Chapter 18
That afternoon, Jessica was summoned back to the salon because Mr. Soames had arrived with his clerks to take her statement. As she reached the door, Damien arrived at the same time. They stood, not moving or speaking. Then with a sardonic grin, he backed up a step and bowed.
“After you, my lady,” he said.
Jessica could smell brandy on his breath. It was only early afternoon. “You’ve been drinking,” she hissed.
Damien gave her a benign smile and swayed slightly. “I believe I have. Leftenant Johnson was most free with the cask of Mr. Bonaparte’s brandy I had given him upon the completion of his guard duty here.”
Jessica primly compressed her lips. With a snicker, Damien opened the door and waved her through.
Mr. Soames glanced between the two of them. He studiously turned to shuffle some papers, then suggested, “Shall we begin?”
Damien settled himself on the far side of the room in a high-backed chair. He rested his elbows comfortably on its arms and stretched his long legs out before him with his ankles crossed. Jessica frowned at him, but he only gave her a beatific smile. As her attention was captured by the barrister, she paid him no more heed.
After Jessica and Mr. Soames had been absorbed for about an hour, she heard a strange rumbling. Then she heard it again. It seemed to come from the far side of the room. She glanced in Damien’s direction and discovered he had fallen asleep. He was snoring.
Mortified, Jessica’s cheeks heated, but she pretended not to have noticed. Of course, the others were polite enough to ignore it. For the next half hour, the barrister’s questions and her answers were interspersed with the low rumbles of Damien’s slumber. When he finally roused himself, she sent him a dark frown. He only smiled at her innocently, as if there had been no breech of manners. Another two hours passed before Mr. Soames declared they were done. Jessica was relieved for more than one reason. She was exhausted, and her shoulder ached interminably, but she also could not wait to give Damien a piece of her mind.
When Soames and his clerks had gone, she turned on Damien like a hurricane. “How could you be so rude? You fell asleep!”
Damien shrugged. “I was tired.” He yawned behind his hand.
“You snored the entire time!”
Damien grinned. “Did I really? How amusing.”
“It was embarrassing.”
“Ah, Witch, wasn’t your magic working?” He reached out and tugged at a short curl.
Jessica batted his hand away. “You are insufferable. And to think I was going to tell you that I lo—” She caught herself just in time. She had almost revealed that she loved him.
“Tell me what, Witch?” Damien asked, his eyes shrewd.
“Nothing,” she mumbled. “Excuse me, I am very tired.” She swung about and hurried out of the room, away from him.
When she returned to her room, she was so exhausted she could not even think. She slipped off her shoes and climbed into bed without even undressing. Madame and her treachery and Damien’s bad manners would have to wait.
She awoke with Donny standing over her, looking worried. Jessica stretched and yawned. The room was bright with sunshine.
“I must have overslept.”
“Ye missed dinner last night,” Donny informed her. “And breakfast, too. Are ye all right? Are ye sick again?” Donny felt her forehead.
“I’m fine, Donny.” Jessica pushed herself up. “I was just very tired.”
Donny nodded. “Good. Then get yerself up. Her Grace would like to see ye in the drawing room. She has a dressmaker here so ye can be measured for ye weddin’ dress.”
Jessica groaned and flopped back onto her pillow. Evidently, the Duke had received his domineering traits legitimately from his mother.
“Tell Her Grace there is to be no wedding,” Jessica said. “I will have no need of a wedding dress.”
Donny gasped. “Are ye daft? I cannot tell Her Grace that.”
“Why not?” Jessica demanded. “You’ve never been shy before.”
Instead of answering, Donny asked her own question. “Why ain’t there goin’ t’be a weddin’?”
Jessica sighed. “Because I can’t marry a man who doesn’t love me.”
“Hmph. Then fool ye be,” Donny declared. “I ain’t goin’ t’tell Her Grace no such thing.”
Jessica glared at her maid, then relented. “Then tell her I am not feeling well and cannot come down. Tell her anything, but I will not be measured for a wedding gown I am not going to wear.”
