Jo Beverley (30 page)

“Really?” Mrs. Fayne purred.

“Oh, yes.” In for a penny, in for a guinea, as they said. “Even royalty. You won’t say anything, I know”—the two women leaned closer to her—“but I have the impression that the king intends to reward him tomorrow. Perhaps even with a knighthood. Perhaps one of the lives he saved was His Majesty’s own.”

They were only perhapses,
she told herself. She wasn’t directly lying.

“He’s not received at court,” Lady Tresham protested, but she was almost quivering with eagerness to be the first with this news.

Damaris thanked heaven for a piece of firm ground. “I think you’ll find he is. That will prove that old story to be nonsense, won’t it?” She gave them both a bright and, she hoped, guileless smile. “Perhaps his brother invented it all, being somewhat deranged.”

“I do remember,” Mrs. Fayne said, “that Leyden—plain Mr. Fitzroger then—was given to foul rages before the incident.” She raised a quizzing glass and stared at Fitzroger. “He’s never denied it, however.”

Damaris almost said that perhaps no one had asked him, but then one of these women might do it, and he’d confirm every word.

Her only option was risky.

“Then it’s probably true. Even if he was young, it was a terrible sin. But then,” she added, looking between them in confusion, “why does Lord Rothgar show him such favor? Why will the king? I put it to you, dear ladies, for I cannot fathom it.”

“Leyden always was a boor, Susannah,” Lady Tresham said. “With the king’s approval…”

“And Rothgar’s,” Mrs. Fayne concurred.

“He will attend the drawing room tomorrow?” Lady Tresham asked Damaris.

“I believe so,” she said as hesitantly as she could manage, especially with triumphant glee building. “But perhaps I’ve gained the wrong impression. I just heard…But no, I must not spread speculation and gossip. Please excuse me.”

She hurried away as if escaping, fighting a grin.

“What are you up to?”

Fitz had come to her side.
Blast him.
For them to be seen on good terms would undermine anything she’d achieved.

“Private matters,” she said curtly, and swept past him.

She saw Lady Thalia alone for a moment and joined her.

“Did Bella Tresham and Susannah Fayne distress you, dear? Rothgar must have invited them for their influence—that means they’re gossips—but such a dangerous ploy. They pay no heed to whether they do good or harm in their rush to be the first with the news.”

Damaris hoped so. She’d planted seeds, and if the king did show Fitz some favor at the drawing room, they should blossom into doubt about that old story. She shouldn’t have hinted at a knighthood, however. As usual, she’d rushed to extremes.

“Don’t fret about Fitzroger, dear,” Lady Thalia said. “I’m sure all will be well.”

“But I can see how people avoid him.”

“These things can turn in a moment.”

Either way,
Damaris thought.

When the guests left, Damaris went wearily up to bed, but even when she was in her nightgown and Maisie had gone to her own room, a restless energy made it impossible to settle. So many things hung in the balance and would be decided tomorrow.

She was tempted to go to Ashart’s room to beg him to keep the secret, but she knew that would be disastrous.

She was tempted to go to Fitz, especially after rebuffing him. He might think she’d changed her mind and now favored Bridgewater. She couldn’t do that either. Not here in Malloren House.

She knew which room he had, however.

She’d made sure to find out.

It was only two doors down on the right.

Two doors. Damaris looked that way as if she might see through walls, but she wouldn’t go. She could explain everything in the morning.

Her restless eye saw the stained pouch on a side table; the one with her mother’s letters. She was too agitated to sleep, so she moved a chair and the candelabra and sat to read them, tossing each bitter rant on the fire afterward. What sort of person kept copies of such things? Then she came to a letter that changed everything.

Damaris stared at this opening, hardly able to imagine her cold, tight mother spewing such vitriol. And why? She tried to read quickly to get to the meat, but it was so high-flown and full of invective that she had to go slowly, picking out splinters of fact.

When she had the pieces, the paper fell from her hands.
By the stars.
So much was explained. So much was changed. And it might affect tomorrow.

She was at the door without thought, and thought didn’t halt her. She had to discuss this with Fitz. And yes, she still wanted to explain. And yes, not to be with him was a physical void almost past bearing.

She’d heard people nearby not long ago, but now the corridor was deserted, the house silent. She didn’t knock at the door for fear that someone else would hear, but opened it and slipped through, quickly closing it again.

Fitz turned, stark naked in the glow of a single candle. He snatched a pillow from the bed and held it in front of himself, which struck her as so funny she had to crush laughter under her hand.

He flung it aside, grabbed his robe, and put it on, but not before she’d seen his magnificent nakedness and a rising erection. He fastened only two buttons before grabbing her and shaking her.

“What madness possesses you? What are you doing here?”

He reached for the door handle.

“I’ll scream.”

He turned such a blistering look on her that she flinched. “I won’t. I promise I won’t!”

She went on urgently but softly. “I had to talk to you—No! Listen. Truly. I discovered something. And I couldn’t sleep without explaining that I didn’t mean to be cold earlier. That I’m not interested in Bridgewater.”

He let her go and stepped away. “Then you’re a fool.”

“A fool for loving you?”

“Go, Damaris. Please.”

The plea broke her will. “I will. In a moment.”

Here, now, she could almost believe that he was right. That it could never be. The darkness whispered it, echoed in his guarded eyes.

“But listen, love.” She couldn’t help but call him that. “I spoke coolly to you because I’d just convinced Lady Tresham and Mrs. Fayne that I cared nothing for you.”

