by Andrea Kane
He did know that she trusted him, reached out to him for a complexity of reasons too vast to put into words. She’d even taken a few tentative steps closer to the fire that blazed to life when she was in his arms.
But it still wasn’t enough.
So, how would she react to the thought of becoming his wife? Now. Immediately. She’d be stunned. That was a certainty. But when the shock had subsided, when she’d had time to think, then what? Would she flatly refuse his proposal, or would she entertain the idea of becoming Mrs. Pierce Thornton?
Tragmore. What would he do?
Pierce’s smile vanished. The son of a bitch would be furious. More than furious. His rage would be boundless; vented—how? By striking out at Pierce, or at Daphne?
Just the thought of Tragmore laying one of his contemptible hands on Daphne made Pierce’s skin crawl. Clenching his fists, he cursed aloud.
By wedding Daphne he could wrest her from her father’s brutality. He’d do it in a minute, with or without Tragmore’s consent, if he were certain it was what Daphne wanted. But was it?
I’ll never take what you don’t willingly offer. Pierce had spoken that vow just yesterday as he’d drawn Daphne into his arms for the first time. He wouldn’t break it. Not now, not ever. She had to freely choose to become his wife.
But was the fragile thread of feeling that had grown between them strong enough? Was Daphne strong enough to defy her father, knowing how much he loathed Pierce?
No. Not yet. There hadn’t been enough opportunity.
But, dammit, there would be.
Abruptly, Pierce leaned forward. “Rakins!” he called to his driver. “Head back to Hollingsby’s office at once.”
“Mr. Thornton. You can’t just walk in there! Mr. Hollingsby is a busy man.” The scrawny clerk made one final attempt to block Pierce’s path.
Sidestepping the man’s flailing arms, Pierce flung open the solicitor’s door and stalked in.
“Don’t blame your clerk, Hollingsby,” Pierce announced, dropping into a chair. “I intended to see you immediately. And nothing and no one was going to stop me.”
“I see.” Hollingsby had jolted to his feet, and now began furiously polishing his spectacles. “You may leave us, Carter,” he told the clerk.
“Yes, sir.” Carter mopped at his brow, sent an aggravated look in Pierce’s direction, and walked out.
“I didn’t expect to see you again, Mr. Thornton.” Hollingsby shoved his spectacles back into place. “And certainly not so soon.”
“I’m sure you didn’t.” Pierce folded his hands behind his head and began without preliminaries. “I have a few questions. First, how did Markham know I was capable of managing his funds?”
Hollingsby’s eyes widened in surprise, but he answered without hesitation. “The late duke knew a great deal about you. He followed your life, at a discreet distance, of course, quite closely. Therefore, he was aware of your brilliant business investments and your equally brilliant mind. When he had me draw up the codicil, he was fully confident that his estate would be entrusted to the very best of hands.”
“How flattering. Next question. You mentioned that once my responsibilities had been fulfilled I would have complete access, within reason, to the Markham funds. Define within reason.”
Now Hollingsby’s jaw dropped. “Does this mean you’ve reconsidered and intend to—”
“Just answer the question.”
“Very well. The only reason your father—er, the late duke, added that phrase was to ensure that his family name and fortune remained essentially intact for his grandson.”
“His grandson. You mean, my son?”
“Yes.”
“In other words, Markham was afraid I would intentionally tarnish his name and squander his money?”
“The possibility occurred to him, yes.”
“Which, in turn, would leave my son destitute, much the way Markham left me, correct, Hollingsby?”
Averting his gaze, the solicitor shifted from one foot to the other.
“He needn’t have worried,” Pierce continued icily. “Lowly bastard that I am, I possess far higher principles than His Grace ever had. I will assure my son every shred of security, both financial and emotional, that my sire denied me. The Markham estate, and the Ashford name, will remain unimpugned.”
“So you are reversing your earlier decision.”
“I am.”
“May I ask why?”
“For many reasons, few of which you would understand. Suffice it to say my conscience refused to permit retreat.”
