The Lion's Daughter (42 page)

“There's
no alternative, Esme,” he said. “If there were, I swear
to you
—”

“There's
no need to make vows,” she said, trying to keep her voice
steady. “I understand. I believe you.”

“You're
distressed all the same.”

“Only
for a moment. It is not agreeable. My grandmother is a cross, rude
old woman, but I have met worse, and worse could befall me. In
Albania, the bride goes to her husband's kin. As the newest of the
family, she is lowest in precedence. All the women
—
mother,
sisters, aunts, grandmothers
—
order
her about. If they wish to be disagreeable, they can make her life
wretched, and she must endure it, because she is outnumbered. Here,
it is only one vexatious woman
—
and
the maid tells me my cousin is coming.”

She
had managed to compose herself while she spoke. She turned now, able
to meet Varian's anxious gaze with a reassuring smile. “Percival
has been expelled from school
—
again
—
and my uncle is banishing him to
the old lady, because he cannot be bothered with his troublesome
son.”

“Esme,
it's not like that with me. You must know that, surely.”

“I
know. I was not comparing you to my ignorant uncle. I only tell you I
am glad Sir Gerald is so, for Percival will soon be here and I shall
have an ally. You may go about your affairs with an easy heart. He
and I shall outnumber her.”

Varian
came to her then, put his arms about her, and crushed her close. “I'm
sorry, darling. You can't know how sorry. But I'll be back soon. A
few weeks. No more.”

A
few weeks. In London. Among his old friends, like those idle men
who'd brought them to England. Laughing, gambling, drinking, whoring.

Esme
closed her eyes.

“Only
a very short while,” he said.

She
believed he meant it, for now at least, and now was all that mattered
to him. Now, this night, was all she had. Then

he'd
go, and all would change. She'd
not quarrel or complain, not this last night, the last one in which
she might be sure of him. Because she was sure, for this moment, she
eased back in his arms and reached up to cup his beautiful face in
her

hands.

“Make
love to me,” she said. “Enough to keep me these few
weeks
...
until
you come back
...
and
make love to me again.”

IT
WAS STILL dark when Varian left the room. Esme was asleep, deep in
dreamless sleep, he knew. He had shared her bed long enough now and
lain awake often enough
—
watching,
listening, thinking
—
to
know. He left while she was sleeping because he couldn't bear a
farewell. They'd said it without words last night, in those long
aching hours of lovemaking. Then he'd drunk in her scent and her soft
cries of passion, and loved her. Needily. And angrily. And
desperately.

He'd
wanted to memorize her. He'd wanted to burn her into
his
heart, not so he wouldn't forget,
but that he might take her with him in some way.

He'd
not been able to let her go since the night he'd first touched her.
This time, he must let go. That “must” meant he
dared
not wake her, dared not say
goodbye. If he did, his resolve would fail
...
and he'd fail her.

He'd
made everything ready in his own room the night before, while the
maid had helped Esme prepare for bed. He'd even
written the note. Varian had only
to dress, take up his bag, and leave. He did so without looking back.
Eager to be rid of him, Lady Brentmor had apparently sent word to the
stables. Though the sun was only beginning to rise
.
Varian found one stable man
brightly awake and prepared to accommodate his lordship. Less than
half an hour after he'd left the warmth of his wife's bed, Varian was
on his way to London.

Chapter
24

VARIAN
MADE A DETOUR ROUND EDEN GREEN, deliberately avoiding its homey
public house. He was in no mood for local gossip, especially when he
would be the focus of it. The afternoon was waning under thickening
gray clouds, and his horse was tired. Mount Eden's stables were
merely two miles away, and the deserted estate would offer all the
privacy one wanted. Unfortunately, it would offer nothing else.

He
headed down the overgrown path that skirted the village and ended
back on the main road a safe distance away. As he rounded a turn, he
saw smoke rising from the chimneys of the Black Bramble inn and
breathed a sigh of relief. Unlike Eden Green's Jolly Bear, the
Bramble catered to travelers. On this bitter winter day, the yard was
empty of carriages, as he'd hoped. Few would journey on such a day if
they could help it.

Upon
giving his mount into the hostler's care, however, Varian saw the
stables were not entirely empty. Two sorry-looking hacks were
munching disconsolately in their stalls.

Moments
later, he found their riders in the public dining room. They, too,
were eating, but with greater enthusiasm.

One
was a slim, dark-haired fellow who talked excitedly in between
stuffing hunks of meat pie into his mouth. The other said little,
only nodded now and then while he applied himself to his plate with
steady determination. He was bulkier in build
,
and his light brown hair was not
so fashionably styled as his companion's. Though their backs were to
him, Varian recognized them quickly enough.

By
the time they heard him enter and looked round he'd already collected
himself.

Two
pairs of eyes
—
one
brown, one dark blue
—
widened.
Varian calmly crossed the room to them.

“If
you must gape, Damon,” he said, “you might at least allow
your food first. What a rude fellow you've become.”

The
younger of the pair, whom he'd addressed, leapt up. “I say,
it
is
you,
isn't it? By heaven
—
of
all that's
—
but
I said so, Gideon, didn't I? Didn't I say we'd find him?” He
started to move toward Varian, then hesitated and stood, unsure,
looking at him.

