Chapter Twenty #2
“Perhaps.” Damien took Isabella’s arm and led her to the other side of his desk. She saw a small trunk resting beside his chair. “I brought this back from York for you, Isabella. It is filled with your mother’s belongings.”
“My mother’s?” Isabella’s eyes lit up with excitement. “How is this possible? I was told by one of the servants that my grandfather burned all my mother’s possessions. Where did you get this?”
“I stole it from Aunt Agnes,” Damien said, tipping back on his heels proudly.
“You didn’t?”
“I did.” Damien’s gray eyes danced with merriment.
“I marched straight through the house with the trunk perched on my shoulder. I can’t imagine what the servants thought, but naturally no one said a word.
Of course Agnes was not overly pleased with my actions.
Apparently she had become rather attached to the trunk over the years and objected strongly when I decided to remove it.
It became necessary to lock her bedchamber to prevent any interference. ”
“She must have been very angry,” Isabella said, finding it difficult to image Aunt Agnes being bested by anyone.
“She was absolutely furious,” Damien chuckled. “When I left her, she was spouting profanities that would make a sailor blush.”
Isabella shrieked with childish laughter. “I wish I had been there to witness her defeat. Aunt Agnes finally met her match when she tangled with you, Damien.”
“I hope my prize proves to be of worth,” Damien said, shifting his eyes down to the trunk. “Agnes thought there might be something of significance in here that would name your true father.”
“Pray, don’t keep me in suspense, Damien,” Isabella said, clasping her hands tightly together. “What have you found?”
“I haven’t opened the trunk yet, Isabella. I felt it was your right.”
She knelt down and ran her hand hesitantly across the top of the trunk.
A heavy weight of impending doom and dread crept into her chest. It suddenly seemed as if her entire future depended on the contents of this mysterious trunk and the secrets it held.
Fearing she would lose her nerve, Isabella took a deep breath, thrust the latch, unbolted the lock, and quickly lifted the lid.
Shades of brown, tan, and white swirled before her unfocused eyes.
Isabella blinked hard several times, forcing herself to adjust her vision.
Gradually she distinguished the shapes and colors—stacks of books, piles of correspondence neatly tied with colored ribbons, a small jewelry box, a writing box, a few garments.
Hands shaking visibly, Isabella pulled forth two packets of letters. “Please help me read through them,” she asked, offering a pile to Damien.
The room fell to silence as they both concentrated their attention on the letters, the occasional spark and crack of the fire the only noise. Damien reclined in a leather chair near the fire while Isabella sprawled on the floor, leaning back against the open trunk as she read.
The first letter Isabella scanned was signed by a female named Pamela and was dated four years prior to the year Isabella was born.
Impatiently she folded the missive and reached for another.
When all the correspondence had been thoroughly perused, Isabella turned toward Damien.
He answered her unspoken question with a slight shake of his head.
“I know it’s absurd to feel so disappointed,” Isabella said, slumping dejectedly. “I’m sure Aunt Agnes has read these letters a hundred times over, yet for some reason I thought the answer would leap out at us.”
“Let’s look through the other items, Isabella,” Damien said soothingly.
She grudgingly nodded her agreement and picked up two boxes. Keeping the smaller jewelry box in her lap, she gave Damien the larger writing box.
“Damnation!”
Damien’s husky voice jarred Isabella. Glancing up, she saw his strained expression. Her stomach did a somersault. “What is it? What have you found?”
“The writing paper,” Damien said quietly, holding up a single sheet of parchment toward the firelight.
“It’s blank,” Isabella replied, knitting her brows together.
“Yes,” Damien said. “And because it is not written on, I can easily read the watermark. I recognize it.”
Isabella rose to her knees and awkwardly shuffled toward him.
“I don’t understand,” she said, peering closely at the parchment.
“I thought these watermarks were woven into the paper by the manufacturer to denote quality.” She fingered the heavy cream colored paper.
“ ’Tis obvious this is a superior vellum. ”
“Aside from crediting the paper maker, watermarks of heraldic themes and armorial shields showing the bearing of the aristocratic owner are often used,” Damien explained. “The paper I use is marked with a replica of my family coat of arms.”
Isabella frowned. “Lord Poole wears a gold ring bearing his family heraldry. I don’t recall the design exactly, but I am certain it does not resemble this mark.”
