A woman or child?
Had Adam ever been married or sired a babe? She could not think of a single bit of gossip she had overheard about Lord Hartmoor’s family life. Being of both English and Scottish heritage, and owning property in London as well as in Scotland, he divided his time between the two places. Though, she could not recall hearing of him visiting London in quite some time. She had certainly never encountered him in town.
Five years ago. Adam’s return to London coincides with Uncle William’s sudden drinking?
She stared at the note after she’d jotted it down, and she fixated upon it. Daphne did not believe in coincidence. He had returned to London just before her family’s troubles had begun. But, had his dastardly plan run its course? Or would her father and brother suffer even more of his wrath?
Rubbing her tired eyes, she decided it all required closer investigation. She would be prepared to give Adam whatever he asked in return for another piece of the puzzle.
She corked the inkwell and ensured her writing had dried upon the stationary before storing everything back inside the drawer. Shortly after, Maeve arrived with a lunch tray. After the events of the long morning and afternoon, Daphne was positively famished. The maid left the tray and retreated, apparently to see to some pressing task—which left her alone with her thoughts.
Thoughts that, despite her best attempts at avoidance, continued straying to Adam—his hands undressing her, touching her body, his lips claiming hers in a way she would be hard-pressed to forget.
Lord Adam Callahan had destroyed her family and purchased her body as he would a brothel whore … yet, these things seemed minor in comparison to the way he’d set her body on fire, causing her to crave his touch when she should have found it repugnant.
That, Daphne realized, made him far more dangerous than she could have ever imagined.
CHAPTER FOUR
aphne’s second night at Dunnottar passed uneventfully, much to her surprise. As promised, Adam came to dine with her in the drawing room adjacent to her chambers—the same room where he’d shamed her in front of Niall and done wicked things to her on top of the table. Her face burned with excruciating embarrassment as she sat there, forced to eat at the same table upon which he had demonstrated how easily he could bend her to his will. He seemed to know it, casting her knowing glances from across the table, smugly smirking as he brought bits of lamb up to his mouth with his fork.
She half expected him to lunge across the table and take her down to the carpet, perhaps indulging in a repeat performance from this morning. Maybe he would push things further. Her throat had constricted at the thought, making it difficult to breathe, let alone eat.
However, Adam proved capable of behaving like a gentleman. They ate together in near silence, the only words exchanged comments on the spread laid out between them. Once they finished, he bid her good night and left her alone in the drawing room. He did not even touch her, though he did pause in the doorway and rake his gaze over her in that way of his—the way that reminded her that for the next twenty-nine days, she was this man’s property. She’d barely survived the first day, feeling several times as if she might break under the strain and suspense. Yet, she had persevered.
“One down, twenty-nine more to go,” she muttered to herself as she left the drawing room and returned to her own chamber.
Tomorrow, she would not spend so much of her time in this room alone. Perhaps she would explore more of the areas Adam had given her permission to enter. Though, curiosity had her wondering what lay in the wing just off the one she occupied. The one he had explicitly warned her away from.
“Don’t be daft,” she chided herself. “The man will throw you out without the money, and then where will you be?”
The sound of a throat being cleared startled her, and she fought to calm her racing heart as Maeve came into view, approaching from the corner of the room.
“Beg your pardon, my lady,” she said with a quick curtsy. “I did not mean to frighten you. I was waiting up to prepare you for bed.”
Lifting her chin, Daphne pretended to be unperturbed by having been caught talking to herself. “That would be fine, Maeve.”
As the young maid approached, Daphne held still and allowed her to begin unfastening the gown. She released a sigh of relief as the constricting garment fell away, heedless to her nudity underneath. Despite being annoyed with Adam for insisting she have new clothing during her stay, she found herself looking forward to wearing garments that fit.
