Gypsy Jewel (37 page)

“No,” Damien corrected her gently. “I will take nothing else from you, little girl. I’ve damned myself a thousand times for hurting you like I did. For using you to try to end a war that would have finished on its own, sooner or later. Desperate men do desperate things, and I had to do something, try to find an end to the madness.” His eyes darkened in memory of the horrors he had witnessed, and he shook his head to force the images away. “To that end, I used you. I never intended for it to happen.”

“You must have planned it all,” April said.

“No. Not the part about falling in love with you.”

She stared at him, feeling the deep words melt into her soul. How she wanted to believe. But she was afraid, so afraid.

Damien continued in a husky voice, “I’ve told you before that I love you. Nothing has changed since then.”

April fought her rising emotions, trying not to let Damien lull her into believing him again. She had opened her heart and soul to him once, and the resulting pain was more than she could bear. Did she dare trust again?

She whispered, “And now, Damien? What happens now?”

“I hoped you would ask that,” he said, coming a step up on the stairs and looking intensely at her. “I want you to stay here as my wife. We both have a right to be here, April. This is my home, yes, but it is yours too now, if you so choose. Is it possible for us to begin again?”

“I don’t know,” she answered him honestly.

Damien nodded with resignation. “Will you listen to my reasons for what I did?”

April moistened her lips a little nervously. It would be unfair of her to refuse him that much. She agreed, asking only, “How did you find me at all?”

“Sheer chance. Marcelle suggested I come here for a respite. I don’t think she suspects you are here, either.”

At the mention of his mother her eyes softened slightly. “Is the countess well?”

“Yes, but as anxious as I for word about you. She grew fond of you in the short time you were at the chateau.”

“Others were not so kind as she.”

Damien nodded grimly. “I’m sorry Henriette Dupre hurt you. I knew her a long time ago, and believe it or not, it was over long before you came here. There is nothing between us now, nor will there ever be again.” He paused, sensing her anger receding, and then forged on. “We have a lot to discuss, little one, if only you are willing.”

He started to move up the stairs and April quickly raised a hand in protest. “Not the bedroom.”

Damien assumed she felt uncomfortable about being in any intimate quarters with him again. He nodded shortly, and waited for her to join him downstairs. They were halfway out the door when a thin, high wail wafted from upstairs.

April froze in indecision, looking quickly to Damien to see if he noticed.

He mused, “Cats?”

She nodded jerkily. But one step more and the cry was unmistakably hungry — and human.

“What the devil?” Damien exclaimed, heading back up the stairs before April could stop him. He burst into the west wing bedchamber, where he saw a crackling fire in the grate and a bassinet beside the canopied bed.

“It’s a baby,” he said accusingly, whirling around to face April with shock on his handsome face. “Where in the world —”

“The servant girl who helps me out just gave birth,” April said quickly, moving to intercept him. “Ssh, you’ll just upset the baby more.”

“It’s already fit to be tied,” he complained, as the wails grew progressively louder and insistent. Damien stepped around April and peered down into the bassinet. He chuckled down at the beet-red, miniature human face screwing up for another lusty howl. The baby was no newborn, judging by size, but several months old. It already had a full head of curly black curls.

“I declare, that’s got to be the ugliest infant I’ve ever seen,” he exclaimed, and the baby’s howls rose in volume as if understanding his remark.

“She is not.” April reached into the bassinet and snatched up the child. The little girl quieted to hiccoughs as April cradled her on one shoulder and paced back and forth. “She’s quite pretty when she isn’t all red in the face. There there, love, it’s all right.” She patted the baby’s back and glared at Damien as if daring him to make fun of the infant again.

He threw up his hands in exasperation. “Where’s the mother? Can’t she look after her own child properly? We need to talk.”

