Tears filled her eyes at the thought of Alec discovering that another woman had run away from him, and her resolve almost melted away. She did not have to go with Barrett. She could stay inside the castle and be safe until Alec returned home. She would tell him what had happened. But no, she knew if she did that, Alec would charge out into the night to find Barrett. As soon as he drew close enough for Barrett to see him, Barrett would kill him.
Barrett clearly had no moral qualms, and he was right in thinking that any court would rule shooting his wife’s lover justifiable. Barrett would not hesitate to hide somewhere and shoot Alec in cold blood as he approached.
If she could by some miracle keep Alec from pursuing him, Barrett would do as he had threatened and put Alec squarely in the center of a scandal. His reputation would be in tatters, especially after the beating it had taken when Jocelyn jilted him a year and a half ago. Damaris might tease him for his arrogance, but she could not bear to see that proud tilt of his head change. She refused to be the cause of his humiliation before his peers. And he would not be the only one who suffered; his family would be hurt as well. It would damage both the countess and Lady Genevieve, and while Damaris had no great fondness for either of them, she could not let innocent persons be harmed. More than that, she knew how Alec would suffer at the thought that his actions had hurt his sister and grandmother.
No, she could not allow that to happen. She had to go with Barrett. Later… well, later she would find a way to take care of Barrett. Once they were far away from here, where whatever happened could not damage Alec, then she would do whatever it took. That resolution was a cold, hard lump in her chest. But right now, the most important thing was to keep Alec from following her.
When she reached her room, she stuffed a few of her things in a satchel. Her hand lingered over the comb Alec had bought her, then she dropped it into the bag, too. She could
easily leave most of her things, but that gift from Alec she would keep and treasure forever. She wavered over her gun as well. She was not sure how she would deal with Barrett, but it would be of great help to have a weapon. However, the gun was empty, and she carried no powder or shot for it. Nor did she know where Alec kept such things.
Slipping out of the room, she tiptoed down the hall to Alec’s bedchamber. If she was lucky, Alec would not have bothered to take the small knife that he often carried in his boot, since he and Myles had gone out with a full complement of guns for their hunt, not to mention the gamekeeper and his assistants and all the dogs. The knife was not lying handily about on top of the dresser or table, so she eased open a drawer and checked inside it. She felt rather guilty, sneaking about, looking through Alec’s things, and she hoped a servant would not chance to come in and find her.
Finally, in the narrow drawer devoted to socks, she found the lethal weapon, as well as the scabbard Alec typically strapped on his calf to carry it. She had to buckle the scabbard around her thigh to make it fit, but it stayed, and she slid the knife into place and shook her skirts back down. Feeling well satisfied, she scurried back to her room, where she sat down at the delicate mahogany secretary and took out a piece of paper to write Alec a note.
But she found that the words would not come. She wrote two sentences, then scratched them out, certain that they revealed too much. Finally, she ended up scribbling down a terse declaration that she was leaving. “The affair is over. It
was enjoyable, but I have grown tired of it.” Was that enough to stop him? she wondered.
Barrett was right in saying that Alec was a proud man. Surely his pride would not let him chase after a woman who no longer wanted him. Thea had told Damaris that Alec had not pursued Jocelyn when she ran away, at least not at first, because of his pride. Following on the heels of that betrayal by his fiancée, surely he would be yet less likely to run after Damaris. She was not even engaged to him. If he made no fuss about it, no one need know that she had run from him.
But, she knew, nothing could take the sting away. She was fleeing from him exactly as the woman he had loved before had run from him. Damaris’s heart clenched at the thought of hurting Alec. She did not flatter herself that he loved her the way he had loved Gabriel’s sister. Certainly he was not planning to marry her. But even so, her leaving would be a slap in the face to him—salt in the emotional wound that Jocelyn had left.
