To Redeem a Rake (The Heart of a Duke Book 11)

by Christi Caldwell

  Daniel followed suit.

  The viscount stalked over to the well-stocked sideboard and poured himself a drink. He wasted little time with pleasantries. “I will be honest, Miss Smith, I am, of course, skeptical of any young woman my nephew could drum up so quickly for the respectable role of companion for my niece.” The clink of crystal touching crystal, as he poured his brandy, filled the room.

  He couldn’t even deign to look at her. These noblemen. “Is there a question there, my lord?” Mayhap it was the truth that following this exchange, she’d no longer be in Daniel’s employ. As such, she wouldn’t subject herself to any stranger’s judgment but that insolent retort sailed easily from her lips.

  Daniel’s grin widened and this was the true one of their childhood, filled with mirth and approval.

  She scowled at him. Do you think this is amusing? she mouthed.

  Daniel nodded. Yes. I do, he mouthed back, following that with a wink. He smoothed his features as the viscount wheeled around.

  “Yes, there is a question there. Have you ever had a London Season, Miss Smith?”

  “One,” she demurred.

  The viscount strolled over, the tension in his frame, belying his relaxed footsteps. “Was it a success?”

  Daphne lifted her palms up. “It would depend upon one’s definition of success.” At his wrinkled brow, she expanded, “If a lady wished to avoid marriage and find herself a spinster, then yes. One might categorize it as a success.”

  Lord Claremont shot his eyebrows to his hairline.

  Daniel folded his arms. “I believe Miss Smith has answered enough of your queries,” he said tightly, all earlier traces of droll humor gone.

  “I’ll decide when the interview is concluded,” the viscount snapped.

  Daniel shoved to his feet and layered his palms to the surface of his desk. “Is that what this is? An interview?” he seethed and a volatile tension rolled off his frame.

  Impossibly calm, the viscount reclaimed his seat. “Yes, this is an interview.”

  In short, he’d questioned his nephew’s judgment. With Daniel’s frustration a palpable force in the room, she was momentarily struck by a kindred connection with this man. Yes, Daniel was a rake and responsible for how the world now saw him, but they saw nothing more than a rake. Just as in her, they saw nothing more than a cripple. They were both relegated and restricted to Society’s views of them. And sharing that with him stirred something inside her chest…an emotion she could neither identify nor name.

  She met his gaze, an unspoken discourse passing between them. Emboldened, she returned her attention to the viscount. “What questions might I answer, my lord?” Either way, they were all irrelevant. Soon she’d be gone from this place. She curled her hands on her lap to keep from rubbing the dull ache in her chest.

  “I’ll be blunt then, Miss Smith,” He hadn’t been already? “Are you a respectable sort or one of my nephew’s fancy pieces?”

  She’d given her virginity to a bounder nearly eleven years ago. Therefore, by Society’s standards, one would answer in the contrary.

  “You go too far, my lord,” Daniel barked.

  Daphne quelled him with a look. She’d speak for herself. “My lord,” she began coolly. “I am nearly thirty years old. I cannot move without the aid of a cane.” With every concise declaration, Daniel’s glower deepened. “I have looked in a bevel mirror enough times that I know precisely what I look like. As such, I hardly believe my virtue is in jeopardy with Lord Montfort,” she said with a pragmatism that came from knowing who she was and accepting it. Crippled leg or no, she would have never been a grand beauty and it was more a matter of fact, than anything.

  The viscount took her in with assessing eyes. Cradling his snifter in one hand, he captured his chin between his thumb and forefinger with the other. “Some might say you are too trusting of him.”

  Since she’d entered this godforsaken city eleven years ago, she’d been treated with disdain. An inferior interloper either beneath notice or deserving of pity. Her patience snapped. “And some might say you are too disparaging,” Daphne said angling her chin up a notch. “It is all a matter of opinion.”

  The viscount’s jaw fell open.

  Daniel looked at her with more seriousness in his eyes than she remembered seeing in the whole of their lives together. He gave his head an imperceptible shake, but she ignored it, reserving her attention, instead, for his uncle.

