The Lion's Daughter (58 page)

Varian
stared numbly at the gems in his hand.

“Not
enough,” Ismal fretted. “I told you, Red Lion, it would
not be
—”

“No,
no, it's enough,” Varian said quickly. “I nearly said it
was too
much
—
but
that would be an insult, I suppose.” “You see?”
Jason told Ismal. “He understands better than you think. Not
all Englishmen are blockheads.”

“I
understand the payment,” Varian said as he returned the stones
to the bag. “There was a time when my own countrymen settled
differences in a similar way. Still do, in some cases. What I don't
understand is why you came all this way for the chess set when you'd
already a fortune in jewels.” “I came for revenge,”
said Ismal. “On Sir Gerald. The rest... Fate, perhaps.”
He glanced at Jason. “Or my own stupid arrogance.”

“I
quite understand,” said Varian. “Esme's made a wreck of
me, too.”

Chapter
33

AFTER
LEAVING ISMAL, ESME TRUDGED TO THE chamber Jason had reserved. She
managed to wash, change into the frock set out for her, and consume
most of her breakfast before she gave up and collapsed on the bed.
She didn't waken until mid-afternoon, when Varian and Jason returned
to collect her.

Deaf
to her pleas that they remain in Newhaven and rest, they briskly
bundled her into a carriage. Minutes thereafter, all her attention
was riveted upon Jason and the story he told. He began twenty-five
years before, when he'd fallen in love with Diana and lost her and
his property through Sir Gerald's treachery. He related her uncle's
deathbed confession, with its astonishing revelation about Esme's
aunt, who'd turned Sir Gerald's vicious mind against him,
blackmailing him with his own evil deed and punishing him with his
own misconceptions.

“I
admire my aunt for the way she managed and punished my uncle,”
Esme said, interrupting her father, “but that does not change
what he did. He destroyed your life.”

“I
tried to tell you before,” Jason answered. “I'd been
headed for ruin anyhow. Gerald only hastened the inevitable. I
recognized years ago that marrying Diana would have been a disastrous
mistake. We were both wayward and selfish. You didn't know me then.
You've no idea how Albania
—
and
especially your mama
—
changed
me. Just as Diana's experiences changed her. By the time we came
together again last year, we were dif
fierent
people.”

“Wayward
you may have been, but selfish I cannot believe,” Esme said.
“You sent her a chess set worth five thousand pounds at a time
you so badly needed money.”

“My
dear girl, I hadn't the remotest notion what it was worth,” he
said impatiently. “I won the bloody thing in a card game.”

Esme
didn't open her mouth again until
Jason's tale had taken them to this morning, when he'd been waiting
to capture Ismal ...
and found the task grossly
complicated when Esme Emerged from Ismal's carriage.

Then
she was obliged to explain how she'd managed to stumble into his
clutches. When she'd finished, her father was glaring at her. Varian
only stared doggedly out the window. “Damnation, Esme, don't
you know your grandmother better than that?” her father
demanded. “Don't you think she knew her own son? I'd stake my
life she knew Gerald was desperate and planning to bolt
—
and
she was happy to help him. She'd have done anything to get rid of
him.” “Then why not give him the black queen
—
and
let him take the whole chess set?” Esme countered.

“Because
he settled easily for less. Though I'm sure she suspected he meant to
steal the set as well. She probably meant to do something about that,
too
—
only
she was drugged before she could.” “Perci
val
meant to do something,”
Varian put in quietly. “He even suspected Ismal was involved.
The poor boy never dreamed he'd be drugged within a few hours of
entering his father's house.”

“As
you both wish I had been,” she said tightly. Neither man
replied, which was answer enough. As usual, everything was all
her
fault. She clamped her mouth shut
and did not open it again except to eat, when they stopped at the
Dorset Arms in East Grinstead.

•
• •

VARIAN
FELT THE tension building all through dinner. Jason must have sensed
it, too, because he elected to spend the rest of the journey on the
box with the coachman. It was I mild night, he said, and he hadn't
seen his homeland in a quar
ter
of a century.

After
five silent minutes in the carriage with Esme, Varian began to wish
he'd joined his father-in-law. He was in no state to handle any more
confrontations. His nerves still jangled after what had been, beyond
doubt, the very worst day of his entire misbegotten existence. He
could scarcely look at her without seeing the deadly blade at her
throat. He stared into the night, praying she'd hold her tongue all
the way to London.

“I
wanted to be with you,” she said in a choked, hurt voice “I
wanted to give you the chess set, so you would not have to work so
hard any more and spoil your hands.”

“Dear
God,” he muttered to the window. “My hands.”

“Once,
they were smooth and white. Now only look. They are brown and hard
and calloused and
—
and
bruised and cut as well. It is all my fault, I suppose. Yet you are
angry because I tried
—”

“Because
you nearly got yourself killed!” He swung around to her, and it
flashed before him again, for the hundredth time: the blast of fire
and smoke, and Esme falling. “Why couldn't you just keep still
and leave it to me? For God's sake, did you think I'd let
Ismal
—
anyone
—
take
you away? Do you think I'm so inept?”

“It
was you I thought of! I could not let him shame you!”

“
You
couldn't let him. What the hell do
you think I was there for? A sea bath?” He closed his eyes.
“Why do I ask?
Think.
You
never think.”

