Now Comes the Night (40 page)

“I’m sorry, my dear.” Conrad sighed as he leaned back against Damian. “Were you waiting on me? I’m afraid I have a lot on my mind tonight.”

“Understandable,” Damian replied, thinking of all that had transpired. “It’s been a most eventful evening. And, while we’re on the subject, I wanted to thank you for confiding in me earlier tonight.”

At that, Conrad turned to face him, his expression puzzled. “About my having a lot on my mind? It was hardly said in confidence.”

Damian sighed. “I said ‘earlier’ this evening. I was referring to our conversation in your study. Just after Marc left?”

“Ah. I see. That conversation.” Shaking off Damian’s hold on him, Conrad pulled the drapes across the window. His hands, clenched tight in the thick velvet, betrayed his tension. “So now you would thank me for having once again endangered you? My dear, I’ve said it before, but it bears repeating, you have a most peculiar way of viewing these things. I assure you, no thanks are necessary. In fact,” he continued as he turned back around to face Damian. “I believe I owe you an apology. I would have done better to keep those thoughts to myself. It was…unbecoming of me to involve you.”

Damian stiffened in disbelief. “Unbecoming? How so?”

Conrad shrugged and looked away. “I simply mean that a…a stronger man might have borne his concerns in silence and not have felt the need to unburden himself needlessly. What purpose did it serve to tell you these things, especially so long after the fact? No good can come of it. All it accomplished was to place your life in even greater jeopardy.”

“Then I’m glad you’re
not
a ‘stronger man’,” Damian insisted angrily. “Did we not agree that I deserve to know more of what you’re thinking—at least with regard to the twins? That it would be helpful for me to have the information I need to better assist you? That’s what purpose was served, Conrad. As for the danger…
Dios mio
, you
know
that’s not what I was thanking you for. I was thanking you for trusting me with a few of your secrets. I know it could not have been easy for you, especially given the subject. I know it’s not something you like to discuss.”

“No.” Conrad grimaced. “It certainly is not. But, Damian, my friend, what are you thinking? My trust? Once again, there’s no need for you to thank me. You’ve more than earned my trust. Many times over. Surely you know that already?”

Damian nodded in response. “
Sí
.
Muchas gracias
.” He did know it. That was nothing less than the truth. But it was still nice to have it acknowledged—and with hardly any prompting.

Conrad reached for Damian and pulled him close. “I only wish the reverse was true.”

Damian swallowed hard. The reverse…of what? He was having a little trouble making sense of that. No doubt the result of what Conrad was doing now. His hands slid over the tissue-thin silk of Damian’s dressing gown, then slipped inside to stroke Damian’s flesh. “I’m, uh… I’m afraid I don’t follow you.”

Conrad’s hands stilled. Damian almost bit his lip in frustration when he withdrew them. “What I mean is, all things considered, I have not been as deserving of your trust. And for that I’m truly sorry.”

Oh. That. “What does it matter? Deserved or not, you have it all the same.” Damian brushed the subject aside impatiently. “I trust you implicitly.” He’d hoped that, by now, that would not even need saying. He was running short of ways in which to prove his faith—and his faithfulness. He’d already demonstrated it using means that were painful, disfiguring, life-threatening…

How much farther need he go?

“I know you do. Although your reasons still elude me. You must realize I don’t even trust myself at times?”

To that Damian had no answer—or, at least none that he wished to share, none that would not insult or embarrass at least one of them. It was in the nature of
Invitus
to lose control when pushed too far and it was not always easy to judge when that point might be reached. Damian was not so great a fool that he would ever forget that again.

“Never mind,” Conrad sighed. “I’m sure the reason, whatever it is, is of no import. We need say no more on the subject.”

“Ah.
Sí
.” Damian grimaced. “Your usual response, then?”

“Pardon?” Conrad frowned cautiously.

“It’s nothing,” Damian insisted, adding, when Conrad appeared to be waiting for more. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it. It’s just… That
is
how you generally respond to most subjects, is it not?”

