She marveled at his long-legged strides, those graceful, yet hurried steps that found them abovestairs so effortlessly. Not pausing, he pressed the handle of her door and closed it quietly behind them. He set her cane against the wall and continued over to the bed. Then, as though he handled the queen’s crown, he gently set Daphne down in the center of the bed.
Daphne shoved up onto her elbows. He yanked his shirt over his head and tossed it aside, baring his naked chest to her gaze. Another bolt of desire raced through her. Broadly muscled, he was a chiseled masterpiece, sprinkled with tightly coiled chestnut curls. He lowered his hands to his waist. She should be shocked and scandalized and shy and look away, but God help her, she wanted to see all of him.
Unfastening his breeches, he shoved them down, kicked the pair aside so that he stood resplendent before her, a model of masculine perfection. His oak-hard thighs and taut buttocks all bespoke a gentleman accustomed to the saddle. His shaft jutted high and proud from a thatch of chestnut curls.
Her mouth went dry. He was everything beautiful…hard in places where she was soft. And perfect in ways she could never be. All the oldest insecurities came rushing forward, reminding her, once more, of her own inadequacies. Her throat worked painfully and she averted her gaze.
The bed dipped as he climbed upon it. On all fours, he came toward her. “Look at me,” he ordered on a command that managed to be both hard and soft all at the same time; a demand no lady could deny. Daphne lifted her head and her heart tripled its beat at the passion burning from within his brown eyes. “I have never wanted another the way I’ve wanted you, Daphne Smith. You are beautiful and I’m going to show you tonight just how beautiful you are.” Then he covered her mouth with his and he swept his tongue inside. The taste of him, the burn left as he palmed her breast through her dress, melted away all reservations.
He kissed her until her core throbbed, aching for his touch. Then, he rolled over and took her with him. He yanked the long row of buttons down the back of her gown, rending the fabric. Tiny pearls popped free and sprayed the bed and floor, landing with soft pings. She gasped. “Daniel, the cost—” Her words ended on a shuddery moan as he slid the fabric down to her waist. Her shift followed and then her breasts were exposed to the cool night air and his worship.
“You are so beautiful,” he breathed, palming the small mounds. He pressed them together and thrummed the rosy tips of her nipples, wringing a tortured plea from her lips.
Then, he lifted his head and suckled first one of the aching buds and then the next. Daphne hissed through her teeth and arched her hips frantically, her hunger spiraling, as he raised her higher and higher up on a level of mindless desire.
Daniel continued his special torture. He flicked his tongue back and forth between her nipples, laving them, suckling them. She thrashed her head back and forth on the coverlet. “Please,” she entreated, her hips undulating on a rhythm set by his touch. He stopped and she cried out at the loss of him. With his long, steady fingers, he shoved her gown lower and lower down over her hips. The reality slid forth, unwanted but unrelenting. He will see all of me. He would expose her damaged limb and make love to her broken body. “Wait,” she whispered, resting her hand on his.
With his breath coming hard and fast, he looked questioningly at her.
“Leave it on. I’d not have you…” Her cheeks warmed, which was madness to blush so when she lay with Daniel in all his naked splendor. “See…” My leg. “Me.”
Hooding his thick, chestnut eyes, Daniel pierced her with the desire reflected there. “I want to worship all of you, Daphne.” Then, he slid her dress down her legs. Her shift followed, until she lay before him, naked and exposed in every possible way. She went motionless, as he shifted onto his side and worked his eyes over her. He touched every part of her skin with his hungry gaze, burning her as though it were a physical caress he bestowed.
He lingered on her left leg and she bit the inside of her cheek as her desire slipped. Daniel glided down the bed and caught her calf in his hand. “What are you…?” Her words ended on a shuddery whisper as he touched his lips to the oddly angled limb.
“So perfect,” he whispered and tears blurred her vision. His breath tickled her skin as he trailed a path of kisses higher up her leg to the inside of her thigh. He palmed her center and she slid her eyes closed on a hiss, his touch sending a forbidden thrill through her.