“That, at least, was wise.”

“It was necessary in order for them to believe the seeds of doubt I sowed. About you and your brother’s wife.”

He ran a hand through his loose hair. “That’s pointless, Damaris, because it’s all true. I don’t want you entangled with it. You must have seen how people treated me.”

“I saw how Lady Tresham and Mrs. Fayne treated you.”

It was an attempt at a tease, but he said, “You think I should be flattered to be weighed as bed amusement by bored wives?”

She swallowed tears but persisted. “We may not have an opportunity for private speech before the drawing room, so listen. I cast doubt on the story and buttressed it with Rothgar’s approval and the fact that the king will accept you at court tomorrow. If challenged, do not undermine it with the truth.”

“You expect me to lie?”

“Not outright, no. But don’t drive truth through the questioner’s heart.”

He shook his head. “There’s no hope for us, Damaris. Accept that and marry Bridgewater.”

“And if I’m carrying your child? I won’t foist a child on another man.”

“You know in that case, I will have to marry you.”

She hated that way of putting it, but seized on his words. “So you won’t leave England before I know?”

His jaw tensed, but in the end he said, “I won’t leave England before you know.”

She hated to think of forcing him to the altar that way, but if he had to stay for a couple of months, surely she could find some solution.

“There’s more,” she said. “On a different subject. Those letters, the copies of the ones my mother sent? My father was a bigamist.”

He stared at her. “What?”

She felt the relief of an almost impersonal subject. “Five years before he married my mother, he married Rosemary Butler, mother of my half brother.”

“And Rosemary didn’t die?”

“Not before he married my mother. Not until last year, in fact.”

“The deuce. But I don’t think it affects your inheritance, unless the will says ‘legitimate daughter.’”

“No, I don’t think it does, either, but that’s not the point. My brother is the legitimate one! Don’t you think he might have discovered this upon his mother’s death and acted out of outrage?”

“Don’t be softhearted. He fired that crossbow. He intended to kill you because then he would inherit your money.”

“And he should have done.”

“The money was your father’s to do with as he wished.”

“So he left it to me, knowing it would gall my mother to death.”

“I doubt he ever expected it to come to that. Like most of us, he doubtless expected to live to an old age. This was all in a letter?”

“More or less. Marcus Myddleton was a monster. I don’t understand why my mother or this Rosemary didn’t kill him once they found out.”

“They didn’t have Myddleton blood,” he said dryly, then added, “And, of course, they’d have been killing the golden goose.”

“My mother cared nothing for money. She probably kept quiet because of her reputation. Bad enough to have a husband who rarely showed his face. She’d rather have slit her own throat than let it be known that she was his bigamous second wife. But his first wife was the wronged one, and knew it. It’s clear from the letter that she approached my mother with a plan of demanding more money as the price of their silence. Of course, my mother rejected the idea, but she thought she had a weapon. She wrote to my father, threatening to reveal all if he didn’t return to Worksop to live as her decent husband. Can you imagine?”

He shook his head. “I’m sure he shook in his shoes.”

“Quite. He’d have known it was a bluff, but no wonder his last visit to us was so vitriolic. And I panted around him like an adoring puppy.”

He took her hands. “There’s no blame to you in that. You were young.”

She looked wryly at him. “I was fifteen.”

His hands tightened on hers. “I’ve made that step, at least. I’m beginning to accept that I wasn’t the author of that wickedness. Orinda seduced me, and a lad that age in the hands of an experienced woman is a lamb to the slaughter. Or a ram, at least. It doesn’t change the way the world views it, but my soul is more at ease. As for your father’s bigamy, it doesn’t change anything. Ignore it.”

“But Marcus Butler—Mark Myddleton—has some justice on his side.”

“Not for attempted murder. But I’ve promised you I won’t kill him if I can avoid it.”

“There’s Rothgar, too. He’s involved now.”

“I have enough trouble in that area myself.”

“I don’t think Ash will tell him. I asked him not to.”

His eyes flashed in the candlelight. “Damaris!”

“I’m sorry, but if you expect me not to be an interfering, managing wife—”

“You will be no wife.”

“Not to anyone?”

He dragged her toward the door. “Back to your room.”

She didn’t resist until they reached the door. “I have this terrible foreboding about tomorrow, Fitz.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll keep you safe.”

“But who will keep you safe? What if your brother is at court?”

“It’s unlikely.”

She could see, however, that it weighed on him. “Shouldn’t he be confined?”

“Not by me.”

“You can carry guilt too far. I don’t think his rages come from a bump on the head.”

“Don’t, Damaris.”

She managed to hold back more protests. Time enough for all that later. “What will you do if he does appear at the drawing room?”

“Avoid him.”

“Not by leaving. Not before the king shows his favor.”

“If the king’s inclined to smile on me, Damaris, he’ll do it another day.”

She grabbed his arm. “You mustn’t leave before being presented, Fitz. You mustn’t.” She didn’t want to tell him, but she did. “I planted seeds in the minds of those two gossips, Lady Tresham and Mrs. Fayne. That you’ll be at the drawing room, which is true. That the king is expected to show you some sign of favor. Which is probably true…”

“And?” His direct look demanded the truth.

“I made the point that the king’s favor will prove the old story to be an exaggeration. Or a figment of your brother’s demented mind.”

“Damaris—”

“It will work,” she insisted. “But only if they see the king accept you tomorrow.” When his face set in resistance, she added, “You said I could command you.”

“And you’ll exploit that to the death.”