“Is it? I’ve never really considered the matter. It’s entirely possible you’re right, but what of it? What’s ever been gained by saying too much? In most instances, I find, the least said, the better.”

“In most cases, perhaps. What about the rest of the time?” Thinking back, Damian could recall so many occasions, over the years, when it seemed too much had been left unsaid between them.

Conrad gazed at him curiously. “
Caro
, was there something in particular you wished to discuss with me?”

Damian quickly shook his head. “No, no.” He couldn’t understand why they were talking at all, for that matter. Surely there were better things they could be doing? More pleasurable things and less dangerous as well. “It was merely an observation.”

To his dismay, Conrad’s expression turned thoughtful and Damian resigned himself to a long bout of frustration. “Well, since we are speaking hypothetically, I will admit that—perhaps—if I trusted my temper more, I might be more willing to engage in these prolonged discussions you seem to favor. But, in truth, I find that most of the time they’re not worth the effort they require to keep myself in check.” A wry smile curved Conrad’s mouth as he added, “Or then again, perhaps, it’s my inability to resist your charms that worries me. You’re far too successful, as it is, in your attempts to convince me to do things I would not do otherwise. I shudder to think what you might be able to persuade me to do were I to allow you to talk at even greater length. You can’t fault me for attempting to protect myself, can you?”

“Protect yourself?” Damian stared in disbelief. “From me? You’re joking.”

“No, not at all. You’ve always been my greatest weakness. That has been the case from almost the first night I laid eyes on you, my beautiful little lordling.”

Damian turned his head at that, averting his gaze, unwilling to meet Conrad’s eyes any longer. He could not argue with being called beautiful. He knew he was, even despite the scars, and he did his best to keep up his appearance. But little he most definitely was not! For his time, he was unusually tall—and he would always have several inches on Conrad, whether either of them liked it or not. As for his being a weakness… “I don’t much like that idea.” To his ears it sounded almost as though Conrad regretted their association. “It’s hardly flattering, you know.”

“Very true.” Conrad took hold of Damian’s chin, forcing him to face him once again. “It doesn’t flatter me at all. But, like it or not, it’s true. And all the more ironic.”

“I’m failing to see this supposed irony,” Damian replied, still trying to avoid meeting Conrad’s gaze. That look in his eyes—gentle, intense, loving—made Damian want to fall to his knees in front of him. If either of them could be said to be a weakness, surely Conrad was his. And, yes, there had been times when Damian had very much regretted that fact.

“Damian.” Just his name, but spoken in just that tone, had the desired effect. Damian’s gaze locked instantly with Conrad’s as though even his eyes took their orders from the man! “The irony, my love, comes from the fact that whenever I’ve been at my weakest, my most vulnerable, my most…lost, it’s to you I’ve turned for comfort, for support, for rescue. The truth,
mi amor
, is that you’ve always been my greatest strength as well.”

“Oh.” Heat rose in Damian’s cheeks. His gaze faltered and he had to clear his throat several times before he could respond. “Well, that… That’s very much better then, isn’t it?”

Chapter Twenty-Two

March, 1983

After leaving Damian and Paul in the dining room, Conrad had retreated to the library. With its picture windows looking out at the lawn, it was the perfect place for him to hide out while he licked his wounds.

For what was possibly the first time in his life, he’d run from a fight. He was almost positive it was the first time, certainly he could not recall having ever done so before. But this was a battle he could only lose, assuming he hadn’t already lost it. If the anguished look in Damian’s eyes was anything to go by, the concern for Paul that was writ so clearly on his face, Conrad hadn’t ever stood a chance.

Very little surprised him anymore. In fact, since the night that he saw the twins born and his world-view turned upside down, he’d thought that nothing that could ever occur anywhere on the planet could cause him to feel anything other than mildly startled. Until tonight. Paul’s revelation had done more than surprise him. The implications had left him stunned.

Damian had lied to him.

