An Impossible Choice (All Things Possible Book 1) Page 8

  She already felt more affection for this house than she did for its master, though she was growing more cordial and affable towards him. Despite the sense of betrayal she should still feel towards Damon, she found she couldn’t quite manage it. He’d continually been nothing but kind and considerate on their entire two week journey here, his proposal notwithstanding.

  In fact, he’d been a perfect gentleman, especially considering the night on the road that they’d had to share a room. Any other man may have taken advantage of such a situation, she was certain. However, she awoke untouched and unharmed. When she’d spied his large, sturdy frame huddled on the cold wooden floor as he slept, her heart had thawed towards him—enough that she had covered him with her blanket and left him most of her plate of food.

  Perhaps that explained why she now bothered with her appearance this morning, taking extra care with her unruly hair and wearing her favorite pale blue dress. It was the only one of the three that she owned that wasn’t gray, and it was far less faded than the others.

  It was her wedding day, after all.

  Eight o’clock arrived and Argel now stood next to Damon inside St. Helen’s parish church as she attempted to focus her attention on the clergyman before her. They’d arrived just the evening before to Abingdon-on-Thames and had made the church their first stop in order to procure a common license—

  “And do you both swear in the sight of God that there is nothing that would prohibit this union?” The voice of the clergyman droned as if he asked this question a hundred times on a daily basis.

  Well. There was a little matter of coercion and blackmail. If she refused now, though, her uncle…

  “Ahem.”

  It took Argel a minute to realize they were all waiting for her to answer. “I swear,” she quietly complied, not looking up at Damon, though she could feel his eyes honed on her.

  “Hmm,” the clergyman eyed her curiously before bending to scribble on a sheet of paper. “Very well. That will be one pound.”

  A bag of coins clanged as Damon wordlessly tossed it on the table.

  “Yes, well. Here is your license. See to it the marriage takes place within fifteen days. We will be most happy to perform the ceremony between the hours of eight and noon.”

  “We’ll be here in the morning. Eight o’clock,” Damon gruffly replied.

  Argel’s attention snapped back to the present as the clergyman motioned for her to turn towards Damon. Slowly, he took her right hand within his own, the size of his engulfing hers, holding it gently, firmly. She swallowed as she looked up, stopping to focus instead on the crisp white cravat about his neck, rather than look him in the eye.

  Perhaps that was a mistake, as she couldn’t deny the way his sharp navy coat hugged his colossal frame perfectly, setting off his very broad shoulders. He had looked most exquisite that morning in his own wedding clothes and hair freshly cut with the current fashion, a man transformed from brooding in black. In fact, she’d hardly been able to look at him without the awe being apparent on her face—and so she had averted her gaze the entire ride here.

  Argel dropped her eyes, hoping to quell the rising heat that would soon be visible on her face. Her gaze instead fell on tan buckskin breeches—very tight, tan buckskin breeches.

  She swallowed again. This wasn’t helping matters at all.

  Slowly, her gaze trailed back upward, when a booming voice caused her to start.

  It belonged to Damon.

  Her eyes immediately shot to his face and the intensity she saw there caused her to feel…warm.

  Argel realized then that he was saying his vows—a wonderful job of concentrating she’d been doing thus far. As he spoke, his dark eyes seemed to caress her, such was the tenderness she saw there. It brought to mind his words from that night that now felt like so very long ago—I am a very passionate person.

  I would pursue you to the ends of the earth.

  I am faithful, unchanging.

  I want you, Argel.

  …choice.

  Choice. He had given her one, impossible as it was, and she had made it. No going back now. And the thing was, she realized then at that very moment that for whatever reason, she believed him. She believed every word he had spoken to her—both on that fateful night and also in the vows he now made.

  And so that was why, as the minister prompted her, she now repeated vows of her own to this tall, handsome, ruthless, but also kind man.

  A virtual stranger—but also Damon. The man who had held her as she told her darkest secret, who had walked her home at night, tenderly kissed her under the tree.

  His eyes narrowed as she spoke the words given to her by the minister and his jaw appeared to harden, as if he was just as aware of the promises her words held as she was.

  Argel gazed into his black eyes, even as the clergyman spoke again, feeling drawn by some inexplicable pull.

  Suddenly, Damon’s head dipped as he began speaking again. “With this ring, I thee wed.” Something cool slid over her finger then, nearly causing her to jump.

  A ring. She hadn’t expected him to have one. Where had he found it on such short notice? And not even that, but this one fit perfectly.

  Argel looked up to find that he was looking at her again, his narrow eyes darkening further as he inclined his head closer, “With my body, I thee worship.”

  Goodness.

  His voice had dropped heart-stoppingly low, and her stomach along with it. He brushed his thumb softly over her hand as he made the intimate promise, causing her skin to tingle.

  “And with all my worldly goods I thee endow,” he firmly concluded.

  Before Argel knew it, the ceremony was over and she was signing the registry next to Damon’s name.

  Her husband.

  Mr. Pendenny and the housekeeper that Argel had met only the night before—a Mrs. Bowers?—stood silently by, waiting to sign as witnesses.

