Moonspun Magic (Magic Trilogy 3)

He was still smiling as he stepped toward her, and she quickly jerked sideways. She wasn’t fast enough. He trapped her against the wall, a hand on either side of her face. “No more running, eh? With that leg of yours you’re not fast enough. Now, enough of your missishness, my dear. As for Esterbridge, the thought of that knock-kneed sod bedding you—well, consider that I have done you a favor.”

He lowered his head and his hands came down to grasp her shoulders. “No!” His mouth covered hers and her cry was buried in her throat. She felt his tongue stabbing against her closed lips.

He raised his head. His look was determined. “If you lock your door against me again, Victoria, you will regret it.”

“You lied to David. You said horrible things about my mother.”

“Why, yes, I did, didn’t I?”

“Dear God, I hate you. You will not touch me again, Damien.”

“I am touching you right now.” His hands came swiftly down to cup her breasts. “Victoria . . . you’re soft and full. I—”

She twisted wildly. “Let me go.”

Damien stared at her, feeling her trembling fear of him, and felt a surge of desire so strong it shook even him. He easily pictured her naked beneath him, struggling, but for naught, of course. No woman had ever reacted to him as Victoria was doing. It was immensely exciting, this chase, and her capture was inevitable. He said easily now, “At least I am a man, my dear, not a sniveling weakling like Esterbridge. Did I tell you I came upon him one day? Ah, yes, he was mauling a village girl. No finesse at all. Now, I am accounted a good lover. I will teach you things, show you how to please me.”

She stared at him, her eyes dark and frightened in the dim light.

He laughed softly. “Why, my dear Victoria, do you fear me seeing your leg? Is that what this is all about? I shan’t repine, no matter how ugly it is. Indeed, if I am repelled, then you can return to your narrow virginal bed that much sooner. Of course, you won’t be a virgin then, will you?”

“I’ll kill you, Damien.”

He laughed, enjoying the wild excitement pounding through him. “Do try, little Victoria. I shall enjoy your efforts.”

There came the sound of male footsteps. Damien slowly took two steps back. “Tonight, Victoria. Tonight I will come to you. Ah, good evening, Ligger. What is it you want?”

“Her ladyship sent me to find you, my lord.”

Damien merely nodded. “Later, my dear,” he said softly, only for her hearing.

She was afraid to look at Ligger. Had he truly come with a message from Elaine? Finally she looked up. Ligger’s expression was wooden, his rheumy eyes unblinking, but he didn’t move from his position until the baron had turned on his heel and walked away.

Ligger merely nodded, then slowly shook his head. He said very quietly, his voice emotionless, “You’d best not be alone, Miss Victoria.” He followed in the direction of the baron.

Victoria opened her eyes and shook herself. The waltz was over and the orchestra was now playing a country dance. I am not helpless, she thought. I must act. I cannot let this continue. She pushed off against the wall and strode to her bedchamber. There was only one choice, she knew.

She quickly stuffed clothes and underthings into her sturdy valise, the one she’d brought with her five years before. Suddenly she stopped cold. She had no money. She wouldn’t survive a day without money. She thought of Damien’s study, a large airy room filled with fine Spanish leather furnishings, the one room in Drago Hall that was his own private lair. Even Elaine didn’t venture into his study without his permission. He would have a strongbox there, in his big mahogany desk.

But where to stay tonight? Where would she be safe from him? She smiled. She would sleep in the nursery. Beside Damie, with Nanny Black just beyond a thin partition, her ubiquitous Bible beside her bed. And she’d be gone before dawn tomorrow.

But where?

Victoria straightened over her valise. That, she decided, she would consider before she fell asleep.

She carried her valise and cloak to the nursery. No one saw her. If Damien came to her bedchamber tonight, and she knew that he would, he would find her gone. What would he do? He would not, she guessed, try to drag her out of the nursery, even if he discovered her there. Even Baron Drago could not go that far.

She wrapped herself in her cloak and pressed against the edge of Damie’s small bed. The child’s even breathing calmed her.

She slept in spurts and roused herself at four o’clock in the morning. Upon jerking awake, her first thought was of Damien. What had he done when he’d found her gone? She shivered. It was cold, the air damp. She kissed Damie’s soft cheek, tucked her securely in a cocoon of blankets, and left the nursery. She crept down the stairs, feeling her way, for it was dark as a pit. She lit her candle only when she had firmly closed Damien’s study door.

In the bottom drawer of his desk, she found the strongbox. She had no qualms about forcing the lock with a hairpin. It came open, and she calmly counted out twenty pounds. There, she thought. It wasn’t really stealing; after all, she’d been Damaris’ nursemaid since the child had been born. She would return the money after she’d found a position.

She was quietly and intently replacing the strongbox when she chanced

to see a pile of letters tied in a black ribbon. The top one wasn’t folded properly, and she saw her name—Miss Victoria Abermarle—in a sentence written in black ink in a small cramped hand. Frowning, she pulled it out and smoothed it on the desktop. She sat in Damien’s chair and brought the candle closer. It was a letter to Damien from a solicitor, Mr. Abner Westover. She read it slowly, then read it again with a growing sense of unreality.

She finished it a third time, and tucked it neatly back into the pile with the others. My God, she thought, this was incredible. At least now she knew exactly where she was going. London. To Mr. Abner Westover.