“No what? You have played me false, madam. I am leaving now and I don’t wish ever to see you again.”
He sounded like a bad actor in a melodrama. She shook her head, trying desperately to clear it of extraneous images and thoughts. What had happened, what was happening, was real and it was now and it would affect her the rest of her life. “None of it is true, David. Damien lied to you.”
“Like mother like daughter,” David said. “That’s what he thought, anyway. And your mother was a trollop.”
“Torie! Thirsty. Come!”
Victoria ignored Damaris. Anger flowed through her now. “Don’t you dare speak of my mother like that. None of it is true and if you believe it, you’re naught but a fool, David, a credulous, naive fool.”
David said nothing. She watched him untether his horse with jerky movements, then quickly mount. He stared down at her. “Lies, Victoria? Tell me then why you wish to marry me. Not for love, that is certain.”
No, she didn’t love him, and he saw it in her eyes.
“God, that I could have been so deceived in you.”
She told him the truth. “I wanted you to protect me from him.”
“Torie, I’m thirsty.” Damaris was tugging on her riding skirt.
“Why? Has he tired of you already? Does Elaine know and want you out of Drago Hall? Are you pregnant?”
“I haven’t done anything. He is the one.”
“Torie, what’s the matter? David’s yelling.”
“Hush, love. David—”
“Good-bye, Victoria. If only . . . Oh, the devil. Find another witless fellow to cozen.”
He dug his heels into his stallion’s sides. Victoria stood swaying slightly and watched him gallop erratically through the maple trees.
“Where’s David going?”
“Away, Damie. Yes, away.” She turned slowly, took the child’s hand, and walked to the edge of the pond. The water looked appealing, dark green and endlessly calm. It was also only two feet deep, she thought, and began to laugh at herself. She was more of a fool than David.
“Why are you laughing, Torie?”
“Laughing? Is that what I was doing? Well, I suppose there is really nothing else to do.”
3
It is easy to be brave from a safe distance.
—AESOP
Victoria fisted her hands, coming fully out of the shadows on the first-floor landing when she heard the lilting strains of a waltz coming from the ballroom below. A small act of defiance. Damien was there, and she was safe, at least until the ball was over. How she wished at that moment that she could have him in her power for but five minutes. Let him plead with her, beg her not to harm him. But it was a fantasy and he would never be in her power; it was not the way the world worked. No, Damien was in the ballroom laughing, dancing, knowing that he had threatened her and lied to David—and not caring.
Damaris, thank the powers, had finally fallen asleep an hour before, and Nanny Black had plaited her wispy gray hair, picked up her Bible, and retired to her own narrow cot. Victoria leaned against the wall, taking the weight from her left leg. Her shoulder touched the edge of a portrait. She turned, startled, to see a long-ago Carstairs in periwig and purple satin holding a dog uglier than Elaine’s pug, Missie. She moved away from the portrait, drew a deep breath, and tried to think clearly, but Damien’s face, his words, his fierce hands, intruded.
Two hours before, he’d caught her just outside her bedchamber. He was dressed in evening clothes and he was smiling at her. A victor’s triumphant smile.
“So, my little Victoria, you’re not coming to the ball?”
She knew she shouldn’t show him her fear, but it was difficult. “No,” she said. “No, I’m not.”
“I daresay Esterbridge isn’t coming either.”
She couldn’t help herself. “You’re a lying bastard, Damien. How could you be so despicable?”