When at last he spoke in a low voice, the question he chose surprised her a little. “Do you like roses, Vanessa?”
“Very much. Your gardens are spectacular.” When he made no reply, she ventured her own comment. “I understand they are your own creation.”
“Not creation. Resurrection. In my younger days I rescued them from oblivion and my noble sire’s willful destruction.”
Hearing the edge of cynicism in his tone, Vanessa glanced up at Damien’s profile. The snowy white linen of his cravat seemed to accentuate the chiseled beauty of his face. Her pulse quickened, as it always did at his overwhelming nearness. And yet his mind was obviously not on her.
“So what is your assessment of my sister?” he asked with a casualness that seemed feigned.
She hesitated, not wanting to raise his hopes excessively. “I think you were correct. She is a deeply troubled young lady. Not only because of her physical infirmity, which is daunting enough in itself, but because she perceives little reason to hope for a better future. But I also believe it is too soon to despair.”
His gaze remained hooded as he stared out at the golden-hued beds of roses. “Olivia used to love roaming these paths. Now she won’t come near the gardens.”
“You care for her very much.” It wasn’t a question.
“If I could bear her suffering in her place, I would. Gladly.” The soft conviction in his voice left no room for doubt.
Vanessa looked away. She could not imagine this strong, vital man as an invalid. He was a man who would reach out and grasp fate and shape it to his own desires.
With a shake of his head, however, he seemed to shrug off his dour mood, while the grim line of his mouth relaxed. “But I am acting an uncongenial host. Forgive me.”
He turned to regard her. His gaze swept over her slowly, lingering on the modest cut of her neckline. His smile, when it came, was soft, apologetic, ripe with unconscious sensuality.
Vanessa shivered at the quivering feeling of intimate warmth that overcame her.
“Allow me to escort you in to dinner, my lady.”
When he offered his arm, she placed trembling fingers on his sleeve and allowed him to lead her to the smaller of two dining rooms. Even so, the mahogany table was immense. A pair of tall, silver candelabra graced the center, while one end was laid with twin settings of crystal and china.
With reluctance, Vanessa took her seat at his lordship’s right, self-conscious about the intimacy of dining alone with him in such close proximity.
The Madeira wine proved delicious, the meal a treasure of culinary delights. The first two removes featured clear turtle soup with truffles, and a dish of smoked salmon with aspic, followed by a ragout of veal, roast venison, green peas, and cauliflower, and braised pigeons with mint sauce. Despite the long day, however, Vanessa found herself with little appetite.
The conversation remained desultory. While Lord Sinclair put himself out to be charming, narrating some interesting history of the house, Vanessa grew more and more quiet, responding in monosyllables and only picking at the food on her plate.
Her appetite had deserted her by the time the sweets were served, and her nerves were keenly on edge. She barely tasted the cheese brioche, the pineapple cream, or the almonds toasted with sugar and cinnamon.
“Are the dishes not to your taste, my lady?” Damien finally asked mildly. “Shall I reprimand the cook?”
Vanessa swallowed. “No… everything is delicious.” Her voice held a thin, breathless note.
“Then why have you scarcely touched a bite?”
Instead of replying directly, she murmured, “Shall I leave you to your port now, my lord?”
“We needn’t stand on ceremony with just the two of us.”
When Damien motioned to the footman to refill her wineglass for the last time and then dismissed the servants, she felt her panic rise. No doubt he wished to discuss the matter of her carnal duties and preferred to do it discreetly.
Forcing herself to meet his gaze, she indicated her wineglass, which had been filled to the brim. “Is it your strategy to ply me with wine, the better to render me susceptible to your advances?”
He studied her for a long moment. “When the time comes, angel, I will have no need of wine to render you susceptible, I assure you.” He smiled, a tender, charming smile. “In truth, I want you fully in command of all your senses. The better to enjoy the moment.”
An irrational surge of anger sparked through Vanessa. “Does my agitation amuse you, my lord? Does it please you to mock me?”
She flinched when he rose abruptly, but he merely went to the bellpull and rang for the butler. When Croft arrived almost instantaneously, Damien had settled in his chair once more.
“Be so kind as to send Mrs. Nesbit here, Croft.”
“Certainly, my lord,” the stately butler replied. “At once.”
Vanessa waited in bewilderment, wondering why he would summon the housekeeper.
Mrs. Nesbit, when she arrived, looked just as puzzled. “You rang, my lord?”
“Do you have the key to the Chalice Chamber?”
“Key, my lord?”
“Yes, to Lady Wyndham’s room. I presume you carry it on your ring?”
“Yes, my lord.” She patted the giant ring hanging from her waist. “I carry the keys to all the rooms of the house.”
“May I have it, please?”
The housekeeper searched her accumulation of keys for a moment. When she found the one in question, she handed it to his lordship.
“Is this the only key to that room?”
“To my knowledge, my lord.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Nesbit, that will be all.”
When they were alone once more, Damien held out his hand to Vanessa, the key resting in his palm. “If it will make you feel safer, angel, you are welcome to keep this in your possession.”
She searched his handsome face, looking for any hint of deception. She found none. He seemed entirely serious.
“I will repeat, Vanessa. You needn’t fear my forcing myself on you,” he said softly. “Despite my numerous faults, I would never ravish an unwilling woman. You are safe from me for now.”
Vanessa swallowed. The silence stretched between them.
“Take it.”
The key was still warm from his palm as she closed her fingers around the smooth metal. “Thank you,” she murmured thickly.
“My pleasure.”
The word was a husky whisper. She froze when Damien reached up to touch her. His hand stilled for an instant, before he caressed her cheek with a gentle ringer.
The startling tenderness of the gesture held her immobile. This side of him, this sensitive, considerate side, contrasted so starkly with the heartless devil who had compelled her to become his mistress.
“I am just a man, no monster,” he murmured. “In time you will come to accept that.”
With a sigh then, Damien picked up his wineglass and leaned back in his chair. “Go to bed, angel.”
“To bed?”
His mouth twisted faintly at the hint of alarm in her tone. “Alone, love. You are free to retire alone. I won’t demand to share your bed. I’ll wait until you invite me.”
Vanessa rose on trembling legs. He meant to let her go.
“Sleep well.”
She made her escape before he could change his mind.
When she reached the Chalice Chamber, Vanessa shut the door behind her and leaned weakly against it. Damien had given her a reprieve. For tonight, at least, he didn’t mean to force her to fulfill their brazen bargain.
The key in her hand seemed to burn a brand in her flesh.
After a moment’s hesitation, she bolted the door and then placed the key on the dressing table. Then she turned to survey the elegant chamber, wondering what she should do.
The lamps had been lit and a fire burned cheerily in the grate, while the covers of the bed had been turned down invitingly. At the moment, however, she felt too restless to sleep or even to read.