A Kiss to Remember

by Rebecca Minto

  She wasn’t a fool, after all. She had paid attention during her lessons. She knew that the point of a Season was to find a husband. Daphne would not fool herself into thinking she would be anything special. After all, London was flooded with young, unwed girls this time of year. They would surely surpass her in beauty and prestige. Although Daphne did not lose her head quite as easily as Chrysanthe, she did often share her friend’s dislike for all the confining rules and feared she would forget one, very important lesson before the end. She feared she would be sent away in shame.

  If she were sent away, how could she possibly be able to finish this investigation and find her father’s killer? It terrified her even more to realize she would live with the reminder of how someone destroyed her life and got away with it.

  Sniffing, she glanced at the clock. It was going on eleven in the evening. She knew she should get ready for bed. Tomorrow would be a very difficult day.

  Yet, she found herself sneaking out of her room, tiptoeing past Annalise’s door so she would not know what Daphne was up to, and heading up to the third story of the enormous house.

  She had never been up there before, and as she walked down the carpeted corridors, she found herself awed by the deep blues of the carpet, of the richness of the silk-papered walls and the expensive canvases that covered the walls. It was beautiful, rich and decadent, and only went to make her feel like that much more of an intruder.

  She carefully knocked on a door. She had never entertained the thought of awakening any man before, certainly not her father. While she had always known where his room was, the only time she had ever been inside Papa’s private chambers was if he had a cold, and she wished to keep him company, and that had not happened for so many years.

  Sighing deeply, she prepared for the Duke’s anger. She could not believe her remote guardian would welcome her intrusion. When several long, silent moments passed, she knocked again, expecting him to be in a deep sleep. Still, when there were no sounds from within, she opened the door a crack to peer inside.

  The door fell open, widening, to give her a glimpse of beautifully carved wooden décor, covered with rich velvet hangings in brown. She blushed profusely, quickly shutting the door once more. She turned on her heel to leave, and gasped.

  “My lady, whatever are you doing?” a male, thoroughly bewildered voice, demanded.

  She gawked askance at the servant. She had only glimpsed him in passing before, although that within itself was no surprise. She was still trying to learn all the names of the staff of the enormous house. The man was young, only a few years older than she was by the look of him, with pale, pinched features. Judging by the fact the man was holding up several freshly-laundered silk shirts, Daphne guessed him to be the Duke’s valet.

  “I…was looking for the Duke,” she admitted, blushing all the brighter now.

  The man cleared his throat and glanced away. He had the strangest look on his face. “He is still in the study,” the man told her, still refusing to meet her eye.

  Daphne thanked him profusely, wondering at his strange demeanor. She shrugged. Well, few women could be expected to knock on a lord’s door so late at night, she guessed. Even in her household, it would have been an oddity. The last time she came down with the fever, it was her own lady’s maid who would go fetch her father. She had rarely intruded on his privacy in such a blatant fashion.

  Downstairs, she saw Villiers sending her a curious look. She couldn’t know that, already, the servants were wondering about her, or have any clue as to just the nature of what the lord’s valet had been whispering about the moment she had gone. Gossip was a favorite pastime of native Londoners, especially among the servants. While they might not let the whispers leave the household, for Villiers ran his household with firm hand, they certainly did love to talk about those they cared for.

  Daphne sent the cold hallway an annoyed look.

  Whenever she passed this way, it bothered her at how the old, muted colors made her feel shut up and trapped. Shrugging the thought aside, she reached the thick door to the study and knocked timidly.

  Then, without waiting for a response, she pushed it open.

  As she stepped inside, she realized she was not at all prepared for a confrontation with her cold Duke.

  Chapter Five

  For three whole heartbeats, James could only stare at the vision standing in his study. With wild, untamed curls framing softly colored cheeks, with dark eyes clouded, she was a vision of beauty to save him from his own boring paperwork.

  “Miss Davernay, to what do I owe this unprecedented and late surprise?” he asked quietly.

  She colored immediately. “Your Grace, please forgive my interruption. I… That is to say, I pray I did not interrupt anything important?”

  James glanced down at the forms in front of him. He had many properties to manage, and on each of those properties, he had the responsibility of seeing that people had what they needed. Their livelihoods relied on his ability to see to the needs of those properties.

  “Nothing pressing, my lady,” he lied. He was already behind his own strict schedule. Not that he would admit that to anyone, much less this winsome beauty.

  When he motioned for her to sit, she did so quickly, hiding her nervousness behind the façade of arranging her skirts just so. She missed the Duke rising, so absorbed was she in trying to hide her nerves, and therefore did not see him issuing orders for a decanter of wine to be brought.

  When she plastered a vapid smile on her face, he was once more sitting behind his desk, staring at her in that intense, worrisome way he had. It never failed to make her nervous. She often felt that his piercing gaze could see straight through her, right into her deepest, darkest secrets.

  “I would think you would be abed, getting all that beauty sleep, Miss Davernay,” he said, smiling slightly.