  They offered no congratulations, no handshakes or hugs. No doubt, Mr. Pendenny knew the entire situation and Mrs. Bowers was quite perplexed.

  Regardless of the circumstances, Argel felt more than a little deflated at the result that was her wedding day.

  “Come, Argel, we’re going home.” Damon’s deep voice rumbled in her ear, his head bent low as he’d come to do whenever speaking for her alone. She felt his strong hand at the small of her back as he guided her out of the parish church.

  She went with him wordlessly to the waiting carriage and wondered what, exactly, awaited her back at his home at Burchwell Hall—now also her home.

  Just before climbing in, she felt the hand at her back flex, his fingers splaying wide. A molten warmth swirled in her middle as her breath caught.

  Surely he didn’t expect—

  Her legs began to tremble beneath her and she quickly sat down.

  He’d promised her time, after all—that he’d be patient!

  She bit her lip with worry.

  Whether he knew her thoughts or not, he settled into the seat beside her and gently took her hand. “A small wedding breakfast awaits us. And by small, I mean it will only be you and I and Pendenny. You needn’t worry about anything more.” He gave her an apologetic smirk and appeared to be ready to say more, when Argel heard their companions approaching from outside.

  Instead, he merely lifted her hand to his mouth and placed a long, gentle kiss there, never once taking his eyes from hers. Even through her glove, the firm press of his lips brought heat to her face, her belly, everywhere.

  Patience. He’d promised her patience and time. He was keeping his word. And she was grateful.

  She thought.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  That evening, Damon slowly made his way up the large staircase to his room, where his new wife would be waiting for him. She’d excused herself after their wedding breakfast, saying she was exhausted after all the traveling, but he knew she had needed time to herself for other reasons as well. He had instructed Mrs. B
owers to show her where she would now stay and then left her alone for the entirety of the day.

  He reached the small landing and turned, continuing up more steps.

  The relief he’d felt at finally being married to Argel, finally her protector, had nearly died at breakfast upon telling her that as soon as was possible, he’d take her to Swindon to rightfully claim her inheritance, now that she was a married woman.

  What he’d hoped to be a step towards earning her trust, her heart, appeared to be otherwise as she had visibly stiffened, not looking up from her plate—in fact, his lovely bride had barely looked at him the entire morning.

  “Very well, sir,” Argel had sadly uttered.

  “Sir?!” Unfortunately, Damon had thundered the word in his disappointment, his dropped fork clanging on the plate.

  “Y-yes,” she stuttered, still staring at her food. “You are my husband now.”

  “My name is Damon and I would have you use it,” he said, trying to sound calmer. Though Pendenny’s clearing throat warned otherwise.

  “Yes s-, Damon. And,” he watched as she slowly looked up to meet his eyes, “what do you plan to do with it?”

  Do with it? She thought he— “Argel, the money is yours, to do with as you please. I may be your husband, but I won’t lay a finger on it. I promise you that.”

  The relief on her face only furthered the pain to his heart. Yes, he’d coerced her into this marriage, forced her hand, but the fact that she believed him capable of using her to get to her inheritance still hurt. He would need to step up his effort if he hoped to win her over any time soon.

  That was why, after breakfast, he’d ordered dozens of white roses to be delivered to her. And that’s why, now, he made his way up to her in order to explain all.

  He would tell her everything she was waiting to hear—he’d prove he wasn’t the tyrant she believed him to be.

  Knocking on his own bedchamber door, Damon waited until he heard her soft reply before entering. “Good evening,” he smiled as he walked in, taking notice of all the bouquets about the room.

  “Good evening.” She paused. “I must thank you…for the flowers.”

  Damon looked to his bride who stood beside a small table and chairs, wearing a worn and frayed robe over what was likely a nightgown in even worse shape, her brown curls loosely plaited down her back. He frowned as his blood began to boil. Did that greedy uncle of hers never lift a finger to see to his niece’s material needs as well?

  Damon realized, then, that she stood rather stiffly before him, clutching the robe closed at her neck with one hand, and he felt his anger quickly leave him. She was nearly trembling.

  “Argel,” he said softly, careful not to stand too close, “I’ve only come to give you what I promised—to tell you all.”

  Relief mingled with curiosity flooded Argel’s face and she quickly sat in the chair he indicated behind her, still clutching her robe closed.

  Slowly, Damon seated himself across the table from her, pulling out a rose from a nearby bouquet and absently twirling it in his fingers as a distraction, managing to avoid the thorns. He laughed awkwardly, feeling a rare insecurity. “I really don’t know where to begin.”

  “Well, how about the beginning? That’s usually the best place to start,” she tentatively smiled at him, giving him courage.

  “Very well, the beginning,” he nodded, leaning back in his chair. Staring up at the ceiling, his mind transported him back in time, back to his beginning. “I grew up in the house of my uncle, the Earl of Bilbury. My mother, his younger sister, had disgraced the family years earlier by running off and marrying my father—a merchant from Arabia—and had been cut off by my grandfather.”

  “So that explains your dark coloring.”

  “Yes, that explains it. Though I’m told I get my…stubbornness from my mother,” Damon smirked.

