Heart's Debt (Lost Lords Book 5) (11 page)

“How did you acquire it?”

“That’s none of your business either.”

“You’ve prospered—in spite of everything.”

“Yes, I have.”

“Tell me how you managed. I’m genuinely curious.”

For a fleeting second, she noted a sign of old torment. Yet as quickly as it flashed into the open, it was concealed.

“You’re annoying me, Miss Fogarty.”

“I don’t mean to. I’m merely desperate to understand what’s transpired.”

“No, you aren’t.”

“You’re so obstinate.”

“You have no idea.” He stepped away and pointed to the door. “Would you go?”

“No.”

“I thought I was intrigued by your visit, but I’m not. You exhaust me with your questions.”

“You don’t feel I have the right to ask them?”

“No. I think you need to buck up and prepare to face the slings and arrows that are about to come winging in your direction.”

“Stop being so cruel to me and my family.”

“I don’t want to stop. I’m having too much fun ruining all of you.”

“But why me? I’d never even met you prior to your arriving at Kirkwood, and I played no part in your earlier troubles. Why punish me?”

“Because I can, Miss Fogarty.” He leaned nearer and hissed. “Because I like it. Now drag your shapely ass out of here before you wish you hadn’t stayed.”

Damian glared at Miss
Fogarty, and she glared back.

He’d had too much to drink and was in a foul mood. He should have been celebrating. Not down in the barn with his men and his servants. He wasn’t overly social, and he hated crowds, but he’d assumed he’d revel in his achievement.

Instead he was wondering if it had all been worth it. He was back, but the prize was something he didn’t really desire. He’d sailed the globe and traveled the world. He’d grown obscenely rich and survived adventures he never should have survived.

His days trapped at Kirkwood stretched like the road to Hades. He’d decided he would remain on the property just long enough to be rid of the Marshalls, then he’d torch the house and ride away.

In the interim, he was bored and lonely and sickened by the blasted place. Considering that he’d spent most of twenty years planning for this very moment, it was a vexing and humbling realization.

He grabbed her arm and urged her toward the door, but she wouldn’t depart. He could have lifted her and tossed her into the hall, but for some reason, he’d rather not act like a barbarian.

Idiotic as it sounded, he wanted her to…to…
like
him, to see that he had a few manners hidden under his tough, violent exterior.

To his consternation, she dropped to her knees and clasped her hands together, as if in prayer. “Please, Mr. Drummond, don’t kick me out.”

“Get up, Miss Fogarty.”

She didn’t heed him, but took his hands and held them in her own. “I don’t have anywhere to go. Miles will return to town. Sophia will wed Harold Bean, and Augusta will traipse off to reside with her cousins.” She gulped with dismay. “What about me?”

“Go with Augusta. Go with Sophia and her new husband.”

“They’ll never let me.”

He never succumbed to emotional overtures or pretty pleas. Coldly he stated, “It’s not my problem what happens to you, Miss Fogarty.”

“I was happy here. I was safe. Don’t throw me out into the world where it’s
not
safe. I can’t bear to live like that again.”

He scowled, hating to hear that she’d once been in jeopardy, that her life had been difficult before she’d moved to Kirkwood. He couldn’t figure out why he cared, and when it dawned on him that he was feeling remorse, he actually blanched.

“Get up,” he said again, and he pulled her to her feet.

“How can I spur you to mercy?”

“You can’t. I’m receiving payment for a debt that’s been owed to me for two decades.”

“Miles owes it to you. Edward owed it. How can I owe you anything?”

“Your surname may be Fogarty, but Marshall blood runs in your veins. It’s all that counts with me.”

“There must be a way to encourage you to relent. Tell me what it is.”

“I already told you.”

“Meaning what?” she asked.

“I will be at Kirkwood for several weeks. During that period, you can be my mistress.”

She stiffened, but didn’t try to slap him, which he viewed as progress. She didn’t get to ever slap him again. About that one fact he’d been extremely truthful. No one was ever permitted to hit him.

“I would never be your mistress,” she said.

“Then there’s naught to discuss.”

He wasn’t really interested in having her as his mistress. He loathed innocent women and had no patience with them. When he enjoyed intimacies with a female, it was in a bawdy house with trained doxies who knew what he liked without his having to explain. He’d rather be boiled in hot oil than teach a virgin what she had to learn. He was too busy to fuss with them.

But he was determined that she be convinced he could be horrid. It would increase his reputation as a brute, would have others wary of what sort of monster he was deep down.

He needed
her
to be wary too. She tugged at his buried conscience so the oddest feelings were roiling him. But his sojourn at Kirkwood was for business reasons: to complete the foreclosure, to take possession. None of those dreary tasks left room for a flirtation to develop.

She’d wandered in and had caught him in a melancholy mood that he rarely suffered and always ignored. She couldn’t sneak in ever again. She had an allure he couldn’t resist, and if he allowed future visits, he’d start to anticipate her stopping by.

He’d yearn to help her, but he never helped anyone. It made him too vulnerable. It made him remember all that he didn’t have, all he’d lost, and he’d yearn to get some of it back. But he couldn’t abide ties or connections. They only brought misery and regret.

In all the years since he’d fled Kirkwood, he’d only let three people grow close: Michael Scott Blair, his mother Anne, and Kit. They were all as damaged by circumstances as Damian had been so they understood his demons, and they never pressured him to be or give more than he was able.

He had to chase Miss Fogarty away. She was so prim and proper, so indignant about him and his motives. It wouldn’t require much effort to persuade her to leave him alone.

“You seem like such a smart person,” he told her.

“I like to think I am.”

“You claim you want safety and security, and I’m offering them to you.”

“On terms I can’t accept.”

