Gayle Buck (3 page)

“Aye, he will at that, m’lord,” said the coachman. With the postilion sagging against him, he made his way over to the patient team. Lord Damion turned to Victoria. The dim light seemed to lend a hardness to his expression. “I beg you will accept a seat in my chaise, Lady Victoria. The postilion will feel easier if he does not need to put on a brave front for your benefit.”

Though surprised by his offer, Victoria nodded her acceptance. She was again impressed by the humane side of Lord Damion’s nature. Not everyone would consider the postilion’s feelings. “Thank you, my lord,” she said, smiling.

He did not return her smile and said brusquely, “I will arrange matters.” He strode away with long strides that carried him swiftly to his driver’s side. He gave his orders in a clipped manner that left the man wooden-faced.

Victoria sighed, feeling a lowering of spirits. Lord Damion’s instantaneous change toward her once he was aware of her identity confirmed her suspicions that there would be difficulties with Charles’s family. Lord Damion was obviously aware of the family’s opinion of Charles, and by extension herself.

Victoria shrugged off her oppression with the thought that at least she was sufficiently warned. Matter-of-factly she went to retrieve her portmanteau and knelt on her heels to gather her scattered belongings. A couple of the shifts were streaked with mud. She would ask to have them laundered as soon as she was settled at Belingham Manor.

She pulled tight the leather straps on the portmanteau and rose to her feet with it. The portmanteau was gently taken from her by Lord Damion’s driver. “Allow me, m’lady,” he said, saluting her by a touch of his hat. “His lordship’s compliments and would m’lady do him the honor of joining him in his carriage?” Privately Victoria was not at all certain that she wished to, but she nodded. The driver accompanied her to the chaise.

Lord Damion waited beside the open door. “That will be all, William,” he said, and gestured for Victoria to precede him. She gathered her skirts and stepped up into the carriage, seating herself on the opposite side of the chaise to leave room for her companion.

The chaise swayed under Lord Damion’s weight as he followed her inside and latched the door behind him. He seated himself and almost immediately the well-sprung chaise rocked forward.

Victoria glanced at her companion. The dusk made it difficult to be certain but she thought she detected a certain grim set to his features.

Lord Damion laid his beaver on the seat between them and stretched out at his ease. “I believe it is time for plain speaking between us,” he said shortly. “I wondered about your identity at the inn. The coincidences were too striking. But I dismissed my suspicions as impossible until now. I should tell you that I am intimately acquainted with the Marches and their affairs. Your presence here will certainly be unwelcome, madame.”

Victoria was taken aback for only a moment by his breach of conduct. “Lord Damion, I accepted a place in your carriage. That does not give you leave to pry into what does not concern you,’ she said firmly.

Lord Damion ignored her snub. He shot her a measuring glance. “I confess that I am astounded. Charles March seems to have had more sense than he was credited with. I have no idea of your antecedents, nor do I care, but you at least bear all the appearance of being a lady. That in itself will prove a surprise to the family.”

Victoria discovered that her fingers were clenched tight in the folds of her pelisse. She wondered how she had ever thought Lord Damion likable. “If you truly stand on intimate acquaintance with the Marches, then you must be aware that the family cast Charles off years ago. As a consequence, their speculations are of complete indifference to me!” she said coldly.

His lordship gave a crack of cynical laughter. “Yet you are here. In the end it comes down to the same, my lady. I have known females of your stripe before. You have but come for your pound of flesh.”

Victoria controlled her anger with difficulty. It was not her intention to quarrel with every ill-bred person who crossed her path. “You will have the goodness to set me down, sir. I would far rather ride one of my jobbers than to remain here with insult.”

“No, madame, I will not,” said Lord Damion. “We will arrive at the Crossing together. That is my destination also, you see. If I mistake not, the scene will be one which I shall not want to forgo. Believe me when I say that you will find cold welcome this night, Lady Victoria.”

“You mistake my destination, Lord Damion. I am expected at Belingham Manor,” Victoria said crushingly. “I have no wish to expose myself to March hospitality if your lack of breeding is any example of what I may expect.” Her words were punctuated by a deafening crack of thunder.

