CHAPTER 13
T he difficulty with Damien DeVries wasn’t that he was an honorable man, or even that he was a superlative lover. His consideration and gentlemanliness were as admirable as his robust enthusiasm in the bedroom. She liked his unpredictable sense of humor, and even his gruff dismissiveness when he feared someone had discerned that he was not as heartless as he might have others believe. She could only respect his code of honor.
No, the trouble with Damien was that he made Esmeralda believe in the impossible.
And that was why she could not destroy him. He did not realize the price of being outside the circle of society. He had no notion what it was like, and she would not compel him to learn.
She would protect him, the way he defended so many others.
How curious that they shared such an impulse. In another time and another place, they might have made a match, but it was impossible now.
He slept beside her, the weight of his arm cast across her waist and his heat against her side. She could not bring herself to leave. Now that they had disagreed, each moment in his company was precious. It felt sinful and inappropriate to have stayed in his bed, but also completely right – as if she had finally found her proper place, the one where she belonged.
Yet she knew she could not stay. She listened to the steady rhythm of his breathing and pushed her hand through the thickness of his hair. He had been demanding this night, as if he strove to convince her of a truth she would deny, and she had never felt so cherished and beautiful in all her life. She was sleepless in his fine chamber, the fire burned down to embers and casting a golden glow over the room. The house was quiet, though she knew there would be watchful guardians at their duties, for the duke was never remiss in his resolve to protect everyone beneath his care.
Esmeralda sighed. She had known for many years that there could be no escape from the path she had been compelled to follow. Her future possibilities had always been bleak. She would either be killed in the course of performing her services – by some man turned to violence and rage when she was alone with him – or she would die of some horrific ailment, despite her many precautions. If she survived past the age of forty, she would likely be shunned by society and perhaps even destitute. There were no happy endings for courtesans, at least not in the world Esmeralda knew all too well.
She knew that this time at Haynesdale Manor was destined to be an interval, no more and no less. Her expectations had been pragmatic ones. The duke would tire of her charms. He would dislike the judgement of his friends upon his choice of mistress. His mother would balk at Esmeralda’s residence. It would come to an end, inevitably, no matter how wondrous it was at the beginning. The novelty would fade to nothing at all.
But that inevitable outcome had not proven to be so, at least not yet, and her conviction that she was right was slowly fading. Each night became more, not less, and desire increased with familiarity, instead of diminishing. She could not explain it.
She did not want to.
Being with Damien was so wondrous in the moment that Esmeralda found herself not just hoping for more, but believing matters could be different. He offered marriage. He pledged his love. Could a duke compel the world to accept his choice? She supposed it might be done, though she reminded herself that his affection for her – his desire for her – was doomed to come to an end.
And likely too soon for her own preference.
She moved slightly so she could look upon his face, wanting to drink in the sight of him as much as she could. Those dark brows gave him an uncompromising expression even in slumber. Her fingers tangled in his hair, then swept across his strong jaw. He was tanned golden, and she thought of a lion, content with his lot, majestic and unassailable in his dominance of all. He had not retrieved his chemise but slept nude beside her. His skin gleamed in the ember’s light, tanned from head to toe, his shoulders broad and his back muscled to perfection. She considered his hand, relaxed on the linens beside her, strong yet gentle, and smiled at the tempest those fingers had conjured from deep within her. She sighed, saddened by her own prediction, then turned to touch her lips to his before she slept.
She found his eyes open and his gaze locked upon her. Had there ever been a man with such a steady gaze?
Had there ever been a man so cursedly perceptive?
Esmeralda dropped her own gaze and settled on the pillow as if to sleep.
“You have not yet slept,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her bare shoulder. “Did I not satisfy you?”
“Of course. My thoughts churn, no more and no less.”
Far from distracting him, her words prompted him to brace himself on his elbow and look down at her. “What worries you, Esmeralda?”
She forced a smile. “The same as always. I strive to anticipate the future.” She reached then to close the drapes around the bed, sealing them in darkness that he might not discern the doubts she would rather hide.
He snorted then burrowed into the covers beside her, pulling her back against him so that they were spooned together. She smiled as he took a deep breath of her scent, then closed her eyes when he nuzzled the back of her neck. “To what end?” he mused, his words so softly uttered that she felt the vibration of them against her back as much as she heard them. “The future comes, as it will, whether we worry about it or not.”
“You are right, of course,” she said lightly. “Good night.”
“It is no good night when you speak to me as if I am a simple child,” he growled. “You forget, Esmeralda, that I am not so readily appeased as your customary companions.”
“I suppose I do.” She could not leave the matter be, though she knew she should. “Doubtless that will not be a concern for long.”
