The Third Son (44 page)

She stared up at him in the mirror and frowned. “What are you doing here?” she asked, her eyes snapping back to her reflection in the mirror.

“Leave us,” he commanded the trembling maid. When the frightened girl had closed the door behind her, Damien placed his hands on Davina’s bare shoulders. “Stand up, darling. I want to look at you.”

Never missing an opportunity to place herself on display, Davina rose and turned to face him. His eyes dropped to what appeared to be her swollen belly and stayed there. By all appearances
,
his wife seemed to be pregnant. There was only one way to learn the truth.

“Take off your clothes,” he said, his eyes never faltering from her midsection. He would have the truth, by God, and he would have it now. When Davina only stared at him in shock, he sighed and reached for her himself. “I haven’t got all day. Do as I said and take off your gown!”

“Finally!” she said, her relief palpable. “You’ve come to your senses. I knew you couldn’t stay away for too long.” Her lips turned upward into a smirk and she inched toward him slowly. “I know you wouldn’t want to ruin all the work my maid had to do to get me into this gown. I have guests expecting me at any moment. I wouldn’t be disinclined to lifting my skirts a bit.”

Damien had long since run out of patience. Weary of Davina’s games and tricks, he decided to take matters into his own hands. He grasped her by the wrist and swung her around before she had a chance to react.
Damien
grabbed her before she could pull away and pulled her back against him. He caught a glimpse of her in the vanity mirror and was satisfied to see the sheer panic the crossed her face when she realized that he intended to undress her himself.

She struggled against him, trying to twist around in his grasp, but her belly and his unbreakable hold on her made it impossible. He worked furiously at the back of her gown, exposing her back, inch by inch. When he moved his hands to pull at the gown, Davina darted across the room.

“Please, Damien!” she cried. “You’re frightening me!”

Tears had sprung to her eyes and Damien could see that she was, in fact, frightened. “Good,” he rasped, leaping across the space that separated them. They fell together onto a heap on the bed, and Davina swung her arms and legs in a final attempt to fight him off.

It took him longer than he had intended and when he was finished her hair was tumbling down from its pins and tangled, and his face sported a few scratches where she had used her nails against him, but when it was all over she stood before him, exposed. Over her chemise, she had fashioned some sort of cushion and tied it around her middle.

Damien had not known what to expect, but seeing the lengths she had gone through to deceive him snapped the last thread of control he had clung to. He grasped a pair of scissors conveniently located on the vanity table and snipped away at the cords tethering the false belly to Davina’s middle.

She was silent as he did this, resigned to whatever fate was to now befall her. When she was free from her bindings, standing there in only her chemise, petticoat, and sparkling jewels, he stepped back and eyed her with disgust.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t find out?” His voice shattered the silence. He grasped her chin roughly in his hand and forced her to look up at him. “You were willing to deceive me in order to gain the crown?”

“You weren’t supposed to find out!” she cried. Tears sprung forth and rolled down her cheeks. “And I didn’t know you were going to marry me at first. I only wanted to be back under your protection. When you offered marriage, how could I have refused?”

Damien’s hand trembled at his side. Never before had he been so tempted to strike a woman. He was coming dangerously close to leaving the imprint of his hand across her pale cheek. “Doctor Keane? You convinced him to lie to me?”

She nodded.

“And my mother? Did she know about this too?”

“No!” she exclaimed. “I believe she really thought I was pregnant. She only wanted to stop you from marrying Esmeralda.”

Damien grasped her arm roughly and proceeded to drag her down the corridor.

“What are you doing?” she shrieked, pulling against him in a vain attempt to halt his progress. “I am not even dressed.”

“Why should that matter, my dear? Most of the men you’ve invited tonight have seen you wearing far less.”

“You think to shame me before the court?” she gasped, fighting him with renewed vigor. “Surely you cannot be so cruel!”

He halted abruptly, bringing her around to face him. His eyes gleamed dangerously in the dim lighting of the hall. The shadows that crossed over his face lent him a sinister appearance. Davina shrank away from him, now beyond frightened. “You are the one who is cruel,” he said, his voice no louder than a whisper. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

She did not answer,and he did not expect her to. Anything else she said would just anger him further and then he really would be forced to do her bodily harm. “I want everyone to know that you are a fraud,” he said as they neared the dining room, where the invited members of the court had been seated for dinner. “I want them all to know why I will be petitioning the High Council for a divorce.”

Davina almost protested, but thought better of it. Divorce was nothing compared to the many other things he could have done to her for her deception. She knew it was best not to speak, and Damien thought it was the most admirable thing she had ever done.

Two footmen hardly batted an eye when he approached the double doors of the dining room. The
y
silently swung the doors open and stood aside to allow him entrance. Gasps and murmurs met them at the door and Damien had to wait a few moments for the buzzing to die down before he could speak.

“Ladies and gentleman,” he said, his voice deceptively calm given the tumult of emotions raging war inside of him. “I present to you, your hostess for the evening, the ever lovely Davina Largess. As you can see, she was not quite prepared when I chose to escort her before you this evening. I am sure you all have noticed that she has lost quite a bit of weight since yesterday.”

He flung Davina away from him
. S
he landed on her knees on the carpet and remained there, her head lowered. The murmuring continued to ripple through the assembled guests. “I hereby denounce this woman for the vicious, lying, black-hearted bitch she is. I no longer claim her as my wife.”