Maeve hummed happily as she gently laid the gown across the bench sitting at the foot of the bed, then took up the nightgown she’d draped beside it. Daphne studied the maid with curious eyes, wondering why she would willingly work for a man like Adam. Yes, work could be hard to come by for a servant, but there was no shortage of homes in London where Maeve could work as a lady’s maid. What inspired such loyalty in her for the ‘Master’ of Dunnottar? Did she know about the things Adam had done to her since her arrival? Perhaps it was not surprising because he was in the habit of debauching young maidens of the ton. Or worse … he had done them to Maeve.
For reasons she did not understand, the notion of Adam kissing Maeve the way he had her—touching her … stripping away her clothing with a single gaze—caused anger to flare in her gut.
“There,” Maeve said once she’d finished brushing and braiding Daphne’s hair for bed. “Would you like anything before you go to sleep, my lady? A nightcap or tea, perhaps? A book to read? The Master gave me a collection of tomes he thought you might enjoy.”
Raising her eyebrows, she paused in the middle of climbing into the bed, the covers turned down and one knee upon the mattress. “He did? When?”
Maeve smiled, beaming as if proud of her ‘Master’ for doing something so thoughtful for his guest. “Just this evening before dinner. I placed them on the bedside table.”
Glancing to her left, she found a stack of books waiting for her beside a lit lamp. With a frown, she glanced back up at Maeve. The maid went on smiling, giving her an encouraging nod, her gaze darting to the pile.
Settling against the pillows, she sighed. “Thank you, Maeve. I will read one of these books, but the nightcap will not be necessary. Good night.”
The maid curtsied and picked up her discarded dress and slippers before leaving. “Good night, my lady.”
Once she had been left alone, Daphne reached toward the books, taking the one on top of the stack. Just because she hated Adam and the things he’d done to her family did not mean she couldn’t enjoy what his extensive library had to offer. From what she’d seen during her tour today, there was more where these books had come from.
She glanced down at the front cover of the tome in her hands and gasped, her breath catching in her throat and beginning to burn. Her heart thundered in her chest as she read the inscribed words, her face growing hot.
The School of Venus, or the Ladies’ Delight, Reduced into Rules of Practice.
An erotic novel. Adam had sent an erotic novel to her room.
Tossing the book aside, she reached for the next one in the stack, her jaw clenching as she read the second title.
Venus in the Cloister.
Yet another salacious and indecent work of fiction.
Daphne rifled through the others, her jaw dropping as she found more of the filth, more than she could possibly read in a night.
A Dialogue Between a Married Lady and a Maid.
Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure.
The Tale of Two Lovers.
Fanny Hill.
Les Bijoux Indiscrets.
She shoved the books away, causing them to spread across her duvet. The covers stared up at her accusingly, the knowledge of their contents flooding her with shame, even though she hadn’t read them.
Damn Adam … he was making fun her and her confession from this afternoon. In fact, he’d probably known she would react this way—with maidenly outrage. He and Niall likely shared a good laugh over it in his study over tumblers of bra
ndy. The thought infuriated her, and the urge to throw the books into the fire seized her.
Yet, as she glanced down at the tomes spread out in front of her, she decided not to stoop so low. If she destroyed his property, he might think of some way to make her pay for it—or worse, throw her out without the bank draft or the answers she’d come for.
Stacking the books neatly, she laid them on the bedside table. Then, plopping back against her pillows, she closed her eyes and waited for sleep to claim her. Exhaustion had been nipping at her heels all day, despite the nap she’d taken that afternoon. The long journey to Scotland and the emotional turmoil Adam had put her through since her arrival had wrung her dry. A few seconds with her eyes closed should have been enough to send her drifting off.
However, one minute passed, and then another, and another. The longer she lay there, counting the minutes as they passed her by, the more she thought of the books beside her. Like some unholy beacon drawing her in, the erotic novels seemed to call to her, to dare her to open their covers and discover the naughty delights inside.