Daniel pressed the heel of his powerful palm into her core. She bit her lower lip and tangled her fingers in his luxuriant chestnut strands. With a groan, he slid his fingers inside and began to work her. “Oh, Daniel,” she cried out, bucking into his hand.
His breath came hard and fast in time to her own. And then he removed his hand, replacing it with his mouth. Of their own volition, her hips shot up as his hot breath fanned her center. She lifted into him, aching for…for the wickedness he held forth. A soft keening cry burst from her lips as he teased the pleasure nub, flicking it with his tongue and then drawing it into his mouth. She bit hard on her lower lip, scrabbling at Daniel’s shoulders.
An agonized groan ripped from deep within her as he stopped, and shifted his weight over her. His hair damp with perspiration, she brushed the longer strands back behind his ears and splayed her legs open for him. Daniel settled himself between her thighs, resting his shaft at the entrance of her still throbbing womanhood. “Please,” she begged.
He pushed inside her, inch by agonizing inch, and the drenched walls of her cavern smoothed his entry. His breath came raspy and harsh, and then with a hoarse shout, he lunged forward, filling her completely. She cried out and wrapped her arms about him, hanging on, as he set a slow rhythm and then gradually increasing the pace he’d set.
Panting, Daphne angled her hips, matching his movements. “Oh, God,” he whispered, dropping his brow to hers as he continued his deep strokes that touched her to the quick. “You are so tight.”
“I have never hungered for anything like this, Daniel.”
A low growl of masculine satisfaction purred from his lips. As she caressed his cheek, he turned his head quickly and gently nipped at the soft flesh of her palm, teasing it with a kiss. “I’m going to show you the stars, love,” he whispered and then quickened his thrusts.
Their hips rose and fell in harmony. Each time he filled her, Daphne arched her body, crying out as she crested that beautiful summit once more.
“That is it, love. Come with me,” he ordered on a guttural groan.
Uncaring that it might rouse anyone else who shared that floor, Daphne tumbled over the edge on an eternal scream that reached the rafters. And with an echoing shout, Daniel followed, spilling his hot seed inside her and wringing every last ounce of breath and pleasure from her.
Daphne collapsed into the feather mattress. With great, gasping breaths, he came down above her, catching his weight on his elbows. Their chests rose and fell together and they remained, bodies flush, until their breathing settled into a smooth, even pattern. Daniel rolled onto his side and drew her against his chest. He smoothed his palm over her belly, in slow languid circles that brought her lashes fluttering closed.
After her fall, Daphne, as she’d once been, had ceased to exist for the world. All anyone had ever seen from thereafter was a cripple, dependent upon the charity and kindness of others. An object to be pitied. Less than a woman for the bend of her leg.
Everyone, except for him. Daniel who’d treated her as a woman of strength, capable to fill a role as companion when no other lord, lady, or gentry folk would.
The words tumbled to the edge of her lips, words that needed to be spoken, when his soft, bleating snore filled the quiet. Rolling onto her side, Daphne propped her head on her hand and studied him in sleep. The harsh planes of his face bore no hint of the jaded bitterness that he wore as a flawless mask. Stretching out her other palm, she caressed his cheek.
She’d told herself one night with him was all she would need to sustain her through the long, lonely life that await
ed her as a spinster working at Mrs. Belden’s. Lying beside him, her body still heated from his touch, she found out too late that she’d only lied to herself.
One night would never be enough with Daniel Winterbourne.
Chapter 17
After making love to Daphne, as he’d slipped from her chambers and sought out his rooms, Daniel had cemented a well-known fact—he was a worthless rake.
Such a truth would have never mattered before. Now, it had him hiding, trying to sort through the tumult of his tired thoughts. Hiding in the billiards room, to be precise, a wholly masculine sanctuary Daphne had no place passing or visiting, as such, a room where he could have some much needed distance from her and her siren-like grip over him.
Daniel arranged the balls on the table and grabbed his cue. He’d never been the manner of gentlemen to bed members of his staff, but Daphne was no mere servant—she was a friend of his youth and, as such, what transpired early that morn, should never have happened for that reason alone. He should be riddled with remorse and regret for it.
