Moonspun Magic (14 page)

When Bishop Burghley completed his exhortations on the sanctity of marriage, he said in his most genial voice, “You may kiss your bride, Captain.”

“I will do my best,” said Rafael as he lifted the gauzy veil.

Victoria raised her face to his and felt his lips lightly touch her closed mouth.

“Hello, wife,” he said.

His words were drowned out by the applause of their friends and the servants and the rounds of congratulations. They both turned as one, and in that instant Rafael met his brother's eyes. Damien was standing at the back of the drawing room, his arms folded over his chest. He was wearing morning garb and Hessians. It was an insult.

Rafael felt Victoria stiffen beside him and gave her a quick hug. “There is nothing he can do, Victoria. You remain here and I will get him on his way.”

Hawk found himself staring from Damien to
Rafael and back again. “Good Lord,” he said to Frances, “they are like two peas in a pod.”

“And one a dangerous pea,” she said.

“Rafael will rout the bounder,” said the marquess.

“Well, brother, I see that you have indeed bound yourself to her. A pity, for you, that is.”

“What the devil are you doing here, Damien?”

“It occurred to me, brother, that you didn't know the truth of things. I wanted to speak to you before you made the mistake of your life, but you weren't here last evening.” Damien didn't add that he'd looked everywhere for his twin and had been furious at his failure to find him. And he hadn't been in time this morning. They were already married. He continued, “Being your loving twin, I was seeking only to spare you disappointment and humiliation.”

“Get out, Damien.”

“Afraid of the truth, Rafael? Perhaps you already know the truth. Of course, it isn't the first time, is it, that we have shared the same girl?”

Rafael stiffened, his eyes narrowed, and his hands fisted at his sides. “No more filthy references to Patricia. That is over and done with. Now, come with me to the library. I wish to get this over with once and for all.”

Damien followed him willingly enough, casting one final glance at Victoria, who was staring at him, her face as white as the Valenciennes lace at the throat of her wedding gown. He smiled at her and gave her a small, mocking salute. It was both a threat and a promise, and Victoria knew fear.

Rafael closed the library door. “Now, Damien, the only reason I didn't kick you out is that I want to know if you have returned the fifteen thousand pounds.”

Damien ran a negligent finger over his coat of pale brown superfine. “Oh, yes, indeed I did. I wouldn't
want my own dear brother not to have all that is his due upon his marriage to that little slut. To palliate your disappointment, perhaps.”

“Do you want me to kill you?”

The Rafael of today wasn't the Rafael of five years before. Damien wasn't fooled by those softly spoken words. He believed him, believed that Rafael would kill, believed that his life had led him to know death and fighting. “Not at all. What I want is for you to know the truth.”

“What truth is that, damn you?”

Damien walked away from his brother, saying over his shoulder in a calm, nearly disinterested voice, “I assume that Victoria told you what a blackguard I am?”

“Yes, I managed to pry it out of her. It wasn't difficult. When I rescued her, she thought I was you.”

“An excellent actress,” Damien said, turning to face his brother. “She always has been.”

“You have five minutes, Damien.”

“Very well, Rafael. You haven't married a shrinking little virgin. Indeed, it's true I wanted her, but I love my wife. It was Victoria who did the seducing. Why do you think she married you? It is because you are my imprint. But I digress. I bedded her, yes indeed. She wanted it so much I couldn't have stopped her if I had been a saint, which I'm not. She is a slut and a wanton, Rafael. Her passion exhausted me, I admit it. She escaped when I refused to divorce my wife and marry her. Her disappointment has become hatred, her hatred her revenge, using you. Against me.”

He had no time to say anything more. He saw his brother's arm, then felt a searing pain in his jaw when Rafael's fist connected. He fell back, hitting his hip against the large desk.

“You damnable liar. God, I can't believe that even you would sink so low.”

Damien stroked his jaw. It wasn't broken. He wanted to smile, but he didn't. He forced himself to shrug. “I just wanted to spare you a horrendous surprise this night. You remember David Esterbridge? I told you he cried off. It's true. He discovered that Victoria was my mistress. He was struck down, poor boy, but considered himself well free of her. I myself wondered if perhaps Victoria weren't pregnant and that was why she even considered Esterbridge. You must ask her. I tried to be careful, but as I said, she is so very passionate, so very eager. I sometimes forgot myself. Do you know that once she followed me into the old portrait gallery? I took her just beneath the portrait of Grandfather, against the wall.” Those words were scarcely out of his mouth before Damien quickly skirted the desk, making it a barrier between him and his furious brother.

“Get out,” Rafael said. “Your lying filth has taken you beyond your five minutes.”

“Certainly, brother. I only wanted to spare you, it's true. Now that I've done my duty, I will return to Cornwall. Do you also plan to bring your bride there?”

“Get out.”

Damien shrugged. “
Au revoir,
then, Rafael. Perhaps I shall see you at Drago Hall?”

Rafael said nothing. He was trembling with a rage so violent he didn't trust himself to speak.

Damien smiled. “If only Grandfather could tell you now what he saw. Well, you will discover the truth soon enough.”

“Get out before I kill you.”

Damien's smile grew wider. “You must ask her which of us she believes the better lover. Brothers in all things . . . share and share alike, hmmm?” Since
he wasn't a man bent upon his own death, Damien quickly removed himself from his brother's presence, leaving his damning words in the silent room.

Rafael watched his brother stride to the library door, open it, and leave.

He closed his eyes a moment, trying to regain his control. Poor Victoria. That sweet, innocent girl, having to defend herself against a man like Damien. The filthy, lying sod.

He forced himself to walk to the library door, open it, and pass into the entrance hall. Damien was gone, the bastard.