Heaving a sigh, she opened her eyes and stared up at the canopy above her. He had been wrong about her. She was not a hypocrite—a lion in lambs’ clothing. She had allowed a man to take a few liberties with her body and had enjoyed them. It was no more than some of her friends had done. That did not make her a whore, or a wicked person. If feeling such strong desires was unnatural, why did so many fall prey to scandal? Why countless women disgrace themselves for a stolen moment of pleasure?
Yet, the books continued to taunt her, the firelight flickering over them and casting their shadow against the paneled wall.
If her desires were normal, then reading about the desires of others couldn’t be so bad. And, truly, reading them would mean she had won, not Adam. He wanted her to feel ashamed, to make fun of her confession. She would show him. She would read every one of these books, and when he asked how she enjoyed them, she would hold her head high and tell him her favorite parts.
That decided, she reached for the copy of The School of Venus and pried it open. Curling up against her pillows and angling the book so the candlelight shone upon the pages, she began to read.
The next morning, Daphne woke with a pounding headache. She hadn’t slept much, becoming so engrossed in The School of Venus that she’d hardly been able to put it down. The titillating story of Kate and her intimate education at the hands of her suitor, Roger, had captured her attention thoroughly. Aside from putting heat in her cheeks, it had also made her giggle, proving to be quite witty in places. It had reminded her of those summers spent in the country, exploring new desires and passions with her dashing neighbor. In fact, those exploits proved fodder worthy of an erotic novel themselves.
She’d smiled to herself while reading, wondering if she could ever be bold enough to chronicle her own exploits. They might not be as salacious as the contents of Venus, but they certainly made her pulse race whenever she thought of them. Besides, by the end of her thirty days with Adam, perhaps she’d have even more material for such a project. The thought had dampened her excitement a bit. If she was going to explore her own sensuality with a man, she would never have chosen Lord Hartmoor with which to do it.
She’d had someone once, but had not seen him in years. Now that her family stood on the fringes of high society, he would likely shun her should they cross paths again. The notion made her chest ache, but she steeled herself against the sensation of heartbreak. She might never marry now that she had given herself over to Adam to be ruined, but she would be the savior of her family. It was all that mattered.
Morning seemed to arrive far too quickly after she’d finally set the novel aside to sleep, but once Maeve entered and threw open her curtains to allow in sunlight, Daphne could not coerce herself back to sleep. The maid cheerfully announced that her new wardrobe had arrived, before ushering in an army of footmen, all of whom toted shop packages wrapped in brown paper. Her eyes widened as the boxes slowly filled the room—covering the bed and every other available surface. Maeve turned in circles, her smile wide as she seemed to try to decide which to open first.
Approaching the bed, Daphne began tearing the paper off the first box her hand fell upon. “Why so many?”
Maeve joined her at the bed, lifting the lid off a hatbox and revealing a straw bonnet adorned with flowers along the brim. “The Master wanted you to have clothing for every possible contingency.”
Frowning, she lifted a morning gown from her own box. “I cannot imagine why. I had thought I’d spend most of my time …”
She paused and cleared her throat, pushing the first box aside to reach for a second. Maeve hummed quietly as she went about opening another. The unspoken thought lingered between them unsaid. Daphne had expected to spend most of her time nude in Adam’s bed. It would seem her captor had other ideas. Not knowing what he could be thinking made her blood run cold, her mouth becoming dry while her head spun at the possibilities.
“Allow me to dress you and finish this on my own while you have breakfast and explore a bit, my lady,” Maeve chirped, pulling a pair of slippers out of her hands.
Restlessness and the urge to leave this room caused Daphne to acquiesce. Perhaps some time spent exploring the castle would help pass the time until Adam decided he wanted her.
“Where is Lord Hartmoor?” she asked while the maid helped her out of her nightgown and into one of the new morning gowns—without undergarments.
“Had a bit of business to attend this morning,” the maid replied. “He says you’re to have breakfast on your own and occupy yourself until he’s finished.”