“Of course not. If Poole’s father and your mother were lovers, he would not have been foolish enough to present her with something containing his coat of arms.”
“Yet you said you recognized this paper,” Isabella said. “How?”
“Emmeline refused to use my parchment for her correspondence, preferring her family’s unique creation.
” Damien traced the outlines of the watermark to emphasize his point.
“The bull’s head is a common symbol, but rising between the horns is a supporting symbol, a star.
This paper is made exclusively for the Poole family.
It cannot be purchased by anyone else. Finding it among your mother’s personal effects establishes a firm connection between her and them. ”
“Good Lord.” Isabella sank back unsteadily on her haunches. “I don’t believe it.”
“I agree the evidence is hardly conclusive, but given all the other circumstances, in conjunction to your striking physical resemblance to Emmeline, I believe we have finally discovered the truth.”
“The truth!” Isabella jerked herself up to her knees, swayed drunkenly, then sat down hard on the floor. She looked at Damien’s solemn face, and a cold, empty fear invaded her heart.
He would grow to hate her now because of who she was. Gone forever was the chance, the hope, that he would one day return her love.
Her vision blurred. The tears were close to the surface, and Isabella knew she was about to disgrace herself. Yet she couldn’t seem to gather the strength to leave.
“Sweetheart.” Damien reached down and lifted her into his lap. “Shhhh, don’t cry.”
Isabella hiccuped back a sob. Damien smiled affectionately and kissed her temple. He rocked her slowly back and forth. She took a shuddering breath and rubbed her cheek against the soft silk of his waistcoat. He felt wonderful. Yet the turmoil in her heart continued.
Isabella felt disjointed, somehow out of touch with her true self.
She absently twisted one of the gold buttons on the earl’s jacket until the thread snapped.
With a mute, apologetic glance, she handed him the button and he slipped it inside his pocket.
Then his fingers began to stroke her head and shoulders in a soothing motion that gradually calmed her panic. And raised her passion.
Suddenly she wanted to kiss him. Everywhere.
She wanted to loosen his cravat and nibble at the base of his throat, where his pulse beat strong and sure.
She wanted to remove his jacket and waistcoat and shirt and run her fingers across his naked flesh.
She wanted to make love to him. Now. But after all that had happened, would he still want her?
Isabella let her hand slide over the rock-hard muscles of Damien’s arm and gave a firm squeeze. Then she bent herself seductively back over his other arm in a calculated pose of utter abandonment.
The earl squirmed in the chair, and her heart sang when she felt a familiar hard pressure against her bottom. She turned her head and looked him straight in the eye.
“The carpet might be scratchy, my lord, but your desk top looks invitingly smooth.”
A dark brow arched up. “Are you suggesting that we test that assumption, my dear?” The heat in his eyes and the sexy timber of his deep voice stole her breath away.
“Oh, yes,” she whispered in his ear.
“Right now?”
“Please.” Her voice was husky and thrillingly coaxing.
Damien hesitated a mere fraction of a second, then lowered his head and took her lips in a wet, open-mouthed kiss.
Isabella immediately responded by thrusting her tongue inside the warmth of Damien’s mouth.
She kissed him deeply, drinking in all of his heat and hunger.
They kept kissing until her lips felt swollen, until the desire rose between them thick and urgent, tightening every nerve in her body.
Tearing her mouth free from his, Isabella drew her lips along the square line of his jaw, then flicked her tongue behind the lobe of his ear.
Damien quivered and held her tighter against his chest. Even through the many layers of clothing, his body felt wonderful—strong, hard, and solid, offering her the comfort and security she so desperately needed, so desperately craved.
But she needed more. She needed to feel his naked skin against her own.
She pushed Damien’s jacket off his shoulders, released his waistcoat and cravat, and practically ripped his shirt away.
Together they worked the buttons of her gown.
She felt mindlessly insatiable, almost feverish, as the last button fell open.
Naked, she rubbed her swollen breasts with their rigid nipples against Damien’s chest in an agitated rhythm.
Her frantic urgency drove him wild. He caressed her breasts with his tongue until she was sobbing with pleasure.
He pulled her skirt up to her waist and plunged his hand between her legs.
Ripping away the fragile barrier of her undergarments, his fingers sought and found the slick wetness of her desire.