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A Kiss to Remember

Page 9

by Rebecca Minto


  “I may be capable of questioning the rules of our set, Your Grace, but I am hardly given to kicking a man out of his own home,” Daphne told him quietly.

  A delicious thought had just occurred to her. She might be able to make a few changes for the party, and make them permanent. Her eyes glittered with glee at the thought.

  Annalise slouched back, utterly bereft at being overcome. She thought that it was a waste of care and time for her friend to plan a foolish dinner party.

  “What is the opera about tonight?” she asked her brother, pouting.

  James stared at Daphne while he said, “A young girl too foolish to mind her betters.”

  Daphne snorted. “I presume by betters the writer meant men.”

  “You’ll see. Tell me, Miss Davernay, how did you spend your day? Painting?”

  “I did paint today,” she told him uncomfortably. “Please convey my gratitude to Villiers for going shopping for me. I had not expected quite so much.”

  “Yes,” Annalise hissed at the reminder of Daphne’s wasted day. “She was quite overcome this morning.”

  Daphne could only gawk at her guardian as he grinned. It was not at all comforting.

  Chapter Eight

  Daphne spent the following week in a frenzy of activity. When she was not plotting with the Cheney cook over recipes or annoying Villiers over subtle little changes she wanted to make in the household, she was in her room, painting.

  She started the changes subtly at first, but with increasing fervor throughout the week. Here the Duke, thankfully, stayed out of her way. Not once did he demand her to report what she meant by it all. She was encouraged by this.

  James was not as blind as she thought he was, of course. He noticed each and every change, and he demanded a report from the guards he set on her whenever she left the safety of the house. He was not quite that foolish.

  On Monday, she started with flowers. A small change, admittedly, one that few would notice. It was not the sight of the hothouse roses he recognized first, but the soft, cloying-sweet scent that permeated his senses. It was not difficult to find the source, of course. The little peahen had filled the house with flowers, and not just pink little roses. There was a veritable garden of flowers, kinds he had never even seen before, stuffed in thick crystal vases all over the place. It filled his home with scent and color.

  On Tuesday, the dusty portrait of his great-great grandfather was gone. It was not that he minded, not exactly. What shocked him was what had replaced it. It was a beautiful painting of a bright field full of wildflowers, and the Medieval maiden that stood, windblown and beautiful, clutching flowers in her skirt.

  On Wednesday, she became more daring and had every drab, stoic painting of his ancestors removed, each replaced by an equally bright, cheerful painting, both in watercolors and in oils.

  On Thursday, she did nothing. This surprised him, but still he gave her the room to do what she saw fit. She had done nothing, yet, that required his supervision.

  On Friday, she removed the ugly bust from across his office and replaced it with an elaborate Oriental jug that used to sit in his mother’s old chamber. James shrugged his shoulders at that. He had never liked the bust anyway.

  On Saturday she did the one thing that would force him to interfere, however.

  The blasted chit invaded his study.

  It was still an hour shy of dawn on Saturday morning when James went into his office, the same he did every single day, with a cup of coffee in his hand. He was still sleepy, of course. He kept a stringent schedule, but with the late nights he was now pulling because of the events he had to escort the girls to, he was not getting nearly enough sleep.

  For that reason, when he first walked into his office, he thought he was in the wrong room. He actually peered over his shoulder at the pedestal across from his door before he was convinced he was in the right place. He glared at the room in stark dismay.

  That was his desk, he saw. It was still there. The seat behind it had been replaced with one upholstered and soft. The chair across from the desk was replaced with an overstuffed settee. There was color everywhere.

  He glared at the bright paintings which now warmed his walls, at the draperies that now invited light instead of concealing it. He glared his desk where a bloody figurine of a black panther with emerald eyes perched eternally in a dangerous prowl.

  He counted to ten—in Greek. It did not help.

  “Daphne!” he roared at the top of his lungs.

  Villiers came in at a run, looking alarmed. James turned on him, seeing red.

  “Get that chit in here. Now!” His bellows threatened to awaken the entire household

  “She is still abed, Your Grace,” Villiers said faintly.

  “Now,” he growled dangerously.

  Not ten minutes later, Daphne all but floated in, her eyes sleepy, her hair tousled around her face. She wore a dressing gown that revealed too much flesh and a flimsy little gown beneath. At any other time, he would have admired just how generously she was formed. He was incapable of seeing anything but red at that moment, however, and stalked her across the room.

  “What do you mean by it, girl?” he shouted.

  “Y-your Grace?” Daphne whispered in a voice made husky from sleep.

  He slammed the door shut. “What have you done? Where are my draperies? Where are my chairs? What is,” he made a wide, sweeping motion with his arm to encompass the room, “that?”

  Daphne peered at the bright room. “It is your office.”

  “Daphne,” he roared.

  She blinked up at him, hurt. She had hoped he would like her changes.

  His eyes lit on his desk, and it just occurred to him that the papers he left there, waiting for his attention in the morning, were gone. He was beyond thought now.