She felt him rise over her, his weight braced upon his arms. “What does that mean?”
She smiled up at the shadow of him above her, his features lost in darkness. “That all unions such as this, however merry they might be, run their course in time.”
He was not appeased. “You think this is but an interval?”
“What else might it be?”
The duke flung himself back on the bed, and cool air replaced the warmth of his body against her back. “Why can it not be more?” he demanded.
“You know why. I would not review our disagreement again.”
“And yet, I would.”
He spoke with such determination that Esmeralda sat up in haste. She was still nude in his bed, which was no place for such a discussion. She swung from the bed and retrieved her robe, as if she armed herself for battle.
“I did not realize I was so offensive,” he said gruffly, getting out of bed himself. He put on his own robe, then poked the fire with more force than was certainly required. The flames leapt and crackled, and he loaded more coal into the fireplace to encourage it. When it was burning brightly, he turned back to her again. “What is so horrific about the prospect of wedding me?”
“Not the prospect but the truth,” she said and he shook his head, puzzled. “You will not wed me in the end, and I do not blame you. Can you blame me for defending myself against a prospect that will never occur?” she added this last before he could defend his intentions. He opened his mouth, but she went to him, placing a hand on his chest. “You will marry a young lady of good breeding, one who can give you half a dozen healthy sons, one with an impeccable reputation. That is right and good. It is what you should do.”
The duke did not interrupt her. He simply folded his arms across his chest and looked displeased.
“You know that you must wed such a woman, to do your duty to your family and your title.”
“To hell with both of them.”
Esmeralda knew she had to appease him. “It is lovely that you say such things to me, but we both know they cannot come to be. I would rather hear the truth from your lips than sweet promises of what can never be.”
“And where is it writ that you and I could not wed?”
“You know we could not.” She spoke with impatience. “Do not sully everything by pretending to believe such a fantasy.”
He studied her, his expression inscrutable. “I have never known it to sully any situation to speak of the truth in one’s heart.”
“And yet, this time, it does. I suppose I should be encouraged that you are not in the habit of entertaining women in my trade.”
“Esmeralda! You are not here because of your trade.”
“Am I not?”
His eyes narrowed, giving him a dangerous air, but Esmeralda was not daunted.
“I am here,” she said with care. “Because I owe a debt to you, and I have only one way of paying it.”
He swore then and strode away from her, pushing his hand through his hair. His hand was yet on the back of his neck when he turned to face her and she could have sworn that he was insulted. “You think I am no different from the others,” he said.
Esmeralda sank into a chair before the fire. “I think men are men and the world is how it is, and as much as I have enjoyed the repayment of my debt to you, I do not fool myself that it can ever be more.”
“I would make it more.”
“And the world would ensure that your thinking was changed.”
“No.” He shook his head, as unshakable in his conviction as a veritable mountain. She loved that he believed he could change the entire world to suit his expectations, but matters did not proceed thus – even for a duke of the realm.
She faced him sternly. “You do not know what you propose.”
“I propose that you become my wife. I propose that you abandon this volume of yours and become my wife instead, that such a choice would ensure your financial security far better, if not your contentment.”
“You would be ostracized from polite society, Your Grace.”
“I do not care!” he said, his voice rising.
“You would care when no one will receive you, when no one speaks to you, when your influence is diminished and your coin is not as welcome as that of everyone else.” Esmeralda heard her own voice rise. “You would care when your mother was shunned, when her orders were delayed or not fulfilled at all, when she found old friends ignoring her.” She watched his jaw set at that prospect. “You would care when inferior goods were delivered at the price of premium ones and no one would hear your objection. You would care, sir, because it would be entirely different from your experience to date.”
“You assume much.” He considered her, his eyes narrowed. “Or is this only because you believe I would demand that you not pursue the publication of your book?”
“I will publish my book, if it is the last deed I do,” Esmeralda said hotly. “And I will not wed you or any other man. The social situation that I experience every hour of every day is wearing and insulting and demeaning, and I would not wish it upon any soul for whom I held the smallest increment of affection. I decline you, sir, for your own good!”
“You would be my duchess!” he roared and she took a step back, not from his annoyance but from the volume of his words. He glanced upwards, scowled, then took a step closer. “Heed me, Esmeralda. You will never learn that I am different from other men if you do not grant me the opportunity to prove it.”
“And if I am right?” she hissed. “What solution would there be for me then? What escape would be possible? I must surrender all to learn the truth, then be trapped if my suspicions are right. You demand too much of me, sir.”
“Damien.”
“Your Grace.”
They eyed each other for a long moment, the fire crackling as the moments passed. Then he muttered something Esmeralda did not discern, and came to sit in the chair before the fire. He heaved a great sigh and rubbed his brow. “I hate when we disagree,” he confessed. “I prefer to talk to you.”