  Setting his snifter down on Daniel’s desk, the viscount looked to her. “What do you think of rakes, Miss Smith?

  “A lady need take care to avoid them,” she answered with an automaticity that came from knowing the imprudence in not having a care.

  Lord Claremont continued to pepper her. “But you take employment with one?”

  Such cluelessness could only come from never having known the struggles and obstacles posed to woman in their patriarchal Society. “My lord, the opportunities and options for an unmarried lady are limited. When presented with serving as companion for a rake’s sister or working in a less than respectable capacity, I would invariably choose the former.”

  Silence hung in the room and then Lord Claremont smiled slowly. With a guffawing laugh, he shook his head. “You will do, Miss Smith. You will do.” He spoke the way one might of the Christmastide hog. “How did one such as you come to know a rascal like this one?” He nudged his chin at Daniel.

  “His Lordship’s family and mine are—” She grimaced, for with her father’s passing, those properties had passed to a distant relative who’d graciously allowed her two years before he’d seized her family’s home.

  “Neighbors,” Daniel neatly slipped in, eyeing her peculiarly. “Our families were neighbors.”

  “So you knew him when there was good in him?” the viscount asked, coming to his feet.

  Daniel immediately stood, with Daphne more slowly levering herself up by the arms of the chair. “I trust you see good in him still or you would not have put a test of morality to Lord Montfort.” Shock marred the viscount’s face and she immediately went hot. She’d said too much, with those revealing words proving that she knew more than any serviceable companion had a right to know.

  “I trust we are through here?” Daniel asked bluntly, his meaning clear.

  The viscount stuck a finger out. “You will be rid of me now, boy, but I will continue to visit and be sure you’re behaving yourself and watching my niece.” Turning, Lord Claremont dropped a bow. “Miss Smith, it was a pleasure,” he said, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

  She managed another curtsy. “My lord.”

  With strong, confident strides to rival his nephew, Lord Claremont took his leave.

  They remained in like silence as the viscount’s boot steps echoed down the hall and then faded altogether, leaving them—alone.

  His disapproving uncle gone, Daniel propped his hip on the edge of his desk and gave her another one of his boyish smiles that set her heart dangerously racing. “Miss Daphne Smith,” he stretched those four syllables out approvingly and clapped his hands. “That went well. You’ve managed the impossible—to impress my bastard of an uncle. I know I pledged to curtail my drinking. This, however, merits a toast.” Picking up his uncle’s discarded half-empty glass, Daniel saluted her and then downed the remaining contents. “Now, Daphne,” he said, setting the snifter down with a thunk. “What pressing business brought you to my office?”

  She fisted the top of her cane and straightening her spine. She spoke on a rush. “I have come to offer my resignation.”

  Chapter 13

  Since Daphne had been a girl of five, challenging him for the rights to his family’s lake, she’d always shown a wicked delight in teasing him. At eight and twenty years, she was no different.

  Daniel laughed, the sound emerging rusty from ill-use. “Oh?” he drawled and picked up his uncle’s now empty snifter. As he came around his desk, starting for the sideboard, Daphne furrowed her brow. Offering her resignation. Reaching the ma
hogany piece stocked with liquor, he gave his head a wry shake. Then he registered the absolute silence blanketing the room. Bottle of brandy and glass in hand, he turned.

  Daphne remained precisely where she’d stood since his uncle had taken his leave. Her freckles stood out stark against her pale cheeks. “This is no jest, Daniel,” she said quietly. “I am offering my resignation.”

  At the somberness of her tone, a frisson of panic ran through him. The bottle shook in his hand and he steadied his grip on it. Leaving? Why should that thought rouse this frantic anxiety inside? Because I’ve need of her for Alice, is all… Yes, he required her presence and his uncle approved. No other lady would do for the post. That was all. Abandoning his glass and decanter on the sideboard, he gave a crooked grin. “Very well. Then, I am not accepting it.” He leaned against the mahogany piece and winged a challenging eyebrow up.

