If their acquaintance continued this way, Damien realized, he could run a grave risk of emulating his father.
Damien had promised his sister a picnic on the first clear day, which had Olivia eagerly searching the skies the moment she arose each morning. The rain ended at last one Monday, leaving a pristine morning. Damien ordered an alfresco luncheon packed, and by noon, the three of them were seated in the landau, with only a coachman and one footman in attendance.
When they stopped on a hilltop, Vanessa found herself enchanted by the picturesque view of the emerald-green, undulating countryside. The low hills seemed to roll on forever, forming an endless quilt of fields and pastures embroidered by hedgerows and patches of woodland. Damien handed her down from the carriage and then lifted his sister in his arms, as any burly footman might.
He had forsworn his usual elegant, impeccable tailoring for this occasion in favor of leather breeches, top boots, and a plain waistcoat, and Vanessa thought he looked more like a country gentleman than a dissipated nobleman, as at ease in this domain as he would be at the gaming tables or the opera.
They settled Olivia in the shade of a chestnut tree with a half-dozen pillows, and then enjoyed a delicious repast of cold chicken, cheese, fresh fruit, and wine, while the servants kept a respectful distance.
By the time the last crumb had been devoured, the day had turned lazy and warm. Olivia lay back on her pillows with a sigh, watching the fleecy clouds float across the sky.
“This,” she murmured, “is quite lovely. I wish every day could be this beautiful. Don’t you, Vanessa?”
Vanessa couldn’t help but meet Damien’s eyes in a conspiratorial glance. Their efforts to cheer the girl, to banish her loneliness and melancholia, seemed to be having an effect at last.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Vanessa answered lightly. “If every day were just like this, then today would no longer be special. Which reminds me…” She asked Damien to pass her the painted tin box that had been packed with the lunch. “I took the liberty of having your cook make these,” she said to his sister.
Olivia opened the tin and smiled to see the baked meringues in the shape of swans. “How did you know these are my favorite?”
“I seem to remember your mentioning it a time or two.”
“I can recall at least a dozen,” Damien interjected wryly.
Olivia took a delicate bite of a swan and shut her eyes, savoring the sweetness. “I never can get Cook to make them for me. She says she doesn’t want to spoil me.”
Vanessa smiled. “Everyone can do with a little spoiling now and then.”
“You are so wise.”
“I’m glad you think so. My sisters consider me an over-managing tyrant at times.”
Olivia laughed, a happy, musical sound. “I’m sure you are not!”
“Well, their complaints do usually come after I’ve refused them a new gown they’ve set their hearts on.”
“I should like to meet Fanny and Charlotte someday.”
At the innocent comment, Vanessa stole another swift glance at Damien. His face had hardened momentarily, while his gray eyes had turned cold.
She had no doubt he was recalling the conflict between them. He wanted his sister to have nothing to do with any of Vanessa’s relations. She was here only because she was his mistress, Vanessa remembered.
Of late she’d been too eager to deny that bald truth. In recent days Damien had treated her as much like a member of the family as a lover, showing her warmth and affection as well as passion-almost as if he were coming to care for her. Clearly she’d allowed herself to be seduced by wishful thinking.
“Someday perhaps you shall meet them,” Vanessa prevaricated, hiding the sudden, sharp pang of regret she felt. “Now what shall we read?” she asked, determinedly changing the subject.
They had brought several of Olivia’s poetry books, and after a brief discussion, Vanessa began to recite aloud from Wordsworth and Coleridge’s Lyrical Ballads, her voice quiet and low.
Damien sipped his wine and listened, fighting his own darkening mood. The reminder of her family members had banished the intimate, convivial atmosphere and made him recall the circumstances that had led to Vanessa’s presence at Rosewood.
It was good for him to remember, though, for it forced him to contemplate the dilemma he now faced: what to do about his growing need for her. Disturbingly, Vanessa was beginning to affect his judgment.
He could not regret bringing her here. He was consummately grateful to see her patiently coaxing his sister out of her wounded shell. Olivia had changed in the few short weeks since Vanessa’s arrival. Her spirits had slowly begun to rebound, due in large part to Vanessa’s warmth and wit and infinite patience.
His sister was not the only one who had succumbed to her subtle influence, however. The household staff willingly looked to her guidance, as if she were lady of the manor, and she had charmed the groundskeepers and undergardners so that they vied to show her the latest blooms and to provide her with the most beautiful bouquets for her rooms.
She had charmed him as well-and intrigued him more than he’d thought possible. He’d never known a woman with her tantalizing combination of innocence and sophistication, of warmth and intelligence, of vulnerability and strength. Certainly he’d never known a beauty with so little notion of her own power.
She was the reason his time here had passed so rapidly. The challenge of pursuing Vanessa had prevented him from experiencing his usual restlessness.
It had not been an easy task, overcoming her vulnerability, but she was no longer cool and guarded in his presence. Instead, she responded to him with a passion that still startled him.
“ “In hours of weariness, sensations sweet, felt in the blood, and felt along the heart,”” her musical voice intoned softly.
Damien’s brows drew together as he watched her. The blood and the heart, indeed. He’d gotten more than he had bargained for when he demanded she become his mistress to satisfy her brother’s debt. He had intended for her to assuage his physical needs, of course, but he’d never expected her to arouse such fiery hunger in him… or such inexplicable feelings of tenderness.
Damien frowned darkly. No courtesan, however skilled or beautiful, had succeeded in holding his interest as long as Vanessa had, certainly not with such intensity. She was sensual enough to enflame his senses, yet spirited and clever enough to prove a match for him outside the bedroom. Remarkably, he wanted her more each time he was with her.
A dangerous sentiment, he warned himself. If he didn’t take care, he could become ensnared by passion, just like his father before him.
It would be madness, Damien knew, to allow one woman to dominate his life, to become so important to him that he allowed his heart to rule his head. He had vowed he would never succumb to that fatal affliction- yet he feared that’s what was happening with Vanessa.
He was becoming too deeply involved. His attraction for her had grown much too forceful for his peace of mind, while their closeness was getting out of hand.
His gaze traveled over her elegant figure as she read. The graceful curve of her neck beckoned him to draw her against him and sample a taste of her…
Devil take it, man, get your lust under control. His jaw clenched. He badly needed to put some distance between them, Damien reflected. She was too great a temptation while she was so near.
He couldn’t send her away, of course. Not when she was doing his sister so much good. He would have to be the one to leave, then. There was to be a gathering of his Hellfire colleagues at week’s end in Berkshire. Clune was holding a house party for gentlemen only, the sort of raucous affair that often degenerated into wild orgies. Damien had already sent his regrets, yet, if he attended, it might help to take his mind off a certain temptress who was occupying his thoughts far more than was comfortable, or prudent.