“You understand the stipulations I described?”
“I do. I also accept them. And to make your job slightly less untenable, I invite you to openly scrutinize my investments as I effect them. You’ll find each to be completely acceptable.” A glimmer of a smile. “In this case, Markham was right. I’m damned good at what I do.”
“I don’t doubt it.” Hollingsby’s obvious relief was mixed with a touch of admiration. “And my scrutiny won’t be necessary, although I thank you for your generous offer. Since I’ll be meeting with you weekly to issue your ten thousand pounds, we can discuss the status of your assets at those times.”
“As you wish.” Pierce rose. “I have one request.”
“Which is?”
“That I be given the right to announce my newfound status on my own.”
“You’re asking me to say nothing?”
“Precisely. Only for a day or two, until I can find the proper setting for my coming out.”
Hollingsby stifled a chuckle. “Very well, Mr.—forgive me—Your Grace. Although I must say I’d hate to miss your grand proclamation.”
“Then don’t. In fact, as I’m new to all this, I could use a suggestion. Where is the next large, pretentious house party scheduled to take place?”
“The Earl of Gantry is hosting an enormous gathering, complete with fox hunt and ball. It begins the day after tomorrow and continues for Lord knows how many days.”
“Pity I don’t have an invitation.” Pierce cocked a pointed brow in Hollingsby’s direction.
This time the solicitor laughed aloud. “I admire your spunk, sir. As it happens, I do have an invitation. And I’d be delighted to have you accompany me as my guest. Would that interest you?”
“The earl won’t object, I presume?”
“Certainly not. At least, not once he learns who you are.”
“That goes without saying.” Pierce seized a quill from the desk. “I accept your kind invitation. Now, I presume there are documents I must sign?”
“Indeed.”
“Then let’s hurry the process along.” Pierce’s lips curved in amusement. “I have a legacy to see to.”
8
“WE SHALL REMAIN AT Gantry’s ball for two hours, not a minute longer,” Tragmore instructed Daphne and her mother as their carriage rounded the drive to Gantry’s estate. “I’m in no mood for festivities. Unfortunately, I must endure the fox hunt tomorrow, as well as the dinner that follows it. But I shan’t stay a day beyond that. As for tonight’s party, we’ll take our leave the moment it is plausible for us to do so. Is that clear?”
“Perfectly clear, Harwick,” Elizabeth concurred instantly.
“We could have sent our regrets, Father,” Daphne pointed out. “Given our recent burglary, I’m sure the earl would have understood.”
“The earl would not have understood.” Tragmore snapped. “He himself was a victim of that bloody bandit less than a fortnight ago. The difference is, he has no noose hanging around his neck.”
Daphne inclined her head quizzically. “What do you mean, Father?”
“Nothing! Just mingle, ingratiate yourself with the right people, and hope that a never-before-met, wealthy nobleman becomes smitten with you.”
“That’s hardly likely, given that we are already acquainted with all the guests,” Daphne replied, trying to fathom her father’s uncharacteristic mood. He was neither volatile nor disdainful.
Rather, he seemed nervous, uncommonly off balance, almost desperate. “Are you seeking a husband for me?” she tried.
“What?” Tragmore gave her a disoriented look.
“You mentioned my snaring a man’s affections. I assumed—”
“I don’t give a damn if you wed or not, Daphne,” he cut in impatiently. “Unless of course your betrothed arrives with a fortune he is eager to share.”
So it was money. For whatever reason her father was worried about funds. Why? He would be amply compensated for their stolen jewels. Had some other business loss occurred? One she knew nothing about?
She glanced at her mother, who shrugged and averted her head. Daphne sighed. She should know better. Elizabeth stayed as far from the flame as possible.
“We’re here,” the marquis muttered. “Now remember what I said. Two hours. No more.”
“Of course, Harwick.” Elizabeth lay a soothing hand on his arm. “We’ll retire early so you can be rested for the hunt.”
Alighting from the carriage, they were ushered to the ballroom door and announced.