Donny harrumphed again and mumbled something about the blockheadedness of young people as she went out the door. Jessica sighed and got out of bed. Pulling on her dressing gown, she went to sit on the chaise near the window. She needed to make a plan.
Her immediate departure from this house was imperative. After the trial was over and her name had been cleared, she would leave. Until then she would do her best to avoid anything having to do with any wedding plans. And she would avoid Damien as much as possible. The less she saw him, the easier it would be to leave. She just had to figure out where she would go once she left. It would have to be some place where Damien could not find her, some place she could afford. That did not leave her many choices.
As distasteful as her plan of action was, it was the only way to avoid the agony of being married to Damien. That was something she could not bear. Her love was still a strong spark in her heart, but it was a spark she would have to keep hidden. She could not bear having it extinguished by Damien’s distrust and bitterness. After all, she carried his child inside her.
As Jessica sat with her musings, a knock came at the door. She was not willing to entertain anyone, especially Damien. The knock came again, this time with more persistence, and the Duchess called out her name. Jessica sighed and went to open the door. Damien’s mother had been kind to her, even knowing that her son had been killed by Jessica’s father. Concern was etched on the Duchess’s face.
“May I come in?” the lady asked.
Jessica stood aside and allowed her to enter, anxiety fluttering in her middle.
“Donny told me you were not feeling well,” the Duchess said as she sat. She patted the chaise next to her. “Come, sit here and tell me about it.”
Jessica approached but did not sit. She couldn’t lie to this woman. “I am well enough, Your Grace. Perhaps your son would be better able to tell you why I am troubled.”
The Duchess smiled gently. “I have asked him already. He told me that you would be able to enlighten me better than he.”
Jessica blew out a breath and sank to the chaise. “I am not surprised that he places the blame for this confusion on me,” she muttered, more to herself than to the woman sitting near her. She looked straight into the Duchess’s eyes that were so much like her son’s and said bluntly, “There is to be no wedding, Your Grace.”
The Duchess nodded. “I had guessed as much. What has Damien done that has caused you to be so angry?”
Jessica dropped her gaze to her fingers entwined in her lap. “It is not what he has done, but how he feels,” she answered quietly. “I cannot marry a man who hates me.”
“Oh, my dear,” Her Grace exclaimed as she placed her hand over Jessica’s. “He does not hate you. Please, believe that. He cares a great deal for you.”
Jessica shook her head in disagreement. “I have to believe what my own eyes and ears have told me, Your Grace.” Hurt twisted through her. “It is not possible for him to feel any differently.”
“That my son took advantage of you was despicable, but he is an honorable man and will set it right. His feelings for you at this moment are clouded by his grief for his brother and the horrible events which led to his brother’s death. My two sons were very close, and Damien has not been able to put away his hatred for the creature who manipulated such a tragedy.”
Jessica ducked her head. “I am sorry for the pain my family has caused you, Your Grace.”
The Duchess smiled. “You have nothing to apologize for. You had nothing to do with the tragedy.”
“But Damien still blames me,” Jessica said.
The Duchess sighed. “My son’s work in France has made him hard. It has made him forget his softer side. He needs a woman such as yourself to help his gentler nature to reemerge.”
Jessica shook her head again. “I do not want to marry a man because he feels it is the right thing to do. I want him to love me for myself. Is that so wrong?”
The Duchess smiled. “That is not wrong at all. It is exactly what you should want. But I think you should also consider the child you carry. Do not act rashly, Jessica, so that you find yourself regretting your actions.” The Duchess’s smile turned into an impish grin. “I would not run away just yet, at least not for another day.”
Jessica’s eyes widened in surprise as she watched the woman leave. How had the Duchess known that she had planned to leave? She sat thinking on the lady’s words. What the Duchess said could be the truth, that Damien cared for her. But the lady was his mother. Her idea of the truth might be clouded by prejudice.
Jessica was more confused now than ever. She liked the Duchess a great deal. Perhaps she would heed her advice and wait.
