An hour later, Trevillyan and Charles were on their way to Lanyon Hall. Charles had found it difficult to leave Daphne. He told himself it was because except for the previous night, they had virtually spent the last two days together, but he knew that he was lying. She had fascinated him from the moment he had laid eyes on her, and closer acquaintance had not lessened her appeal. There was something about her, from the unruly mass of black curls on her head right down to the very soles of her dainty feet, that held a compelling allure for him. He smiled. He’d never seen her feet, but he was positive that they would be dainty.
For Charles, women had always fallen into three distinct categories—relatives, servants, or the beguiling members of the demimonde, be they opera singers or others, such as the charming little widow who had entertained him so well this past winter. But with Daphne, he admitted uneasily, everything was different. As his wife, it was true, she would be a relative, yet he could never think of her as he did Nell. His mouth tightened. Or as he had thought of his stepmother. So relative didn’t precisely apply. He supposed, since she would run his household, she could in the broadest sense be considered a servant, but that didn’t fit either. And while she made his loins ache and his body tremble with desire, she was not the type of woman he sought out for those demands. Oh, he wanted her, he couldn’t deny that, but there was something beyond mere lust that made her damn near irresistible. Was it simply the challenge? There was that, but he dismissed it. No, there was something else…. He considered the intelligence in those lovely hazel eyes, her bravery during their incarceration in the cave, and the enjoyment he’d felt as he’d watched the various expressions flying across her face as she plumbed the nuances of his remarks. He shook his head. It was, he decided wryly, a very good thing that they were to be married because the woman had certainly bewitched him.
“What are you shaking your head about?” demanded Trevillyan. “Regretting your engagement already?”
“No. Simply at the vagaries of Fate,” Charles returned lightly. “Just before I came here, Wyndham suggested that I marry. I thought he was mad at the time, but now….” He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I shall marry Miss Beaumont in a month’s time, and that is the end of it.”
They rode in silence a few minutes more before Trevillyan said, “What of the other matter? Do you intend to pursue it?”
Charles glanced at him. “The murdered women? Yes, but at the moment, I cannot see my way forward. Beyond the brutality of their deaths and that they were found in this vicinity, there is nothing to tie them together. They are unidentified, so it is impossible to even discover if they knew each other or where they lived.” He frowned. “You are not even certain that there was an earlier murder, and we have little but two bodies to go on.”
“But you have suspicions,” Trevillyan remarked shrewdly. “You know more than you are telling me.”
“Do I?” Charles returned with a faint smile.
Trevillyan shot him a narrow-eyed glance. “Raoul always said that you were a fellow who played his cards close to the vest. He used to complain loudly that you never let him know what you were doing or where you were going.”
“Did he now?” Charles muttered, hoping his face revealed none of the loathing he felt at the very mention of his brother’s name. Half brother, he reminded himself again. Only half, thank God!
“You knew him better than I,” said Charles a moment later. “You two were friends from Eton and of an age. I’m sure that he told you things that he did not mention to me.”
Trevillyan looked thoughtful. “I suppose you are right.” He sighed. “I still find it impossible to believe that he is dead, and killed by a madman.” He cut his eyes toward Charles. “With your reckless ways, I always expected you to be the one to die before your time—Raoul often expressed that notion himself.”
Charles smiled grimly. “I am not surprised. I’m sure that Raoul never forgot that if I died, he would inherit Stonegate.”
“Oh, come now,” exclaimed Trevillyan, shocked. “Never say that Raoul wanted you dead!”
Charles shrugged. “After Daniel’s untimely death, the thought was bound to have occurred to him.”
“Well, yes, perhaps it did. It is only natural. Look at the situation between Huxley and myself. I did not want the man dead, but I was aware that it would be to my benefit if he died.” Trevillyan scowled. “Or it would have been if that pup, Adrian, had never been born.”
“I thought you were getting along with him rather well,” Charles commented with a raised brow.
