Chapter 12
Andromeda awoke with a strangled cry on her lips. Sweat beaded her brow, a strange thing in the chill night. She sat in darkness, gasping for breath.
For several moments she was certain she was in Oxfordshire. Bucolic, rolling, and far away from the wildness of Scotland or the excitement of London.
She forced her eyes wide to her dark room and the embers of the dying fire. If she closed her eyes again, she might see her nightmare.
That house. That horrible house where she had thought she might die.
She spotted the moonlight spilling in through the mullioned windows and drank in a sigh of relief. Home. She was at home.
Not at the home Angus had arranged for her on his estate. But at the castle she’d grown up in where she’d been a wild and free girl. Oh, there had been pain and trials and tribulations, especially with her parents, but she had roamed the Highlands like the old folk of legend. Her heart had known happiness then.
Pushing herself up, she shoved the covers back and waited for her heartbeat to slow.
The nightmare hadn’t occurred for some time. In fact, she’d largely pushed the memories from her mind.
But tonight, she’d been unable to escape the past. Her husband. His usually pudding face twisting to rage as, once again, her monthly courses came.
Oh, how he’d railed at her.
Barren! he’d shouted.
After countless rest cures to Bavaria and Bath, she’d finally accepted the doctors’ edicts, the many, many doctors, that she’d never have a child. Her husband had not. And he’d been determined that it was her fault.
Even now, the memory of his disgust and blame coated her soul with a dark sorrow.
Shivering, she stood and walked to the window.
How would she ever escape the memory of his anger? Of failing at her one duty as a wife? For goodness’ sake, could he torment even now from the grave?
It seemed so.
For all that he had been a boring fellow, with no interests, his compulsion to pass on his family line had been as strong as any titled man. Stronger. The need had twisted him into a sick man.
And when she had not been able to fulfill her duty?
There had been that one long year in which he had not allowed her to leave the house. He had kept her abed for months, determined that his seed should take if she but rested.
Her mind had nearly abandoned her.
Thank God, she had not given in. Thank God, she was a thistle and not a rose. Thank God, she had survived.
No, she had arisen from that bed harder, stronger, and more determined.
Until several months confined to one room and a single bed, she had hidden the condition of her marriage from her brother.
She did not even try to explain in a letter for she didn’t trust that her letters would reach Angus.
So, she’d simply, in a veiled way, written a letter in which she’d told him how much she missed him. Her brother had never been a fool. He’d written back that he was coming at once.
Though it had infuriated her husband, he’d acquiesced.
Who could deny a duke after all?
Together, she and Angus had made it clear to her husband that if he continued to behave as he did. . . He would be found quite still at the bottom of his own lake.
She didn’t know if she could have done it in the end. But it had worked.
Her husband had retreated into his own study and not emerged again.
She was grateful she’d never had to discover if she’d murder another person to save herself.
It was then that she’d turned to London and become the hostess that everyone knew. The bright, determined woman who loved everything interesting and exciting about the world.
Andromeda slipped out of bed. She tugged her robe on, lit a taper, and then headed out into the dark, cold corridor.
Sleeping would be beyond her just now. Her mind raced with the fears of what could have been.
So, she quietly padded down the stairs and headed to the library where a brandy and a book could be found.
The candle, held high in her hand, cut through the darkness. Its beam led her along the oriental carpet and finally to the room that was the pride of the Clyde family.
But just as she was about to enter, she paused.
Amber light danced in the arched doorway.
Who?
For a brief moment, she considered turning and racing back upstairs. But if she did, she would, no doubt, do nothing but pace and remember.
All she wished to do was to read and forget.
So, she crossed the threshold and peered around the massive, long library.
The huge fireplace blazed with lit logs. The light bathed the cavernous library in a red glow. Several of the leather settees and chairs were empty as far as she could see.
The three long tables, built of mahogany, were void of company. Only a few idly stacked books marked that anyone had recently been there.
She let out a sigh. Whoever had lit the fire may have already departed.
But then, she spotted the shoes.
At the far end of the room, a chair had been turned to look at the night sky. And there were a pair of boots, attached to a strong set of splayed legs.
“Yes, Andromeda,” the rich voice called. “You have come upon company.”
Her heart thundered in her chest. Him. Why did it have to be him?
He was her friend. That was all. It didn’t matter that she was suddenly very aware of her scandalous state of dress.
She cleared her throat. “I will fetch a book.”
“Of course you will,” he said, his voice rumbling with low laughter. “Why else would you come to the library?”
She chuckled, too. He really couldn’t help himself, the bluntness. Another man would have let her escape, no commentary given. “Too true.”
“But you could stay,” he said gently, still unseen.
She stilled. “Why?”
