The Unscrupulous Uncle (23 page)

Lord James pulled into a nearly deserted side road and drew his horses to a halt. “Dear Lord! I never intended to harm you, Lady Devlin. Yes, I used you – I admitted as much at the masquerade. And I misjudged how far Hermione would carry her pique. But I have never condoned the rumors and have worked to expose them as lies, as anyone in town can attest.”

“No one believes the protestations of a man many consider my lover,” she replied with brutal honesty.

He paled. “No one sees me in that light! Admittedly there are tales of liaisons that name you, but I have never figured in them.”

That explained Devereaux, realized Catherine. Hermione would never admit that one of her suitors had defected, so she substituted Devereaux for Lord James. She sighed, motioning him to resume their drive. They were bound to cause new talk if they remained in serious conversation, but she was curious about what had happened.

“Did she turn you down?” she asked as they approached the horse guard barracks.

He sighed. “I first met Hermione last fall. She was exactly what I want in a wife – beautiful, intelligent, and accomplished. We both prefer London to the country. She will make an outstanding society hostess. If I accept one of my father’s seats in the Commons, she will make an even better political hostess. Her only fault is conceit, a tendency fostered by adoring parents who deny her nothing.”

“Not an uncommon situation among well-born beauties,” agreed Catherine with a sigh.

“Unfortunately. But she will outgrow it once she is removed from their influence. After all, she is barely eighteen. We get along well and I believe she cares for me, but she was not ready to settle for someone lacking a title – there are too many brothers and nephews between me and the marquessate to ever consider the possibility; I was eleventh in line at last count. I spent Christmas with her family, hoping to press my suit, but her cousin brought Devlin home. In her youthful naïveté, she could not see beyond his title. The fact that he was a war hero added another cachet.”

“Yet you still love her.”

“I cannot help it, and she does not have deep feelings for Devlin. I hoped that jealousy might turn her eyes back to me. After all, he is out of reach and they have little in common. He will spend most of his life on his estate. I doubt even the pleading of a beautiful wife could change that.”

“True. He can be exceedingly stubborn.”

“Her actions confirm that she is upset by my apparent change of heart. She will begin to examine her options any day now. Her tantrum over Devlin’s defection – for that is what prompted her attempt to hurt you – will no longer seem necessary, at which point I will return to pick up the pieces of her broken fantasies. In the meantime, a little competition could awaken Devlin to the treasure he holds.”

“Don’t count on it. Damon is not the sort to be taken in by games. He is more likely to suspect you of seducing me in retaliation for stealing Hermione’s affections. He will harden his heart and swear he doesn’t care. I have no fondness for games myself, Lord James. And I do not believe in manipulating people, for it sets all parties up for disaster. You have already goaded Lady Hermione into increased vitriol, destroyed whatever trust Damon had in my judgment, and damaged my reputation and your own – despite men’s claims to your face, your name is indeed linked with mine. It is time to call a halt. I wish you luck, of course, but in trying to force Damon to abandon Hermione, you failed to consider that he truly loves her.”

“Then why did he marry you?”

“Not for any reason society has suggested, and it is not relevant to this discussion.”

“But he cannot know Hermione if he believes she would suit.”

“Enough! You do not know everything either. Love does not conform to logic.” She deliberately turned the conversation to neutral topics until he returned her to Devlin House. Damon was out, which was the first good news she had received all day.

* * * *

“What is this?” demanded Catherine, bursting into Damon’s study the next afternoon.

“It would appear to be the
Times.”

“How dare you sell my home!” she hissed.

“What would we want with a second house so near our own?” he countered sharply. “You seem to forget that your home is now Devlin.”

“Devlin will never by my home!”

“Devlin will be your home for the rest of your life. Like it or not, we are married.”

“Selfish brute! You care only for yourself, don’t you? It matters not that I have lived all my life at Ridgway or that the tenants have been dependent on my family for generations. All you want is to reduce my inheritance to cash as quickly as possible so that you can indulge in your own affairs.”

