Moonspun Magic Page 11

  The curricle came to a smooth halt beside her, and she lifted her eyes to his face.

  “Well, Victoria, what an unexpected surprise this is. I see you’ve discovered Mr. Westover.”

  He sounded odd, somehow, not really angry, more relieved.

  “Now, Rafael, I told you I would. It was too bad of you not to tell me anything. Did Frances send you after me?”

  “Frances? No, I was actually coming to see Mr. Westover myself. Again. However, now that I’ve found you, my dear, I believe I will see to you myself.”

  “All right. You’re not angry, are you?”

  “I? Angry? Actually, Victoria, I’m very pleased.”

  She watched him jump gracefully down from the curricle. His clothing was natty, his Hessians glossy. “Come, my child.” He held out his hand to her. “May I say that you look none the worse for your adventure? Indeed, that’s a new gown, is it not? Very charming.”

  She cocked her head at him, a half-smile on her lips. “We’re going back to Lucia’s?”

  “Lucia’s? No, actually, I don’t believe so. I would like to spend some time alone with you.”

  It was in that instant that Victoria realized it wasn’t Rafael. He wasn’t tanned, for one thing. That, and something else, something she couldn’t define, even to herself. Her eyes widened and she took a quick step backward, unable to help herself.

  “Come along, Victoria.”

  He grabbed her arm. “Damien,” she whispered, so frightened she could scarcely think straight.

  “Yes, you little fool. I thank you for falling so neatly into my hands. My brother, eh? I shall look forward to hearing how you met Rafael. What a shock to hear that he is here in London and that he has you in tow.”

  There were so many men about. She opened her mouth to scream, but Damien slammed his palm over her mouth, pulling her inexorably toward the curricle.

  She began to fight him in earnest, kicking out as much as her narrow skirt would allow, flailing her arms wildly, her fingers trying to score his face. He was stronger than she had imagined. She was panting, trying to jerk away so she could call for help. She saw that men were staring, but they were making no move to assist her.

  His arm about her waist tightened, squeezing the breath out of her.

  Suddenly Victoria heard the most welcome sound in the world.

  “Victoria! What the devil.”

  It was Frances. She felt Damien’s hold loosen just a bit in his surprise, and she managed to jerk her mouth away from his hand.

  “Help, Frances! Help me.”

  Frances didn’t hesitate. She gracefully jumped down from the carriage. “Mullens,” she said, “your pistol, please.” She very calmly took the pistol from her driver’s nerveless hand.

  Damien was trying desperately to haul Victoria into his curricle, no easy task since the seat was so high off the ground.

  “Let her go,” said Frances, pointing the pistol. “I take it you are not Rafael Carstairs, but Baron Drago. Release her, sir, or I will shoot you.”

  Damien felt immense rage, and frustration so mighty he wanted to do violence. He looked at the woman holding that damned gun, and shouted, “If you do, you will likely hit this little slut.”

  “No, I am an excellent shot. You would look rather alarming without one ear. But at least in the future Victoria would know it was you immediately and not your brother. You have one second, Baron.”

  Damien cursed, then, seeing no hope for it, shoved Victoria away from him, sending her sprawling to the muddy gutter. He climbed into his curricle and was gone in the next moment. He shouted over his shoulder, “I will see you again, Victoria.”

  Frances, smiling slightly, handed the pistol back to Mullens. “Victoria, my dear, are you all right? Come, let me help you rise. Oh, dear, you are quite wet and filthy. No harm done. All is well now. I am dreadfully sorry that I wasn’t here sooner.”

  Victoria forced herself to draw deep breaths, Frances’ easy flow of words soothing her. “Thank you, Frances,” she said, and rose. She stood there vaguely aware of all the people standing about gossiping about her, and none of them had done a thing to help! “I was a fool,” she said. “I thought it was Rafael.”

  “I know. I did too, at first.” She chuckled as she helped Victoria into her carriage. “I couldn’t imagine what the good captain had done to make you so angry. And vice versa, I might add.”