“So we can discuss the moon.”
The hypnotic fancy of his statement drew her a step towards him. “The moon?”
“Yes,” he replied as if it were the most sensible thing in the entire world. “The goddess of the night. Diana’s orb. We could converse on its state and its role in the lives of all of us through the ages.”
He was so strange. Terse. Sometimes too blunt. Yet now? He was full of romanticism. What a quandary he was.
“It isna proper for us to be alone here,” she pointed out.
“I won’t spread the news if you won’t,” he said. He was still facing the window, as if he knew if he urged her too forcefully, she would run.
She bit her lip.
“Come,” he said gently. “Have a glass of claret and join me.”
It was impossible to go back. In this moment and in life. So, she took her courage in a firm grip and crossed to him and the chair beside him.
“Shall I sit here?” she asked stupidly. But she was unable to form a wittier phrase.
“I do not think you wish to sit upon my lap.” His lips curved in an amused smile. “At least, not yet.”
“Or ever,” she countered.
“One can hope.”
Narrowing her eyes she sallied, “One can waste away hoping.”
“Can you imagine me wasting away?” he teased.
“No’ at all,” she admitted. “Ye’re rude in health and words.”
“So then you needn’t fear for my health.” He stood, his body unfolding in a series of graceful yet masculine movements.
“What are ye doing?” she asked, alarmed.
“I’m not going to ravish you, if that’s your concern.”
She tsked. “Och, dinna be ridiculous.”
He leaned down and pointed out simply, “Your eyes did grow very wide just now.”
She fidgeted. “Ye startled me.”
“Apologies. I thought I’d turn your chair, too. So you could gaze on the splendors of night.”
She folded her hands waiting for him to do as he suggested. “I’m surprised ye havena gone outside if ye love the night sky so.”
“And freeze to death?” He let out a derisive noise. “No, thank you.”
She laughed then as he did, indeed, pivot the chair.
As she lowered herself she said, “This is summer, Damian. Whatever will ye do in winter?”
“I won’t be here in winter,” he replied matter of factly.
“Oh.” To her amazement, a stone of disappointment settled in her stomach. Somehow, she hadn’t thought he’d leave again so soon.
“I’ll be headed to Naples in October then to Greece. Then to the Nile Delta. There, I’ll hire a felucca and sail towards Cairo.”
She studied his beautiful face. He said it with such conviction, such simplicity as if it were as simple as traveling to Bath. As if it were the only place in the world he belonged.
“I have never left this island,” she said impulsively. “At least, no’ in body.”
“In body?” he echoed.
She gestured to the room of thousands of books. Books which had been collected by each generation for hundreds of years.
“I travel through these ye see.” She loved the books on the shelves and she couldn’t stop her fond smile. Then she laughed. “Well, and through the lectures of silly people like that fool that caused us to meet.”
His own rich laugh blended with hers. “Books will do you better service.”
“I find I must agree. Though I wouldna mind listening to ye speak again.”
“I don’t like to lecture.” His brow furrowed with dislike. “I’d rather converse.”
It surprised her. For in her experience, men loved a rapt audience. “It struck me that ye greatly enjoying talking about antiquities.”
“I do, but I also grow tired of the sound of my own voice. One does keep hoping that someday another soul will put forth common sense.”
“Ye are the only one with it?” she asked, barely able to keep her face straight at his serious woe at the state of the world.
“When it comes to studying the historical record and uncovering the artifacts of those times?” he queried. “Yes.”
“I admire yer self-assurance.”
He shook his head, his dark hair falling playfully over his stern face. “There are very few things that I am sure of.”
“Truly?” That also amazed her. She leaned forward. “Ye seem. . . Unshakable.”
“Why tremble at the unknown?” He picked up his glass of wine and turned the crystal stem in his fingertips. “There are equal odds that things will be either magnificent or harrowing. I refuse to live my life anticipating hell.”
She propped her chin on her fist. “I still dinna ken what to make of ye.”
“That makes two of us. You know the only thing to do?”
Her eyes widened. Whatever was he about to suggest? From the tone of his voice, surely it would be scandalous. “No.”
He leaned forward and whispered, “Make detailed studies of each other.”
Another laugh bubbled from her. But then she saw the challenge in his gaze. She gasped. “Ye quite mean it.”
“Of course,” he confirmed. “You are an enigma to me. Something entirely new. Why shouldn’t I wish to know more about you?”
“There is little to tell,” she said quickly.
“A lie.”
She glanced away. “My life has been nothing out of the ordinary—”
“It might have been limited but there are depths to you that most lack. That doesn’t come from ordinary living, Andromeda.”
His accuracy in seeing through the facade she presented to the world was both disconcerting and inescapable. “Life is no’ always kind.”
