Chapter 49
Damien had one eye on the sword-fighting spectacle and the other on the fortune-telling tent. The line on the terrace had dwindled to one last guest, and Damien wasn’t sure whether that person had exited while his back was turned or not. He was surrounded on all sides by Boscastles, and while he was grateful to be accepted back into the clan, he wanted Emily to be part of his reunion .
He’d taken her away from her own family, and he knew she missed home. It was up to him to make her feel that she belonged.
His cousin Grayson elbowed him in the ribs. “If you miss her that much, then go and get her. It’s not as if anyone will notice you’re gone. To be honest, you aren’t the most scintillating conversationalist at the party.”
Damien laughed. “You always were a rude bugger. Why did I think that time would refine you?”
Grayson shrugged. “Did it refine you? I don’t think so. Some of us, you being a prime example, only grow worse with age. Go on. You miss her. It’s pathetic. I know the feeling. There is no cure.”
Damien turned, unable to argue, his gaze lifting to the tent. You miss her.
Miss. “No,” he said aloud.
A miss is as good as a mile. That voice. The viscount’s voice. Had Batleigh meant to shoot Damien, not Deptford, that afternoon on the lake?
“Damien?” Grayson said, turning in concern.
He wheeled. He knocked a footman into a guest as he sprinted up the stairs to the terrace. From the corner of his eye he noticed Winthrop and the marquess’s senior footman burst through the French doors of the mansion’s ballroom. He heard Grayson call his name again. By now two other gentlemen had broken from the group to ask what was wrong. He had no time to answer.