  She scrunched her mouth. He’d wager if she’d been a girl of seven and not eight and twenty, she’d be stamping her foot. “You cannot, not allow me to resign.”

  “I can,” He lifted his index finger. “And I did.”

  Daphne shifted her weight back and forth, and then she rested her palms on the back of the seat she’d previously occupied. “I’m leaving,” she repeated, a determined glint in her eyes that sent his panic spiraling.

  He called forth countless years’ worth of rakish charm. “I understand you’re no doubt displeased with me, love,” he said in tones he’d often used with the skittish mare he’d been forced to sell off. As she should be. Daphne pursed her lips. Of course, she’d not be easy to cajole and win over like all the ladies before her. “Unpardonable for me to let my uncle question your honor,” he added.

  She clenched and unclenched the top of her seat. With sharp eyes, he took in the whiteness of her knuckles. “Don’t you see? He should question her honor. He should question the honor of any woman who is entrusted with Alice’s care.”

  He went still as understanding dawned. “This is because of our embrace.” An embrace he’d very much like to repeat, here in his office, spread out on his desk. His blood fired hot.

  Daphne shot a horrified gaze to the open door. In seven long strides, he was across the room, yanking the handle. As soon as he’d closed the door behind them, she shook her head. “This is not because of our embrace,” she said, shaking her head. She took a faltering step toward him, and then lifted her palms. “You see, when I…” Her lips twisted. “Accepted the terms of your employment,” employment he’d all but forced her into, “I did not know the agreement you’d struck with your uncle.” She made an annoyed sound and slashed the air with one hand. “That, however, should have mattered less than Lady Alice. I am an,” she wet her lips, “unsuitable companion for your sister.”

  Daniel snorted. “Why?” he asked, leaning against the wall. “Because my pompous uncle suggested as much?” With the exception of his sister, Daphne was the only proper and virtuous woman he knew—or cared to know. Of course, the sole reason being that he’d known her since they were children. Liar.

  Always unrepentant, never uncertain, she glanced down at her ugly, serviceable boots. “I am scandalous.” Her whisper barely reached his ears and yet…

  He squinted, peering at her. Had she just said—?

  Daphne lifted her head and their stares collided. “I am scandalous, Daniel,” she repeated once more. Then, like a warrior princess, she tilted her chin at a defiant angle. “And companions must have sterling reputations and be above all reproach. Their charges’ reputations are dependent upon it. As such, I cannot, in good conscience, remain but would instead ask you to provide me with letters of reference.”

  His riotous mind picked its way through those hasty ramblings before ultimately settling on one statement. …I am scandalous…

  Another snorting laugh escaped him and he pushed away from the door. He took several steps toward her, then stopped. “If this is an attempt for me to free you from your responsibilities, I commend you on your cleverness.” He dropped a bow. “But, you are the least scandalous lady I know.”

  “I do believe that,” she mumbled, earning another grin from him. How easy it was to smile with her and around her. He’d believed himself unable to manage any real expressions of amusement. There was something freeing in it. Daphne gave her head a shake. “Nonetheless, my past precludes me from serving as Lady Alice’s companion.”

  “You have a scandal in your past?” he parroted, incredulity slipping into his tone. What shocking deeds or acts could Miss Daphne Smith—?

  “When I made my Come Out,” she said, her shoulders back.

  Incapable of a reply, he nudged his head in a silent urging for her to continue.

  “There was a…” Her lips curved in a heartbreakingly empty smile. “…gentleman, and,” she grimaced, “I’m no longer the virtuous lady you take me for.”

  Daniel went motionless as her quiet admission slammed into his gut like a blow he’d once taken from Gentleman Jackson himself. By God, she was Daphne, and, well, bloody hell, she was Daphne, and some bounder had put his hands on her? A loud humming filled his ears and he shook his head slowly. “Surely not.”

  She nodded succinctly. “Surely,” she murmured.