  She boosted Victoria into the carriage and said to the unmoving Mullens, “Lady Cranston’s, if you please. Come, Mullens, everything is fine now, don’t frown so, and you needn’t tell his lordship, though from your sour expression I would wager my next quarter’s allowance that you will do so.”

  The carriage bowled forward. Frances, looking at Victoria’s white face, said, “I thought you’d rip the skin off his nose. You were splendid.”

  “Yes,” Victoria said, slowly, “I was holding my own, wasn’t I?”

  It was unfortunate, in both ladies’ opinion, that Rafael was waiting at Lucia’s town house.

  Didier, unruffled, told them of that piece of news.

  “Let us go upstairs,” Frances whispered to Victoria. “There’s no reason to draw fire.”

  “Hurry, Frances.”

  But they didn’t make it. Rafael, hearing the noise, emerged from the drawing room to see Victoria, wet and filthy as his original ragamuffin, held against Frances, who was nearly as frowsy.

  “What the hell.”

  “Good morning, Captain,” Frances said, all bland confidence. “If you will excuse us for a moment, we will be down again presently.”

  “The devil you will. Victoria, what happened to you?”

  Then he saw her eyes. Saw the fear and the shock. Dear God, what had happened?

  Frances released her, and waited, a twinkle in her eyes, to see what would happen now. Sure enough, in but another moment Rafael strode to Victoria and took her into his arms. “What happened? Tell me.”

  “It was Damien,” she said, burying her face against his shoulder and wrapping her arms about his back. “I thought it was you. But he wasn’t at all tanned. There was something else about him, but I don’t know what it was. He tried to force me in his curricle. There were so many men about, but none of them would help me. Frances came along just in time.” She raised her face and tried for a smile. “I don’t see why Frances would ever have any need of a former mistress to help her.”

  “Ah, but I did,” Frances said easily. “That is a story I will tell you one cold winter’s night.”

  “She told him she would shoot his ear off if he didn’t let me go.”

  But Rafael wasn’t amused. “You went to the solicitor’s office, didn’t you? And Damien was there as well?”

  “Yes, outside. I had already spoken to Mr. Westover. I learned the provisions of my inheritance.”

  He wanted to shake her and to hold her very close. It was an unsettling dilemma. He compromised, saying harshly, “I trust you have learned your lesson, Victoria. You will do as I tell you in the future, do you understand me?”

  He felt her stiffen, but didn’t release her. He said over her head to Frances, “Thank you. As for you, Victoria, you will go upstairs now and bathe. I don’t want you to catch a chill.” He remembered belatedly that Frances was also a bit frayed and damp.

  Frances, who wasn’t at all remiss in her faculties, said, “Don’t worry about me, Rafael. I shall take myself back to Hawksbury House. Victoria, I will see you later today. All right?”

  Victoria nodded.

  She was still held close to Rafael. She felt his warmth and his strength and wondered how it could be that he was so very different from his twin. Didier gently closed the door behind Frances. It was only then that Rafael roused himself. “I’ll help you,” he said. “Come along now.”

  She allowed herself to be led upstairs to her bedchamber. Grumber was waiting stoically, no discernible surprise on her face at the sight of the young miss.

  “You look grubby as hell,” Rafa
el said, flicking his fingertip over a slash of mud on her cheek. “Clean her up, Grumber. I’ll be downstairs with Lady Lucia.”

  “It will take a while,” said Grumber.

  “Keep her warm.”

  With those words, and one final searching look at Victoria, Rafael took himself back downstairs to Lucia, who was in close conversation with Didier.

  “I gather you now know as much as I do,” he said to Lucia.

  “I’m not certain, Captain,” said Lucia, as bland as Cook’s giblet soup. “I did gather that it was your brother, Baron Drago, who came upon Victoria?”

  “Yes,” Rafael said in a savage voice. “She went to the solicitor, by herself, I might add, and Damien came upon her when she was leaving. She thought at first that he was I, but he wasn’t tanned, you see, and he was forcing her.”

