Standing in the darkness of the secret passageway, Damien pushed open the panel to Vanessa’s bedchamber. The room was empty-as empty as the hollow ache inside him. She was gone.
As if sleepwalking, he moved over to the window to gaze down at the gardens. Her scent remained to haunt him, while her parting words were branded upon his memory with a sharpness and clarity that was painful. Fool that I am, I thought I loved you.
Her admission of love had struck him like a physical blow, as had the look in her luminous eyes-despair, fear, disillusionment. Disillusionment with him.
A terrifying sense of loss gripped him. Only now, in her absence, did he understand the enormity of what he’d done.
You aren’t the kind of man I could ever love…
No, he was the kind of man who ruined innocent women for revenge, a selfish bastard who sought empty, meaningless pleasures of the flesh without thought for anyone or anything but his own gratification.
Vanessa was right. His endless pursuits of debauchery had never brought him joy. He had prowled restlessly from woman to woman because none of them had been able to satisfy his hunger. His emptiness. No one until Vanessa. She filled the empty places inside him. Filled his heart. With love.
He loved her.
The realization staggered him anew. He had never known love. He’d lived a licentious existence too long to recognize that enigmatic emotion easily. He’d called it desire and fought it fiercely. Yet his obsession had burgeoned into something far more profound than desire.
I love her.
There was such sweetness in those simple words, Damien thought. A sweetness he hadn’t known existed. Yet they couldn’t heal the bleakness of his soul.
He had driven her away. And it was too late to make amends.
Moments ago the arrangements had been concluded. The duel was set for tomorrow at dawn.
Dawn’s rosy fingers curled over the eastern horizon, illuminating the small party of gentlemen in the misty clearing: the two principals, their seconds, and a solemn-faced physician.
They stood somberly as Lord Thornhill reviewed the rules that had been agreed upon. The duelists would walk off twenty paces, then turn and fire.
“My lords, do you accept these terms?” Thornhill asked quietly.
Clune’s mouth twisted with grim humor as he contemplated his foe. “Yes, yes, let’s get this unpleasant business over with. Penny, you are to inherit my team of grays should I not survive.”
His face set like flint, Damien made no acknowledgment of the misplaced levity.
The two men moved to the center of the clearing and stood back to back, while the other participants took up positions at the perimeter. The silence in the clearing was total, vibrating with raw tension.
In the hush Damien was surprised to hear Clune’s low murmur.
“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry to have impugned your lady. I regret causing her reputation any further damage.”
Damien tightened his jaw grimly. “We both have regrets. You don’t bear all the blame.”
“My lords, you may begin,” Thornhill called out. “One…”
Damien took a steadying breath and began to walk.
Slowly they paced off the distance: ten, fifteen, nineteen steps… Damien’s hand curled around the smooth handle of the pistol.
“Twenty…”
Both men turned and took aim.
Damien saw Clune’s finger tighten on the trigger, but the image in his mind’s eye was stronger: Vanessa’s beautiful face as she pleaded with him not to kill another man.
Vanessa…
His hand jerked upward the instant that he fired. In the same fleeting moment, he heard the explosion from his opponent’s pistol, felt the ball burn through his flesh like a shaft of fire…
The blow of the gunshot felled him. Damien lay motionless on the ground, struggling for breath against the surprising pain. Through his daze came shouts from the sidelines. The next thing he knew, Clune was bending over him.
“Bloody hell, man, do you have a death wish? Why the devil did you delope?”
Damien frowned. In some twisted way perhaps he did have a death wish. At the last second he’d raised the muzzle of his weapon skyward and fired in the air, leaving himself vulnerable to a bullet. But he couldn’t go through with killing Clune. For Vanessa’s sake, he’d had to stop. He couldn’t add murder to the crimes he had already committed in her eyes. He couldn’t put her through that pain.
“Keep still, Sin, you’re wounded.”
He felt his jacket being ripped open and winced as Clune probed his left shoulder.
“My lord, if I may examine him.”
Vaguely Damien was aware of someone else kneeling beside him. The doctor perhaps…
“Looks as if the ball is lodged there. I shall have to dig it out.”
“Is it serious?”
“Quite, but not fatal, I think.”
Damien closed his eyes, savoring the pain. He should be grateful Clune hadn’t killed him, perhaps, but a fatal wound would have been fitting punishment for his sins.
His recuperation was slow and painful. Damien was laid up for four days at his friend Lambton’s hunting box before the doctor even declared him well enough to move.
When he returned home to Rosewood, Olivia refused to speak to him once she’d satisfied herself that he wasn’t in danger of dying. She was furious with him, and not only for risking his life in a duel. She wouldn’t forgive him for driving Vanessa away.
Nor could he forgive himself.
Lying in bed day after day, Damien had had ample time to confront his wickedness. He had nearly destroyed the woman he loved-sullying her innocence and dragging her down to his debauched level. He’d done far worse to her than Clune ever had. He had prepared her for whoredom; that was the ugly truth.
He wondered how many years would pass before he could face the memory without being sick at heart from it. Even when he’d offered to make her his wife, he’d shown her none of the respect or consideration she deserved. Instead, he acted as if he were conferring an honor, never saying a word about how much she had come to mean to him.
It was little wonder she had refused him.
You aren’t the kind of man I could ever love.
Damien shut his eyes, blocking out the cheerful morning sunlight. He could take no pride in the life he had chosen, or the man he had become.
Bloodlines often bred true. He had inherited an ingrained tendency toward vice and dissipation, and never questioned those proclivities. He’d placed no limits on his wildness and thrill seeking, ignoring the warning signs, even when he’d begun to feel ravaged by the excesses in his life.
Damien murmured a low oath. It seemed he had degenerated into as thorough a libertine as his detested father. The thought left him filled with self-loathing.
Perhaps it wasn’t too late to change, though. Perhaps he could still redeem himself in Vanessa’s eyes.
He took the first step when Clune came to visit his sickroom seven days after the duel.
“I would like,” Clune began in a contrite voice, “to offer my apologies once again-and to thank you for not putting a period to my existence. It was unforgivable of me to have compromised Lady Wyndham as I did, and I am truly sorry.”
Damien’s mouth curled in the grimace of a smile. “And I’m thankful your aim wasn’t an inch further to the left.”
“It was still closer than I intended.”
“You never were a proficient marksman.”
Assured of a genial welcome, Clune settled into a chair beside the bed.
Damien contemplated his guest with curious sadness. He and Clune had been friends for a long, long while, sharing wicked pursuits together since their university days. But the time had come to part ways. He wouldn’t miss that jaded, shallow life, although he would miss his friend.
“The hunting party is over, I take it?” Damien asked.