“You prefer to pursue other activities with me, sir,” she said, striving to make him smile.
He did. His grin was quick, though it faded when his gaze lingered upon her. He indicated the seat beside himself. “Tell me of it,” he invited and she shook her head, not understanding. “Tell me how you came to this life and why.”
“Why would I do as much?”
“Because I wish to understand.” He considered her, his eyes dark. “Because I suspect no one has invited you to share the tale before. Let me prove myself different. Confide in me.”
Oh, Esmeralda was tempted.
“It was no choice, I assure you,” she said tartly, then shook her head. “No, that is not true. It was a choice. I could decide between my innocence and my life.”
His eyes brightened. “You would have been killed if you had not joined the trade?”
Esmeralda nodded, looking at the fire so she would not see the horror in his gaze. “I would have died, certainly. And I do not believe he would have let me starve. No, it would have been quick and cruel.”
“Tell me,” the duke whispered.
Esmeralda hesitated. She had never shared this story, but why not do as much now? It might make him realize how impossible his proposition was. She took the seat beside him and folded her hands in her lap, seeking a place to begin, liking how patiently he waited upon her.
What if he was different?
On impulse, she began to speak and once the words began to fall from her lips, she could not stop them. “I was young and alone. I was afraid. Hungry and cold. I had been sheltered all my life, pampered even, and when my parents died and there was nothing left, I was lost. Until a man, a kindly man I thought, offered me shelter and assistance. He bought me a hot meal in a tavern and took me home. I had no notion that such aid would come at that particular price.”
She felt him lean closer, felt the intensity of his gaze upon her. He waited, and he listened, and that was more compelling than any appeal he might have made.
Esmeralda shivered and shook her head. “But I do not like to think of it. I do not like to remember. Surely you can understand that.”
“I do. There are parts of the war that I would prefer to forget.”
“When your leg was injured?”
He was dismissive. “I do not wish to speak of it. In fact, I do not remember Badajoz at all. Emerson saved me, but had a poor reward in that.”
“How so?”
“He has been tormented by nightmares of that night ever since.”
“Sometimes it is better to forget,” she said softly. She met his gaze as he nodded, knowing her own was fierce. In a curious way, she wanted to confide in him. “But you did not choose to be injured. I chose to go with Jacques DesJardins.”
“Do you blame yourself for your misplaced trust?”
She found herself frowning. “Sometimes. I followed him willingly, so hungry that I thought him a savior. Once I was secured in his home, he made his expectation clear.”
“He meant to abuse you?”
“He meant to sell my favors. He threatened to kill me if I refused, and I knew he would do it. I could have told the authorities of his deeds. I could have revealed him, and he would not have let that occur at any price. I wanted to live. I wanted to live enough to do what he demanded of me, and once it was done, the only way to survive was to continue.”
The duke’s eyes were dark, his expression unfathomable. “Do you remember the first time?”
Esmeralda smiled as if his words had not made her heart clench. There was the fortunate detail, for the first time had not been bad. Her first patron had been a kind and gentle one, though Jacques had not contrived that situation.
“Of course,” she said, her throat tight. “Don’t you?”
“Oh, I do,” he said, turning his gaze to the fire and sitting back in his chair. A smile of reminiscence played over his lips and his features softened, as if just the memory of that woman, whoever she had been, could lighten his heart.
Esmeralda felt a stab of jealousy so potent that it took her breath away.
“Tell me,” she invited, echoing his words, striving to keep her tone light.
“But you are sharing your tale.”
“I believe you know all of it that is of import.” She shrugged. “I do not want to remember those days. Tell me. Your story will be sweeter, I am sure.”
He studied her for a long moment, his gaze fathomless, then stared into the fire. “It was a long time ago,” he said in a rumble.
“I would wager you had some time to refine your skills, given their excellence,” she teased and he chuckled.
“Not then. Oh, I was a youth filled with ideals and noble urges.” He shook his head, clearly enjoying the memory. “My brother – my oldest brother, James – used to tease me about it. I had an idea that I would wait until I met the lady I intended to marry, but James thought this a folly of the worst order.”
“You? But you were a rakehell.”
“I gambled. I raced horses. I dueled.” He shook a finger at her. “But I did not seduce women, neither maidens nor courtesans, not until later. When I was young, I had a plan.”
And when Damien DeVries had a plan, he clung to it. Esmeralda smiled.
“In the end, James took me to Paris. I had refused his invitation, knowing his intention, but he was not one to be denied. He was accustomed to being the heir to the duchy and the title. He was not one who was refused. He took me to dinner at his club and got me drunk, then spirited me away to Dover. By the time I awakened with a resounding headache, we were in the midst of the Channel.”