  She shrugged. His smile widened.

  “Are you, perhaps, a trifle worried about your first ball?”

  “Of course not,” Daphne boldly lied. “I understand all I need do is smile and look pretty.”

  “And dance,” James teased her. “Are you a good dancer, Miss Davernay?”

  Again, she shrugged. “I have all the training your sister has had, Your Grace.”

  At that point, there was a knock on the door. Villiers stepped inside carrying a silver tray with a decanter of wine and two sparkling crystal glasses. Daphne gawked.

  “Thank you, Villiers. Please see to it we are not disturbed,” James mumbled.

  As the butler bowed away, James poured them both a glass of wine. Daphne accepted hers with a look of confusion on her face.

  “Now, Miss Davernay, I have been wanting a word with you.”

  She cringed. She had a definite feeling that any word he wished to have with her could not be a good one.

  Her guardian was peering at her again, and it made her nervous. She took a deep gulp of the heady wine to cover her worries, overcompensating and drinking more than she should. A lightheadedness invaded her. She felt suddenly dizzy and disoriented.

  “It seems I have been lax in my duties. I should have found you a lady’s maid before now.”

  Daphne let out a low breath. “Oh, is that all?”

  James sent her a worried look. Seeing her empty glass, he absently filled it once more. “All, Miss Davernay? Surely you understand the necessity of a maid?”

  She nodded heartily and promptly took another deep gulp of wine. She was beginning to enjoy this light-headed sensation. “Of course. I was quite fond of Darcie. My lady’s maid at home,” she added.

  “Oh? Would you like me to see if she is still available?”

  Daphne let out a squeal that could have been horror or delight. “Oh, would you, Your Grace?”

  James filled her empty glass once more, an absent movement of courtesy. �
��Of course, Miss Davernay. You are not a prisoner here. I shall endeavor to fill your reasonable wishes.”

  She once more emptied her goblet. She stared at his suddenly blurry face. “That is most gracious of you. I thought you were a blully.”

  “Blully?” James repeated slowly.

  “Yes, a blull…oh, buddy, erm ah—”

  James covered a smile with a cough. “Are you feeling quite the thing, Miss Davernay?”

  She blinked. For some reason, his face was doubling. There were two of him now. Oh, mercy, as if the world needed another handsome, stern Duke. Why had no one ever told her he was twins? Why did they seem to be fading in and out of one another?

  “You are queer,” she whispered.

  James blinked at her. She had the most peculiar look on her expressive face. She looked bemused and irritated at the same time. Her pretty brow was wrinkled as though she were thinking about something profound. “Miss Davernay?”

  “I…you…”

  Daphne shook her head. She was having trouble speaking now. Her tongue was beginning to feel twice its size. She concentrated very hard on each and every word.

  “I wanted to talk to you about Chrysthuth…that is, Chrysyneth. Chrys!” she ended in a near shout.

  James ignored the pitch of her raising voice. He was beginning to worry about her. “Do you wish me to invite her to live here, too?”

  Daphne sniffed. “Noooo.”

  “Then what about Lady Chrysanthe worries you, Miss Davernay?”

  “She is tubble.”

  James started to pour her another glass of wine when he caught himself. He realized that the bottle was not even half full now, and that he had not even taken a sip of his own drink. He shut his eyes and winced. Unwittingly, he had given her too much. Something else became painfully apparent.

  The winsome Miss Daphne Davernay had no head for wine.

  “Ah, Miss Davernay, methinks it is time for bed.”

  Daphne blinked at him. “We’re going to bed?”

  “Yes,” he told her firmly, refusing to acknowledge how the words put forbidden images in his head. “Right away, Miss Davernay.”

  He was suddenly at her side. Daphne began to weave in her chair. How in heavens did her guardian manage that? Did he have powers beyond the normal realm of things? Oh, just wait ‘till Anna learned of it. She would be most excited.

  James grasped her arm and helped her stand. Daphne found her legs did not want to support her. She tried to straighten and take a step at the same time. The world was revolving at an alarming rate. She felt sick all of the sudden.

  Her guardian slowly pulled her against him. She felt the heat of him surrounding her. All she could smell was that comforting mixture of musky man and cool, misty earth that seemed to follow him. She sighed and pressed her head to his shoulder.

  James ignored the way her soft, curvaceous form pressed against him and lifted her into his arms. She was obviously beyond walking now. He did not know whether to curse himself or laugh at her. She was almost funny in this state. Instead, he focused on the light floral scent that clung to her body. It was most appealing, unlike most perfumes women tended to bathe themselves in. Light and soft, it put him in mind of spring.

  He managed to get her to the steps before he bellowed for Villiers. Daphne jerked in his arms and sent him a petulant look.

  “Did’ya havta do that?” she slurred sleepily.

  James quietly muttered orders to the worried butler before starting up the stairs. When she wrapped her arms around his neck and cuddled into his chest, he ignored that too. He absolutely refused to think about any of the things other parts of his body desperately wanted to think about.