He turned away from his shocked houseguests, to find Jarvis waiting for him in the doorway. “Have her taken to the dungeon until I decide what to do with her,” he said. Jarvis only nodded and summoned a nearby guard. Damien only stayed long enough to watch the guard haul Davina to her feet and drag her away. He refused to meet anyone’s curious stare as he turned to walk away.

“Damien!” a voice hissed from behind him once he’d reached the corridor. He whirled to find
Alexandra
standing a few feet behind him, her mouth a grim line. “Surely you know I had no part in this,” she said as she neared him. She reached out to grasp his shoulder, a surprising gesture considering that she had not touched him in years. Damien shrugged away from her touch.

“You may not have known about Davina’s treachery, but you are just as responsible as she is for this! I shall never forgive you for the part you’ve played in ruining my life.”

Spinning on his heels, he set off down the hall at a mad pace, leaving a tearful Alexandra behind.

Life was cruel, Damien decided hours later. He sat at Serge’s bedside, nursing a bottle of brandy, still at a loss at how to pull his shattered life back together.

“I guess I could start with beheading the lying witch,” he murmured to Serge’s prostrate form. His brother lay silent and motionless. Damien nodded. “Yes, you’re right of course,” he continued. “Executing her would make me seem a monster. Well then, what do you propose I do about it, since you know everything?”

He took another long swig of brandy and then smiled. “Ah, yes. Transportation. I suppose shipping her off to some far removed place once I divorce her would be best. I certainly wouldn’t want her near enough to cause any more trouble.”

Damien watched Serge’s face for any sign of life and sighed when there was none forthcoming. He visited his brother frequently, having never given up hope that he would wake up any day. Isabelle was there often as well
. S
he had even managed to persuade Damien that Serge could hear everything going on around him.

S
o Damien poured out his heart, telling his brother of the deception that had caused him to make the biggest mistake of his life.
N
ow, it wasn’t even possible for him to fix things
. T
he woman he loved was married to someone else.

Damien drained the rest of the brandy and leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes. He wondered still about the vision he had seen of the little girl running about on the sloping lawns at Largess Hall. The girl’s dark hair and wide green eyes had seemed so real to him, that he had dared to hope for the happiness she could bring to his life. Was it really all just in his head? Or had he ruined his chance for happiness by allowing Esmeralda to walk out of his life?

I should have tried harder
, he told himself,
I should have sent Davina away and begged Esmeralda every day until she agreed to marry me
.
H
e knew even as he thought it, that it would not have been so. Esmeralda was too kind-hearted to aid a man in abandoning a child. A child that did not even exist much to his disappointment. Damien turned back to Serge and shrugged.

“Well I guess it’s just
you and me
now,” he said, raising his empty bottle in salute to his brother. “Just
you and me
.”

Chapter 26

She was beautiful. He could hardly take his eyes off of her. Tristan looked down at the newborn child and smiled. He could never have imagined that something so small and fragile would capture his heart so completely. He had not known that he could ever feel for another person the way he felt for Esmeralda
. N
ow he knew that it was possible.

They had named her Leila. She was a perfect little bundle of beauty, all dark hair and dusky skin like her mother. When she awoke from slumber and opened her eyes, her eyes were as green as new blades of spring grass. Tristan had thought that those eyes would haunt him, forever a reminder that he had not actually sired this child.
H
e saw only Leila, only the daughter that was truly his, who he would raise and love and care for until he died. Perhaps someday they would have more children, and Tristan knew he would love them all just the same.

He glanced up at Esmeralda, who was standing over the fireplace stirring soup in a large kettle. He loved these moments, because he was content to sit and watch her and hold his child, who was fascinating even in her sleep.

The labor had been long and hard, but Esmeralda had been strong. A few months later, she had completely regained her figure, although there was a bit more fullness there that Tristan found added to her appeal.

“Do you want me to take her now?” Esmeralda asked, glancing at the tall grandfather clock in the corner. “It is almost time for you to go. I thought you might want to have dinner first.”

Tristan gave Leila over to
Esmeralda
reluctantly and plopped down at the table where Esmeralda sat a steaming bowl in front of him. Darkness was falling outside, he noticed as he ate quickly
.
The Golden Dancer would be opening soon. He wolfed down the last of his dinner then rose to take up his guitar case.
Tristan
kissed Esmeralda swiftly on the cheek and disappeared out into the night.

Turning in the direction of the tavern, he set off at a leisurely pace, enjoying the pleasant evening air. He whistled as he walked, swinging the guitar case at his side as he neared the back door of The Golden Dancer.
             

As he neared the door, he noticed the figure of a woman advancing on him from the corner of his eye.

“Morgana?”

She held out her arms to him, stumbling toward him with tears in her eyes. “Please,” she cried, wrapping her arms around his neck. His guitar case fell onto the street as he reached up in an attempt to dislodge her. “Please tell me what to do,” she pleaded, clutching tightly at the collar of his shirt. “I don’t understand why you don’t want me anymore!”

Tristan stared at her in disbelief. “Morgana let go,” he said, trying to remain calm. He glanced up and down the empty street, grateful that no one was there to see him in this embarrassing position. He fought to untangle himself from her grasp.

“Please, I’ll do anything,” she continued, seemingly oblivious to his attempts to free his shirt from her grasp. “I’ll even be your mistress, no one has to know!”

“Morgana!” he snapped, finally done with patience. He grasped her shoulders and shook her roughly, pushing her away. She landed on the ground a few feet away from him, her eyes wide as she clapped her hand over her open mouth. Tears streaked down her face, but Tristan was unmoved. He had grown weary of her childishness. It was time to end this foolishness once and for all.