Chapter Three

Rain drummed like pebbles on the chaise roof. Lord Damion raised his voice above the sudden onslaught and Victoria was infuriated to hear a tremor of laughter in his tone. “Your choices seem somewhat limited, Lady Victoria. The road will be a quagmire by the time we reach the Crossing and I fear that to attempt Belingham Manor tonight would be the height of folly. But I leave the decision to you, madame.”

Victoria looked out the window and she could not deny the truth of what he said. A sheet of rain slapped the pane and lightning crackled blue-white in the sky, dazzling her. Her journey had been bedeviled by the weather from the outset. Now because of it she would be forced to endure the unexpectedly obnoxious Lord Damion St. Claire and the March clan.

Victoria lifted her chin. She was a soldier’s daughter, born and bred. She refused to quake at the first sign of hostility. It was only what she had anticipated, after all. But the Marches and their circle would not easily forget Lady Victoria March when she returned to Lisbon, she thought. “I am certain that I shall find a stay at the Crossing most instructive, my lord,” she said, her voice faintly acid.

“Excellent,” said Lord Damion blandly.

Victoria turned her attention once more to the rain, disdaining any further communication with him. Lord Damion was apparently of like mind, for he did not attempt to address her.

They had been sitting in silence for several minutes when the chaise’s movement slowed. Lord Damion remarked, “I believe we have nearly arrived.” Victoria shot an alert look at the dark figure sprawled in the far comer, then leaned closer to the window. But she could make nothing out through the rivulets of rain.

A few moments later the chaise came to a stop. Lord Damion roused himself and put on his beaver. “I will see that we are expected,” he said, and twisted the latch on the door. Rain swirled in briefly, then he was gone. Victoria waited, listening to the furious rain.

A minute later, the door beside her was wrenched open. Victoria stifled a scream. Strong fingers caught her by the arm. “Fainthearted, ma’am?” shouted Lord Damion above the rolling thunder. He stood in the open door, rain coursing down his greatcoat. The beaver was jammed right over his eyes and a steady stream of water flowed from the curved brim.

Victoria raised her voice. “I count it a misfortune to have met you, Lord Damion!”

“I daresay. However, this is hardly the place to discuss it,” said Lord Damion, lifting her bodily from the seat. Victoria gasped in shocked outrage, but he gave her no chance to object.

Lord Damion swung her out of the chaise and set her down hard on her heels. A vicious blast of wind billowed Victoria’s skirts and flung her against him. He swore impatiently, the wind snatching away his words. Thinking only of the need to get them both quickly out of the fury of the storm, he picked her up in his arms and started away from the chaise. Blinded by the driving rain, Victoria pressed her face against his broad shoulder. She felt his arms tighten as he climbed upward. Abruptly the rain ceased beating around them and she heard the slamming of a heavy door. “You may let go my coat,” breathed Lord Damion’s amused voice in her ear.

Victoria snatched her fingers from his lapel as though burnt. He set her down none too gently and steadied her with an impersonal hand under her elbow. She looked up, wordless with anger. The mockery in his gray eyes suddenly changed to laughter. She realized how ridiculous she must appear. As though I were a drowned tabby cat, she thought furiously, aware that she was flushing. Water dripped down her nose and hastily she brushed it away, looking daggers at Lord Damion.

“My dear Damion!”

Lord Damion stepped quickly past Victoria, a warm look transforming his lean face. Victoria turned to stare at the silver-haired man who took his outstretched hand. The old gentleman was tall and bore himself with an elegant ease that made the cane he leaned on seem merely decorative. The two men gripped hands with an obvious affection for one another.

“How are you, sir?” asked Lord Damion.

“I live,” retorted the older man shortly. He stepped back from Lord Damion with a pleased smile on his heavily lined face. “James told me but a moment ago of your arrival.” His glance fell on Victoria and his voice perceptively chilled. He had obviously witnessed her rather compromising entrance in the arms of Lord Damion. “You have brought a friend, Damion?”

The old gentleman’s frosty eyes raked over Victoria. She put up her chin defiantly and ignored the steady drip from her garments to the marble tiles. The gentleman’s gaze came to rest on her face and she returned his measuring look fearlessly.

“I bring you a new member of our family,” said Lord Damion, handing his curly beaver to a footman. “Allow me to present Lady Victoria March, who has just journeyed from Portugal for a visit with us.”

