Chapter 19
Damien struggled to stay asleep. His hands moved over the bare breasts and bottom of the woman sitting on top of him. Her red hair spilled against his chest as she kissed him on the mouth. His body begged for release. She whispered something. He couldn’t make out what.
His erection was the only answer he could give her.
She seemed so familiar to him, but he couldn’t put a name to the face. Were her eyes green or brown? His hands slid down her back, grasping her ass, urging her to take him inside her. She felt warm and wet against his groin. He raised his hips. He needed her.
Take me.
Why did she keep teasing him?
She lifted herself up, and in her smile there was a promise. His throat closed. He wanted to say that he would worship her if he lived through her teasing. He wanted to kiss her again as he thrust into her, but she was fading.
Emily.
That was her name.
He said it aloud, and then she disappeared.
He opened his eyes and it was daylight. He was as hard as a lance under the bed sheets and unhappy with his predicament. He didn’t move, letting the sexual ache recede until gradually he realized that the palm of his left hand still burned from whatever substance had been in that bottle. The whole of his body, in fact, radiated an uncomfortable warmth. He sat up, the dream receding as he recalled the events of the previous night.
Winthrop bustled into the room, ever alert to the moment when Damien awakened. “You have perfect timing, Winthrop,” he said sourly.
“Thank you, my lord.”
“Why is the mirror of the shaving stand cracked?”
“I believe it broke when a certain person threw his boots across the room. That is seven years of bad luck that we don’t need.”
“Seven.” Damien snorted. “That wasn’t supposed to be my number. This entire thing has gotten out of hand.”
“I’m sorry, my lord. I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about. I was referring to a Roman superstition. Other than that, the number seven didn’t figure into our plans.”
“Nor did a fortune-teller. But one thing we have both learned is to expect the unexpected and do the expedient.”
“The fortune-teller being the unexpected and marriage the expedient?”
“More or less. Except that I also have to court her to make a convincing case for our rushed wedding, a novel experience that I would never have chosen.”
“I see your point,” Winthrop said, emptying the water pitcher into a ceramic bowl. “However, with the exception of your last fiancée, Miss Howell—”
“Don’t ever mention her name to me again.” Damien got out of bed in his nightshirt and stretched his arms above his head. His back ached. He was about to accuse the valet of sewing lead weights into Sir Angus’s shoulder padding. But then he remembered that he had opened the trapdoor to the tower several times last night.
He went to the mirror. All traces of Sir Angus were gone. “The main thing is that we keep them safe.”
“Them? Your fiancée and her brother?”
“Her brother? No, although he could prove to be an asset to us, and I trust him. My fiancée has a lady’s maid who should meet with your approval.”
Winthrop’s eyes narrowed behind his spectacles. “Not if she endangers the operation.”
“She will. I’m sure of it.” Damien sat down heavily on the stool. “In all likelihood the maid will become your responsibility. It would seem suspicious if we left her in Hatherwood.”
“Oh, my God. Why, I hesitate to ask, should we care about a parish that has a population of fifty-eight?”
“We don’t. We care about Lord Ardbury and his associates, who haven’t yet left the parish. And don’t grouse. At least you’re not marrying a stranger. How should I go about courting this woman?”
Winthrop folded and unfolded the towel on his arm. “If you mean to convince others that you can’t live without her, then you must show great passion for her.”
“Passion? Go on.”
“Properly contained, of course.”
“Why?”
“In a village of fifty-eight a man of your stature is bound to make a stir. I assume she is fair enough on the eyes.”
Damien shrugged noncommittally, although he had been awestruck by the loveliness she’d hidden under her disguise. It would be his turn to surprise her next. Would she be disappointed that Sir Angus was gone? Well, tit for tat.
“I take it by your silence that she’s a beauty.” It was evident by Winthrop’s change in demeanor that he had already begun to formulate a plan. “As far as your courtship goes, I doubt you’ll have to do much to impress her. You are not only a titled man, but a handsome one also. Your normal wardrobe is enough to impress any lady with a taste for good tailoring.”
“It’s debatable whether she entrapped me,” Damien said, crossing his arms behind his head, “or whether I led her into a dangerous situation. I don’t know if I took advantage of her or if she took advantage of me. I haven’t the vaguest idea whether she cares about the cut of my trousers, either. Look, Winthrop, I don’t need your advice on how to dress and undress for the woman. I need to give the general impression that I can’t live without her. It could be true, if she lets our secret slip.”
Winthrop ceased his examination of a long-tailed morning coat for creases and loose threads. “Good grief. This is rather fast work to fit around the conspiracy.”
“It is not typical of you to jump to conclusions,” Damien said in annoyance.
“It’s not typical of you to become engaged.”
“Do you have another suggestion?” Damien asked dryly. “If so, speak your mind. Just remember, she holds the fate of innumerable lives in her card-dealing hands.”
Winthrop turned white. “She is a gambler? You neglected that part in your recounting.”
“When I met her she was telling fortunes with cards. The blasted things have been blown into the next county by now.”
“I am confused, my lord. I thought you had proposed to a gentlewoman.”
“She was in disguise.”
“As a lady?”
“No, you parsnip. As a gypsy.”
“Male or female?”
“Female, Winthrop. Her disguise was part of a scheme she concocted to impress her desirability on the gentleman she was hoping would propose to her.”
“And you are not that gentleman?” Winthrop inquired after a long silence.
“How could I possibly be the damn fool when I only met her last night?”
Winthrop compressed his lips, clearly refraining from suggesting to Damien that he was a damn fool himself. “If the jade deceived you with a disguise, I do not see that you have any obligation to marry her at all.”
“As you pointed out last night, I was disguised myself. I forced my company upon her for my own interests.”
“Well, that is a different matter. If you behave dishonorably toward— toward— I don’t believe I caught the young lady’s name.”
“Urania.”
“I beg your pardon.”
“She deceived me into believing her name was Urania while I was disguised as Sir Angus.”
“That is far more complicated than I first understood. You were acting on the government’s behalf?”
“And she was acting on behalf of her heart. She is not a jade at all. If I believed she was corrupt, I might be tempted to let her take care of herself. Considering the ruthless intentions of the conspiracy, that would be tantamount to her demise.”
“I’m beginning to understand,” Winthrop said, his lips pursing. “Perhaps I’ll ride into the next market town early in the morning for flowers to start off this courtship.”
Damien nodded. “I don’t think I was my usual self with her last night.”
“I’d best make sure to deliver the roses before she sees you again, then.”