Fueled by impatience, Daniel raised his glass in mock salute. “A good place to begin watching over Alice is at the finishing school you so abruptly cut funds to.”
It was a credit to his uncle’s temerity that he showed no outward reaction to that insolence. “And what, have the girl remain there while you rut your way around London and host your naughty parties with coin you do not have?” The Winterbourne line had once been a wealthy one. After his heir and his wife’s passing, Daniel’s father had lived the life of a wastrel and pissed away a fortune.
Though, his father hadn’t always been reckless. Just as Daniel hadn’t always been a coldhearted rake. His brother’s visage flashed behind his mind’s eye.
…I can’t hold on any longer, Alistair. Forgive me…
“Are you listening to me, boy?” his uncle barked, impatience lacing that query.
Daniel snapped his head up. “So is this why you’ve come? To lecture me at thirty years of age?”
His uncle snorted. “Bad behavior knows no age boundaries.” Yes, given the company Daniel kept, there was truth to that claim. “You can drink yourself to death for all I care,” he added, gesturing to Daniel’s glass, as though contained within were those final, fateful sips.
“Why, thank you. I’m touched,” Daniel drawled, lifting his glass again in mock salute.
“I didn’t always think you were bad.” That admission came as though dragged from the older man. “I believed you would sow your oats and cleanse your system of your wickedness. Instead, you only descended further and further into depravity.”
Yes, Daniel had been bad so long, he was certain his soul had been crafted in the Devil’s image. As a young man, his father’s contempt had shredded him. As such, Daniel had reshaped himself from the weak fool he’d been. In his place, he’d resurrected barriers so he was immune to the world’s disapproval and condemnation.
“I am not going to be around forever,” his uncle went on, “and I’ll not draw my last breath with knowing that you,” as though there were another “you” in question, he flicked a derisive hand in Daniel’s direction, “are the only one left to care for the girl. Your mother would greet me at the gates of heaven and send me on my way promptly to hell if I trusted Alice’s future to you.”
Daniel glanced over at the long-case clock, wishing the other man would get on with whatever had brought him ’round. He’d long ago tired of Society’s ill-opinion. His family was included amongst those polite peers.
“I’ve eight thousand pounds left me by your mother, to go to you.” That admission brought Daniel’s head whipping back around. “I see I have your full attention, boy.” By God, it was a fortune. Albeit a small one. But certainly enough funds to pay off the most pressing creditors and debt holders, and mayhap a fine mistress, and—
“You can stop counting those coins in your head,” Lord Claremont snapped. “You won’t see a pence or pound until your sister weds.”
All he needed to do was see Alice married off? Life had given him countless reasons to be wary. He thinned his eyes into narrow slits. “Surely you require more than that.”
The older man chortled. “Indeed. I will have your sister wed a good gentleman. Not a miserable blighter like yourself who beds any willing woman.”
“I assure you, I’m far more circumspect than you credit.” Only the most full-figured, inventive creatures found a place in his bed. The more scandalous, the better.
He’d not debate his uncle on the obvious truth that there were, in fact, no good gentlemen. The men who attended his naughty parties were proof of that. Daniel grinned coldly and raised his glass to his lips for another sip.
“I want you behaving until the girl finds herself a husband.” The viscount took a furious step toward him, glowering. “A good husband. Not some bounder you’re quick to marry her off to so you can get your coin.” With each cool cataloguing, Daniel drew his shoulders further and further back. “I don’t want a single, bloody scandal attached to your name. Not one widow. Not one orgy. Not even a mistress.” Daniel choked on his swallow. “Find the girl a companion and a proper suitor, who will make her an even better husband.” His uncle ticked off on his fingers. “I want your sister cultured. See she visits museums. The opera. Take her riding.”
Daniel shuddered. “Egads, surely you aren’t expecting me—?”