“Tragmore, welcome.” The Earl of Gantry made his way toward them. “And to your lovely wife and daughter, as well.”
“Thank you, Gantry,” Tragmore responded, instantly assuming his composed public veneer. “We’ve looked forward to your party for weeks.”
“I’m delighted to hear that.” Gantry smoothed the ends of his mustache and bowed to the ladies. “Lady Tragmore, Lady Daphne, my home is at your disposal. Your rooms have been prepared and your bags taken there by my servants. Now, you have nothing to concern yourselves with but laughter and merriment.”
“You are a most gracious host sir,” Elizabeth smiled. Gently, she took Daphne’s arm. “Come, dear, let’s find the ladies.”
“Oh, Tragmore?” Gantry stayed him with his hand. “Before you join the party, I have news I believe you should hear.”
Tragmore’s brows rose. “Have you received further word on that lowlife who invaded our homes?”
“Hmm? Oh, the bandit. No, unfortunately, I know as little now as I did a fortnight ago. Perhaps later in the evening we can compare our sordid stories and together deduce the scoundrel’s strategy. But, no, the news I refer to does not concern the bandit: It concerns Markham.”
“Markham?” Tragmore had expected anything but this. “Has he finally emerged from his estate? I haven’t seen or heard from him in years.” Tragmore glanced beyond Gantry, into the crowded ballroom. “Is he here tonight?”
“Hardly. He’s dead.”
“Dead?” Tragmore started. “When?”
“Nearly a week ago, from what I understand. No one seems able to supply many details. As you’d suspect, he’d died alone.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Not only because of Markham’s passing, but because, as his son is also gone, the Markham line has reached its end.”
“True.” Gantry shook his head. “ ’Tis a pity. One’s name means so much.” He cleared his throat. “Which reminds me, I had occasion to ride into the village two days past, and I happened to see your daughter.”
“Daphne?” A warning spark ignited Tragmore’s blood.
“Yes. I must admit, I was surprised. I distinctly recall your mentioning that you’d forbidden her from visiting that peculiar vicar who so generously disperses our funds to the poor.”
“You saw her conversing with the vicar?”
“I did. They were taking tea in his garden.” Gantry averted his head, his attention captured by a group of men gesturing for him to join them. “You’ll have to excuse me, Tragmore. I’m being summoned. We’ll continue our talk a bit later.” He leaned forward conspiratorially. “As for your daughter, may I suggest you use a heavier hand? It might ensure her obedience.”
Tragmore didn’t reply. He waited only until Gantry had moved off. Then he acted.
Elizabeth and Daphne were but twenty feet away. He reached them in three strides.
“Come with me.” His fingers bit into Daphne’s arm. “Now.”
Daphne flinched, her eyes widening with fear as she saw the rage on her father’s face.
“Harwick, what is it?” Elizabeth asked in a quivering voice.
“Stay out of this, Elizabeth,” he commanded. “I intend to have a private talk with our daughter. Immediately. And I suggest”—he turned blazing eyes on Daphne—“that she not make a scene.”
“Very well, Father.” Daphne’s mind was already racing, desperately trying to envision what damning information her father had just gleaned. Her hands shook violently as she gathered up her skirts and followed him to a deserted sitting room down the hall.
“You were with that bloody vicar again,” Tragmore ground out the moment he’d closed the door. “How many times have I forbidden you to go there? How many times have you disobeyed me?” He began to advance toward Daphne, his rage terrifying in its intensity.
Daphne’s heart began slamming against her ribs.
“ ’Twas only for a few minutes, Father,” she began.
“Liar!” His palm struck her face, and she cried out, instinctively pressing her fingers to her cheek.
“I’m not lying,” she whispered, backing away. “I was at the church for a mere quarter hour.”
“That’s a quarter hour more than you’re permitted.” The marquis lunged forward again, slapping Daphne so hard she lost her balance and toppled to the couch. “Damn you! I’d beat you within an inch of your life were we at Tragmore.”
“Please, Father.” Daphne crept to the far corner of the sofa, frantically trying to think of words to appease him.