  “Yes, my dear boy. Oh, dear, here I thought Victoria was still in her bed, with the headache.”

  “In any case, Frances saved her hide. Damnation—pardon me, ma’am—but it is too much. I told her I would handle everything. Why couldn’t she have simply left things alone?”

  Lucia walked to the sideboard and calmly poured Rafael a snifter of brandy. “Very good for temper,” she said, handing it to him.

  “You know,” she said after a moment, “I suppose I should tell you why Victoria went to Mr. Westover’s office. She isn’t a child, Rafael, and it is her right to know about her inheritance. You were high-handed, you know, all with the best intentions, I’m sure, but the result was the same. Now, as for your twin, it appears that he isn’t at all stupid. I doubt it will take long to find out that Victoria is here. And he is her guardian, with the law on his side. He could force her removal, could he not?”

  “No, I won’t let him.”

  “But he has the law on his side.”

  “I know.” Rafael sighed. Well, he might as well get it over with. He would propose to Victoria. Marriage would protect her, and there was no reasonable way Damien could refuse permission to his own brother. She would have to obey him, high-handed or not, once she was his wife. His mind made up, Rafael was impatient to get it over with. He trusted that Victoria was at least somewhat fond of him.

  He knew his own feelings tipped the scales to beyond mere fondness.

  He was to find himself thwarted. Hawk and Frances arrived shortly after Victoria emerged from her bedchamber, over an hour later, bathed and changed. He couldn’t prevent a frown. She looked sweet and fresh and utterly guileless, not at all the same girl who’d come into the house looking a sodden mess with her face as white as January snow.

  The entire matter was rehashed over luncheon for Hawk’s benefit. And the Marquess of Chandos arrived just after luncheon and demanded an equal hearing.

  To Rafael’s surprise, Victoria asked him quietly if she could drive with him in the park.

  “It’s raining again,” he said.

  “Oh, well, in that case, can I speak to you in the music room?”

  “All right,” he said ungraciously.

  He hadn’t intended to propose to his future wife in a damned music room, but he rapidly saw his alternatives deteriorating. He followed Victoria into the room and closed the door behind him. He watched her walk to the pianoforte and run her fingers over a few keys. He drew himself up, prepared to declare himself. The good Lord knew he had right on his side.

  But he didn’t have the chance.

  Victoria turned suddenly, and without preamble, her voice so bald as to be rude, “I wish you to marry me, Rafael. I wish it to be a marriage of convenience, with benefits to both of us. The benefits to me are obvious. For you, I wish you to know that I will give you half my inheritance.”

  He stared at her, unable to remember when he’d been so taken aback. She’d beaten him to the punch. He felt at once deflated and irritated. As a lady, she should have waited, should have let him do the proposing. Here she was demanding a ridiculous marriage of convenience. Well, so much for her fondness for him. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her that if he married her, all her money, not just half, would become his automatically. He didn’t say it.

  Before he could reply, whatever that would have entailed, she continued, more quickly, more uncertainly, “As I said, it would be a marriage of convenience. I won’t try to curtail your activities. You will be free to do whatever you wish to do. I swear, Rafael, I won’t hang on your sleeve or make you uncomfortable.”

  “I see,” he said finally, turning away from her to walk to the long bay windows. He stared at the blurring streaks of rain on the windowpanes, and said over his shoulder, not looking at her, “When did you come up with this idea?”

  “While I was bathing.”

  “Ah. What makes you think I would be in the least interested in such a proposition?”

  She was silent.

  “A wife is an immense responsibility, Victoria. A responsibility of a lifetime. We scarcely know each other.”

  “You’re right, of course,” she said, and he heard the defeat, the utter helplessness in her voice. He felt like a damned bounder. He had planned to marry her, and here he was making her a supplicant. He was grinding her under, breaking her utterly, and it wasn’t well done of him.

  “I’ll marry you,” he said.

  He turned as he spoke, and saw the leap of joy and relief in her expressive eyes. “Your eyes are very blue at this moment,” he said.