“I don’t care if it’s you or the bloody companion. But someone must see to the girl. You do those things and the eight thousand entrusted me by your mother is yours.” There was no other accounting for it. The man was fit for Bedlam. “We’re through here.” He’d enter Daniel’s home, disrupt the order of his wicked existence, and then casually leave? He gritted his teeth. God, the man should have been born a duke. Only a man just below royalty could manage such arrogance.
“And who, exactly, will serve as Alice’s companion?” he called after him. The sooner she was married off, the sooner he could be on with his own pursuits.
Lord Claremont stilled, his fingers poised on the door handle. “My boy, that is for you to figure out,” he drawled. With that whirlwind of chaos he’d brought upon Daniel’s life, he stepped out.
Well, bloody hell.
“Where in blazes am I going to find a goddamned suitable companion?” he muttered, tossing back his drink.
Chapter 4
A desperate woman would do desperate things in order to survive. And Daphne Smith would most definitely place herself in the quite desperate category.
It was the only logical explanation to account for an entirely illogical decision. For a second time in the span of a day, she made the long trek to the Winterbourne estate. A second trek, when she’d not visited these once opulent grounds in many, many years. Long ago, she’d learned to be wary of those lofty lords of which Daniel was now one. Particularly the rakish, roguish sorts. It was only because this particular nobleman had once been a friend that she sought him out, even now.
Slowing the frantic pace she’d set for herself, she leaned her weight on her cane and dusted the back of her hand over her damp brow.
Daniel was not long for Surrey. The boy, who’d so loved the English countryside and all the beautiful pleasures in living in these great grounds, had somehow lost that appreciation. Instead, he spent most of his days in London. That was, of course, with the exception of when he returned to Winterbourne Manor for his summer hunt, which Daphne had the misfortune of learning only after she’d come upon a pair of his guests at the lake they’d once loved. It was the last time she’d ventured anywhere near his property. She gave her head a disgusted shake and resumed walking.
Nonetheless, a desperate lady had little recourse. Daniel had once been a friend. Even though he was nothing to her now, he did have the title earl affixed to his name. And though she well-knew how little worth actually went with those titles, the Mrs. Beldens of the world did not. They still oohed and aahed and dropped their curtsies and eyes in deferential greeting.
Then, that was the way of their world, wasn’t it? A fraction of people, a ton to be precise, ruled the minds and opinions of all around them.
After the infernal walk, Daphne reached the base of the stairs of Winterbourne Manor. Lifting her hand to shield her eyes, she looked up the long, long row of steps. Once she could have and would have made the trek to Daniel’s property in but ten minutes. Once, she would have skipped every second step or hopped along on one leg to reach him. She settled her cane on the bottom stone stair and began her long climb. Inevitably, life changed a person. One went from being one person, capable of running—quite literally—wherever her legs would carry her to a prisoner in her now-failed body.
She shook her head wryly, the irony not lost on her. As a child, she’d required less assistance through life than a woman of nearly thirty years. That, of course, only reminded her of the very specific request for assistance that brought her here, now. Daphne firmed her lips as she finally reached the generous stone landing. Before she thought again of the folly in being
here, she banged her closed fist on the door.
Silence met her rapping. She caught her lower lip between her teeth and studied the heavy panel a long moment. Mayhap, he’d already packed his carriages and been onward to London. It would hardly surprise her. It would, however, prove most inconvenient. Well, for her anyway. Having read of his scandalous pursuits over the years, she expected it would prove anything but inconvenient for the gentleman whose favor she now sought.
She knocked again. The door opened and she didn’t know whether to give silent thanks or stamp her foot in frustration. The old butler registered his surprise with the flare of his bushy white eyebrows. “Miss Smith,” he murmured, shuffling slowly out of the way to allow her entrance. She took in his stiff movements. Mayhap that was the inevitable fate visited upon all, albeit at different times. Invariably, they each ended up with useless legs and shuffling steps that forced one to slow and think about one’s decisions.
“Haply,” she greeted, offering a gentle smile for the servant who’d once obligingly chased her and Daniel around these very halls. “I’ve come to see His Lordship.” She lifted her gaze to the sweeping marble staircase that led to the grand living quarters. “Has he departed yet for London?”
