Chapter 19
Jessica awoke with a start. The slant of the sun told her it was late afternoon. She’d fallen asleep on the chaise and slept for several hours. Someone had come in and placed a light throw over her. As she pushed herself up, a voice she knew very well spoke from her left.
“Good afternoon,” Damien greeted her pleasantly. “I was beginning to wonder if my fiancée had turned into Sleeping Beauty and could only be awakened with a kiss.”
“There is no kiss needed, thank you very much,” Jessica answered tartly. She was immediately awake and alert, and would not let down her guard for an instant.
“Ah, my loss,” Damien lamented.
“Why are you here?” She tried to make her question merely curious, but somehow it came out confrontational.
He rose and stood over her. Her gaze traveled over his broad chest covered in its sheath of white linen, up to his mouth—oh, Lord, that mouth—to his eyes. They told her nothing, so she forced herself to look away.
“I have something to tell you,” he said.
His tone was serious, and brought her gaze back to his face. She waited for him to continue. He appeared uncomfortable, as if he were not quite sure how to say what he had to tell her.
His uncertainty, so unlike him, caused her imagination to run wild. Something had happened to Jason. He no longer wanted the babe she carried. She was going to be arrested as a spy. Her apprehension made the last, perhaps most important question tumble from her.
“Are you calling off the wedding, Your Grace?”
Damien grinned. “Hardly, my love. I am eagerly looking forward to the day when you will become my wife.” He sat on the edge of the chaise. “No, what I have to tell you is dark news.”
Jessica remained silent and anxious.
He took her hand and said seriously, “There will be no need for you to worry about your statement for Madame’s trial.”
Panic swept through her. She was going to be brought to trial. Damien no longer believed in her innocence.
“Jessica.” Damien’s voice captured her attention. “Madame du Barré is dead.”
“Dead?” she repeated, not quite comprehending.
“Yes,” he said gently. “It seems someone smuggled poison to her in prison. She was discovered this morning.”
Jessica tried to assimilate the information. Then, it sunk in. She covered her face with her hands. “She killed herself. Oh, God.”
Damien tugged her hands down and held them, his grip warm and comforting. “Jessica.”
She shook her head, confused and appalled. “She was so kind to me when I first came to London. I know she only used me, but she was the closest thing to a friend I had. Why did she have to be a spy?”
“She did what she felt was right,” Damien said gently. “I think her suicide was for the best. She had been disowned by her superior for failing to capture me, and she knew she would find no mercy here.”
Jessica nodded sadly. “You are probably right. Thank you for telling me.” She slipped her fingers from his grasp, not wanting to appear weak.
“I also wanted to return this to you.” He held up a gold chain.
“My locket!” she exclaimed. “I thought I had lost it.”
“Madame sent it as proof that she had you,” he said. “It must mean a great deal to you.”
“My parents gave it to me when I was a little girl.” Tears sprang to her eyes at the memory.
“Is the woman’s portrait of your mother?”
Jessica nodded.
“She was very beautiful. You look just like her.” His tone was level, without emotion.
Jessica wondered what he was thinking. The other miniature portrait inside was of her father. Damien had shown great restraint by not destroying the piece.
“Thank you for returning it,” she said.
He undid the clasp, leaned forward, and re-clasped the chain around her neck. As he sat back, his fingers brushed her neck. The touch was a reminder of what he could make her feel with those fingers. In that moment, she forgot about her anger, her hurt. She felt comforted by his presence. It would be so easy to say yes to him… She caught her wayward thoughts and inched back.
Damien quirked a smile as though he’d guessed her thoughts. “I have also come to change your bandages.”
Jessica gazed at him suspiciously. “Donny can do that. There is no need to concern yourself about me.”
“Why should I not be concerned about my future wife?” he asked. Without waiting for an answer, he said, “Donny has gone out shopping with my mother.”
“Then Frannie, or one of the other maids can do it,” she tried.
The last thing she wanted was to sit half undressed before him. She was much too aware of what his touch could do to her. She could not take back her demand of the night before.
“I have given many of the maids the afternoon off. They will be working long hours soon enough to prepare for our wedding. The other servants are busy.” He dismissed any further argument by tugging at the ribbons on her dressing gown.
Panic gripped her. She was practically alone with him in the house. What did he mean to do?
Damien chuckled at her expression. “Believe it or not, love, I am not an ogre. I merely came to change your bandages and spend some time with you. Despite our intimacy, we have had little time to get to know each other. You are, after all, my betrothed, and I have seen you without your clothes. Please, unbutton your nightrail.”
Jessica looked down and realized he already had her dressing gown untied. While she tried to decide whether or not to comply, he waited patiently. He had agreed to her demand of the night before, and her bandage did need to be changed. Yet, had he really given the servants time off to be generous?