  “What happened to your parents?” Her voice had grown stronger with interest.

  Damon continued twirling the flower. “My uncle had never agreed with my grandfather’s decision. He thought he’d been to rash, more concerned with what society thought of him than his own family. As soon as he passed and my uncle inherited the title, he sent for my mother to return home—her husband and newborn son would be welcomed as well.

  “My father fell ill on the journey to England and died, my mother also sick by the time we arrived. She died soon after, and my uncle took me in, even gave me his family name, swearing to raise me as his own. And he did, whether out of love for me or guilt over my mother, it doesn’t matter.

  “Some accused him of loving me more than his own son, but my cousin Frederick was always a lazy, entitled lout. I think my uncle always knew that his son would eventually squander away everything after his death, so he sought to leave what legacy he could with me. He provided me with a small savings, taught me about money and business, investing. Instilled in me the importance of being steadfast, driven—to seek what I want and go after it relentlessly. He…well, he made me who I am today.”

  “And your uncle? Is he still alive?” Her soft voice cut in, dispersing the fog of his memories.

  “No.” Damon stared off into empty space. “He died twelve years ago.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Argel’s sweet reply touched his heart then in a way nothing had before, easing a pain he had long since considered forgotten. “How old were you then?”

  “Eighteen. I left the Bilbury estate immediately after the burial and never looked back. For all I know, Frederick is running out of money or living on credit—I couldn’t care less.”

  Damon paused, remembering the feel of the rain pelting him as he walked away. A sizable crowd dressed in black still surrounded the freshly dug grave. Best of luck on the streets, dog, his cousin had called out after him. You’ll never be anything…tatterdemalion!

  Damon hadn’t exaggerated to Argel—he never looked back. He simply kept walking…toward his future.

  “Due to my parentage,” he continued, “I would have had nothing of my own, but I made it in business, in this world…thanks to all my uncle taught me.” He sat up more fully in his chair. “Then, five years ago, I met Pendenny and hired him on as my associate. He claims he’s my assistant, but I prefer to think of us as business partners.”

  “What does he do, exactly?”

  “He’s very intelligent, good with numbers. He keeps the books, reads through every transaction—but there’s more to him than that. He does any investigating as needed, he also travels with me as protection. I can take care of myself, mind you, but it is helpful to have another set of eyes, another gun, another strong set of fists should a cheating scoundrel decide to try something.”

  “Fists? You mean bookish Mr. Pendenny?” Argel laughed in surprise for the first time in days and Damon looked over at her, smiling.

  “Don’t let his appearance fool you. And as for the spectacles, it’s all a rouse.” He winked, enjoying the pink appearing on her cheeks.

  “Won’t Wynny be surprised,” she breathed.

  “What’s that?” What did Miss Hughes have to do with—

  “Wynny. I still haven’t written to Wynny.” Argel cleared her throat. “So, then, how did my uncle come to be involved with you?”

  “Ah,” Damon shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He hated what she was about to learn, but hear it she must if she was to ever trust him. “As you know, I have an office in London. Spend a great deal of time there, actually. And, as you know, part of my business is issuing loans—investing in new ventures, if you will.

  “Your uncle must have heard of me somehow and came in one day, seeking such a loan—just as I described back in Beddgelert. He provided credible references, gave me no reason not to trust him.

  “You already know how we discovered him to be a fraud. It seemed he was gone then, out of thin air. I remained in London, working tirelessly, determined never to be cheated again—when reports began trickling in of a man cheating othe
rs like myself and running gaming halls amok across the country.

  “It took two years, a visit to Bow Street, and questioning several, ahem, brothels he reportedly visited.”

  Argel gasped.

  “We were able to piece together that he infrequently made appearances throughout England, never staying in one place long. It never occurred to us that he might not even reside in England at all—not until we received a tip two months ago that he may live in Wales, more specifically…in Beddgelert.”

  “And so you came, you found us…” Argel’s voice trailed off.

  “Yes, and so I found you.” Damon stopped and swallowed. What he was about to admit next—well, he had no way to know how she would react, not until the words were spoken. “Argel, you must know…I would have paid your uncle’s debts whether you agreed to marry me or not.”

  There. The truth was out.

  “What?! Why?” Argel’s hand dropped as she leaned forward in surprise, her robe now gaping open, giving Damon a prime view of her threadbare chemise and…

  The rose stem snapped in his hands.

  “Damon! You’re bleeding!”

  Was he? He looked down at his hand to see a crushed flower and trickles of blood. He’d never felt the thorns. It was more than a little unnerving, the effect that she had on him.

  As he stared dazed at his damaged flesh, he felt the sense of movement around him.

  “Here,” Argel now sat at his feet with a wet cloth and took his hand, wiping gently. He should take it as a good sign that she was still speaking to him, helping him even. But she was so close, touching him, her blasted robe still hanging open.

  Growling, he plucked the cloth from her hands. “Sit,” he bit out. “I…don’t want you to trouble yourself.” I don’t want to break my promise to you.

  Tending to his own wounds, he refused to look back up—not until he knew she was once again seated. Instead, he worked in silence, trying to ignore the tension building in the room.