The servant shook his head. “Not yet, Miss Smith.” He is still here. An unexpected wave of relief assailed her. A foreign response to any nobleman…particularly the roguish sort. “If you’ll follow me?”
A footman came over to collect her cloak and, shifting her weight over the cane, Daphne released the clasp of the old, slightly tattered garment. She handed it over to the waiting servant.
She trailed along, taking in the threadbare, once great hall. Bright satin wallpaper where paintings had once graced the walls, stood a stark contrast to the faded, aged material. Daphne shook her head sadly at the shame of it. A family born with a wealth that should have seen their ancestors cared for through centuries, had squandered it away. And then people of her lesser station? Dependent on their wits and, now, the magnanimity of those same men who squandered away their fortunes.
They reached the earl’s office and Haply scratched his knuckles along the surface of the door. A bleating snore reached through the thick wood. She knitted her eyebrows. What in blazes? The old servant gave her a sheepish look. Dispensing with the polite scratching, he pounded hard on the oak panel.
A loud grunt and muffled curse stretched out into the hallway. “By God, man, you know not to disturb me at dawn.”
At dawn, she mouthed. How could this be the same person who’d tossed pebbles at her windowpane to wake her so they could rush to the hillside and watch the sun make its climb? Haply made another clearing sound in his throat. “You have a visitor, my lord.”
“Tell Mrs. Still—”
“It is Miss Smith,” the servant quickly interrupted. Cheeks flushed, he swung his gaze quickly to Daphne.
A moment later, Daniel pulled the door open, standing in his stockinged feet and sans jacket. “Miss Smith, we meet again,” he drawled, in sleep roughened tones as he stuffed his shirt inside his breeches.
“My lord,” she said evenly, refusing to be scandalized. Despite his opinion of her, she was no missish, wide-eyed virgin, given to shock easily.
He stepped back and swept his arms wide with the elegance of a lord greeting a lady in a drawing room and not—Daphne wrinkled her nose—a room heavy with a plume of lingering cheroot smoke and darkness. Squaring her shoulders, she marched, as much as she was able, inside. She jumped when he slammed the door loudly behind them.
Her heart picked up its beat as she passed a wary gaze between him and that path to freedom.
“You may rest assured, I’ve no grand designs upon your virtue,” he said wryly, striding over to the torn leather button sofa. Daniel retrieved his jacket. She bit the inside of her cheek at his taunting words. Do not allow him to ruffle you… Do not allow him to ruffle you… He smartly snapped the wrinkled black fabric. To no avail. Heedlessly, he pulled it on.
“Yes, I expect a notorious rogue would have more discriminating taste than to bother with a spinster.” From her thankfully brief foray into London Society, she knew the smooth-tongued earl had his choice of ladies. The passage of time had been kind to him in some ways. His tall, muscle-hewned frame had more of a breadth and width to it than the lean, wiry figure of his youth. His thick, chestnut hair tousled, a day’s growth of beard on his face, he fit not at all with the proper lords of London she recalled from her too-brief foray into that miserable place. The harsh set to his hard lips and cynical glint in his chocolate brown eyes aged him in ways that time alone never could.
At her perusal, he gave her a slow, wolfish smile. “I assure you, I’d never be so snobbish as to turn a spinster out of my bed.”
And just then, he proved her earlier sense of calm around him entirely wrong. Heat scorched from the roots of her crimson hair down to her toes. She fisted the head of her cane. Everything was a game to these men. A lady’s heart. Her sensibilities. It was all fair game in their tedious world. “Well, I assure you,” she said with a sardonic edge, “I’m certainly not searching for a rogue in my bed.”
Daniel folded his arms, drawing her attention to the broad muscles straining the expert cut of his midnight jacket. “Which begs the question, what manner of man are you searching for?” he asked on a silken purr.