  “They change. Sometimes they even cross, particularly when I’m scared.”

  “Well, they’re not crossing now.”

  “No.”

  “There is just one matter, Victoria. I refuse to have a marriage of convenience.”

  She stiffened, staring at him.

  “If we marry, when we marry, you will be my wife and we will be as intimate as a husband and wife should be. Do you agree?”

  She thought of his strength, his warmth, the gentleness of his hands on her back but hours before, when Frances had brought her back. She tried to picture him naked, but she wasn’t all that certain what a man looked like completely unclothed. Then she thought of her leg and blanched. He would see her leg. What if he were repelled, as Elaine had been? It was a thought she simply couldn’t handle at the moment. She would think of something. Tell him now. Tell him the truth. But she couldn’t. She was a coward, a bloody coward.

  “Well, Victoria, do you agree?” Why was she hesitating? Did she find him unattractive? Did she fear having him bed her? He frowned. It wasn’t a possibility he was used to.

  “Yes,” she said finally, “I agree.”

  He rubbed his hands together. “Very well. We will wed as quickly as possible. I’m glad it’s settled, for I expect Damien to appear here at any time.”

  He saw that fear in her eyes again.

  “You won’t have to see him. Now, let’s tell everyone. I imagine that Lucia will know precisely what to do. Special license and all that nonsense.”

  “There is no one to give me away,” she said, her voice a bit wistful.

  “The marquess would be delighted.”

  “He is a very nice gentleman, isn’t he?”

  Rafael agreed and the two of them went back to the drawing room to receive congratulations from people who weren’t at all surprised at their announcement.

  The marquess was delighted at the prospect of acting Victoria’s parent, and said quietly, “My dear, you appear to be an utter delight. It will be my honor.”

  “Delight?” Rafael said, hearing this. “I’m not certain, sir. She does, however, require a strong hand.”

  Upon their departure, Frances said softly to Victoria, “You see, Victoria, everything worked out just as it should.”

  “I suppose so. I pray so. Rafael is very . . . well . . .”

  “Virile, handsome, a devil?”

  “Yes, you’re right. I suspect he will be a handful.”

  “If ever you find yourself in need of lessons or advice on dealing with such a man, I shall be at your beck and call.”

  L
ooking at Hawk from beneath her lashes, Victoria didn’t doubt for a moment that Frances had much experience dealing with gentlemen who were handfuls.

  8

  More belongs to this marriage than four legs in a bed.

  —THOMAS FULLER

  Lucia didn’t wonder even once why Rafael was loath to leave her town house. Perhaps those with lesser mental acuity might believe it was because he was playing the ardent lover with his betrothed, but not she.

  When Didier appeared at precisely three o’clock the following afternoon in the door of her drawing room, she took one look at his face and said to Rafael, “Well, my boy, I imagine the baron has duly arrived.”

  “Yes, my lady,” Didier said, only a single flick of an eyelid to show his surprise.

  “Do show the baron in,” Lucia said. “Then inform Miss Victoria that she is to remain in her bedchamber.”

  Lucia knew they were twins. However, seeing the two men together was still something of a shock, so alike were they. Mirror images standing there, facing each other.

  “Brother,” Rafael said, not moving from his position beside the fireplace.

  Damien gave Lucia a curt nod, then said to his twin, “I was rather hoping you would remain with your ship and take your merchandise to China.”

  “Unfortunately China was never a port of call. I imagined you would discover Victoria’s whereabouts quickly. You didn’t disappoint me.”

  “There is only one Lady Lucia in London,” Damien said, proferring Lucia another nod and an ironic bow. “You, my lady, I must thank for seeing to the comfort of my ward.”

  “Baron,” she said only. To Rafael she continued, “I shall leave you alone now. If there is anything you wish, you have but to ask Didier.”

  “That stately old fossil who answered my knock?”

  “Yes,” Lucia said, “he is the one.” She left the drawing room, wishing she could leave the door open, but of course she didn’t. Sometimes, she thought, it was most provoking to have had manners drummed into one from such an early age.