The Third Son (22 page)

Davina stood regally, as always, surrounded by her lady friends and a few gentlemen admirers fawning over her jeweled hands. Even the elaborate, bejeweled mask she wore could not disguise her ample charms. Damien had received the bill for the gown she wor
e
a few days before ending his liaison with her. The creation bore the clear stamp of Madame Didier, though it was so encrusted with beading Damien was certain Davina might topple over at any moment. The sapphires he had purchased for her glittered at her wrists and throat. The tiara had seemed like a frivolous purchase, but it was fitting to Davina’s taste. She patted the tiara, drawing everyone’s eye to the winking stones with the not-so-subtle movement.

The rare black diamonds set in gold that Damien had sent along in the carriage for Esmeralda would eclipse Davina and her blatant flaunting. Damien fought a smile as he pictured Davina’s face when she saw the twinkling jewels. 

“Would you mind terribly if I approached her?” Nicolai asked, seemingly hypnotized by the indecently low bodice of Davina’s gown. “I believe she would accept my suit.”

Damien shrugged. “She is no longer of any concern to me. Have at her by all means.”

“Good man,” Nicolai said with a grin. “I believe I’ll start tonight.” 

Damien watched Nicolai make his way over to Davina with a raised brow. His cousin knew how grasping and calculating Davina was. It would seem that it was a risk Nicolai was willing to take.

All thoughts of Davina fled from his mind when he heard a soft murmur rippling through the crowd. Nearly every head in the room swiveled toward the entrance, captivated by a vision in gold and black. Damien followed suit, nearly losing his breath at the sight of Esmeralda descending the stairs into the ballroom. 

Madame Didier had, in Damien’s opinion, outdone herself. The black lace over the bodice offered a peek at the gold silk, which billowed out into her full skirts. An elaborate bustle had been fashioned at the back, and a short train trailed behind her as she walked. The gown was sleeveless, cut daringly low, with a high black ruffled collar that rose up behind Esmeralda’s neck. Her hair and been brushed and smoothed to the top of her head in a series of twists and coils, where two golden butterfly combs had been placed. A gold mask in the shape of a butterfly covered the upper half of her face and the black diamonds winked and sparkled at her ears and neck.

The crowd seemed to part, as if by magic, to allow her passage. Damien started through the opening, unable to tear his eyes away from her. Hands were held over mouths and whispers could be heard as Damien approached her,

On anyone else, Damien’s chosen costume would have seemed ridiculous, but no one else in the room had the presence to pull off a pirate’s costume. A red, military style jacket decorated with gold and black braid and shining gold buttons, clung to his muscular form, hanging down almost to his knees. Beneath the jacket was a starched white shirt, rakishly unbuttoned to reveal most of his tanned chest. Ruffled lace spilled from his wrists from beneath the cuffs of the jacket. Black breeches clung to his legs, and a pair of black polished boots reached up to his knees. A tri-corn hat sporting several feathers and an eye patch completed the ensemble. He looked incredibly rakish and dashing, a combination that set Esmeralda’s heart to fluttering.

Damien bowed over her hand, kissing it a second longer than was proper before linking her arm through his.

“You look beautiful,” he whispered near her ear, resisting the impulse to press his lips against her fragrant skin. 

“And you look positively charming,” she replied. “I was very surprised to find these jewels waiting for me in the carriage.”

“No woman should attend a ball without the proper jewels,” he said, pulling her near the buffet table. “And you, my dear, deserve the very best.”

Esmeralda’s eyes widened at the assortment of food presented at the buffet table. It was hard to believe any one group of people could devour so much food in so little time.

“I know,” Damien said, leading her toward the line that had formed on one side. “It’s enough to feed a starving nation and we’ve got it all right here in this room. It hardly seems necessary.”

Esmeralda could only nod and follow Damien down the line. She could hardly decide between the various meat pies, fruits, tarts, breads and cheeses. And the wine! Champagne, port, brandy, sherry and Madeira all flowed freely. She chose a glass of Madeira and found a quiet corner in which to eat and converse with Damien.

“How are you feeling?” he asked her softly, once they had found a spot to themselves. “You look well.” 

“I am well
.
Good as new.”

“I must impress upon your grandmother to learn her secrets. That mixture she gave me worked better than any laudanum or spirits.” 

Esmeralda smiled. “The Gypsies are wise in the ways of healing,” she said. “My grandmother is also very taken with you.”

“Ah, so I may be able to learn her secrets after all.”

The masked man watched from across the room as Prince Damien leaned his head toward his lovely young companion’s and laughed. His fist curled at the sight of the arrogant prince, walking and talking amongst his peers as if he hadn’t faced death mere few days ago. Damn it all, he’d thought that carriage accident idea foolproof. He hated the thought of bruising the woman’s succulent flesh, but he had done what he thought needed to be done. If she had died, he thought with a shrug, well then that was her own fault for associating with the likes of Damien Largess. 

God, how he hated them all! He studied each one of them from behind his mask, a different
disguise
from the one he usually wore. He smiled with contempt as he eyed Queen Alexandra across the room, who was without her husband this evening. Even behind the extravagantly painted and feathered mask, he knew who she was. It was in the regal tilt of her head and majestic fashion in which she strode about the room.

T
he one whom he hated the most had yet to make an appearance. He could barely contain his smile as he wondered what King Adare would think if he knew the very man who was trying to kill him was rubbing elbows with his friends and family. By God, he was close enough to reach out and touch the queen and the thought brought him pleasure. How he would like to wrap his hands around her throat and squeeze the very life from her! He almost hated her as much as her husband
. T
he man who had abandoned and betrayed him.  