  He reached out, grasping her shoulders, and shook her. “Damn it, Daphne, where are my papers? What have you done with them?”

  “P-papers?”

  “Damn it, the ones on the desk! Where are they, girl?”

  She began to shake. He was more furious than she had ever seen anyone, even Papa on his worst day. For the first time in her life, she was truly terrified.

  “In your chest,” she squeaked.

  “My chest. My chest?” he repeated in alarmingly rising tones. “Did you go through my things? My personal possessions? I warn you now—”

  “You just needed organizing.” She jerked away and took three steps away from him. He looked capable of murder in that moment. “See, I helped Papa. I am good at organizing,” she told him earnestly.

  She grabbed a key off his desk and unlocked the delicately carved chest she had replaced with his old one. Inside, she revealed the carefully labeled folders.

  “See, it will be right here for you each morning,” Daphne told him, pointing to a labeled file. “You can lock it up each night and no one can peer inside.”

  “No one in this house would dare intrude on my personal property except you, girl,” he growled.

  Still, he moved over to see how she had organized her things. It was, he had to admit, well done. She had even had a special box made to fit in the corner that held fresh parchment, ink and quills.

  “You had no right to rearrange my office as you saw fit,” James hissed.

  “But—”

  “Cease that little tongue, girl. What you did was reprehensible. If anyone else ever…”

  “But James—”

  That was all it took. The sight of those pink little lips curving with a sigh over his name. Blindly, he gripped her shoulders and yanked her against him. There was her shocked gasp, even as he banded his arms around her.

  He was beyond control, beyond forgiveness. He slanted his mouth over hers with a savageness which at any other time he would have con
sidered base and deplorable. He was all rage and need and desire, plundering her mouth wildly.

  He tasted her breath, that gasp of alarm. He held her only that much more tightly against him, until her full breasts were crushed against him, until his hard erection pressed into her soft belly. His tongue delved inside her mouth, again and again, taking and taking, stroking with hers, urging it to join in the duel.

  Just as suddenly as he attacked, he began to calm. Her sweet mouth, the milk-and-honey taste of her breath, calmed the nefarious beast within. He withdrew his arms from around her so that his hands stroked up her soft curves to frame her face. His thumbs caressed the silk of her skin as he moved his mouth teasingly across hers. His tongue teasingly licked the dew of her lips, then moved inside again to tease her before it retreated once more. Again and again he moved his mouth over hers, again and again he tasted her until he felt her quiver and heard her soft moan.

  Slowly, he drew away. He groaned then, a deep well of longing and pain. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips swollen and moist from his careless ravishing. When she slowly lifted her lids, her dark eyes were cloudy with shock and, he hoped, equal desire.

  “I apologize. I did not mean to lose my temper,” he told her stiffly.

  Daphne felt weak. She wanted to wrap her arms around his waist and hold on. She was bereft from the sudden withdrawal of his scent and taste and touch. She swallowed loudly and retreated behind a mask of cold acceptance.

  “Of course, Your Grace. I apologize if it was wrong of me to attempt to make this prison a more acceptable place.”

  James turned from her, aching. His need was acute now, a constant throb. Now that he had finally tasted her, now that he knew how sweet she was, he feared it would always be there, this keening need.

  Hearing her stiff formality, he knew he had horrified her. God, what if she never married for fear of what he had just shown her? She was an untried maid. He doubted she had ever even had a kiss before.

  “Daphne, I lost my temper, and I am sorry for that. I liked things the way they were.”

  “Then change it back,” she snapped, betraying a vestige of her own temper. “I only thought to make things better. I dare say your shoulders will not hurt so much in a softer seat.”

  “I dare say,” he agreed. He slowly turned, thinking to offer comfort, only to be swept up in guilt when he saw just how white her face was. “Daphne—”

  “I have no need for apologies or platitudes, Your Grace. Again, I apologize. If you would excuse me?”

  Helplessly, he watched her go. He winced as she slammed the door shut. Well, he had certainly bungled that one.

  * * * *

  That, Annalise thought later, was the end of Daphne’s changes.

  She might have been happy about that. Annalise had been in a high pout ever since Daphne had started on the altering of the house. After all, she rarely had time to help Annalise with the boring journals, and she was painting well into the wee hours at night. Anna had never understood why Daphne chose to waste so much time on painting when there were so many more important things to be doing.

  Annalise was almost as miserable as Daphne was. She had been jarred awake by the sound of her brother’s shouts that very morning. She had heard him shouting at Daphne. In addition, when Daphne had returned to her room, she had been pale. Not even the walls could block out her muffled weeping.

  She did not know what had happened between James and Daphne, but she knew it had to be bad. Daphne was refusing to eat, and Annalise considered that a dangerous thing. She was already too cautious with how much she ate, and that was worrisome enough, but that she was now too upset to eat altogether worried her even more. She was barely speaking to anyone, even Darcie, and that was very telling.

  Annalise had tried to confront James. He was her brother after all, and she had to be one of the only people who were not intimidated by his growling. He was not saying much either, but he did look miserable and sadly out of place amidst the bright décor of his improved study.