“It most certainly isn’t,” he agreed. “Shall we begin then?”
“To study each other?” she asked for clarification. Suddenly, she was concerned that he might expose her secrets as he did the treasures hidden under the earth. Yet, wasn’t that part of friendship? Being vulnerable?
Despite her reticence, she found she longed to be transparent with someone like him. Someone without artifice. She nodded. “I’d like it very much. I shall ask the first question.”
“Out with it then,” he said. He poured another glass of claret from the grog tray that he’d set beside him.
She drew in a fortifying breath. “Why are ye determined to dislike everyone?”
“I don’t dislike everyone.”
She rolled her eyes. “Almost everyone.”
“What is there to like?” he queried as he offered her the glass of blood red wine.
A rueful noise escaped her lips. “Oh dear.”
“May I inquire,” he asked softly, his fingertips ever so slightly brushing her own as he passed her the crystal goblet. “Were you raised to be particularly nice to gentlemen?”
It was difficult not to react to the feel of his work-roughened fingers caressing her own soft ones. But she managed it. “I dinna follow. Can ye be more specific?”
He sat, his legs splayed. It struck her then that he was in dishabille. His shirt was open, no cravat to hamper it. In fact, he wore no waistcoat. Just his linen shirt which seemed to fit him in a nonchalant, careless way and his tight, black breeches tucked into equally black books.
“To nod and smile,” he explained, disgust deepening his voice. “To reaffirm their stupidness. To agree when they were spitting absolute piffle.”
She frowned, realizing she’d never given it a great deal of consideration. “Aye.”
“Why?” he demanded with surprising vehemence. “Why should that occur, I ask you? There is nothing superior about men. Ladies shouldn’t have to like everyone. I am certain that this will cause the end of our species. We shall all be bred into idiocy by niceness.”
A laugh burst from her lips at his supposition. No one had made her laugh like this. Not in years. Not that she could recall. “Would ye have me be unkind?”
“Certainly not,” he countered, his voice a rough rumble. “But nor would I have you lead me down the primrose path. I far prefer to know your mind. Your heart. The workings of your soul. All this politeness makes us unfeeling towards each other. Politeness allows the worst sort of cruelness.”
“I canna agree with such an extreme view!”
“Why?” he asked, undeterred. “Think how many people are given the cut with politeness. How many are excluded with a bow and a nod.”
His words hit her. She’d seen it. The way her class used manners like a weapon.
“And, if I were to be entirely polite, I should lie to you. Frequently. I’d never tell you my true thoughts. Do you wish me to?”
She swallowed, her heart beginning to beat like a hammer. How did he make her feel like this? As if her world were suddenly about to turn from calm to absolutely wild with some sort of sharp awakening? “I think we should be honest with each other. We have come this far, have we no’?”
“I followed you to Scotland,” he said, his gaze sparkling as he sat in the fire and starlight. “Not to be your friend, Andromeda. Though I think we should be friends.”
“Why are ye here then?” she whispered, unable to tear her own gaze from his captivating one. She was a prisoner to it. A prisoner of the promise in those eyes.
“Because I wish to kiss you.”
Her breath hitched in her throat and she took a deep drink of wine. The plum and spice notes burst over her tongue and it was tempting to down the glass in one shocking go. But she would not have him know the power of her desire for him. “That is the only reason?”
“No,” he said softly, leaning forward. “But it is the reason that matters at this moment.”
She blinked before she spoke. “Ye are scandalous.”
Damian shrugged his shoulder then oh-so-slowly took a sip of wine. He licked the remaining ruby drops from his lips. “I always have been. You shouldn’t be surprised by it.”
“I-I’m no’. But. . .”
“You don’t wish to kiss me.” He arched a brow and his lips curved in a satisfied, male smile. “Is that why you watched me swim with such dedication this afternoon?”
She groaned. “Ye did ken.”
“Oh, yes. I have remarkable powers of observation.”
“And modesty,” she drawled. “Dinna forget modesty.”
Ever so slowly, he stood. Then he held out his hand.
“At this moment, I am the height of humble,” he said quietly. “For I have no idea if you will choose what I have offered or cast me aside.”
“Ye drive away my reason,” she bemoaned.
“Reason?” he echoed. “Reason does not exist in what we feel. Passion burns. It is a fire and we mortals cannot decide who we feel it for.”
“Do ye truly believe that?”
“I do.”
She slid her fingers into his, drawn to him in the most terrifying way.
“I should tell ye to go to the devil.”
“Do it,” he growled ever so softly. “Send me to Hades.”
“I canna,” she replied. “Ye ken I canna.”
“And so?”
“Kiss me, ye maddening man,” she demanded. “Kiss me.”