A hush fell over the crowd as the betrothed prince and princess made their grand entrance together. Arm in arm, both dressed impeccably they seemed the perfect couple. Not many would notice, but he could see the light of love in Prince Lionus’ eyes as he bowed over his young bride’s hand. The crowned prince cared more for those around him than he let on, but he knew Lionus’ secrets. He knew how it would rip him apart to find his father murdered.
T
his time, he would succeed. The plan had already been set in motion and not even those damned guards surrounding the palace would be able to stop him.

He lost interest in watching the prince and princess on parade and turned his eyes to a more interesting subject. Davina Russell stood, preening amongst her flock of admirers, fingering the hefty jewels around her throat. Her barely contained bosom was the perfect lily white background for those startling gems. He wondered how much Prince Damien had spent on them. He frowned.

He had been passed over by women like Davina far too many times. Women like her were all the same
,
grasping, conniving little vipers that were only out to boost their own standing in society by latching on to a powerful man.
M
en like Damien were more than happy to oblige them.

He shook his head, watching Davina from behind his mask, relishing the day he would make her his. Oh
,
she was far too much of a slut to be made his wife, but he would use her as he had imagined so many times. He might even kill her when it was over.
W
ho would stop him? Once Adare and his sons were dead and they would be soon enough, he would reveal his identity as the king’s son and take his place as the rightful king and no one would be able to stand in his way. Everything would be as it should.

Esmeralda wrapped her am through Damien’s and allowed him to lead her through the palace gardens. She’d never seen a garden so large, so lush and fragrant, in her life. She admired the rows and rows of roses and azaleas and gardenias, all that would be shriveled and gone soon, until the harsh winter was over. Already, the night air had grown colder, biting at her bare shoulders and arms
b
ut she didn’t care. She’d danced nearly every dance and not just with Damien. Scores of men had approached to lead her out onto the dance floor and she found herself flushed and dizzy. She was grateful that her mother had taken the time to teach her the various ballroom dances
. Esmeralda
had put each of her lessons to use.

She walked now, through the moonlit garden, her head rested on Damien’s shoulder. He led her through the hedgerow maze to the fountain hidden inside.
Damien
sat her on the edge and kneeled before her, lifting her delicately slippered feet to rest on top of his thighs. He ran his hands slowly up and down her legs to gift her with his warmth.

“You should have allowed me to fetch your cloak.” He rubbed vigorously, his hands gliding over her silk stockings. “It’s cold tonight.”

Esmeralda shook her head and tilted her head back to view the cloudy night sky. “Winter is coming. It is my favorite time of year. The trees die and lose their leaves, but then the snow comes and covers everything with tiny white crystals. It’s beautiful.”

Damien
stopped massaging her legs and circled each of her ankles with his hands. He looked up to find her looking down at him, her breath turning white on the breeze. “Winter is my favorite time of year too,” he said honestly. They stared at each other a moment in silence before he spoke again. “I do hope you’ve enjoyed yourself tonight.”

Esmeralda laughed, spreading her arms wide and leaning back as if embracing the heavens. “How could I not enjoy myself? The dancing, the music, the food
,
it was better than I imagined!”

Damien removed his hat and eye patch, placing them on the fountain beside her. “You are the belle of the ball, my lady. Everyone’s talking, wondering who the mysterious butterfly is.” He leaned in close, searching for her eyes through the golden mask she wore. She removed it and rewarded him with a smirk. He returned her smile. “Some are even saying that you are a foreign princess, come to be my bride.”

Esmeralda’s laugh rang out to mingle with his in the silence of the hedgerow maze, where the surrounding foliage sheltered them from the outside world. “That’s ridiculous!” she chuckled, her shoulders shaking with glee. “A princess?”

“You could be.” Damien was suddenly serious, all traces of laughter stricken from his face. He grasped her hands and held them to his lips, kissing each one fervently. “You have more refinement in these fingers than most women have in their entire bodies. You walk with confidence and speak with grace. You are good and kind. You may not have been born a princess, but I would make you my princess.”

Her eyes grew wide as she looked down at Damien. He drew her near and pressed his face against her middle, beneath her breasts, squeezing her tightly. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held him close.

“I love you,” he whispered on the night air. His words wrapped around her and warmed her from the inside out. She knew that if he looked into her face, he would see that she fairly glowed. “I think I’ve always loved you,” he said, running his hands up and down her back. Tiny tremors ran along her skin, causing her to shiver, although she could no longer feel the cold. “From that first night I saw you dancing at the palace, I wanted you. I thought to make you mine in body, but when I finally found you I knew I wanted to make you mine in spirit as well.” He lifted his eyes up to her. “I want you to be my wife.”

Esmeralda’s hand flew up to cover her mouth, stifling the tiny sob that escaped from the back of her throat. He was saying the most
wonderful
things, on the most beautiful night of her life and all she could think was that she was unfit to be a princess. How could Damien, a prince, wed a Gypsy girl? It was simply unheard of. She shook her head as if to clear her thoughts, then gently dabbed at her eyes with his offered handkerchief. 

“Please say yes,” he whispered, searching her face for the answer he so desperately needed to hear. “Please tell me you’ll do it.”

“Surely you can’t mean it. You can’t mean to marry me.”

“And why not?” Damien shot to his feet. “No one will tell me that I can’t!”

“Think what you are saying, Damien,” she pleaded, standing to face him. “You must take a wife who was raised to take on the role of being a Princess.” She pointed toward the ballroom, which only a few moments ago had seemed worlds away. “Any one of those women in there would be more suited to be your wife than I.”

“None of those women is more fit to be my wife than you!” He shoved his hands through his hair, exasperated. “I don’t want them, I want you! I love you.”  

Esmeralda smiled, though her eyes were cloudy with sorrow and tears. “And I love you. But can’t you see? You think you want me now, but I would never fit. I wouldn’t
blend
into your family or your life. I don’t know the first thing about royalty.”