He stared blankly at the table. Where the same glass of brandy he’d poured earlier rested, untouched. Alas, he was a blackguard to his core. For he’d have forfeited his worthless life before giving up that time in her arms.
With any other woman, that carnal bliss would have exercised this inexplicable hungering he had of her. What hold do you have over me, Daphne Smith? How many times must he join his body with hers to sate his lust? It will never be enough. The idea held him paralyzed. Because that is all it was. Lust. It could not, nor ever would be more. And if he told himself that enough times, he may even very well come to believe it.
Footsteps sounded in the hall and his heart sped up in anticipation. Disappointment filled him. Tanner appeared, not with the fiery-haired siren who commanded Daniel’s thoughts, but rather a gentleman. “The Marquess of Tennyson.” Or rather, a rake.
Tennyson did an up and down look of him and then chuckled. “Good God, man, you look like hell. Imbibed, too much?”
“Indeed,” Daniel muttered. Imbibed on thoughts of Daphne, and the pleasure of her body, and… He tamped down a groan and tossed his cue over to the other man. Tennyson easily caught it in his fingers. Grateful for the diversion, Daniel fetched another stick from the wall and returned to the table.
“After your proper affair last evening, I rather expected to see you at your clubs this morning,” Tennyson remarked casually, perching his hip on the edge of the table.
With the marquess’ assessing eyes on him, Daniel concentrated his attentions on the table. Not for the first time, irritated with the man’s probing, he took his first shot and the crack of his stick striking the ball echoed in the room.
The marquess snorted and folded his arms at his chest, so the stick rested at his shoulder. “The ton is talking about you.”
“The ton is always talking about me,” Daniel drawled, as he leaned over the table and positioned his cue. Talk which was invariably unfavorable, scathing, and not at all good. He drew his arm back to take his shot.
“Yes,” the marquess conceded. “But now, the gossips are trying to determine whether or not you’ve reformed your rakish ways or whether you’re too busy to attend your old haunts because you’re tupping your sister’s companion.”
Daniel’s stick jammed into the top of the velvet table, sending his shot wide.
Tennyson laughed and availed himself to Daniel’s snifter. Then setting it down, he studied his next move. “I had the same reaction to the outlandish idea that a fellow like you would ever abandon his rakish ways.” Fortunately, he attended the remaining balls scattered about the table, mumbling to himself.
He’d ceased to care about Society’s whisperings of him. But this was different. This was Daphne. Fury pounded away at him.
“Your shot,” Tennyson said, motioning to the table. His words snapped Daniel back into movement.
He lined up his stick with his next shot, when the marquess spoke, halting his movement. “The papers have labeled your sister an Incomparable.”
Christ. Daniel gritted his teeth so hard, pain radiated along his jawline. He completed his shot and the ball sailed wide. “Have they?” his counter-question emerged tightly. Of course, given his desire to return to his own enjoyments without the care of another person charged him. He should be elated at the words printed of Alice in the paper. But Incomparables were sought after and courted by lecherous and noble lords alike. He swiped a hand over his face. His madness was spreading to every corner of his brain. There was no other accounting for it.
“There is talk a sizeable dowry has been assigned the lady by your uncle,” Tennyson said breezily. Too breezily. And as a rake himself who’d perfected the art of mellow indifference, he easily recognized it in the other man.
“And what of it?” If the marquess had a bloody brain in his head, he’d have detected the lethal edge to Daniel’s tone.
But rakes and rogues were driven so much by their own greed, they oftentimes failed to see anything beyond that avarice—and desperation. Tennyson set his cue down on the edge of the table. “I’m thinking, it would be mutually advantageous to both of us.” He gestured back and forth between them.
Daniel furrowed his brow. What was the other man on about?