  It was going to be a long, long night.

  * * * *

  Later, much later, when James was comforted with the notion that his little ward was safely closeted in her room with several maids seeing to her care, he allowed himself to think about her.

  It was not in his nature to spend long periods of time thinking about women. In truth, he did not often seek out the comforts of a soft, fragrant body. He had taken his mistresses, of course, but he soon found himself bored with their antics. Women liked to be cosseted and spoiled, and he had never enjoyed catering to every little whim such creatures demanded.

  Still, with the clouded, sleepy eyes, dark eyes that made him think of deep, rich chocolate and the soft way she curled into him had made his stomach twist almost painfully. A soft, sweet woman. Indeed, sweeter than most, he mused wryly.

  He did not find it quite as distressing as he might have, the fact that he was now responsible for a young, naïve girl. Daphne Davernay had always been an adorable, if slightly chubby, child. He recalled the way she used to be, so full of cheer and smiles and honesty. It had always been a difficult to maintain any sense of bitterness around her.

  Closing his eyes, he recalled the first time he had seen her. Baron Davernay had business in London and had not wanted to leave his daughter unattended, yet neither could he take her with him. Annalise had begged and begged until he had relented and allowed her to invite her two friends to stay in the house with her for a fortnight.

  James had given into anything back then. He had become a hard, embittered man. He had only returned from the war on the Continent to discover his father dead and his little sister sent off to some remote boarding school for girls. He had been injured in both shoulder and leg, and the pain was terrible. He had taken the pain, however, over the opiates that the doctors had prescribed for him.

  Then, one morning, he had awakened to a pair of beguiling brown eyes peering up at him. It had been unkind perhaps, but he had snarled at her. That little golden, chubby child had simply smiled at him and told him that she was not afraid of him, even if he acted like a mean-spirited frowny-bear.

  He had dubbed her Dumpy Daphne in hope that she would leave him alone. But she never had. He had forgotten how her sweetness had helped to push him out of his pessimism. She would bring him flowers and sweets and smile at him and tease him, and sometimes even sing him sadly off-tune lullabies until he had come to adore her almost as much as his own sister did.

  He squeezed his eyes shut at the memory. Sometimes, long years would pass between the times they would see one another. He remembered a birthday party where she had nearly drowned, a riding accident that had left her with a sprained ankle. He remembered flowers she would always give him and the sweet smiles.

  Now, it seemed as though those days had past. She looked at him with fear and intimidation, secrets hiding in those dark eyes. She was, understandably, sad, but he feared what she was trying to hide from him. He missed the sweet girl he had once so adored.

  And lusted after the woman she had become.

  That was the crutch of the affair. Every time he saw her, with her tousled golden curls and her deliciously generous curves, he found his body reacting in the most base, dishonorable way. His stomach would knot, even as his groin tightened with barely suppressed desire. He had to constantly remind himself that she was under his care to keep from reaching out to touch, to take her virtue in a moment of blind, barbaric need.

  Christ, it had been too long since he slaked his need in a woman. He had been too busy lately, burying himself in paperwork and decisions. He would need to take a mistress soon if little Daphne would survive this Season.

  His heart thudded painfully as fear swelled up inside him. He knew his greatest fear would not be in finding a lover who would desire him, but that his own need would not be appeased by any but a girl with soft brown eyes and wild golden curls.

  Chapter Six

  She was disappointed.

  As trite as it was, Daphne knew the downtrodden feeling she had could be nothing but pure disillusioned disappointment.

  All her life, she had heard stories of the grand balls and
teas and musicales she would one day see when she was all grown up. She had lost count at how many times she had heard about the glittery ballrooms and beautiful ladies and handsome gentlemen who would pay her court. She remembered looking forward to that day when she would get to experience it all for herself.

  Her lips twisted downward as she opened her fan with a subtle click and began to frantically fan herself. The reality of a ballroom was most disappointing.

  Oh, it certainly glittered. With golden silk hanging from the walls and gold and blue squares glittering in the soft light of hundreds of little lit globes, it was beautiful. Yet, somehow, it was not nearly as large as she would have expected. Truthfully, the ball might not be quite so disappointing were the room bigger and less enclosed.

  Because it was so compact, and because there were no open windows or doors, it was cramped and stuffy in the ballroom, where hundreds of bodies pressed and moved about.

  The fact that both the men and the women had for, some unknown reason, decided to perfume themselves with strong, pungent scents only made matters worse. Body pressed against body, scent mingled into scent until Daphne believed that the fumes in the air could only be noxious.

  She watched Annalise circle the floor with an older gentleman. She guessed his age somewhere nearing his late fifties, with a balding head and an enormous belly. Annalise, oddly enough, did not seem to be put off, but kept a soft smile on her lips as they circled the floor again and again.

  Chrysanthe sidled up to her, sipping at a glass of tepid punch. “Disgusting, isn’t it?”

  “Completely,” Daphne agreed without losing sight of Anna. “Who is that man?”