Conrad didn’t even know what he was supposed to do with that information. Damian had been the one person Conrad was sure he knew, the one person he was certain he could trust. With his life. With the twins’ lives. With everything he’d ever held dear. Now, he wondered if he’d ever known anyone or anything at all. The revelation was more than merely unsettling. It was absolutely terrifying.

The front door slammed, shaking the house and leaving Conrad momentarily breathless. Had Damian left then? Conrad’s heart pounded furiously at the thought. Anger and denial raged through him unchecked until he consoled himself by recalling how unlikely it was that Damian would abandon the twins entirely, or to go back on his word to help Conrad care for them. They had an agreement, did they not? An understanding? That had to count for something!

But then again, it wasn’t as though Damian would be the first of them to break a promise they’d made to each other, or the first to betray their mutual trust. No, that honor would always belong to Conrad. And if Damian chose to pay him back now, by treating him with the same callous disregard, just who did Conrad imagine he’d have to blame for that?

The promise he’d made the twins, just a week earlier, did complicate matters. He’d sworn to them then that he’d bring Damian back, that he’d do everything in his power to keep their small family from becoming even smaller. At least
they
still trusted him. At least
they
still had faith he would do what he said. But if Damian had left again, of his own free will this time, what was Conrad supposed to do about that? Should he hunt him down and force him to comply?

He certainly
could
do that if he had to, though it would mean proving true everything Paul had said about him. Or he could break his promise to the twins instead. Perhaps he should flip a coin to decide? After all, one choice was as bad as the other.

“Conrad? May I speak with you?”

Damian’s voice, hesitant though it was, broke through the gloom of Conrad’s thoughts like the sweet relief of sunset after a long summer’s day. He hadn’t left. There was still reason to hope. Conrad turned away from the window to face him. “Is he gone?”

Pain flared in Damian’s beautiful eyes. He ducked his head and nodded. “
Sí
.”

“And how is it you’re still here? I’d expected you to leave with him.” They were not the words Conrad had intended to say, but betrayal still churned in his gut and the words he wanted to say, the ones that would make things right again between them, eluded him.

Damian’s head reared back, his eyes wide and startled. “Conrad, please. I-I…”

“Oh, never mind,” Conrad growled. He brushed the stammered excuses away with an impatient wave of his hand, silently cursing himself. “You didn’t go, obviously. I suppose I should be content with that.” And he should just let the subject drop, but he needed to know the extent of Damian’s treachery. “But…ten years, Damian? And have you been in contact with him all that time?”

“No. No, of course not. My hand to God, that was never the case. I’d no intention of ever seeing him again after that first night when I brought him home. I swear it. He was just so
young
. I judged it best to leave his mind alone.”

“Even though I had judged otherwise?” His memory was not yet so bad he did not remember that!

“I know. I apologize. I should never have gone against your wishes, but I feared the harm it might do him were I to erase any more of his memory. He recalled very little about our encounter as it was.”

“He remembered enough,” Conrad said dryly. “Although, perhaps that was to be expected. Perhaps you’re not as easy to forget as you assume?” Certainly Conrad had never found it easy. “So…exactly when did the two of you renew your acquaintance then?”

Damian looked away once more. “That was purely by accident and not until after we moved here. I ran into him again shortly after we arrived.”

“An accident! Oh, yes, no doubt. Well, that explains everything, does it not? And all your subsequent meetings with him, were they accidents as well?”

“I… No. Not entirely, no.”

“Enlighten me, Damian, please. After all the trouble we’ve taken to erase our trail, how is it you saw no harm in this? Had you no concern for the fact that our secrets could be exposed? No thought of the danger to the children?”

“But, Conrad, honestly, what risk did he pose? He was but a child himself when we first met him. No one would have taken him seriously, no matter what he’d claimed. Now that he’s older, he maintains no contact with anyone from his former life. They’ve all cast him off. So there’s nothing to connect us, nothing to give us away. Our secrets are as safe now as ever they were—I swear it.”