Moonspun Magic (7 page)

“I have sent out men in search of her, my dear,” he said, yawning. “We should hear something soon.” What he didn't tell her was that he was certain Victoria had seen the tied letters that were beneath the strongbox. He'd discovered that fact but a few minutes before, and felt his jaw clench with helpless rage. Damn, he should have burned the letters, but who would have thought . . . ? Well, he would find her. He said now, disinterested as a clam, “In fact, you seem so very worried, my dear, that I intend to join the search on the morrow. I believe it likely she has gone to London.”

“But she had no money.”

“As a matter of fact, she took some twenty pounds from my strongbox.”

“That little thief. After all I've done for her, and she a worthless cripple.”

Damien merely shrugged.

Elaine continued with her brushing, calm again, watchful. “I wonder,” she said, again studying her husband's face in her mirror, “why she ran away.”

“I imagine it was that pitiful bore David Esterbridge. He was after her, you know. Perhaps she was escaping from him.”

“I can't think that is true. Don't you remember?
She was talking of David as if she'd made up her mind to wed him. I truly don't believe David could be responsible for her running away.”

“That isn't what David told me. Evidently she changed her mind. I wouldn't put it past the stupid boy to have frightened her, mauled her about with no finesse and all that.”

“Lord knows she should take him. He's probably the only chance she has at a decent match.”

“But then you would lose an excellently suitable companion for Damaris, would you not?”

“Why do you believe she's gone to London?”

“Let me just say I believe it her only alternative.”

Elaine wanted to probe, but he was removing his dressing gown. He was quite naked. She watched him climb into her bed. She closed her eyes, but she could see his member swelling, feel his hands on her body, so knowing, his hands.

“I am breeding, of course,” she said in a thin voice.

He laughed. “Indeed. Your shape has become rather unusual. But I shan't repine. I wish my son to know his father.”

He would make her want him, she thought as she slowly set down her brush. He would make her lose control, forget things, ignore what she more than guessed. God, she hated Victoria. The little viper, betraying her in her own home. Had Damien already bedded her cousin? Was Victoria in fact pregnant and Damien had sent her away? To London? Was he going to set her up there as his mistress? She shook her head even as she walked toward the bed. He wouldn't do that, he couldn't.

“Elaine?”

“You are so certain it is your heir I carry?”

“Yes.” He patted the pillow beside his. “If you are not, then we will simply have to continue trying.
Come now, Elaine. I believe I want your very warm mouth tonight.”

“All right,” she said. “Yes.”

 

Victoria resigned herself to a long day of boredom. Rafael, curse him, was riding, and she was alone in the bouncing carriage. The carriage was an ancient, very musty excuse for a vehicle and it was as poorly sprung as Nanny Black's single chair that had belonged to her mother's mother. It was pulled by two singularly independent bays, each wanting to pull in a different direction. The driver, Tom Merrifield, a spare, balding man of fifty with a bland expression and equally bland outlook on his fellow humans, took the carriage and the bays in stride, having agreed in the fewest words imaginable to drive them to London and enjoy something of a holiday with Rafael's money, then return carriage and horses to Mr. Mouls in Axmouth.

Victoria wondered how long it would take her to get her money from Mr. Westover. This excursion would cost her dearly, though Rafael hadn't said a word about the carriage cost or Mr. Merrifield's demands. She tried to pay attention to the passing scenery, but the movement of the carriage wasn't all that comforting to her stomach.

As for Rafael, he thought of many things that day. Tom Merrifield, that man of so few words, was a robber, and that was what Rafael had told him. Tom cracked a smile. “Nay, 'tis London, ye know. Now, there be a place I have no wish to go.”

But he'd agreed, of course, after Rafael had offered him an exorbitant amount, and called him a bloody robber.

“It's all a simple matter of which hat a man wants and what is available,” said Tom Merrifield, and spit.

It amused Rafael to realize after some hours that
his thoughts continually went to the girl who rode in the carriage some distance behind him. He found himself turning every once in a while to assure himself that she was there, and safe. Which of course she was.

He thought of the inevitable problems that would arise very quickly upon their arrival in London. Victoria was so certain that she could simply wend her innocent way to the solicitor and claim her inheritance. If Damien were her guardian, he would probably be in control of her and her money until she was twenty-one, perhaps older. In complete control of her, according to the laws of the land.

When they halted for lunch, he watched her closely and was reassured. She bubbled on about a poet named Coleridge, a fellow he'd never heard of.

“He is still alive, you know,” Victoria said, chewing on a strawberry. “I think he lives in the Lake District.”

He let her prattle on. Let her enjoy herself for the time being, at least. Lord knew she was in for a crashing fall in London.

“Are you tired, Rafael?” she said at last, shoving her plate back.

“Tired? Why ever should I be tired?”

“Well, you have been so very quiet.”

“You've done all the talking. Since I am a gentleman, I would not interrupt you.”

Victoria hoped he was teasing her, but she wasn't certain. “You aren't regretting our trip, are you?” she said at last.

“Yes, but no matter.” He shrugged and looked out the inn window to see Tom Merrifield talking to the ostler. He wondered if the ostler knew he was talking to a damned bloody robber. “Are you ready, Victoria?”

Because of excellent weather and an equally
excellent pair of horses Tom had bargained for with Rafael's money—an excellent bargain—Rafael kept them on the road until they reached Broadwindsor.

He didn't know the innkeeper at the Bisley and he felt his hands clench at his sides at the man's leering looks.

“Your sister, sir?” came the oily inquiry.

