“I don’t know. I suppose so. He has never spoken of anything to me. No one told me I had any money. I guess it is from my mother’s side of the family. Father had the good name, you see, but few farthings in his pockets.”
“I imagine that Damien has been making free with your funds,” Rafael said quietly, more to himself than to her. “Hopefully he has shown some good sense in his financial dealings.” Rafael sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers, lightly tapping them together.
“I don’t think so,” Victoria said in a morose voice. “The letter from the solicitor said something about his concern about the principal. I don’t know anything more.”
“So you were going to leave Drago Hall even before you knew you were an heiress?”
“Yes. I really don’t know if I’m what you would call an heiress. There is money, that’s all I know.”
“You planned to escape with a paltry twenty pounds?”
“I had no choice. In my position, what would you have done?”
I would have beaten him senseless, Rafael wanted to say. But of course he was a man, a very strong man, not a young girl dependent on a man for the roof over her very head, the same man who also wanted to make her his mistress.
“I would have perhaps done the same.”
“No, you wouldn’t have. You’re just trying to make me feel better. Less naive, less stupid.”
“Victoria, you couldn’t very well have coshed him on the head or planted your fist in his face. You did very well until the smugglers.”
“If it weren’t for a kind Fate, I should be a morsel on this Bishop’s plate.”
Rafael had never before been a kind Fate. It wasn’t the worst thing a man could be. He grew thoughtfully silent and she watched in fascination as he began again to tap his fingertips rhythmically together. He was thinking that he was a bachelor, that he knew absolutely no proper female in London. He was at an impasse. Suddenly he remembered Lyon Ashton, the Earl of Saint Leven, laughingly telling him of his tartar great-aunt, Lady Lucia Cranston. She lived in London, the old martinet, and tried to govern his life whenever he was within firing range. She had, Lyon said, decided that he and Diana Savarol would match up perfectly. And damn the old lady’s hide, she’d been right.
“I know what to do now,” he announced, straightening.
At his smile, she stiffened a bit. “It is something proper, I trust, sir?”
“Pure as the driven snow. My idea, that is.”
“Well?”
He grinned as he rose. “I think I’ll leave you in a bit of suspense. We’ll leave early in the morning.” He paused, looking at her carefully. “I will hire a carriage.”
“I can ride.”
“It would take us three days’ hard riding to reach London, perhaps even four.”
Victoria thought of her leg and the inevitable strain. She knew Rafael wouldn’t think she was suffering again from a sprained ankle. Nor could she see herself limping into the solicitor’s office. She sighed. “All right, a carriage, then. And, Rafael, I shall pay you back.”
“Of a certainty you will,” he said smoothly. “With interest from your immense fortune.”
“It might not be all that immense.”
“We shall see.”
“I shall see. Once you’ve escorted me to London, you can be on your way and well rid of me.”
“We shall see about that too.”
He turned slightly at the adjoining door. She was still seated in the chair, her profile turned toward him. Why the devil did he have this near-compulsion to kiss her and smooth h
er hair and tell her he would give his life to protect her? I am becoming a half-wit, he told himself. She had a very stubborn jaw.
Elaine sat in front of her dressing table, rhythmically brushing her long hair. It was thick and black as a raven’s wing and it was her vanity and a source of great pride. She saw her husband enter her room and said, “I simply don’t understand it, Damien. How could Victoria be so ungrateful? Damaris is carrying on and Nanny Black can’t quiet her.” She was studying him closely in the mirror, alert and watchful, but his expression didn’t change.
“I have sent out men in search of her, my dear,” he said, yawning. “We should hear something soon.” What he didn’t tell her was that he was certain Victoria had seen the tied letters that were beneath the strongbox. He’d discovered that fact but a few minutes before, and felt his jaw clench with helpless rage. Damn, he should have burned the letters, but who would have thought . . . ? Well, he would find her. He said now, disinterested as a clam, “In fact, you seem so very worried, my dear, that I intend to join the search on the morrow. I believe it likely she has gone to London.”