Trevillyan grimaced. “No use being overtly rude, and I was his guest, after all.” He glared at Charles. “And none of this would have happened if you had not gone tearing after that sister of his.”
Charles laughed and kicked his horse to greater speed. “Yes, that’s true, but do you know, I do not regret it in the least.”
Daphne did not exactly regret her engagement to Mr. Weston, but she did have concerns, and those concerns were uppermost in her mind when she and Adrian and Mr. Weston met the next afternoon at Mr. Vinton’s office in Penzance to discuss settlements. If Mr. Vinton was taken aback at her presence during a meeting that was traditionally held between the males of the families, he gave no sign of it, graciously ushering her and Adrian into his office, where Mr. Weston already awaited them.
Charles’s mobile mouth flickered into a smile when Daphne sailed into the room, looking charming he thought, in a mulberry pelisse, light tan gloves, and an amber velvet hat adorned with brilliant peacock feathers. He wasn’t surprised that his bride-to-be insisted on being here, and he was skeptical that Daphne would ever sit back and tamely allow her fate to be totally arranged by others. Especially, he amended, by mere men.
She shot him a challenging glance from under her dark lashes but beyond offering him her hand and a polite nod, displayed none of the gratification expected of a young lady who had snared a very eligible gentleman. Charles was uncertain whether to be annoyed or amused by her manner. In the end, amusement won out, and he bit back a smile at the cool profile she presented to him.
Daphne risked another glance at him, her heart thumping madly in her chest when he smiled at her. Embarrassed to be caught looking at him, her gaze dropped, and her cheeks bloomed rosily. She’d been certain that it had been her imagination that had made him so tall and broad, and pure girlish fantasy that had made those harsh features of his so very attractive. But it had not been imagination. He was tall, and his dark blue coat fit those broad shoulders superbly. The nankeen breeches also fit him very well, delineating every sleek muscle of his thighs with loving detail. She swallowed, remembering what it felt like to have that hard, tough body pressed against hers, remembering, too, the taste and plunder of his kiss. A queer ache sprang to life in her belly, and her fingers curled in her lap as she looked at his mouth. It was such a nice mouth, she thought, before forcing her gaze to study the rest of his face.
He wasn’t handsome in the traditional sense, she admitted. His features were too hard, too boldly carved, the chin too aggressive, the thick black brows too heavy to ever adorn the statue of a Greek god…and yet…and yet there was something so intensely male, something so attractive about that face and body that few women would ever turn away if he lifted even only one finger to beckon them into his arms…. Daphne shook herself and reminded herself that he was only a man, not a sorcerer, for heaven’s sake! She sat up straighter and looked down at her hands in her lap, but against her will, her gaze strayed to that long, mobile mouth again. Memory slid back, and she could recall every moment of his kiss, every feeling that had swept through her…. With an effort, she tore her eyes away from the distinctly sensual curve of his bottom lip, and that silly little heart of hers almost leaped right out of her chest when she discovered that he was looking at her, watching her as she stared at him.
He smiled, and something in those cool green eyes sharpened that ache in her belly unbearably. Perhaps he is a sorcerer, she thought with a delicio
us shudder. To her relief, Mr. Vinton began to speak, and she fixed her attention on what he had to say.
Adrian had only the vaguest notion of what was expected of him, but Mr. Vinton was there to advise him and to see that he made no mistakes in settling his sister’s future. Daphne, on the other hand, had a very good understanding of the importance of this meeting. It had been because of the money settled on her mother at the time of her marriage that the late Mrs. Beaumont had been able to provide for her children as well as she had. Daphne wasn’t thinking far enough ahead to add children to the mix—she was still reeling from her sudden engagement—but she was determined to safeguard the money that her grandmother had left her. Her lips tightened. And if people thought her vulgar to care so much about money, let them.