“She’s gone to town for some things,” April muttered evasively. “We’ll just have to make do.” But as if on cue, the baby wailed again, louder than ever.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake —” Damien said with exasperation, but when he glanced at April again he saw a dark shadow spreading across her velvet bodice. He walked over and incredulously touched the milk-soaked material, and looking closer at her face, saw the tears glistening on her cheeks.

“I take it back,” he said in a low voice. “She’s the most beautiful baby I’ve ever seen.”

Tenderly, he led April to the bed and unbuttoned her bodice so she could feed their child. Embarrassed, she would have looked away, but he turned her chin and placed a warm kiss upon her lips as the baby happily settled in place and nursed.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he rasped thickly.

“I didn’t know,” she murmured, her gaze downcast. “I found out after I arrived in France. Henriette convinced me nobody would believe it was your child. She also threatened to expose me to your mother if I stayed. In my eyes, I had little choice but to leave.”

The baby made a snuffling noise and Damien wonderingly extended a finger to stroke the downy hair on her head. “She looks like Marcelle, doesn’t she? What did you name her?”

April smiled, tears making her eyes bright green as she gazed at him. “Mistelle. In honor of your mother and this wonderful place.”

“You like it here?” Damien was amazed. Every other woman he had brought to Mistgrove had ceaselessly complained about the cold, the damp, the isolation.

“It is the only real home I’ve known,” she said softly, “and this is the one place I knew Misty and I would be safe.”

“You were all alone?” Damien mentally berated himself for not thinking of Mistgrove sooner, but she placed a hand consolingly upon his clenched fist.

“No. There’s a young girl named Maggie who moved out from town to stay with me. She is sworn to secrecy, and she thinks my plight is terribly romantic.” April smiled a little wistfully as she spoke.

“Well, so it is.” Damien dropped a quick kiss on the sleeping baby’s head, and waited while April placed Misty back in her little bed and buttoned her bodice up again. Then he took his wife by the hand and drew her over to the window. “Let’s give your Maggie a happy ending if she’s out there watching us.”

April shivered as Damien drew her into his arms. She wanted so desperately to forgive him, and to gladly step into the new role awaiting her. But she was still afraid.

“Damien,” she whispered, “Henriette knows. Others will find out I’m not who I say I am. And they might hold that against Mistelle, too. “

“Then we’ll never leave England again. Nobody knows you here. I won’t let you go again, April. I can’t.” Damien spoke fiercely as his mouth moved to claim hers. He pulled her slender body against his own, his hands moving to trace her curves in the velvet riding habit.

April’s soft moan echoed Damien’s. Her head whirled wildly, feeling the familiar warmth and longing stealing over her languid body. Now she understood what Tzigane had tried to tell her about the love between soul-mates, the ceaseless circle of fate which would bring them together time and time again, no matter the obstacles.

When they parted, Damien saw the love shining in April’s eyes. He understood how deeply hurt she had been by his betrayal of her trust, just as he saw now with a rush of pure joy that she had forgiven him. There was only complete devotion and a genuine desire to build a life together reflected in her beautiful green eyes now.

“I love you, Lady Cross,” he said softly, before his lips moved against hers again. A second later an explosive cry came from the bassinet, and April laughingly broke off their passionate kiss. “Your daughter is still hungry, Lord Cross.”

“Nonsense. She’s merely jealous.” Nevertheless Damien moved quickly back to the cradle, and grinned down at the wide-eyed baby who fell abruptly silent and looked hopefully up at him. “I have something I think you’ll like, Misty.”

From his coat pocket Damien withdrew a long golden chain with a familiar gem dangling from the center.

April gasped and moved up beside him. “My diamond.”

“Our daughter’s now, if I don’t miss my guess,” Damien chuckled, watching the baby’s chubby hands waving wildly to catch the sparkling prisms of light. “I think she’s safely entertained for the next hour or two.” He looped it securely to the hood of the bassinet, letting it dangle enticingly just out of Misty’s reach.

