entertain Frederick vastly. At first he seemed mildly displeased, but that was soon replaced by a misplaced sense of masculine pride.

“Foolish, self-indulgent boy…” the duke said, chuckling. “William has the morals of a tomcat.”

Damon scowled. “Is his behavior any surprise, after the example you set for him all these years?”

“Ah…here it comes,” Frederick said resignedly, gesturing with his half-finished milk. “Try to lay this at
my
door, will you?”

It had always infuriated Damon that his father was so unrepentant, so completely unwilling to accept responsibility for his actions. “I'm concerned that William is following in your footsteps,” he muttered. “He appears to have the same tastes for whoring and gambling as you.”

“And if he does? What is the worst that could happen to him?”

“He could end up being shot in a duel, or owing a fortune in debt.”

His father regarded him with maddening indifference. “I shouldn't worry about debt. The money always comes, one way or another.”

“How well I know.” Damon was filled with bitter sarcasm. “It came easily enough to you eighteen years ago, didn't it? You brought the family to the brink of poverty and gave Lord Hargate the perfect opportunity to sail in with the offer of a large dowry. All you had to do was marry your seven year-old son to his daughter, who was barely out of nappies at the time.”

Frederick sighed and set his empty glass on the bedside table. “You may blame me for anything you wish…including William's predicament and your own dissatisfaction with life. I have no doubt I wasn't the father I should have been. But the fact is, I did what I had to do. Why must you dwell on the past instead of looking toward the future?”

“Because for years I've had to dispose of your messes, and now it appears I'm to do the same for William—and I'm damned tired of it!”

“I suspect that in a way you rather like it,” the duke said mildly. “It makes you feel superior to conduct your life with all the propriety and responsibility that William and I never seem to attain.” He yawned and settled back against the pillows. “Heaven help poor Julia when you do find her. I'm afraid no wife will ever be quite straitlaced enough to suit you, even if she is a Hargate.”

Damon opened his mouth to argue, but shut it suddenly as an echo of Julia's voice ran through his mind.
What could possibly come of a relationship between us?…I've turned myself into someone who is completely unsuitable…You would want me to give up everything I've worked for, everything I need to be happy
…

The duke smiled slightly as he saw the troubled expression on his son's face. “You know I'm right, don't you? Perhaps what you need is to take your example from William. A man should have a few weaknesses…otherwise he becomes a deadly bore.”

Seeing that his father appeared to be tiring, Damon stood and slanted a look of exasperation at him. There were few times in his life when the duke had actually bothered to dispense some advice to him, and none of it had ever made sense. “I'll visit you again in the morning before William and I leave.”

Frederick nodded. “Send the nurse in to attend me.” He paused and added thoughtfully, “You know, you remind me of Lord Hargate in his youth. He was just as self-controlled, and every bit as determined to make everyone else conform to his notions of what was right.”

Damon was momentarily outraged, revolted at the idea that any similarity could be drawn between him and Lord Hargate. But at the same time, he couldn't help but wonder if there were any truth to it. Even more disturbing was the possibility that Julia would agree. Was he so rigid and domineering that she feared he would make her life into a repetition of her childhood?