“You've been so kind to me,” Rafael heard Victoria saying to Lucia. “Not at all a tartar.”

“My dear,” Lucia said in high good humor, “you didn't give me the right circumstance. Now, if you could but remain with me to do a proper come-out, you would see me fly my tartar colors quickly enough. When and if you meet Diana, she will tell you that I'm an impossible old lady.”

“Somehow I don't think so,” Rafael said, taking Lucia's hand between his two large brown ones. “Thank you, more than I can say, for helping us.” He leaned down and kissed her. He grinned at the light flush on her parchment cheek.

“Laying it on a bit strong, aren't you, my boy?”

“Not I, sir,” Rafael said to the Marquess of Chandos.

“Lucia has been a bothersome old busybody for as long as I can remember, and that is more years than I care to count.”

“Unfortunately, you old goat,” Lucia said, “I have yet to equal your ploy with Frances and Hawk. Masterful. You see, I am the soul of generosity. I'm willing to give you your due.”

The marquess chuckled. “It's true. I will also admit that you weren't guaranteed the opportunity to truly
test your own doubtless ruthless abilities. Rafael and Victoria were all too easy to match up.”

“That we were,” said Rafael, pulling Victoria's hand through the crook of his arm. He said quietly to her, “Did I tell you that you look quite lovely? The gown becomes you, but I can't say much about that wretched veil.”

“I believe the purpose of a veil is to keep the bridegroom from expiring from shock and fleeing through the nearest door before the vows are finalized.”

Rafael briefly thought of Damien's damning accusation. He tightened his hold on Victoria's hand. A pity that Damien was his brother. He hoped that when he struck him he at least loosened some of his teeth.

“Whatever is the matter? Are you just now realizing the enormity of your situation?”

He grinned down at his bride. “I am a very lucky man. That's what I was thinking.”

But Victoria wasn't at all certain of that. Rafael could be very smooth when he wished to be, just as he was now with those glib words of his. She wondered what had passed between him and Damien, and found herself desperately wanting to know. She wasn't granted the opportunity until after she and Rafael had dutifully toasted each other with Lucia's finest champagne.

She said without preamble, “Rafael, why was Damien here? Surely he didn't believe he could prevent our marriage?”

He'd hoped, of course, that Victoria wouldn't inquire. A stupid hope. “He just had more ire and filth to spew over me. Nothing at all pertinent to anything. Now, my dear wife, I do believe it time for you to change into your traveling clothes.”

This was the first Victoria had even thought about
traveling anywhere for a wedding trip. “Good heavens. Where are you taking me?”

“The marquess has very kindly offered us the use of one of his country estates in Dorset. It is called Honeycutt Cottage, near the town of Milton Abbas. Does that please you?”

“Oh, yes. Yes, it surely does.” She paused a moment, cocking her head to one side. “I forgot all about Mr. Westover, Rafael. Mustn't we see him so that I may legally transfer half my inheritance to you, as I promised?”

“Actually, I visited with Mr. Westover yesterday afternoon. Everything was taken care of. Papers signed and all that. There is nothing you need do now.” He didn't add that Mr. Westover had been shocked that Rafael was the baron's twin brother, his lips a nearly invisible line when he realized that Rafael had pretended to be Baron Drago.

“I don't understand. Since it is my inheritance, shouldn't there be papers for me to sign?”

Well, Rafael thought, Victoria wasn't stupid. But how to tell her that all fifty thousand pounds was in his hands? He'd instructed Mr. Westover to draw up a document for his signature, allowing a generous allowance for Victoria, to be paid by him quarterly. He said now, “No, only I needed to sign papers. I'm your husband, you know.”

“But—”

He lightly touched his fingertip to her soft mouth. “Upstairs, then, madam, but know I will drink champagne until you return.”

“I shall be quick about it. I don't wish a weaving husband this soon in our married life.”

Rafael watched her leave the dining room with a light step. She paused a moment to say something to Frances. He saw her shake her head, laugh sweetly, and nearly skip out of the room.

She was a darling. She was his wife. He decided at that moment that he would put half her inheritance in a trust fund for their children. It was a fair solution, one that should please her. The last thing he wanted was for her to think that he'd married her for her money. Thanks to Dame Fortune, he'd amassed quite a respectable amount of money for himself during the past five years.

He turned from his thoughts to see Lucia looking at him thoughtfully. “What is it, ma'am? Have I unknowingly committed some indiscretion?”

“No, my boy. It just occurred to me that since I'm a nosy old woman, perhaps I should play stand-in for Victoria's mother.”

He looked at her, at sea.

“Victoria is a quite charming, quite innocent girl. Perhaps I should speak to her of the more intimate side of marriage.”

“Ah,” said Rafael. What Lucia could know of that was beyond him. She'd never been married. “Trust me,” he continued in a very smooth voice, “to see to her properly. She will be all right, Lucia. I'm not a clod, you know.”

Lucia nodded. “I don't suppose that you will tell me about that meeting with the baron?”

He stiffened. “No, ma'am. Suffice it to say that my brother is a very disappointed man, and disappointed men tend to spew nonsense in their frustration.”

Lucia saw his hands clench into fists. She would have given up reading her gothic novels for a week if she could but discover what had passed between the two brothers.

A half-hour later, Lucia watched Rafael hand Victoria into the carriage. He spoke a moment with that impudent fellow from Cornwall, Tom Merrifield, then climbed into the carriage. A dear sweet girl,
Lucia thought, waving. She hoped she would be happy with Captain Carstairs. She turned at the sound of Frances's voice.

“I think we should have at least one waltz,” the countess said. “Where is Didier?”

“Here, my lady.”

“Very well,” said Lucia, her eyes going to the marquess. “Well, old man? Do you think you are up for some jollity?”