She gazed into his face to try to guess his true intentions. His eyes locked with hers, and she could feel herself falling under their spell. With a great amount of effort, she managed to look away. The barrier which she thought she had erected about her emotions was not as strong as she had believed.
“Jessica,” he said kindly, “I will not harm you, and I will keep to our agreement. For now.”
Jessica slanted a glance at him. His return smile was all innocence. With a nod of assent, she unbuttoned her gown. He helped her pull it off her injured shoulder. Unfortunately, it was necessary to lower it to her waist in order for him to remove her bandage. Staring straight ahead, with blazing cheeks, she sat quietly as he removed the old dressing.
His hands were gentle and practiced. But the touch of him against her skin made her flinch more than once, not from fear, but from desire. She wanted to relax into him, to feel his fingers trace down across her breasts. Gritting her teeth, she suppressed a moan of desire that clogged her throat. How was she ever going to keep to the demand that she had forced on Damien last night?
Damien was having trouble keeping his desire tamped down. The swell of her creamy-skinned breasts laid bare before him nearly undid him. He had agreed to Jessica’s preposterous demand of the night before because he could see that was the only way to get her to be his wife. Once that was accomplished, he would find a way to get her back into his bed. He had never wanted a woman so much in his life. And he wanted this woman. With more self-control than he thought he possessed, after one quick glance, he kept his eyes on the strips of cloth. He was damned if he would be the one to break their agreement.
With a flourish, he tied off the bandage and sat back, relieved he could give himself space. He helped her pull her clothes back on because she was still a bit stiff and confined by her bandage. And he needed to have her covered for his peace of mind.
She looked up at him with curiosity. “You seem very familiar with changing bandages,” she observed. “Are you a student of the science of medicine, as well as a soldier and a spy?”
He smiled. “When one is an outlaw in the enemy’s country, one tends to learn how to care for one’s own hurts. I’ve had a great deal of practice in wrapping and unwrapping bandages, as well as a small amount of experience in surgery.”
“Were you in France when you received the scar across your chest?” she asked.
The memory burst into his brain. He had nearly died from loss of blood when he had received that wound. Only Edward’s nursing skills had kept him alive. He shrugged, ignoring the cold sweat that broke out on his back. “It was a minor disagreement with a gentleman who refused to allow us to kidnap his mistress. He was an excellent swordsman.”
Her eyes widened. “How terrible! You could have been killed!”
Damien lifted an amused eyebrow. “I did not think you were so concerned about my health.”
She blushed, but her voice was cool as she said, “I am concerned about the pain of all God’s creatures.”
“How humanitarian of you,” he observed dryly as he rose and walked to the window. He stood gazing out. “Then you will be very distressed to learn that the gentleman who gave me the scar is missing the last finger of his right hand.”
“Oh!” She covered her eyes as if to blot out the vivid picture. “How could you do such a thing?” she demanded. “How can you remain so unmoved?”
“Unmoved?” He swung around to face her. “I am far from unmoved at the things I have been forced to do to remain alive. I am not cold and heartless. I am, rather, well aware of man’s cunning and deceit. Perhaps too much so. I have practiced it too long myself. I have not always enjoyed the role I played.”
“Yet, you remained in it for several years,” she accused.
He smiled ruefully. “Ah, yes, the contradiction. I think I can explain it best by asking you a question, Lady Fortuna. Did you always enjoy your role of adventuress at Madame du Barré’s?”
“But that was different,” she protested. “I did it because Margaret forced me into it. I did it because of my br—” Her words halted. “I never hurt or maimed anyone,” she finished.
He wondered how she would have finished that interrupted statement, but he did not pursue. He would get her to tell him eventually.
He raised a cool brow. “Were all those gentlemen with whom you gambled so wealthy that they could afford to lose the exorbitant sums which you won from them?”
“I did not ask them about their financial stability when they sat down to play cards,” she said in her defense. “If they had the money on the table, then I considered it fair to try to win it. If they did not lose to me, it would have been to someone else. I could not afford to be altruistic.”
Damien smiled as he watched her realize that her own logic had lost the debate for her. “As I could not afford to be merciful,” he said. “We are not so different, are we, my love? He strolled to the chaise and cupped her chin in his hand. “Perhaps our marriage will be a good one after all.” He dropped a kiss on her cheek, then strode to the door. With his hand on the latch, he turned. “Rest for the remainder of the day. I believe an appointment has been made with my mother’s modiste for tomorrow so that you may be measured for your wedding gown. I do not wish to dally any longer over the plans for this wedding than is necessary. I should think a fortnight would be long enough to ready yourself.” He opened the door but did not leave immediately. Instead he paused, and, in a softer tone, said, “I enjoyed this discussion, Jessica. I hope to have many more with you after we are married.” Then he left, whistling. But he knew the next two weeks of waiting would be torture.