The hall was suddenly electric with tension. A faint grin curled Lord Damion’s mouth as he directed a mocking glance into Victoria’s dark eyes. “Lady Victoria, you have the honor of making the acquaintance of Sir Aubrey St. Claire, uncle both to Charles March and myself.”

Silence greeted his introduction. Victoria sought something to say that would break the horrible, lengthening suspense. Sir Aubrey recovered from his stupefaction and without hesitation took Victoria’s hand. “My dear, you are most welcome,” he said. “I only wish that Lord Robert could have been here to greet you as well. But I must tell you that the earl died in his sleep these two days past.”

The news staggered Victoria, for it had been at the invitation of Lord Robert, the Earl of March, that she had come to England. “I am deeply sorry, sir,” she said quietly, thinking that Sir Aubrey little knew how dismayed she was. “I understand that it must be a very awkward time for a visitor to arrive, so I shall remove to Belingham Manor at first light.”

“Nonsense, my dear. You’ll stay a few days at least, and then we shall see how the weather is shaping,” said Sir Aubrey. “I would not want a valued new member of our family to be mired on the road.”

Victoria saw Lord Damion’s brows shoot up and his obvious surprise helped to restore her balance. “Thank you, sir, but really there is no need to put you out. I actually had no intention of intruding upon the family. I am expected at Belingham Manor, you see.” Her eyes took on a dangerous sparkle. “Lord Damion—”

Sir Aubrey interrupted firmly. “Damion persuaded you to come here instead. I would not hear of it otherwise. But we will speak more on the morrow. You must be fatigued from your trip. I shall ask that the housekeeper show you to a room.” He turned to a footman and briefly addressed him, then raised a thin brow in inquiry. “May I offer you refreshment, Lady Victoria?”

“Thank you, Sir Aubrey, but no,” said Victoria. “I supped earlier at the inn.” It was obvious to her that Sir Aubrey did not wish for a scene of any sort before the servants. She felt a small thrill of satisfaction that Lord Damion had been denied his entertainment for tonight.

A plump woman joined them. “Ah, there you are, Mrs. Lummington,” said Sir Aubrey. “Pray have the goodness to show Lady Victoria to a room. She is fatigued after her long journey.”

The housekeeper curtsied. “This way, my lady.”

Victoria dropped a slight curtsy to Sir Aubrey and murmured good night before she turned to follow the housekeeper to the grand sweep of the ornamented staircase. As they ascended the wide carpeted stairs, she head Sir Aubrey’s suddenly cold voice. “You will do me the honor of joining me in the study, Damion.”

Victoria’s face burned. It was obvious to her that the old gentleman had preferred to smooth things over for the benefit of the servants, but his private opinion would no doubt differ from his expressions of welcome. Sir Aubrey was likely questioning Lord Damion even now about the circumstances of their acquaintance, and deprived once of his amusement, Lord Damion would no doubt make certain that his uncle realized the folly of greeting her with such cordiality.

Lord Damion was abominable, thought Victoria. She could bear his contempt for what he assumed to be the object of her visit, but she found it difficult to forgive his deliberate attempt to humiliate her. Sir Aubrey was every inch the austere patrician. Victoria was unpleasantly aware that to him she must have appeared the very essence of an army baggage when Lord Damion had dumped her so unceremoniously in the hall. It was not the impression she had wished to create upon first meeting a member of Charles’s family.

“Here we are, my lady,” said Mrs. Lummington. “It was Lord Robert’s wish that a number of the rooms should always be ready for company. I hope the room is to your liking.”

Victoria shook herself free of her reverie to find that they had traversed a long hall. The housekeeper was holding open a stout door. Within, Victoria could see a fire laid in a stone fireplace. Sparing the rest of the bedroom hardly a glance, she crossed to the grate to spread her lingers to the welcome warmth. She had not realized before how chilled she had become.

Behind her, Mrs. Lummington bustled around the four-poster bed. “I shouldn’t think you would care for a tub this late, my lady, so I shall just help you out of them wet things and directly into this shift,” she said.

Victoria reluctantly turned away from the friendly heat. The canopied bed was turned down to expose inviting linen sheets. A cambric nightshift lay neatly folded across the foot of the bed. The housekeeper was briskly sliding a warming pan under the coverlet.