  So, it was with a heavy heart that late that afternoon, Annalise dressed in her best day gown and decided to go the one place she had sworn she would never willingly go.

  She went to visit Lady Chrysanthe Sinclair.

  Luckily, Lady Sinclair herself was out visiting, so she and Chrysanthe were given some privacy for tea.

  Well, Annalise had tea, anyway. Chrysanthe, being the odd creature she was, had broke into her father’s supply and stolen a half-empty decanter of his finest brandy.

  “So, Daphne has been planning this party, and from the sound of it you have been giving her a hard time.—”

  “It is a waste of time,” Annalise insisted. “She said she wanted to do this investigation and—”

  “Hush,” Chrysanthe told her softly. “Our walls have ears, Anna.”

  “Yes, and she paints all the time,” Annalise complained. “It is such a useless—”

  “Stop right there, Annalise,” Chrysanthe snapped. Her shocking eyes glowed incandescent with emotion. “You have no right to dictate what others can enjoy.”

  “Painting, though,” Annalise sniffed.

  “Some would say the same thing about the books you read, so don’t you start. Painting has always given Daphne the peace and joy she so desperately needs. What’s more, it gives her pride in herself. I think it is important that she not give it up. More now than ever,” she added sadly.

  “What do you mean?” Annalise asked cautiously.

  Chrysanthe did not answer her right away. She slowly stood and stepped to the door, peering out before shutting it. She also moved to the windows, staring out onto the busy street below. She shut the draperies so that the room was cast in opulent gloom.

  “There is talk,” Chrysanthe told her.

  “Talk? Not of Daphne,” Annalise exclaimed. “She has done nothing to set the vicious tongues wagging, Chrys.”

  Chrysanthe agreed. “You had to expect it, Anna. You and I have lived around here long enough to know how people are. It is all about titles and worth.”

  “Daphne should be wealthy enough to buy autonomy,” Annalise glowered.

  “But that’s just it. The way her father set her will up, and by the by that is out in the open now, her inheritance is safe from others. She has a great deal of personal wealth that no husband or child or anyone else could ever touch, Anna. Plus, she lacks the prestige. Her best friends are…”

  “Oh, please, do not tell me people are being so trite,” Annalise sniffed.

  “They are,” Chrysanthe admitted. “They are saying she is reaching above herself to be living in a ducal household, and to spend so much time with the daughter of an earl. Papa was so disheartened he tried to talk Mama out of attending this dinner.”

  Annalise gasped. “Are you saying she is causing a scandal without doing anything wrong?”

  “Well, admittedly, Daphne has made a little jab at what I am sure she sees as injustices.”

  Annalise frowned. She could not remember Daphne doing or saying anything, except in privacy.

  Chrysanthe hurriedly explained. “I take it you have not seen her guest list for this dinner party? She invited Miss Stockholm, for one. Mostly bluestockings like you, or barely titled lords and ladies. We are the only ones of any import that she invited.”

  “Daphne knows better,” Annalise sighed.

  “Yes, she does, but she is also a bit more rebellious than she used to be, Anna. Surely you’ve seen that. Ever since…”

  “Ever since her father died, yes. There is no way we can stop these rumors.”

  “No, I fear there is not. It may not matter soon, anyhow. There is some ah other rumors that most are discounting, but…”

  Annalise lit on the important words. “Other rumors?”

  Chrysanthe blushed. Annalise was astound
ed. She had never, in all her life, seen Chrys blush.

  “Yes, well, I do not believe them for an instant, and neither does Mama. We have been a tightly knit circle for too long to believe such atrocities.”

  Atrocities? If Chrysanthe thought the rumors were bad, then they were beyond that. Annalise feared what she would hear.

  “There are a few whispers that Daphne and your brother… It is ridiculous, of course. No one who knows either of them could… But, well, there is some evidence to—”

  “What, precisely, are they saying?” Annalise wanted to know.

  Chrysanthe slouched, hate bright red with embarrassment. “Well, there was a rumor that they, ah, slept together. Some are saying that she has been seeking out his bedroom. Some are even wondering if she is his paramour.”

  “Daphne and James?” Annalise laughed. “I have never seen a less likely match.”

  Chrysanthe eyed her balefully. “Why do you say that?”

  “Oh, please; be serious, Chrysanthe. They were shouting at each other this morning,” she confided her true worry. “Afterwards, Daphne wept for hours, and James has been looking miserable all day.”

  “Oh, God,” Chrysanthe groaned. “If this gets out…”

  Annalise blanched. It had just occurred to her, and James had not been exactly quiet about his anger, either. He had been loud enough that every single person in the house would have heard.

  “What…what did they argue about?” Chrysanthe asked tentatively.

  Annalise sighed. “I cannot be positive but I think it is because of all the changes.”

  Chrys choked. “Changes?”

  Anna smiled wryly. “Yes, well you know how she always disapproved of the decorating of my brother’s dear home? Well, she took it upon herself to make a few changes. We have fresh flowers now,” she added cheerfully.

  “She’s ruined.”

 

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