Druid's Daughter by Jean Hart Stewart Page A

except the false priest. I am untouched except for that one
horrible night.”
    She got up and began to walk around the room with her
graceful glide. Brushing her hands across her eyes, she smiled with artificial
brightness.
    “There. You have the whole story.”
    Devon Randall said nothing for a long moment. He was filled
with emotion, so much so he hesitated to speak. He knew well he could not
express his fury at the bastard renegade priest. It would be useless in the
present circumstances and would just divert them both. Still, he realized he
must essay something.
    What would be the best way to handle this? The deep pity
flooding his heart would not help her now. Nor would protestations her story
mattered little to him except to make him admire her all the more. Finally he
made up his mind to tell her at least one of his candid feelings.
    “So? Have you decided how I’m to take all this? If I could
find your deceiver I’d gladly rid the world of his obnoxious presence, but
other than that, I don’t see your story has much to do with your refusing me.”
    Viviane’s astonishment was written large on her expressive
face.
    “Devon, I just told you I’m an unmarried mother with what the
world would call a bastard child. I have no impressive family background, in
fact I’ve worked most of my life. Outside of the training I received as a
Druid, I’ve educated myself. In addition, if my story were known, Lord
Sinclair’s leaving me money could be made into a nasty scandal.”
    Devon rose and went to her, taking her lightly in his arms.
“You’re beginning to annoy me mightily, my dear. Do you think I’m so shallow
that what others say matters?”
    Viviane paled. “Your position as a high government official
should make it matter. Your friends would shun me and perhaps you. You would be
ostracized in the world you cherish. I will not let you throw away all that.
Can you imagine what Queen Victoria would say?”
    He tried to hold her to him, but she struck down his arms
and whirled away. Ambrose got to his feet and growled. Viviane shushed the dog
automatically and looked at Devon with what seemed to be true anger.
    “You’re insane to want me. I’ll not permit such destructive
nonsense. I’ll not let you ruin yourself for a misguided passion. You may let
yourself out of the house when you’re ready.”
    Before he could stop her she ran out the door and up the
stairs. Ambrose shot him a reproachful look and then trotted after his
mistress. Devon considered rushing after her, but the butler was starting
toward him and he hated to be forced to shove the poor old man around. And
Ambrose would not let him near Viviane in any case.
    Devon took his hat and coat from Jackson, his every movement
slow as love for Viviane overflowed his heart. She was even more magnificent
than he’d ever suspected. He’d do anything to persuade her to marry him, but as
yet he didn’t have an idea in his rattled head.
    First he must persuade her to see him again. He thought he
might manage to get past Ambrose, but then Viviane would likely refuse to even
speak to him. He had a horrible idea this siege was going to be difficult
indeed.
    He’d stood gawking at her as she ascended, graceful even in
her distress. She slammed a door very hard after she’d reached the top of the
stairs.
    Lord, what a magnificent woman!

Chapter Eight
     
    Seated in his office the next day, Commissioner Randall
turned his focus from his own crisis to the one Lance described. He shoved his
personal problems aside with ruthless efficiency as he listened to the horror
story of the new murder.
    “You’re absolutely right, Lance. The press should be given
as much information as you can without jeopardizing the case.”
    “I shudder to remember the amount of criticism aimed at the
press in the Jack the Ripper case. I feel much of it resulted from the decision
to tell the newspapers nothing. I’m glad you agree, Sir.”
    The two men, one the head of all of the