Everything in her rebelled at the thought of hurting him this way. But she knew, too, that the hurt would serve to keep him from following her, perhaps even more than his pride would. He would not let her or anyone see his pain. For that reason, she could not take away any of the sting, as she longed to do. She could not write that she loved him or that she regretted her actions. She could not beg him not to think badly of her.
And so, tears spilling out her eyes and splashing onto the
notepaper, she signed her name in a hand as small and tight as she felt inside, then folded and sealed it. She wrote his name on one side, and dashing the tears away from her cheeks, picked up her satchel and trotted down the stairs. She went first to the silver tray on the narrow table near the front door, on which calling cards and the mail were placed. Slipping the note onto the tray, she turned and started quietly down the hallway to the garden door.
“Mrs. Howard?”
Damaris stopped, inwardly cursing, and turned toward the stairs. Alec’s sister stood on the bottom step, her hand resting lightly on the newel post. Her pearly white cat sat a few steps above her, tail curled around him, staring down at Damaris with an imperious stare identical to his mistress’s.
“Oh. Lady Genevieve. Good afternoon. I mean, good morning, I guess.” Damaris offered a nervous smile.
Genevieve’s eyes flickered to the satchel in Damaris’s hand. She stepped down to the entryway floor and started toward Damaris. “Are you going somewhere, Mrs. Howard?”
“Yes. I—I am leaving. I have left a note for Lord Rawdon.” She glanced toward the folded paper on the tray.
“Indeed? Then you have not spoken with him?” Genevieve’s tone was glacial.
“No. I—I cannot. I mean, my nerve may fail me.” Damaris swallowed against the tears that threatened to rise in her throat, and she took a step closer to the fair-haired woman. “Please… you know that it is better if I leave. I don’t want to live as any man’s mistress. Even Alec’s.” She saw no need to
add that, little as she wanted to, she had already decided to accept that half-life in order to be with Alec.
A faint ripple of emotion touched Genevieve’s perfect face, but she said nothing.
“Alec may be angry, I know, but in the end…” Damaris swallowed again. She could feel the tears swimming in her eyes, but she blinked them away. “It will be better for him. I know you think so too.”
Genevieve’s eyes flashed. “I will not have him hurt.” There was a fierce tone in her voice that echoed Alec’s.
“I’m sorry. I do not want that either. I never wanted…” She stopped, certain that she would break into sobs if she continued. Whirling, she ran down the long hallway toward the far door. No footsteps followed her.
A
lec strolled across the yard
, casually chatting with Myles. Shadow loped along in front of them, his tongue lolling out, wet and muddy and looking as smugly pleased with himself as if he had actually behaved like a hunting dog instead of charging around, barking madly at the birds and generally getting in everyone’s way. Alec knew how he felt. They had bagged only a few grouse, but it didn’t matter. It had been a nice tramp with a good friend and his dog, and now he had the rest of the day with Damaris to look forward to.
A footman opened the door for them, then recoiled in horror as Shadow lumbered in. Alec jumped forward, hooking his hand around the dog’s collar, catching him just before he launched into a thorough shaking to remove the water and mud from his coat.
“No you don’t, my fine friend,” he told the happy dog. “The housekeeper will have my head if I let you dirty her nice clean floor. Here.” He handed the dog over to the footman. “Take him down to the kennels and tell one of the men to clean him up before he comes back in.”
Shadow, seeming aware of the bath that lay in his future, stiffened his legs and leaned back, doing his best to sit down as the footman dragged him away, but his paws slid easily over the polished marble, and in a moment he was out the door, tossing back a final pleading look toward Alec.
Myles chuckled. “Poor Shadow. You’ll be in his black books now.”
“Not him. He won’t remember by the time he returns to the house. He’ll simply be happy to see us again. Unlike Genevieve’s cat, who remembers the slightest transgression and holds it against you for days.”
The cat in question was seated on the flat top of the newel post at the bottom of the stairs, studying them with a cool, unswerving gaze. Both men cast a wary eye at the animal.