“I'm
sorry,” she said. “I did not mean to insult you. I know
you came to save me.”

“You
just didn't trust me to do it. Avenge Jason. Avenge
me!
That's all you were willing to leave
to me: revenge. You never considered the rest, did you?” he
demanded. “Of what it would be like for me, to spend the rest
of my days blaming and hating myself because I couldn't find a way to
keep you safe.”

'Then
why would you not keep me with you?” she cried. “I begged
you, but you would not listen.”

He
winced. He should have kept her with him, should have known better
than to let her out of his sight. But she wasn't a
child,
and
he
would not play nanny the rest of his life. He could not live in
constant fear that she'd do something insane if he isn't by to
prevent it.

“I
thought I explained everything at Mount Eden,” he said
levelly.
“
I
thought
you understood. Yet you had so little faith in me, you didn't even
consult me. You could have written about what you'd overheard. I was
only three hours away. Instead, tried to run away with that cursed
chess set. All by your
self,
in
the
dead of night. In England, where a lady doesn't step out the door in
broad day without an escort.”

She
clasped her hands tightly in her lap. “I know that was wrong.
But I had lost my temper. And you know how it is with me, Varian.”

“Demonic
possession.”

“Yes”,
she answered sadly.

She
had him
at point
non
plus.
He
couldn't fight the demon in her breast.

Varian
thought for a long while, aware of the anxious glances she darted at
him. “Very well,” he said finally. “If you cannot
manage your temper, we can't possibly have children. Ever.” Her
gasp was sharp as a shriek. “
No,
you cannot
—”
“I
can just picture you as
a mother. The first time the poor devil tri
es
your patience, you'll lose your
temper and drown it. And be dreadfully sorry after, of course. Then
you'll promise never to do it again and pester me for another. The
next thing I know
the
blighter will wake you up in the night
—
and
you'll toss him out the window.” “I would never,
never
harm a child.” “I don't
trust you.” He folded his arms across his chest. “I can't
trust you to come to me and say, 'Varian, the child is making me
crazy. What shall we do? '
We,”
he repeated. “As in asking for
help. As in consulting my opinion. As in having some fragment of
confidence in my judgment. And my honor. And affection.” Her
bottom lip began to tremble. “I know what you are telling me. I
am sorry, Varian. I only wanted to give you what was rightfully
yours.” Her voice wavered. He scooped her up and onto his lap.
“You shan't distract me with tears. Tell me the whole truth.”

“I
have,” she mumbled, her face downcast.

“You've
told me only half. The other half is that you wanted to test me,
didn't you? You wanted to see how I'd react when you took away my
excuse for not keeping you at Mount Eden.”

Her
head shot up. He stared right back into her startled green eyes.

“Just
because I'm not as devious as
your
side of the family doesn't mean I'm
stupid,” he said. “I'll wager you're still wondering what
I'll do. Gad, what a little idiot.” He crushed her against his
chest. “What a stubborn, reckless, passionate little fool.”

IT
MIGHT HAVE been worse, Esme told herself. She did not mind being
called names, so long as he kept her on his lap. After a while, he
even fell asleep so, his arms still wrapped about her. The stream of
insults must have quieted his mind, else he'd not have slept. Her
mind, too, was quieted, for she'd heard his pain and understood he
was angry because she'd frightened and hurt him. He would not have
felt so if he cared nothing for her. To feel assured that he did
would have been worth even a beating, though she did not think she
truly deserved one.

Esme
wished she might remain so, snuggled close to him, forever. In a few
short hours, though, they were in London, and minutes thereafter, at
the Brentmor townhouse.

Percival
dashed out into the street, a troop of servants behind him, even
before the carriage halted. The Dowager Lady Brentmor, however, did
not so much as step into the hallway.

Rigid
as a pikestaff, she stood in the salon to await her family in state.
She frowned at Varian when he entered with Esme in his arms, glared
at Esme as Varian deposited her upon the sofa, and glowered at
Percival, who trotted in a step ahead of his uncle. It was upon
Jason, the son she'd not seen in two and a half decades, that the
dowager bent the blackest scowl of all.

Jason
smiled, put down the travel bag containing the chess set, marched up
to her, and gave her a hard hug and a noisy kiss on the cheek. Then
he drew back to study her with frank admiration. “My dear Mama,
how well you look.”

Her
sharp hazel eyes raked him up and down. “Can't say
the
sam
e
for
you. Brawling on the waterfront, was you? With a lot of sailors and
godless barbarians. Not to mention the gel shot, and her numskull
husband nigh beaten to pudding. And
your
scapegallows brother gone to
Judgment. There's one thing to be thankful for
—
at
least we hadn't to watch him be
hanged,
drawn, and quartered.”

After
thus welcoming them, she plunked herself upon a chair, ordered Jason
to serve the brandy, and demanded an explanation.

What
she got was a highly condensed version of the tale Jason had related
in the carriage. It appeared to satisfy her
—
for
the present, she said. Then she turned one of her brimstone looks
upon Esme. “Your pa ain't seen me in twenty-five years
—
yet
he
knew
what I was about. What in blazes
was you thinking of?”

“I
was angry,” Esme answered calmly. “I was not thinking
clearly.”