Upon her marriage to Mr. Weston, in fact, from the moment of their engagement, Daphne was terrifyingly aware that everything she owned essentially became his, even the clothes on her back. He would determine the dispersal of her money, and under the law, she had no say. She didn’t fear, at least not very much, that Mr. Weston would prove miserly, but he was a stranger and who knew how he would act?
As the meeting progressed, she realized that she needn’t have harbored any fears that Mr. Weston had designs upon her pittance of a fortune. Not only did he waive any interest in it, but he also insisted that it be part of the monies settled on her. At his words, that insidious fear that had lurked at the back of her mind dissipated, and she smiled shyly at him. She hoped that he didn’t think she was a money-grubber, but it had been a difficult struggle since her mother died, and she didn’t know how she could have kept the family together without that pitifully small sum her grandmother had left her. To have him take control of it had filled her with the utmost fear, but she relaxed once she knew that it was safe. She gasped and her eyes widened, however, at the small fortune he proposed adding to it.
Charles smiled at her. “What? Not enough?” he asked carelessly. “I can add another ten thousand pounds if you like, and do not forget—we have yet to discuss your pin money.” He looked at Adrian and murmured, “What do you think of three thousand pounds a quarter? Do you think that will keep her in clothes and jewels?”
Since she had fed and clothed their entire family on less than three thousand pounds a year, Daphne was taken aback. Before she could think, she blurted out, “Isn’t that rather excessive? I’m sure that I could make do on less. In fact, I know I could.”
Mr. Vinton coughed and said kindly, “My dear Miss Beaumont, I am familiar with the extent of Mr. Weston’s assets, and there is no reason for you to, er, make do. I assure you that the sum offered by Mr. Weston is not unreasonable. It is a generous amount, and I urge you to accept it.”
“Very well,” Daphne said meekly, but when she looked at Mr. Weston, her gaze was troubled. It was one thing for him to be an honorable man and offer her marriage, but did he have to be wealthy in the bargain? She bit her lip. The circumstances surrounding their betrothal were causing gossip enough. He was, after all, the cousin to an earl while she was, not to wrap it in clean linen, a little nobody. To learn that he was also wealthy was the crowning blow. People were bound to think that she had staged the whole affair, Daphne thought miserably. Unkind persons would be certain that she was some sort of scheming harpy, willing to do anything to become a rich man’s wife.
Charles sensed that something was bothering her, and his eyes narrowed. Surely not because of the money?
As they rose and prepared to depart, he caught Daphne’s arm and said to Mr. Vinton and Adrian, “Do you mind if I have a private word with Miss Beaumont?”
“Of course not,” replied Mr. Vinton. Smiling at Adrian, he said, “If I can interest you in a cup of tea in the library?”
Adrian, after a curious look at Charles, readily complied, and the two men left the office.
“What is it?” Daphne asked, nervous at being alone with him. Especially considering the train her thoughts had taken only a few minutes previously.
“I believe that’s my question,” Charles said. “What is wrong? Do you not think the money is sufficient?”
Appalled that he could think her so grasping, Daphne gawked at him. “Oh, no. No. You have been more than generous.”
“Then what? And don’t prevaricate. Something is troubling you. What?”
Her gaze fell. “I didn’t know that you were so wealthy. It…it was a shock.”
“A pleasant one, I hope,” he said mildly.
She glanced up at him. “It is bad enough,” she said unhappily, “that you were forced to offer for me and that your cousin is an earl, but now I find that you are quite wealthy.” She swallowed and looked miserable. “There is talk enough about our engagement, and now people are bound to think that I deliberately schemed to trap you. I’m sure that some already think that I seduced you.”
Charles pulled her into his arms. His lips gently traced the outline of her mouth. “Hmmm, let the fools talk.” He kissed her, his mouth warm against hers. Fighting the demon that rode him, he kept the kiss light. Reluctantly lifting his lips from hers, he smiled down at her. “And as for seduction….” His smile became decidedly wicked. “If anyone is going to be doing any seducing, I can assure you, that I shall be doing it. And you, my poppet, will be the one seduced.”