“What a devious creature.”
“He was one for revels, to be sure, and he sought to pass along his expertise. He thought the journey a fitting ritual for me, and was determined to see it done. What an adventure.” He shook his head. “There was no restaurant where we did not dine in Paris, no theater we did not patronize, no brothel we did not visit. I believe we were drunk, both day and night, the entire week we were there. I cannot believe that we were not robbed and left for carrion, but I suppose we had a company to ensure that the duke’s son and heir was defended.”
“You?”
He frowned and shook his head. “Tsk tsk, Esmeralda. I was the third son, utterly disposable. It was James who had to be protected.” He shrugged. “Shame that such a party failed to defend him from pneumonia some years later.”
“Do not tell me that your first time was when you were so drunk?”
“It was. I was less drunk than James, to be sure, for I did not have his capacity. He took me to so many brothels, and I waited while he indulged his desire. He urged me to choose each time, but I could not.”
“No one suited your fancy? Or was it your principle?”
“My principle was easily defended. The women seemed old to me, though I was not so young as that, and fierce. I think I found them daunting.”
Esmeralda smiled. She could almost name the establishments they must have visited. “When was this?”
“1803. In May, just as war was declared. Travel to Paris was already more complicated, but James had connections to arrange our passage.” His brows rose. “Even so, we barely managed to return home as planned.”
She blinked and straightened slightly.
“You are startled.”
“I am surprised that two wealthy young men would make such a dangerous trip,” she said, which was not entirely untrue.
He chuckled. “James was determined to do it, for my father had already bought my commission. He jested that I could not die without knowing the pleasure of a woman. And in truth, it was the kind of perilous venture I liked best in those days. I did not leave England willingly but once there, I enjoyed the city.”
“And that first time?”
He smiled a little and stared into the fire, his voice low when he spoke. “I can still see that place. The parlor with its red and black striped wall coverings, the heavy red drapes, the abundance of cheap gold ornamentation.”
Esmeralda felt a lump rise in her throat.
“It was so tawdry, and yet, exotic in its unfamiliarity. Someone was playing a pianoforte in another room of the house and the fire smoked on the hearth. The lights were low but the smoke made it seem even darker. It was to be our last night in Paris, and this, the last brothel. Smaller than the others, though not so very different.” He swallowed. “I might have clung to my principle, were it not for the girl. That girl.”
Esmeralda watched him in horror. It could not be true.
He flicked a glance at her and smiled, stirred from his memories into recalling her presence. “She was lovely. Dark hair and green eyes. Eyes so green. Thickly lashed and a ripe rosy mouth. She was slender but not too much so, and her dress was white with an embroidered hem. I remember the sight of her satin slippers, that the ribbon roses were tattered. I remember that her hands were clasped so tightly together that her knuckles were white. I remember the sharp tang of her fear.”
Esmeralda, too, could see that room, and she remembered being that girl. Surely there had been dozens of them, so similar and in the same plight.
Surely, he could not be remembering her.
But now she remembered that first night, the large English aristocrat’s son with the kindness in his dark eyes, and she could not take a breath.
Damien shook his head. “It was her uncertainty that snared me. I had never felt so protective of another being in my life. She did not belong there and I knew it with a glimpse. I wanted to shield her from whatever would happen in that place that night. I wanted to take her away from there, to save her.” He swallowed and his voice turned husky. “I wondered how she would look if she smiled.” He smiled sadly at Esmeralda. “And with that, I was as sober as ever I had been. When she was offered to us and my brother reached for her, I intervened. It was the sole time I insisted upon having what he desired, and he laughed at me.” He lifted a dark brow. “But he ceded and I did not give him the chance to reconsider.”
“Love at first sight,” Esmeralda managed to say, knowing that she should tease him to disguise her own reaction. It could not be so, but it had to be so. She knew he did not lie.
He smiled. “I thought so. I was enchanted at any rate, and I willingly paid the price demanded. My brother later told me it was too high, that she was not likely a virgin despite what was said, but I did not care. I was gallant, where gallantry was not welcome.”
“And your encounter?”
“Was clumsy, I am sure. If she was not virgin, she pretended to be one well enough. We were so cautious with each other, knowing what had to be done, but unclear on the details of it all.” He smiled again, shaking his head. “My schoolroom French was utterly inadequate – curious how tutors do not instruct us in such useful vocabulary – and she did not understand English at all.” Esmeralda watched him, knowing his thoughts were years away. “And yet, it was marvelous in a way that I’ve seldom experienced since.”
Her heart might have been weighted with lead.
For Esmeralda recalled that night, that place and that encounter as clearly as he.