The Third Son (43 page)

Esmeralda lifted her head for his kiss and closed her eyes. She concentrated on the lips that moved over hers and the arms that went around her tightly
, trying
  with all her might not to picture a tall, golden god of a man working at the buttons at the back of her dress. She knew it was wrong to picture Damien’s arrogant mouth moving over her throat as he removed the white lily from behind her ear, but she couldn’t help it.

Esmeralda
opened her eyes and watched Tristan, hoping that as he undressed her and led her to the bed, she would forget about the man that she wanted most but could not have.

Tristan worshipped her body with his hands and mouth, as skillfully and passionately as she knew he would. She clutched the sheets and suppressed the tears that came to her eyes as she found her release.
Esmeralda
felt like the lowest, dirtiest creature, a whore for experiencing lust at the hands of another when her heart belonged to someone else. She felt like a traitor for thinking of another man when her husband was so fervently making love to her.

Tristan jerked and groaned before collapsing onto her, sated at last. Esmeralda was grateful that it was over, glad that the confused mingling of guilt and pleasure were over. As Tristan rolled to his side and pulled her back against him, Esmeralda finally allowed the tears to flow.

Chapter 25

In the months that followed Esmeralda and Tristan’s wedding, their lives found a comfortable, serene sense of calm. They managed The Golden Dancer together, although Esmeralda no longer danced. She claimed that it could not be good for the babe she carried, although she knew in her heart that even if she had not been pregnant, she would not have danced. It no longer seemed the same to her.

Esmeralda
spent most of her time in the small back office going over the ledgers and managing their modest income. She had hired a new dancer to replace her, and set Tatiana to teaching the girl. Her belly had begun to protrude slightly, and Esmeralda began to feel the tiny flutters and kicks of the life inside her.

Tristan spent a lot of his time pressing his hands to her stomach, waiting to feel the kicks of their baby. Esmeralda felt tears spring to her eyes every time Tristan referred to the child as ‘theirs’. He was delighted, and one would never know that he had not planted the child there himself.

Tristan had insisted that Esmeralda not spend all of her evenings at The Golden Dancer, declaring that she might as well get used to it, because when the baby was born, she would not be able to anyway. Besides, she needed her rest. Esmeralda could not argue with his logic and so spent many quiet evenings at home alone.

Her mother and grandmother often came around to visit, but Esmeralda found that things were not the same as when they had lived together. At some point, the two women would have to depart, and Esmeralda would spend most of the evening alone, knitting or reading or simply staring off into space. She felt lonely, and was counting the months left until the child was born. She knew she would then have enough to fill her days and nights, and would probably never suffer from feelings of loneliness ever again.

Of course eventually, Tristan would come home and they would spend a few moments before the fire together. Then it would be time for bed and the inevitable lovemaking that accompanied it. Esmeralda had found an odd sort of comfort in Tristan’s arms. It was not so much a grand passion, nothing like she had experienced at the hands of a certain prince, but Esmeralda was grateful for it. She had worried that intimacy between her and Tristan would be strained and awkward. Instead, it was easy and soothing if nothing else.

It was better that way, Esmeralda decided. Who needed grand passion anyway? Those sorts of feelings only led to hurt, and Esmeralda was glad she did not have to worry about Tristan hurting her. She had guarded her heart well, and though it would not ever belong to anyone else, it was safe from harm. Esmeralda knew it was the only way she would survive.

Largess Hall was buzzing with activity. It often was now that Davina Largess had been made its mistress. Flocked on all sides by her courtiers, Davina instructed the bustling servants with her shrill voice, sending them running off this way and that on various errands.

She was throwing a lavish dinner party for nearly one hundred guests as she did at least twice a week, between the more intimate dinner parties and entertainments she hosted on other nights. There were also shopping excursions, sleigh rides through the winter snow and trips to the theater.

Damien hardly had time to bother to attend her various events, burdened as he was with the impending war brewing in Barony. The citizens were growing restless, weary of being terrorized by the rebel army, who took refuge high in the bordering mountains. Damien was working feverishly with General Adams to gather and train soldiers. It would be months before they could even think of marching toward Barony due to the harsh winter weather, but when they did they would be prepared.

Damien had just returned from a meeting with General Adams and was looking forward to a quiet, solitary evening when
Davina
accosted him in the main hall. He could hear voices coming from the open doors of the green salon and sighed in agitation when he observed nearly the entire court milling about, sipping wine and chatting.

Davina, who was dressed to the nines despite her rapidly growing belly, wrinkled her nose at Damien’s plain coat and breeches. “Would you mind making yourself more presentable? I have guests you know.”

“Perhaps it would be more logical to inform me when you do not have guests, since you have seen fit to open our dining room to every member of the royal court every night for the past six months.”

Davina rolled her eyes. “Would you please just go upstairs and change? People are going to wonder why you are dressed like a commoner.”

Damien pinched the bridge of his nose and felt the impending throb of a headache as he usually did when forced to endure his wife’s presence. “I have just come from a very long, tiring meeting with General Adams and I have a pile of paperwork on my desk to look through. I will trust you to convey my apologies for missing dinner.”

Instead of going back into the bosom of her adoring court, she followed him when he turned on his heels and headed for his library. Her high heeled slippers clicked annoying on the floors as she struggled to keep up with his long strides. “Damn you, Damien, I cannot keep up with you!”