  His hands shook. To steady his trembling palms, he made tight fists, his nails digging into the flesh of his palms. Some bastard had robbed her of her virtue. Such a truth should not have shocked or ripped at the insides of an avowed rake and, yet, insidious thoughts slid forward. Daphne, a girl of seventeen, his sister’s age, and some stranger robbed her of her virtue. “I will kill him.” That seething whisper contained just an edge of the murderous rage ripping at him.

  The hint of a smile hovered on her lips. “Do you think I was forced?”

  He cocked his head. “You were not?” Which would mean Daphne had given herself to another. That she’d known desire for another. Why did he want to rip even this faceless stranger apart with his bare hands?

  She collected her cane and fiddled with the top of it. “Oh, Daniel, no. He was a charming rake, who told me everything I wished to hear. And for that, I gave him my virtue. I am no virgin. No proper miss. I’m a person. Jaded and wary, just like you.”

  That admission hung in the room. They were nothing alike. She had a purity of soul that had long been absent on his worthless one. Of course, it was the height of hypocrisy to expect any lady, regardless of age or station or status, to be virtuous…and yet, she was not just any woman. This was Daphne. And there had been some bastard who’d lain with her. Who’d taken her virginity and left her unwed.

  He forced his thoughts into a semblance of calm that belied the tumult roiling through him. “Do you believe I, of all people, would condemn you for laying with someone?” He, who’d had countless lovers, many times simultaneously. Except, even uttering that question burned like acid in his mouth. Another man had known her, in every way. Daphne Smith, the girl who’d been his friend and the woman…the woman I didn’t even bother with when she came to London for her Season.

  “Daniel,” she continued her reasoning over the tightness squeezing at his chest. “There are your funds to consider.”

  My funds? Of course, his funds.

  The eight thousand pounds dangled over his head, as the great hope from his dire financial straits. The same funds he’d not thought of until she’d raised the reminder. She stood, her carriage proud and strong, as she bared her secrets before him…a man who had no right to them. Yes, given his priggish uncle’s terms, he should give her those damnable references and send her on her way. Even the hint of scandal would prove calamitous.

  So why did he not send her away as she urged? Because I cannot. I need her. He started. Needed her? For entirely selfish reasons. Yes, of course, it was nothing more. Yet those unspoken protestations only felt like another grand lie where Daphne was concerned.

  “Daniel,” she prodded.

  “My uncle already approves of you,” he said, startled back to the moment.

&nb
sp; Daphne sighed. “He’d be a good deal less approving if he were to learn about my past.”

  Her past. A past which, included some bounder who’d rutted between her legs and known the satiny smoothness of her skin. He longingly eyed his sideboard. His lips pulled in a grimace. The fates must be laughing, that he stood here, London’s most notorious rake, burning with a hunger to fell the man who’d claimed her innocence. “Regardless, Daphne, I’ve no intention of setting you free.” He could not let her go. Shock lit her emerald green eyes. “By your own admission, the gentleman was a rake.” Just as I am. A vise squeezed about his lungs at that silent likening to the man who’d deflowered her. “As such, I assure you he’ll not be at Almack’s or any other polite event. So if your efforts in revealing your past are to be relieved of your role as Alice’s companion, they are for naught.”

  Why is he doing this?

  The man who’d not bothered to so much as call when she’d made her Come Out, and who’d lived for his own vices and pleasures, didn’t put others’ interests before his own. He was a rake who threw wicked parties. He was a man who forgot his sister, and dallied with village widows, and came down to the foyer to make outrageous advances of a lady waiting to speak to him.

  Or that was the safe, neat way in which she’d filed Daniel Winterbourne away, because he’d earned his place into that spot. Just as his uncle had seen a reprobate in his nephew, so too had Daphne, because that’s the image he presented to the world.

  Now, the same man who earlier in the week had praised her spirit and her strength, stood with fury rolling off his form in waves, offering her position still, even at the possible risk of his forfeiture of those funds. That went against everything she thought she’d known about him and proved him to be so very different than the self-absorbed figure he presented to Society. A dangerous warmth unfurled inside her heart.