The marquess glanced at the open doorway and then dropped his voice to a low whisper. “You are eager to be rid of your sister. I am in need of a bride with a fat purse.” Tennyson lifted his palms. “You know how it is for a rake. Most proper mamas and papas have no interest in penniless lords with our reputations.” It was an ideal solution dangled by the other man that should appeal to a ruthless bastard like Daniel. But being deservedly lumped in any category with this man left him feeling ill. “If I wed her, you’ll be rich with your uncle’s eight thousand pounds. I will be rich with her fat purse.” Lord Tennyson grinned as though he’d conquered the kingdom. “And then, we may each carry on as we always have.”
The man wanted to marry Alice. Nay, Tennyson wanted him to sell her like a whore. A fortnight ago, he’d have possessed not a single compunction about such a ruthless pawn. Alice had been a stranger, more burden than sister, who’d presented a distraction to his carousing.
Now, she was a young woman who saw too much. A woman with a refreshing sense of humor and clever wit. And he was enjoying the budding relationship with his younger sister. Where that truth would have once wrought horror, now he found himself welcoming the prospect of making a difference in someone’s life. He tightened his mouth. He’d sooner see Tennyson dead than wed to her. Alice deserved more. She deserved a happy life and a family, like theirs had once been. A life she’d never known. And if it was Mr. Pratt, the impoverished barrister, then so be it. Suddenly, tired of the marquess’ cynical company, Daniel returned his stick to the rack. “I’ve other plans for Alice.” Ones that included her finding happiness with a gentleman who was not at all like himself or Tennyson or Webb.
The marquess’ wrinkled brow hinted at his befuddlement. “But she’s underfoot,” he blurted.
Annoyed at the tenacity he’d once admired, Daniel clenched his jaw. “I am afraid I have business to attend, Tennyson. If you’ll excuse me?” He’d just conveniently leave off that such matters included joining Daphne and Alice at the museum. Of course, his accompanying them was driven by a need to be rid of Tennyson and his own uncle’s demands. And…
…You are a rotten liar, Daniel… Daphne’s pain-filled words from that long ago day filtered through his memory.
“Of course.” The marquess sprang into movement and hurried to match his stride to Daniel’s. “Perhaps, I might first secure an introduction to your sister so—”
“The lady is out,” Daniel said curtly. Or she soon would be. “With her companion.” He’d duel the Devil in hell on Sunday before he let Alice near this rake…or any rake, rogue, or scoundrel. Unfortunate for Tennyson, he had discovered the last kernel of honorability left in his soul and, by damned, if he didn’t feel differe
nt than the rake he’d been all these years. He walked briskly through the halls, with the long-legged marquess easily keeping up. With each step, fury licked at Daniel’s insides, fueling his movement. Tennyson was the manner of bastard who was not above ruining Alice. However, there would be little reason the two should even meet. The marquess lived for his vices the way he did and spent his days and nights courting sin.
They reached the end of the corridor when Alice’s bell-like laughter filtered from the intersecting hall.
Christ. Daniel cursed as his sister and Daphne all but collided with them and the ladies gasped in unison.
“Forgive me,” Tennyson murmured, reaching a hand out to steady Alice.
Daniel narrowed his gaze on the other man’s grip.
“Montfort, will you not perform…” The marquess’ words trailed off as he looked to Daphne. Surprise stamped his features and then his coldly mocking eyes lingered on her cane.
Bloodlust pumped through him at the unspoken condemnation. Struggling to rein in his volatile emotion, he performed the necessary introductions. “Tennyson, allow me to introduce my sister, Lady Alice Winterbourne. Alice, the Marquess of Tennyson.”
Alice dropped a curtsy. “My lord.” She spoke with an inherent boredom in that unimpressed greeting and pride stirred in his chest. Clever girl.
With the ghost of a smile, Daniel completed introductions, eager to be rid of the other man. “Tennyson, may I also present my sister’s companion—”
“Miss Smith,” Tennyson neatly interjected, reaching for Daphne’s fingers. “How do you do?”
Miss Smith? Daniel searched his mind. Had he mentioned Daphne to the marquess?
Her hand still clasped in Tennyson’s, Daphne stood frozen like the ornate statues outside his townhouse steps. Her freckles stood out as vivid marks in her ashen cheeks, raising a frown from him.
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