As the dinner hour approached, the maid, Frannie, appeared at her door. “Excuse me, my lady,” she said, bobbing a nervous curtsey. “His Grace wishes you to join him at the dinner table this evening.”
Jessica had no desire to dine with Damien. “Tell His Grace that I have no wish to upset his digestion. I will dine in my room.”
Frannie cleared her throat. “Excuse me, my lady, but His Grace said to tell you that if you refused to come down to dinner, he would come to get you.”
Jessica drew in a sharp breath. She knew it would do no good to defy him. He had come after her before. He would do it again. Frannie shifted from foot to foot. Jessica relented and smiled. She could not blame the girl if the Duke was acting like a boor.
“Tell His Grace I will be down as soon as I am dressed,” Jessica told her.
Still, Frannie did not leave. “My lady?” she ventured.
Jessica sighed. Damien would leave nothing unsaid. He would make sure he had complete control.
“What else did he say, Frannie?” she asked.
“He told me to tell you—begging your pardon—that dinner is at eight o’clock, and if you are not downstairs at that time, he would bring you down even…” Frannie’s voice faltered and trailed off.
Jessica knew what was coming next, but decided she had better hear it anyway. “Even what, Frannie?” she prompted.
Frannie swallowed and finished in a rush, “Even if you are not dressed.”
Jessica’s teeth clamped together. He was being as arrogant as ever.
“You may tell His Grace that he need not worry. I will be on time for dinner.”
Frannie bobbed a curtsey, then hurried away. With a shake of her head, Jessica shut the door. Damien was acting like an ogre. She decided he needed to be tamed. The black dress she had worn the first night she had met Damien would be perfect.
As the clock struck eight, she arrived at the door of the salon. Damien leaned one elbow negligently on the mantle. He glanced up as she entered and saluted her with the glass he was holding. She felt his glance pass over her in appreciation like a warm breeze.
The Duchess rose and came to greet Jessica. “I am so glad you could join us for dinner this evening, Jessica,” she said warmly. “Are you sure you are feeling well enough?”
Jessica smiled. “Yes, quite well, thank you.”
She glanced at Damien, who had obviously not informed his mother of his threat to drag her to dinner. He smiled placidly and shrugged. The Duchess stood, and looping her arm through Jessica’s, guided her to the dining room. Damien was left to follow by himself.
Dinner turned out to be a pleasant affair, and Jessica enjoyed it despite the presence of Damien at one end of the table. The Duchess was a practiced conversationalist and storyteller. With a sharp wit, she related gossip she had heard during the day, about the lady who had made a terrible gaff by wearing a morning dress for her afternoon visitations, and the young viscount who had been denied entrance to Almack’s because he had arrived three minutes after the doors had closed, so he had tried to enter by climbing a ladder and crawling through a window. Jessica found herself laughing for the first time in months. Damien and his mother also kept up a lively banter which delighted Jessica. It had been so long since she had taken part in a family dinner where the people around the table enjoyed each other’s company. She covertly watched Damien during the meal and noticed the softening of his features as he spoke to his mother, and the crinkles around his eyes when he laughed with her. How wonderful it would be to have him look at her with love, she thought.
When the meal ended, the Duchess excused herself to write some letters. Jessica and Damien were alone at the table. An awkward moment of silence ensued.
Jessica stood. “I will leave you to your brandy,” she said.
Damien stood and took her hand. “Don’t go just yet, Jessica. Come into the drawing room. I would like your company for a while longer.”
Bemused, she did not object as he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. A table with two chairs had been set up in the drawing room. A deck of cards sat precisely in the middle of the table.
“What is this?” she asked.
“I thought perhaps we could spend some time playing cards,” he said. “That is, of course, if you are not too tired.”
“No, I am not tired,” she answered with a small smile.
“Splendid,” Damien said. “We will play for…” He glanced about the room. “Rose petals.” He pulled a deep, red rose out of a nearby arrangement. “Hold out your hands.”
Chuckling, she did as he asked. He pulled the petals from the flower and dropped them into her cupped hands.