“I think he rather holds it against me that I exist,” Myles confessed.
Alec glanced down and saw a folded piece of paper lying in the silver salver on the entry table. His name was written across it, and though he had not seen her write more than once or twice, Alec was certain that the flowing script was Damaris’s hand. His heart stuttered in his chest, and he was touched by a sudden, inexplicable dread. He stopped and looked at the table, curiously reluctant to pick up the note.
“Alec?” Myles, a few feet past him, realized that his companion had stopped, and he turned back toward him. “What is it? You look—” He frowned.
Alec made no answer, just picked up the note, turning it over to carefully break the seal. He unfolded it and looked
at the paper, where words and whole sentences had been scratched out. It was blotched here and there, the letters streaking, but it was short and simple, and the import was clear: Damaris was gone.
“Alec!” Myles’s voice was alarmed, and he crossed back to his friend in two quick strides. “What the devil—”
Alec merely held out the paper to him. His face was as white as the marble floor on which they stood, his eyes distant, as if the man inside were far away. Myles grabbed the note and read it quickly, his eyebrows soaring upward. “‘The affair is over. I have grown tired—’” He raised his head, staring at Alec in astonishment. “What does this mean?”
“I think it is clear enough. She has left me. She is running away.”
“No! Bloody hell, Rawdon, Damaris is not Jocelyn.”
“I would have sworn not.” Bitterness laced Alec’s voice. “And yet, she is gone. I seem to have a peculiar effect on women.”
He had not felt the pain yet. Not really. That would come later, Alec knew, alone in the dark in his room, as the full measure of what he had lost swept through him. Right now he was numb.
“Don’t be absurd! I have seen Damaris with you. If she isn’t madly in love with you, then I know nothing about women. And I must remind you that I have a whole brood of sisters.”
Alec swung his ice-cold gaze to his friend. “You have the letter in your hands. I do not know how you could doubt it.”
Footsteps sounded on the marble behind them, and they turned to see Genevieve hurrying along the long side gallery
toward them. “Alec!” Her eyes went to the paper in Myles’s hand and back to her brother’s face. “You have seen it.”
“Yes. I have seen it. When did she leave?”
“A little less than an hour ago.” She came closer, her light eyes intent on Alec’s face.
“You knew?” Alec’s eyes flashed, and color sprang up along the sharp edge of his cheekbones. “And you did not stop her!”
“What was I supposed to do?” Genevieve shot back. “Hold her here against her will? She is a grown woman.”
Anger and frustration flared bright in his eyes. “Why? Did she deign to tell
you
, at least, why she felt impelled to run?” He snatched the letter from Myles’s fingers and crumpled it in his fist. “Heaven help me, why am I such a fool about women?”
“She said she did not want to live her life as your mistress,” Genevieve replied. “It—it is hard for a woman. She could never be accepted by the
ton
if everyone knew. Even if you were discreet—which, I must point out, you have not been—for someone like her, born on the wrong side of the blanket, to be dallying with a gentleman… well, she will be snubbed. You must see that.”
“I would have their hide if some old cat dared to cut her!” Alec snapped.
“If you were there,” Genevieve replied, putting her hands on her hips and not backing down. “But you would not always be with her.”
“Damaris does not care about the
ton
,” Alec said almost sulkily, turning aside.
“No woman wants to be a pariah.” Genevieve hesitated,
studying her brother’s face. “Alec… it is probably better this way. I know you are upset right now, but…”
“Upset?” He let out a hollow laugh, not looking at her or Myles. “No. Never. I am a Stafford, am I not? We do not indulge in emotions.”
Genevieve cast a worried glance at Myles and turned back to her brother. “I—perhaps you should sit down and rest. I’ll ring for some tea.”
Alec let out a wordless roar and swung around sharply, raking his arm down the hall table and sending a vase of flowers, the silver tray, and two ornate candelabras flying. “I don’t want any bloody tea!”