An insistent pounding at the door rescued her.
“Tragmore? Tragmore are you in there?” The Earl of Gantry’s voice accompanied his determined knock.
Glowering at Daphne, Tragmore crossed the room and yanked open the door. “I’m in the midst of a discussion with my daughter, Gantry.”
The earl nodded his understanding. “I apologize for intruding. But a most intriguing situation is in the process of unfolding. Hollingsby just arrived, bringing an uninvited guest, who, according to our solicitor, has an important announcement to make. He’s requested that everyone converge in the ballroom.”
“Very well,” Tragmore agreed with a reluctant glance over his shoulder. “I’ll be there directly.” Closing the door, he waited until Gantry’s footsteps had faded. Then, he whirled about. “We are not finished, Daphne. Your defiance will be dealt with—severely dealt with—when we arrive home. Until then, make yourself scarce.” Eyes narrowed, he scrutinized the red welts on her cheek, which had already begun to swell. “The marks of my discipline are unfortunately quite visible this time. You will not embarrass me further. Go to your room. And remain there until tomorrow when we take our leave. I shall tell the countess you’re not feeling well and are in bed.” He reached for the door handle once more. “We’ll resume your punishment at Tragmore.”
The slam reverberated behind him.
Long moments passed before Daphne rose, drawing a few steadying breaths to compose herself. Fate had granted her a temporary reprieve, and she was profoundly grateful for it. The thought of staying in her assigned chamber, far away from her father’s rage, was pure bliss. Oh, she’d bear the brunt of his beating once they returned home, but perhaps by then the edge would be off his anger, and her back would not be as badly whipped.
She’d face that ordeal when she had to. For now, all she wanted was the sanctuary of a quiet room, a soft bed, and her private thoughts.
Creeping into the hall, Daphne assured herself that it was empty. Evidently, all the guests had gathered in the ballroom for the grand announcement Lord Gantry had spoken of.
Weak with relief, Daphne was about to veer toward the guest quarters when she spied Mr. Hollingsby in the ballroom entranceway, leading a tall, starkly handsome man into the ballroom.
Pierce Thornton.
For an instant, Daphne was convinced her eyes deceived her. What on earth would Pierce Thor
nton be doing at the Earl of Gantry’s ball? He who detested the nobility and all they represented. He couldn’t be the bearer of the mysterious proclamation. ’Twas impossible.
But there was no mistaking that bold, assessing stare, that confident walk, those meltingly hard good looks.
It was most emphatically he.
Curiosity overshadowing pain, Daphne tiptoed down the deserted hallway, straining to hear the grand announcement Pierce was apparently about to make.
“Well, hello, Tragmore,” Pierce’s deep voice reached her ears. “I’m delighted to see you here tonight.”
“Thornton!” Her father’s muffled response sounded stunned—and frightened. “You’re Hollingsby’s guest?”
“Indeed I am. For tonight only. After which, invitations can be forwarded directly to my estate.”
“Your estate? What the hell are you talking about?”
“You’re about to find out.” Pierce’s tone was mocking.
Daphne peeked around the corner and into the ballroom in time to see Pierce walk away from Hollingsby and her father, toward the crowd of questioning faces. “Mr. Hollingsby was kind enough to invite me here tonight so that I might share my extraordinary news with all of you at once.”
A hum of speculation arose among the guests.
“As most of you know, the Duke of Markham passed on recently, alone and presumably without an heir.” Pierce’s arresting gaze swept the room. “I’m here tonight as the duke’s sole living heir—the newly named Duke of Markham.”
Stunned silence prevailed, hovering for a full minute before exploding into loud exclamations of astonishment and wonder.
“It’s all quite true,” Hollingsby interjected. “I myself drew up the codicil to the late duke’s will. Mr. Thornton—” he broke off, coughed discreetly, “His Grace—is Markham’s sole surviving son.”
Hundreds of people seemed to swarm around Pierce at once, but Daphne was aware of only two things: her own anguished surprise, and the look of sheer terror on her father’s face.