She smiled. “What will you use to gamble with, Your Grace?”
“Oh, I will find something,” he said with a vague wave of his hand.
He seated her at the table, then took the chair across from her. Pulling several coins out of his pocket, he placed them on the table before him.
“It’s not fair that you should use money while I have only flower petals to wager,” she protested.
Damien captured her fingers. As he brought them to his lips, he murmured, “Flower petals from your hands are worth far more than the few miserable coins from my pocket, my sweet. I consider it an honor that you will accept my small stakes.”
Jessica was charmed at his outrageous flattery. “You’ll not consider it such an honor when you have won nothing but a withered petal.”
“Who is to say that I will win anything? Perhaps you will bereft me of all my riches.” He raised a teasing brow.
She shook her head. “I do not believe that.”
“We shall see,” he said with a glint in his eyes.
They played cards for well over an hour. At first, Damien won most of the hands. The flower petals piled up before him. Then his luck seemed to change. Finally, he had lost everything, but the round had not ended.
“I have a document here which I will wager, if that is acceptable to you,” he said as he reached into his pocket and drew out an official looking parchment.
“I don’t wish to take important papers from you, Damien,” Jessica said. “This game was only in fun. I’m sure your document has great value.”
“Its value is an arbitrary matter.” He shrugged. “Will you accept it or not?”
“Well, if it means so little—” she began.
“Ah, but I did not say that,” he interrupted. “I merely said that its value was arbitrary. Its worth is determined by the person who holds it.” He held it up and raised a questioning brow.
She hesitated, then nodded. “All right. I will accept it.”
They played out the hand and Jessica won. He laid the document before her and leaned back in his chair. “I think you had better see what you have just won, love.”
Jessica opened the document and began to read. She was stunned into speechlessness. It was a document, signed by her stepmother, giving Margaret’s permission for Jessica to marry the Duke of Wyndham in return for a small fortune. It nullified the need for Jessica to continue to give Margaret her monthly stipend.
“How…? When…?” she stammered. “Oh, no. No.”
Damien covered her ice-cold hand with his warm one. “Do you hate me that much for what I have done to you?” he asked gently.
Jessica stared at him, her vision blurry from tears, not trusting herself to speak. If he only knew how much she did not hate him. She pulled her hand away, stood and walked to the window. She looked out into blackness, her mind in turmoil. What was she to do?
She sensed Damien move up behind her and prayed he would not touch her. She would dissolve if he placed just one finger on her. Her emotional defenses had been shattered with that document.
Damien waited quietly while Jessica sorted out her thoughts. He knew he had shocked her. That had been his purpose. She had defied him too long, this delectable witch. He had allowed his own rage to cloud his thinking. He was still angry, but he realized that Jessica was not responsible for what had occurred years ago. Hell, she was a young girl at the time, still in the school room. No, the blame lay with Margaret for luring his brother into her bed. And to be honest, his brother had been foolish to fall for that harpy. He wanted Jessica with every fiber of his being. He had to make her see that. The passion that flared between them was more than a momentary spark.
His gaze traveled over her back and came to rest on the tantalizing curve of her neck. The spot cried out to be kissed, but he knew that would have to wait. He sensed her reticence and respected it. It was time for discussion.
“Jessica, why do you defy me?” he demanded quietly.
She turned to face him. Her gaze was determined, as if she had come to a decision at his question. “I can defy you no longer, Your Grace,” she stated coolly. “You have seen to that. You have bought me. You have won.”
Damien was taken aback by her harsh words, but did not allow them to shake his determination. “You will not be sorry that you agreed to become my wife,” he murmured as he raised her chin with one finger and leaned in to kiss her.
Jessica stopped him with a hand on his chest. “I will be your wife in name only, Your Grace. I will be mother to your child, hostess in your house, and convenient companion if you wish to go out in public, but you will not buy my body like a whore. I will have none of it.”
Damien stiffened. His teeth clenched. This woman would drive him to madness. He had to take a moment to subdue his temper. Finally, he nodded.