“The tenants are not the issue,” he declared. “I have already instructed my steward to see after them. Whatever improvements are needed will be completed within the month. But I have no need for another house. Your aunt will be gone next week. Whatever personal effects you wish to keep will be transferred to Devlin.”

“I see.” She stared as if seeing him for the first time. “You will remove all trace that Ridgway House ever existed – strip away the farms, then sell the park to some jumped up cit to use as his country residence. How dictatorial you have become, my lord. It never even occurred to you that I might like a say in the disposition of my own property.”

“Catherine—”

But she interrupted. “Of course, it is not my property, is it? I have no rights in the matter at all.”

“Surely you must agree that it is ridiculous to keep two houses so close to each other. Why would you want the house to sit empty? If you love it so much, you should be glad that someone will be using it.”

“I am not stupid, Damon. You would never have inserted this particular advertisement if the goal was only to sell the house.
Late Elizabethan park and manor both in need of considerable renovation or replacement
… Even the most hen-witted simpleton can see that you wish to destroy all trace of Ridgway. Why would you do so unless you feel guilty about stealing my inheritance and want to remove any reminders?”

Damon paled. “It is not like that at all,” he protested. “I never considered it in that light.”

“Of course not. I am such a worthless impediment that my feelings don’t count, and you have become so hard a man that embarrassment must be alien to your nature.”

Her bitter voice cut deeply into his heart, severing the last vestiges of control. “Damn it, Catherine! Why must you pick fights every time we meet?”

“I? Since when is asking questions about my own affairs considered picking a fight? Perhaps it would have been better if you had died in Spain. You have changed so much I can’t believe you are the same man. The Damon I grew up with would never have run roughshod over me this way. Have I had a voice in one thing that has happened since you returned? Have you told me anything? Your every action has been calculated to show me how little you care. Yet you accuse me of picking fights.”

“What am I to do?” he moaned to himself, on the verge of collapse. Everything he did was wrong. He was so tired of carrying the burdens alone. If only Peter were here to josh him out of this mood. But Peter was gone. Forever. He laid his head in his hands and fought back tears.

Horrified at his reaction, Catherine tentatively touched his shoulder. “Damon?”

Her soft voice was the last straw. He broke into choking sobs.

“What is wrong, Damon?” she murmured, her own tears close to falling. She gathered him into her arms so that he could sob against her shoulder. It was a familiar position, though usually it was her crying on him. One hand gently brushed back his hair.

“I can’t do it, Cat,” he choked. “I can’t keep Ridgway. He is there. Everywhere. It is bad enough at Devlin.”

“Peter.” Sudden understanding broke. There had been a bond between Damon and her brother that defied comprehension. Too wrapped up in her own grief, she had never really considered that Peter’s death might still affect him.

He nodded, his arms closing around her back. Sobs tore from his throat, convulsing him until she feared he would crush her. Dizziness nearly overwhelmed her as everything she thought she knew burst apart, settling into new patterns. Gone was the demigod. Gone was the lion-hearted protector and omnipotent mentor. She was left comforting a man broken from years of experiences too horrible to endure and burdens too heavy to carry.

“I can’t stand Ridgway,” he continued soberly once his sobs finally ceased. “Perhaps if it changes enough, he will no longer haunt me.”

“I don’t believe that, Damon,” she countered. “And neither do you. Peter is gone. You have to come to grips with that, and the fastest way to do it is to go there and confront him.”

“You are naïve.” He pushed her away.

“And you are blind. I had to live there after he died, Damon. Day after day. Week after week. For nearly eight years. Perhaps your bond was stronger than mine, but not by much. He was everywhere – riding through the park, laughing in the gallery, fishing in the stream, flirting with the gatekeeper’s daughter, and doing a host of other things. I wanted to die to escape the constant agony – my God, I must have seen the two of you riding off to war a thousand times – but eventually it grew easier. I can now relax in the clearing because I have made peace with him.”

“Catherine—”

“Try it, Damon. If he is haunting you, then you must find out why. Perhaps it is guilt over that idiotic vow. Or it may be something else about which I know nothing. But he will not depart until you reconcile with him and with yourself. The house is irrelevant, and I really do not want to sell it.”