Gideon
had risen as well, but with more dignity, first putting his utensils
aside. “Sir, I am delighted to see you.” He held
out his hand. “Welcome
home, my lord.”

A
mist obscured Varian's vision for an instant, but he blinked it away
and grasped his brother's hand. “Well, met, Gilly.” He
turned and gave his hand to Damon. “And you, too, Dervish.”

Damon's
uneasy expression brightened into a grin. “There,
isn't
it just like him?” he asked
Gideon. “Walks in cool as you please and tells me to mind my
manners
—
as
though he'd last
seen
us four hours ago, not four
years. But come, you're right. I've no manners. Do sit down. You
look fagged to death. No, there, closer to the fire. We've had hours
to warm up. I was all for keeping on to Mount Eden, but Gideon still
keeps country hours
and
must have his dinner, and we couldn't be sure to find any there, not
on short notice. But now I'm glad he's such a piece of clockwork,
because we might have missed you
—”

He
broke off. “But you're alone. Where is she?”

While
Damon had been chattering, Varian had taken off his cloak and put on
his guard. He was preparing for the “she” before the
question was out of Damon's mouth. Now their
hostess
bustled in and curtsied herself
breathless. While she regathered her wind, Varian calmly ordered his
dinner. Not until she'd left the room did he return his attention to
Damon. “Where is whom?”

“Oh,
don't tease, Varian. We've
—”

“Damon
refers to Lady Edenmont,” Gideon interrupted, flicking a
warning glance at their youngest sibling. “At least, we were
informed there exists such an entity.”

“I
see,” said Varian. “Lackliffe and Sellowby made direct
for London, I take it?”

“I'm
told they did not even change out of traveling garb, but raced to
Brooks' club. Within two hours, the news was all over the west end.
It was the talk of Almack's that very night, and the next day I was
summoned to Carlton House to satisfy his highness' curiosity.”

“I
do beg your pardon, Gilly. My mind was taken up with other matters,
else I'd have given you some warning. I'm sorry I placed you in so
awkward a predicament.”

“Oh,
Gideon wasn't the least discomfited,” said Damon. “He
gave one of his explanations, and by the end of it, Prinny no longer
cared what day of the week it was. He sent for his physician and
demanded to be bled. But you
have
returned, Varian, so that much of
the tale is true. Not that I doubted them. It was only the rest that
was so hard to take in. But you will tell us, won't you? Have we got
a sister at last, and is her hair truly red, and are her eyes as
green as Lackliffe says?”

“Her
eyes,” Varian said, “are quite
...
green.”

“I
see,” said Gideon. He carefully lined up me handles of his fork
and knife, then made a long, careful business of arranging his
napkin.

Damon
sat back in his chair, his deep blue gaze fixed on his eldest
brother's face.

“And
so you set out from London in pursuit, I collect,” Varian said
as the silence lengthened uncomfortably. “You thought I'd take
Lady Edenmont to the ancestral
...
ruins.”

“
I
did not think so,” Gideon
answered. “I only accompanied Damon out of concern that he'd
otherwise wander about the kingdom for years, searching for his
brother
—
as
though you were the Holy Grail.”

Damon
flushed. “We did find you, though, didn't we? Dash it, Varian,
I don't wish to be indelicate
—
but
where the devil
is
she?”

“With
her grandmother.” There was a tightening in Varian's chest,
followed by a fierce shaft of pain. He stared hard at a
gravy stain near Damon's plate.
“Don't let your dinner cool on my account, gentlemen. I shall
tell you all about it, once our hostess returns with the wine.”

THEY
WENT WITH Varian to Mount Eden
the next morning, despite his frigid objections. He'd thought he'd
told his tale well, with the right note of coolly detached amusement.
Yet
at
the
end, they'd both looked very grave, and he'd glimpsed something
horribly like pity in Damon's eyes.

Still,
Damon was young and excessively romantic, and he'd always idolized
his oldest brother
—
heaven
only knew why. Gideon's feelings were not so blatant. He'd always
been the sober one. Quiet, occasionally priggish, but always
thoughtful, calm
...
discreet.

Nonetheless,
their feelings were plain enough to Varian.

They
didn't think he could bear seeing
Mount Eden without moral support, and
that
was unbearable: to find his brothers
determined to support him in what they believed to be his hour of
need...
when
he'd never, not once, given their needs,
their
problems, more than a second's
thought.

They
stood at present in what had once been a sumptuous library.

Not
a book remained, not so much as a tract. The walls were stripped
bare, and the floors were thick with dust, debris, and mouse
droppings.

It
was an old house, needing constant upkeep. Varian's father had been
conscientious in that regard
—
as
in every other
—
unti
1 Varian had begun getting
himself into difficulties, which soon mounted to tens of thousands in
debts. Though the family ».is well off, their resources weren't
limitless. To rescue his heir, the late Lord Edenmont had to put off
rescuing the house. After his death, Varian had abandoned the estate
entirely. What he now observed was the result of at least ten years'
neglect, all his own doing. “There's something to be thankful
for,” Varian said as he looked up. “At least I can put a
roof over my lady's head.” “Stewards are a selfish lot,”
Gideon said. “They
will
insist
on wages. Still, it might be worse, considering no one's looked after
the place these last years. There's a great deal of dirt, certainly,
and the paint wants to be renewed. It's not nearly so bad as it
appears, however.”