“Why can’t you? Have you ever had a lover?”

“A…lover!” She scoffed. “Of course not. How insulting of you to ask such a question.”

“If you have no idea what an affair entails, how can you be sure you wouldn’t like it?”

“I’m a moral woman, and I know right from wrong.”

“Do you? Then answer this if you can. How can it be wrong to save yourself?”

He’d flummoxed her, and she frowned. “I’d have to commit many sins to acquire that protection, and as opposed to some people”—her glower indicated she was talking about him—“I don’t believe the end justifies the means.”

“I’m guessing you’ve never even been kissed—except by me last night.”

“I have too.”

“How many times.”

“Oh…dozens.”

“Dozens?”

“Yes.”

He laughed, and her cheeks flushed bright red. She glanced away, confirming that the brief peck he’d bestowed had been her only experience.

To his great surprise, it bothered him to imagine her wasting away at Kirkwood. She was like a wilting flower, her best years behind her. With no dowry and no prospects, she’d never be able to alter her path so it would probably be highly beneficial for her to participate in an amour.

Why shouldn’t she? It wasn’t as if she was hoarding all that virginity for a bumbling spouse, but he wouldn’t be the one to take it from her. Even if she begged to give it to him, he
never
fussed with innocents.

But she ought to be thoroughly kissed, and if he pushed the issue, he’d get his wish. He’d send her fleeing, and she wouldn’t return.

He stepped in again, his body pressed to hers all the way down.

“What are you doing?” she asked, looking worried.

“You should have a taste of what you’re missing. It might change your mind.”

“You could never change my mind.”

“Would you like to bet me?”

He slipped an arm around her waist, those pesky sparks suddenly sizzling. The sensation produced a giddy sort of joy he’d never encountered before and didn’t care to encounter ever again, but it was intriguing nonetheless.

He dipped down and brushed his lips to hers, then he drew away, and he felt very discomposed. It had been sweet and thrilling in a manner he didn’t comprehend, and the strangest rush swept through him. He wanted to kiss her all night.

“Let me go!” she scolded.

“No.”

“I can’t stand here kissing you.”

“Why can’t you?”

“I don’t even like you—and you don’t like me.”

“What has that to do with anything?”

“It’s not appropriate.”

“I’m proving a point, Miss Fogarty, remember?”

“What point?”

“I’m proving that you should consider my offer.”

“I’ve told you I never would.”

“And I’ve told
you
that I never listen to women.”

“Mr. Drummond!”

“Hush.”

He dipped down and kissed her again, and this time it was no chaste brush of his lips to hers. This time, he kissed her as if he’d been waiting to try it his whole life.

In the entire history of kisses, he wouldn’t have described it as being overly passionate. He didn’t run his hands over her torso, didn’t stroke her breasts, or flex his loins to her private parts.

He simply kissed her, then kissed her some more. She spent a few seconds attempting to deflect his advance, then she joined in, throwing herself into the embrace with a bit of reckless abandon.

The longer he continued, the more satisfying it was. He’d planned to teach her a lesson, but his purpose was swiftly lost in the fog of the moment. He had no ulterior motive. He merely yearned to get as close to her as he could—and stay there forever.

When he caught himself growing too aroused, when he caught himself wondering if he should carry her over to his bed, he realized he was in trouble.

He would never proceed to fornication. She wasn’t a doxy, and in the society where he was currently located, carnal behavior had to be rectified by a hasty wedding. He refused to be ensnared in her world and would leave as quickly as he could.

Still though, it was with a great deal of regret that he slowed and pulled away.

They froze, awkwardly gaping, and there was the oddest charge in the air, as if the universe had been watching them, as if they might have altered their fates. The impression was so eerie that he almost felt he’d been bewitched.

If he’d believed in superstitious nonsense—which he didn’t—he’d have raced out to find a white witch, would have bought a charm to ward off Miss Fogarty’s potent appeal.

“That was quite…nice,” she murmured, obviously stunned.

“Yes, it was.”

“You shouldn’t have done it though.”

“I’m not one to dilly dally. If I see what I want, I take it.”

“You
want
me?”

She seemed amazed, as if it had never occurred to her that she might be enticing to a man. In light of her reduced circumstances, she’d likely never had the chance to learn that she was, but
he
didn’t really want her. Some other fellow might, but not him.

“Yes, I want you.” Crudely he added, “But then I’m partial to anything in a skirt.”

“You’d kiss just anybody?”

“Yes. Just anybody.”

“Yet you’ve propositioned me. Not anybody else. Me.”

“It’s because you need something from me, and you have something I’m very interested in having.”

“My virginity?”

It had to be the only occasion she’d ever spoken the word
virginity
aloud. She flushed such a hot shade of pink that he was surprised she didn’t ignite.

“It’s not as if you’re husband-hunting. You’re hardly saving it for a spouse.”

“So I should give it to you?”

“Yes. To save yourself. To keep your place here.”

“What you’re suggesting is wrong.”

He shrugged. “The preachers say it is, but I never listen to them either, and on this topic you should ignore them too. Women choose many options to protect themselves. They usually marry, but if they can’t, they cheat and steal and sin. Why not you?”

“I told you I can’t,” she insisted.

“Then what will happen to you?”

“Don’t send me away. Let me remain at Kirkwood.”

“I could let you remain, but there’s a price for my mercy, and you’re not inclined to pay it.”

She gazed up at him, her pretty blue eyes poignant and wounded. She looked young and lost, and her woeful condition tugged at heartstrings he’d thought had been ripped away decades earlier.

Suddenly he was eager to supply all kinds of masculine benefits that would bind him to her in ways he never intended. He wanted to shelter and help and aid and support. He wanted to…to…care.