A snorting laugh bubbled past her lips and, with the aid of her cane, she strode to the tightly drawn brocade curtains. “Surely that is not the manner of drivel that’s earned you the reputation of rogue?” she goaded as she layered her cane against the wall and opened the curtains. Sunlight streamed through the crystal windowpanes and Daniel cursed, covering his eyes.
“A rake,” he muttered as she retrieved her cane and turned to face him squarely. “I’ve earned the reputation of a rake.”
Did he find honor in that notorious moniker attached to his name? “Yes, well,” she said with a flick of her hand. “Rogues, rakes, scoundrels. All really the same.”
He took a slow, languid step closer, followed by another, and another. The smooth grace and elegance a black panther would be hard-pressed to not admire, until he ate away all the distance between them. Her pulse pounded loudly in her ears. “Ah,” he whispered, dipping his lips close to her ear. The scent of brandy wafted over her skin. This is Daniel. Do not be silly. He’s the same boy whose nose you bloodied countless times when he’d given her pugilism lessons. “But they are entirely different, Daphne.” He commandeered her name in a silken baritone that set off a wicked fluttering in her belly. A dangerous one. One that she’d known before and had learned was the root of evil, and ruin, and pain.
It also served to coolly restore her logic. “They aren’t, Daniel,” she corrected, neatly stepping around him. “You are like all men who live for your pleasures, take countless women to your beds, and drown yourselves in liquor, caring for nothing or no one but yourselves. There’s no difference.”
Most men would have been properly shamefaced by that leveling charge. Then, Daniel was not most gentlemen. “I do not expect you’ve come to discuss the differences, of which there are many,” he added, “between a rake and a rogue?” His smile deepened, revealing two even rows of pearl white teeth and a dimpled cheek. Everything about this man on the surface was masculine perfection. But so, too, had been the Devil in disguise in that fateful Garden of Eden.
“No,” she agreed, drawing in a deep breath as he brought her round to the whole reason for her visit. “I once gave you a guinea and you vowed if I had a need for it, that you would return it. Well, I’ve a need for it.” She held her gloved palm out.
He eyed her hand a moment through perplexed eyes and then looked to her face. “What?” That single syllable utterance conveyed his proper bafflement.
“I did not believe you recalled—”
“I recall,” he said suddenly, unexpectedly. The boy he’d been would have cherished that small treasure she’d found. The man he’d grown in to would have
scoffed at the meagerness of it. Or she expected he would have.
“Splendid,” she beamed, wagging her hand. “I shall take it back, then.”
Daniel dipped his head, examining her for a long moment through bloodshot eyes. He whistled. “You’re out of your blasted mind.”
Yes, well, desperation did that. “I take that to mean you do not have it.” She let her hand fall by her side.
“That would be a safe assumption, Miss Smith,” he said, his tone drier than an autumn leaf.
Daphne folded her arms before her and the end of her cane knocked into his leg, coming dangerously close to—
“Have a care to not unman me, love.”
For a less cautious, less jaded by life young woman, that husky endearment would have posed dangerous to her self-control and virtue. Fortunately, she was no longer a young woman. She thumped the heel of her cane on the floor. “I assume you lost it at a hazard or faro table long ago.”
“Oh, no doubt,” he conceded, marching over to his well-stocked sideboard with such speed and grace, a wave of envy filled her. “Though,” he paused in the process of pouring himself a glass of whiskey. “It very well may have been whist.”
She tightened her mouth. Good, that coin should be well and truly lost. It had represented the end of dreams she’d not yet even realized as a girl and the uncertain future that awaited a poor gentry man’s crippled daughter. Thrusting aside the useless, unwanted self-pity, she nudged her chin up. “Given this unexpected,” of which it was not at all, “turn with my fortune—”
“Treasure.”
She tipped her head.
“I believe you once referred to it as a treasure.” He toasted her with his glass and then downed it in a long, slow swallow. His lips pulled in a grimace and he set the glass down. Only to reach for the bottle once more.
Daphne stood, opening and closing her mouth. She was properly flummoxed, as he no doubt intended. “You remember that?”
To Redeem a Rake (The Heart of a Duke Book 11) Page 5