“I will think about it,” he conceded finally.

“Thinking is a start, but you also need to talk. And not just about Peter. The war still bedevils your mind. You often shout when in your nightmares, so I know you are troubled by memories of Badajoz and Waterloo.” She laid a comforting hand on his shoulder.

Damon opened his mouth to send her away, but found himself describing the last eight years instead – the horror of war; battles fought; friends who died; even atrocities he had seen. She listened, asking pertinent questions and sharing his shock and pain. But soon his narrative changed, dwelling now on humorous events, things that Peter would have included in letters to brighten her day.

He was amazed, for he had never paid attention to such things himself. Now he described the goat who had pulled down a clothesline and paraded around camp with a lady’s corset dangling from one horn; the contest Tucker had arranged with other batmen to see who could concoct the most savory stew, and the lengths they had gone to top one another; the stray dog that had adopted his regiment, performing the most amazing tricks in exchange for food; and many more. His voice lightened, their laughter filling the library, creating an atmosphere he had not experienced since Peter had died.

Damon stared at his empty desktop long after Catherine left. Something had changed. He had not realized how dictatorial he had become, and he did not like the image Cat’s angry words had painted, but that was not what held him frozen in place. He had last cried after Vimeiro. It would have been better if he had not broken down, but the incident had produced one positive result. Catherine had neither condemned him nor spurned him, instead abandoning her tirade to comfort him. Their discussion left him feeling better than he had felt in years. Perhaps the future was not as bleak as he had imagined.

And he had one more hope – Cat had felt good in his arms.

Chapter Fifteen

Fog clung to the trees and whispered along the grass as Catherine turned through the gates of Hyde Park. These early morning rides were the only time of the day when she could truly relax. Pegasus was another benefit of her marriage. Damon had purchased the gelding the day after they had arrived in London. He was a perfect steed, spirited and powerful yet biddable enough that she had no qualms about her rusty skills, for she had done little riding since Uncle Henry sold her father’s stable. Though he had replaced the horses with his own sorry slugs, there had been no mount for her.

Pushing Pegasus to a canter, she pounded past the Serpentine. Other riders were also out for morning exercise, but she recognized no one through the mist. When she pulled Pegasus back to allow the horse to cool, dampness seeped through the heavy wool of her habit, chilling her to the bone. She probably should have stayed home.

An errant breeze swept the fog aside, providing a clear view of the copse a hundred yards ahead. Deep in conversation, Damon and Hermione rode side by side, Hermione’s hand resting intimately on his arm.

Catherine gasped, nearly crying out, but the fog closed in so swiftly she could not be sure that she had seen them. Perhaps her mind was playing tricks on her. Damon had not mentioned taking morning rides and she had never seen him here before. But that meant nothing.

She had expected their frank discussion to reinstate their former openness, but he obviously did not share that delusion. Did he regret his moment of weakness? That would explain his refusal to escort her to the opera last night. His breakdown might even make things worse, for he would despise his loss of control. Hermione played the helpless innocent to perfection – just the act to restore his confidence.

“Damn them both,” she muttered viciously, then jerked Pegasus to a halt as pain knifed her chest. Pegasus turned a reproachful eye on his rider, but she ignored him. The wretched truth left her breathless. She was in love with her husband. Again.

How humiliating. And how stupid! Seething with frustration, she headed for the gates.

She had first fallen in love with him the year she was fourteen. He had come home from school looking more handsome than ever, his broad face, amber eyes, and tawny locks sending chills down her spine. Unlike many young men, he did not turn his back on those he considered children, continuing to offer help and advice – which she had sorely needed that year, for she had been experiencing an awkward growth spurt. Her parents had had eyes only for each other, and Peter was off in the clouds with no time to waste on her. But Damon was always there – her advisor, her friend, and her great protector. She had kept her feelings secret, knowing even then that he would never return them. She was merely his little sister, someone to be alternately comforted and ignored. And her love had been uneasy, almost as if it really were incestuous.