Victoria, bless her innocent heart, was giving her rapt attention to the particularly fine molding that was three centuries old and, Rafael suspected, bug-ridden.

He kept his voice calm, though he gave the innkeeper the look that had brought many a recalcitrant sailor into line. That's right. I should like the rooms to adjoin,” he added. “One can never be too careful about protecting a lady.”

The innkeeper drew himself up at that, and crisply called out for a lad.

The private dining room Rafael hired for the evening was small and rather airless. The furnishings were as ancient as the moldings, Rafael thought as he helped Victoria into her chair. She'd changed from her girlish gown into yet another, equally girlish gown of pale pink muslin. They were served boiled beef, stewed tomatoes, and a kidney pie. He told her she shouldn't wear pastels.

She didn't rise to his bait, and simply agreed with him, which made him frown. “I wish you would prattle a bit. What's the matter with you?”

She smiled. “I'm just a bit tired. I'm not used to so many endless hours of travel in a closed carriage.”

Rafael said finally, “If you would like to ride with me tomorrow, I can arrange a mount for you.”

Instant color brightened her cheeks and her eyes. “Oh, yes, thank you, Rafael. It's so very boring, you know, to ride alone. And it was quite hot.”

She prayed her leg wouldn't betray her. It was just
one day, after all. She took her first enthusiastic bite of the kidney pie. “You said you haven't been to Drago Hall for five years. Where have you been for all that time?”

“Here and there,” he said easily.

“What countries are those? Or perhaps they are capitals?”

“I am a sea captain. My ship, the
Seawitch,
is docked in Falmouth this very moment, undergoing repairs. If she hadn't been damaged in a storm, I shouldn't have met you.”

Victoria forgot all about her dinner.
“Seawitch,”
she said, savoring the word. “You are so very lucky. Now I must call you Captain Carstairs.”

He was peeling a ripe peach. “No, not anymore. My first mate, Rollo Culpepper, will take her over now. I'm going to return to Cornwall and become a landed gentleman.”

She leaned forward, cupping her chin in her hands. “Five whole years with your own ship. The excitement of it all. Whilst I was trailing about Drago Hall becoming a very boring person, you were sailing everywhere. Did you go to China?”

“China?” He smiled and handed her a slice of peach. “No, not China. I did, however, just return from the Caribbean.”

“You're a merchant?”

“I suppose you could say that. I do owe my improved fortune to trading.”

“Come, Rafael, you are being entirely too closemouthed. Please, tell me of your adventures.”

“Victoria, you're not boring.”

“No? Well, I am certainly nothing compared to you. Come on, now, tell me.”

He described Tortola to her, and St. Thomas. He told her of mangos and how they tasted. He mentioned Diana Savarol and Lyon, the Earl of Saint
Leven. “I married them at sea,” he said, grinning in fond recollection. “Perhaps we will meet them. Who knows?”

“How could that happen? We will go our own ways when we reach London.”

“Well, not immediately. Have you no curiosity, Victoria? Don't you wish to know where I'm taking you in London?”

She grinned, an impish grin that brought forth a dimple in her right cheek. “I decided that I should act uninterested in the entire matter. That way, you would tell me all that much sooner.”

He handed her another slice of peach and watched her eat it. A drop of peach juice trickled down her chin and he leaned forward and dabbed it off with the tip of his napkin. Victoria didn't move. She cocked her head to one side, merely staring at him.

He said abruptly, “You remember the Earl of Saint Leven I mentioned?”

“Yes, and Diana, his countess.”

“I'm taking you to the earl's great-aunt, Lady Lucia. I have never met the lady, but Lyon told me all about her.”

Victoria chewed that over in silence. “What if she doesn't want to take me in?”

“I shall be my charming self. How could a lady, any lady, refuse me?”

“I certainly wouldn't,” she said with alarming candor, “but that is no test, surely. Oh, dear, what if she doesn't like me? She doesn't know me either, Rafael. What if she takes me into aversion?”

“Don't worry before you have to,” he said, wiping the peach juice from his fingers.

“Why do you and Damien dislike each other?”

He stared at her. “That is a disconcerting habit you have.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. You ask a question entirely out of context. Does your victim usually spurt out an answer before thinking?”

She sighed. “No, just Damaris.”

“Who is Damaris?”

“Why, she is your niece. She is three years old and could easily pass for your daughter as well. She loves me and I miss her dreadfully.”

“I didn't know.”

“Obviously the reason you didn't know is that you and the baron haven't spoken. For five years?”

“A bit longer, actually.”

“Why?”

“Don't pry, Victoria. A lady strives to keep impertinent comments and questions behind her teeth.”

“David did too.”

He blinked. “Who is David and what did he do too?”

“David Esterbridge, the son of Squire Esterbridge.”

“I remember him. He was a paltry boy, as I recall, always whining when he lost at a game. Of course, to be fair, he was somewhat younger than I. What does he have to do with anything?”

She sat back in her chair. “I believe that that is an impertinence.”

“Not when you brought it up, ma'am.”

“‘Ma'am,' am I? Well, I suppose you are right. What I meant was that I could draw a question out of my hat and David would immediately spring for an answer.”

“How old is Esterbridge?”

“Twenty-three.”

“Ah, so he was a suitor?”

“He was, that's true.”

“What happened?”

Victoria wasn't about to tell anyone of that dreadful debacle. Rafael was regarding her, at the best,
with mild interest. She said only, “I had decided to marry him, to escape, you see, from Damien and Drago Hall. Unfortunately, it didn't . . . well, we determined that we wouldn't suit.”