“All right,” he agreed. “I will grant you this one concession. For now. We shall see how long you will be able to hold to your own demand.”
“Do not threaten me,” Jessica warned.
“One thing I never do, my love, is threaten,” he drawled lazily. “I state facts.”
He took her hand and held it palm-up, then pulled out the small, velvet box that contained the betrothal ring which she had refused. He placed the box in her hand and closed her fingers around it.
“Wear it,” he commanded. “Please. It belongs to you, and I would see it on your finger. Always.”
Jessica’s fingers clenched around the box. He had outwitted her again. The knave. Would he always command and expect her to obey?
With an abrupt nod, she said, “I bid you goodnight, Your Grace.” Then swept from the room.
When she reached her own room, she threw the little box onto the chaise with such force that it popped open and the ring fell out. She stood glaring at it. The bright stones glinted in the candlelight. She had never owned anything so beautiful or so valuable. She reached out a finger to touch it, but the door opened behind her to let in Donny, and she snatched back her hand. She needed to consider all the ramifications of wearing it. She stepped away as, without a word, Donny put the ring back in its box and placed it on the dressing table. Then she helped Jessica undress for bed.
Sleep did not come quickly. Jessica’s thoughts shunted between the two men who mattered most in her life: Damien and Jason. Damien, with his outrageously large payment to Margaret, had indirectly seen to the monetary well-being of her brother. But Jason was still trapped with Margaret at Braeleigh. Damien would never consent to become guardian to the son of the man who had killed his brother. His contempt of her family was only momentarily subdued by his lust for her. She was not so stupid to believe he loved her. The wedding would be a farce, held only to give his offspring a legitimate name. How could she make him see that she was not the cold-hearted monster that Margaret was?
The next morning, Jessica was violently ill. She was dizzy, weak, and nauseous. Her shoulder ached abominably. When she tried to rise, she fell back against the pillows with a hand to her head and a groan. She wanted desperately to appear at breakfast, to be calm and remotely cool to Damien, to prove to him that she had meant her words of the night before, and to show him she would wear his damnable ring and keep her part of the bargain.
Donny was the first to enter. She made clucking noises as she went about straightening the room. “It’s the babe.” She nodded several times.
“Why haven’t I been sick before this?” Jessica asked.
“Some mothers have the sickness early on, and some later. Some not at all.” Donny straightened the covers over Jessica. “It will pass.” Then she disappeared out the door.
Frannie was the next to appear with a tray of tea and toast. She made sympathetic noises as Jessica turned her head away from the food and told her to take it away.
“Her Grace will be in to see you soon,” Frannie said as she set the tray on a table in the far corner of the room. Then she was gone, also.
Just as Jessica was recovering from another bout of retching into the chamber pot, the Duchess walked in. Sympathetic, she told Jessica to remain in bed and rest. The dressmaker would come the next day to take measurements for her wedding dress. The wedding plans would have to be finalized immediately.
As Jessica opened her mouth to protest that she did not require an elaborate wedding, the Duchess smiled her disagreement. One did not wed the Duke of Wyndham without pageantry.
Jessica had hoped for a quiet ceremony and then to go about her life without notice. She should have known better. Nothing Damien was involved in ever went the way she wished.
Her thoughts turned to Jason. The document that Damien had given her last night did not mention her brother. Because of her pride, she had sealed Jason’s fate to remain with Margaret. Damien would not concede to any more requests or demands unless she gave him what he wanted—his conjugal rights. She sighed. Jason would have to wait. She would need some time before she could approach Damien and ask him to help.
By late morning, she was feeling physically stronger, but still gloomy. She climbed out of bed and wandered over to the dressing table where the little velvet box sat. She had told Damien she would wear the ring today. Even though she knew he would not come to her room, she took it from its box, slipped it on her finger, then stared down at her hand. The large stones winked coldly back at her, reminding her of the aloofness of the man she was to marry. If only he had expressed some little feeling for her…If only she didn’t love him so much. She flopped down onto the chaise.
If only wishes came true.