When he finally stopped and turned, he found her slumped against the wall, breathing heavily and clutching her swollen belly. Damien felt a small niggling pull of guilt upon his conscience. He did not care for his wife, but he did care for the child that grew within her. He stopped and grasped her shoulders gently.

“You should rest,” he said, eyeing her with concern. “You’ve been pushing yourself way too hard. The court will understand if you do not host so many parties for a while. You will wear yourself out.”

Taking advantage of his nearness as she always did, she swayed closer to him and smiled suggestively. “Why don’t you take me off to bed then?” she purred.

Damien pulled his hands away from her shoulders and started back down the hall. “I have business to attend to.”

“Fine!” she spat, stamping her foot like a spoiled child. “Go! See if I care! While you sit in your library and dream about your stupid university, I shall find some other willing man to warm my bed!”

Damien shrugged and continued down the hall without even a backwards glance. Once alone in his library, he sat behind his desk with a contented groan. He gratefully lit the cigar Jarvis had obviously thought to leave lying on the desk for him in a crystal ashtray and inhaled slowly. It had taken some time, but he had finally gotten into the flow of daily life that accompanied the crown.

He had never felt older or more oppressed in his life, but when he collapsed into bed at night and thought of his father and brothers, he was quite proud of himself. Clenching the cigar between his teeth, he shuffled through the stack of papers waiting on his desk. They were the plans for the university he hoped to begin building right away. He was putting quite a bit of money into the endeavor, but he knew that it was necessary to make the university worthy of his father and brother’s memory. The Adare L
argess School of Astronomy and T
he Lionus Largess School of Botany would be completed within a year’s time.

Damien was even mulling over plans for the Serge Largess School of the Sciences. His brother had been fond of biology and chemistry and Damien thought it fitting to name the place after him. Damien signed and placed his seal on the agreement that had been drawn up for the architect he had chosen and quickly signed a bank note for the full amount needed to build and furnish the buildings. He had just chosen several acres of prime land right in the heart of the city.

His heart swelled with pride as he looked over the blueprints that had been drawn up by one of the most renowned architects in the city. His dream was almost a reality and he couldn’t be more pleased.

Actually, he knew he could be a lot more pleased but tried so very hard not to think of that.
A
s usual, he was unable to turn his thoughts away from hair dark as night and luminescent amber eyes.

Esmeralda had encouraged him, told him to make his dream a reality and he had done it. He only wished she could be here to share in it with him. Damien shook his head to clear his thoughts and stood to pour himself a glass of brandy at the sideboard.

He was so busy these days he hardly had time to think of Esmeralda. Of course, when he had time to sit on his own and allow his thoughts to wander, he always wondered how different his life would be if Esmeralda had become his wife as planned.
S
he would be delighted that he was having plans drawn up for the university.
Esmeralda
would tell him how proud she was, and smile at him dazzlingly.

She would only throw parties for special occasions and would spend her time at more noble pursuits than flirting with the men at court or spending decadent amounts of his money. Damien shrugged away his black mood and turned toward his chambers. He knew it was still early, but he hoped to find some sort of peace in sleep while he could. Tomorrow held a whole new plethora of things for him to attend to and hopefully, when he busied himself with those things, his mind would be focused on something other than bronze-colored skin and the sweetest smile his eyes had ever beheld.

****

Anne Doyle was in a bind. She had served the queen for some time now and though she would not do anything to purposely incur the woman’s wrath, she knew that she could not allow this deception to continue. King Damien had hired her when his wife had only been his mistress, and though he had rarely spoken to her, he had been kind and courteous when he did. He had showered the ungrateful woman with gifts beyond any of the things Anne could wish to own and still it had not been enough.

When Queen Davina had taken Anne into her confidence, she had sworn Anne to secrecy and coerced Anne into helping her pad her stomach each morning to lend her the appearance of pregnancy. She had also informed Anne that it would be her job to procure an infant boy from the orphanage whenever Davina was ready to “give birth”.

She had gone along with it at first, afraid to anger her mistress and end up on the street without a job
b
ut enough was enough. She had seen how miserable the king was with his new wife and Anne felt as if she were completely responsible. Everyone knew about the young lady the king had really wanted for his wife and though the talk had died down, Anne had not forgotten.

She watched him sulk about the palace, his only joy found in the building of his university and the impending birth of his child. A child he thought was his. A child that she would bring from an orphanage and pass off as his. Anne shook her head.

She paced outside the king’s library, reluctant to knock, but determined that the man would know the truth before the day was out. She knew he was in th
ere, she had been told so by the
butler only a few minutes ago; or had it been an hour? Anne really should stop dawdling, but she feared the wrath of King Damien when he learned of the deception she had had a hand in.

Finally, she squared her shoulders resolutely and raised her hand to knock. “Come,” said the king’s voice from the other side of the door. Anne hesitated only a moment before placing her hand on the knob.

“Your Highness, I hate to disturb you,” she said with a quick curtsy. “But I think there is something you should know.”

****

Damien was angry. No, he was worse than angry, he was furious. No, he was something worse than furious, but at the moment he could not quite figure out the right word. He was barely aware of the flurry of motion he created as he stormed down the corridor, as servants flung themselves left and right to clear a path for him.

Davina had planned yet another dinner party and he knew he would catch her in the middle of dressing. Perfect, he thought. He balled his hand into a fist and lifted it to pound on the door of her chambers. A
wide-eyed
maid swung open the heavy door and then dropped into a curtsy. Damien breezed past her and came up behind Davina, who was seated at the vanity table, applying a liberal amount of rouge to her cheeks.