Maeve brushed her hair and secured a jeweled pink comb into one side, sweeping the hair away from her ear. Then came her stockings and slippers, before another ribbon tied around her throat—pink trimmed in white lace. Inside one of the boxes, she spied several spools of ribbon in an array colors—some trimmed in lace, others with false gemstones. Also Adam’s doing, she supposed. He’d seemed to like the blue ribbon she’d worn yesterday. With a disdainful snort, she realized that, of course, he’d enjoyed a piece of clothing meant to make her look like a pet. A possession. His to use and toy with.
Giving her a curious glance, Maeve announced she was finished and that breakfast would be served in the adjoining drawing room as before. She left the maid to her work and walked into the drawing room to find the table laden with several dishes and the same silver tea service. Only, this time, she ate alone, without even the imposing presence of Niall to disturb her. Once she’d eaten her fill, she left the drawing room through a door leading into the corridor. Pausing, she glanced toward the sharp turn leading to a different wing of the castle. The forbidden corridor.
Realizing Adam would likely become angry if he caught her even contemplating going down there, she turned the way she’d gone with him the day before. Walking at a leisurely pace, she opened doors and peered into the rooms to familiarize herself further with this wing of the palace.
Most of them turned out to be guest chambers with adjoining sitting rooms, but one door not far from her own room drew her in. Stepping through the doorway, her eyes wide and jaw slack with awe, she observed the impressive collection of instruments making up a music room. A long, low table against one wall held several violins, flutes, a clarinet, and a lute. A collection of polished brass music stands gleamed in the light of several lamps, while stacks of sheet music littered the end tables situated between oversized pieces of furniture. A harpsichord and spinet took up opposite corners of the room.
However, the two instruments filling the center of the room drew her eye and held her attention. The first was a large, golden harp—the most beautiful she’d ever seen. Its pillar had been adorned with the painted figures of angels taking flight. As she came closer, unable to keep her hands off the instrument, her gaze roamed over the angelic fixtures, their hair billowing as if they flew into the wind, their golden wings stretched behind them. She smiled as memories of learning th
e instrument came back to her. It had been ages since she’d touched a harp, but as she caressed the strings of this one, something within her resounded with overwhelming force. Should she decide to attempt it, she had a feeling her fingers would return to the practice with stunning accuracy. A part of her, clearly, had not forgotten.
Beside the harp rested the largest, most beautiful pianoforte she’d ever seen. Its polished surface, the worn cushion of the bench resting before it, and the lit lamps told her someone used this room quite often. Obviously, the servants took care to ensure it would be ready for said person’s use.
Adam, perhaps? Or someone else in his household?
Was there even a household here at Dunnottar? From what she’d seen, Lord Hartmoor resided here alone.
“Do you play an instrument?”
His deep, resonant voice caused her to flinch, her blood rushing as her skin seemed to vibrate in response to his presence. Resting one hand on the surface of the pianoforte, she turned slowly to face him, taking a deep breath and gathering her wits. Her breath came out in a rush as their gazes collided—hers wide and frightened, his feral and primitive. He leaned against the door frame, his casual posture belied by the capacity for destruction radiating from his eyes.
His hair had been pulled back and secured with a ribbon at the nape of his neck, though his attire proved downright indecent. He wore no coat, and his shirt lay open to reveal most of his chest. Coils of dark hair drew her eye, blanketing bulging muscles which made her mouth go dry. His breeches were so snug, there was no disguising the steady swell of his cock as he stood there staring at her. Despite his distance from her and such dim lighting, she could see he was only half-aroused. Even then, the masculine organ appeared as intimidating as the rest of him.
Raising one eyebrow, he smirked at her as if discerning the direction of her thoughts. “I asked you a question, Daphne.”
Shaking her head, she blinked and forced her gaze away from him, focusing on the wallpaper. “I was never any good at the pianoforte … much to my mother’s chagrin. But the harp …”
The Villain Page 7