“Now,” Damien murmured, turning to take April in his arms, “I think I should see about entertaining her mother, don’t you?”

“Oh, most definitely, my lord.”

April sealed the suggestion by raining kisses down Damien’s neck, and next she knew, she was high in the air, being swiftly carried to the bed.

T
HE DOWAGER COUNTESS DISEMBARKED
from the shiny coach bearing the Cross coat of arms and promptly let out a small screech. Flying toward her on a great black horse came a young girl, black ringlets bouncing, a sparkle of mischief in her green eyes.

“
Grandmere
!”

The girl gathered up her steed, bringing it to a sliding stop within inches of the countess on the lush summer lawn. Her young voice was filled with the joy of life and love for the feisty little Frenchwoman glaring up at her.

“Mistelle, where are your manners? Get off that creature at once. What are your parents thinking, to let you ride such a wild beast?”

In deliberate defiance, the young girl leaned down to stroke the glistening neck of her horse. “Azize is not a wild beast,
Grandmere
. He is my pet, my baby. Isn’t that so, Azize?”

The colt sired by Prince Adar snorted softly as if in agreement, and Marcelle threw up her hands in a dramatic display as she glanced toward the mansion. “Where are your parents?”

Misty’s mischievous grin quickly turned to a pout. “It’s Jamie’s third birthday today,
Grandmere
. Such fuss simply because he is a boy.”

“He is the fifth earl of Devonshire,” her grandmother reminded her, and then she smiled in sympathy up at the pretty little girl still astride her horse. “Can you keep a secret, Mistelle?”

The eight-year-old bounced in the saddle with delight. “Oh, you know I can,
Grandmere
.”

“
Bien
. I am here to ask your father if you may return to France with me. It is high time you learned how to be a young lady.”

Misty let out a soft squeal, slid down from her horse and flung herself into the older woman’s arms. “
Oui
, I want to go.”

“Then we shall ask your father.” Fondly Marcelle patted the black curls so like her own, and hand-in-hand they went into Mistgrove.

They found Lady Cross and several servants decorating the great ballroom for the children’s party to be held later that afternoon. April looked lovely in a soft rose-colored gown, her golden hair twisted into a gleaming chignon at the nape of her neck. She wore a single strand of pearls around her throat, and had matured into an elegant beauty. Exactly as an earl’s wife should look, Marcelle thought approvingly, opening her arms to return April’s loving embrace.

“
Maman
!” The endearment warmed the dowager countess’s heart. “When did you arrive?”

“Five minutes ago, to be exact,” Marcelle laughed. “Just in time to watch
ma petite
-
fille
thundering across the moors.”

April looked down and noticed her daughter’s wind-kissed cheeks and the missing hair ribbons. There was also a conspicuous mud stain on her frilly white party frock, but Mistelle endured her mother’s inspection with an innocent expression.

“Is Damien here?” the countess asked.

“
Oui
, he’s upstairs battling with Jamie.” It was only natural to speak in French when Marcelle was here. A small smile teased at April’s lips. “Lately, your grandson no longer wishes to wear short pants. Or any pants, for that matter.”

Misty giggled and both women turned just in time to see a blond-haired, chubby toddler come tearing down the stairs with his sire in exasperated pursuit. James Edward Cross had not a single stitch of clothing on, but the fifth earl of Devonshire seemed happily oblivious to the fact as he came barreling into the ballroom to fling himself into April’s skirts.

“Up,” he demanded, and his chuckling mother complied as Damien came to a puffing halt before the small group.

“That little devil,” Damien accused with a wagging finger at his son, who peered back at his father with huge blue eyes from the safety of his mother’s arms, “is entirely Romany. He acts as if clothes are a penance.”

“Well, aren’t they?” Marcelle laughed, enjoying the joke since she had learned long ago the truth of April’s upbringing. “I daresay he would start a new trend in France. With the way the latest court fashions look, I might prefer such
au naturel
attire myself.”