He kissed her again, this time, his hunger slipping from his iron grip. He crushed her next to his tall body, molding her slender form against his, making her aware of the powerful muscles and warm flesh concealed beneath his clothing. His lips hard on hers, his tongue took possession of her mouth, demanding a response.
Dizzy with desire, Daphne trembled as his mouth and tongue took their pleasure. Her arms slid around his neck, and she arched against him, reveling in the soft groan that escaped him when her lower body pressed into the swollen length of him.
Heedless of their location, Charles’s hands cupped her buttocks, pulling her harder against him. He was drowning in need, the demands of his body driving him nearer and nearer to the edge of no return. In the grip of a powerful desire that gave him no succor, he pushed her up against the wall, his hands fumbling with her clothing, the craving to touch her naked flesh overriding all else.
It was Daphne’s startled gasp when his fingers had at last found the heat and center of her that brought him crashing back to earth.
Appalled at how easily he had lost control, his hands dropped, and he abruptly stepped away. Color high on his cheeks, his eyes bright and feverish, he breathed deeply, fighting to regain some mastery over his emotions.
Her eyes dark with turmoil, her mouth swollen and red from his kisses, Daphne stared back at him, never realizing how close she had come to being ravished where she stood.
Charles understood too well the dangers of the moment. A minute more, and he would have freed himself from his breeches and buried himself within her. And by God, if she didn’t stop looking at him like that, he might very well finish it, and convention be damned! He put a few more feet between them and ran a shaking hand through his thick hair.
Daphne felt as if she had been struck by lightning—her entire body tingled and throbbed. She was convinced that when she undressed tonight, there would be scorch marks on her skin. I wasn’t ready for him to stop, she thought dazedly. I wanted him to continue. And like a common whore in an alley, I would have let him take me. Ashamed at her actions, embarrassment flooded her, and she scuttled toward the door.
“Wait,” Charles commanded.
He walked toward her, his eyes narrowing when she shrank against the door. “I have no intention of kissing you again,” he said bluntly. He reached out and straightened her hat, which his embrace had knocked askew. Her hat fixed to his liking, like a father with a child, he brushed down her pelisse where it was still ruched up from his frantic search beneath her clothing.
Mutely, she stared up at him, hardly daring to breathe, longing and equally terrified that he would take her into his arms again.
“Well, I think we have
settled the question of seduction, don’t you?” Charles muttered.
Daphne looked confused, and he cast her a twisted smile. “I have just proven my point. Seduction is my game. Not yours.”
Chapter 7
Rejoining the others, Daphne politely refused a cup of tea, and shortly after that, she and Adrian were in his new blue and yellow gig and on their way out of town.
Adrian shot her a puzzled look or two before finally asking, “You upset about something, Daffy?”
She pasted a smile on her lips and glanced at her brother. “No. No. Of course not.”
He didn’t look convinced. Trying another tack, he said, “I thought the settlement was very generous.”
“Yes, yes, it was.” She frowned. “Did you have any idea that Mr. Weston was so very wealthy?”
He shook his head, concentrating on guiding his horse, a spirited bay mare known to be a sweet goer, around a heavy farm wagon drawn by two plodding gray draft horses. The open road in front of them, he set the mare at a smart trot and turned his attention back to his sister. “I think it is a jolly good thing for us that he is so warm in the pocket. Imagine if he had been a loose fish without a feather to fly with. We’re dashed lucky he was around to save you.”
Rattled by how easily she had succumbed to Mr. Weston’s lovemaking, Daphne’s teeth gritted together. “He did not save me,” she said testily. “You did.” She looked at the passing countryside, the native oak trees that were well tended, and the long coombes and rich verdant valleys where there was good arable soil. “If he had not insisted on staying with me in that horrible cave, none of this would have happened. It is all his fault.”
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