A Kiss to Remember

by Rebecca Minto

  Daphne grinned. It was not quite the thing for a young debutante to smile so widely in polite company, but she could not help it. The memories were good ones. She told her how the three of them had gone to school together and went into rather livid detail of a few of their most mischievous antics. Soon, Miss Stockholm was grinning with her.

  Annalise collapsed beside her so the three of them were rather cramped. “What’s the joke?” she demanded.

  “I was just telling Emily about some of your failed experiments at school,” Daphne told her in a mock serious voice.

  “None of my experiments failed,” Annalise sniffed. Her eyes were glinting with humor.

  “Oh, so you never blew up that rat?” Daphne inquired mildly.

  “I did not blow up a rat.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  “No, I merely miscalculated.”

  “What would Chrysanthe say?” Daphne pushed.

  Annalise’s shoulders slumped. “That I blew it to pieces. She reckoned it took her a fortnight to get all the rat guts out of her hair.”

  Emily Stockholm burst into giggles.

  “Miss Stockholm, I hear you are quite the voice on ancient Egypt,” Annalise quickly turned the subject away from such embarrassing memories. “I, myself, have learned seventeen languages, but I fear Egyptian is not among them. Can you speak it?”

  That, apparently, was just the opening Miss Stockholm needed to open up. Daphne rose so they would not be so cramped and happily noted how they were both soon enthralled with a conversation of Egypt mythology and fact.

  Daphne looked around the room. Chrysanthe was speaking to another of the guests, Miss Dubois, a woman who had moved to England shortly before the great Terror had begun.

  Lady Sinclair took her arm and strolled with her to an abandoned corner.

  “You do not look happy, Daphne,” she murmured gently.

  Daphne knew there was no use in denying Lady Sinclair. The woman had a keen mind and even sharper senses. It was one reason Daphne had always been half-awed and half-terrified of the woman. For whatever mischief Chrysanthe got herself into, her mother was always up to the task of getting her out of trouble.

  “Everything has changed so quickly, Lady Sinclair. One moment I was still a child, and now I am a woman.”

  “Daphne,” Lady Sinclair admonished. “Surely there is no truth to these abominations!”

  “It is true that Papa was killed,” Daphne said slowly. She thought everyone knew that by now.

  “Yes, Chrysanthe told me the truth of that,” the older woman said kindly. “But you said you are a woman now… Is there anything you would like to tell me?”

  Daphne shook her head. A curl fell over her eyes and she blew it away. “I only meant that life was still so happy and carefree when my father was alive, and now it seems difficult, and I feel so confused all the time. Nothing I do seems right.”

  “Your father should have brought you to town more often,” Lady Sinclair sniffed.

  “Probably,” Daphne agreed warily. “Perhaps I would not feel so smothered if he had. I think I was made for the country.”

  Lady Sinclair smiled sadly.

  Just then, the men entered the room. Lord Sinclair peered around the room and, seeing the two of them huddled together, marched over, jerking Daphne away from his wife.

  To his wife, he glowered. “What the devil are you speaking to her for?”

  James was on a slow boil.

  If the dinner was successful at anything, it was at alienating the very girl who had worked so hard to plan for it even more.

  He was fed up with watching it. Even though Daphne was pretending he did not exist, he had no compunction at all at watching the glittering little angel. She had comported herself without flaw, dressing her best, greeting everyone with warmth and grace and, damn it all, pretending she did not notice the slights or the rude comments.

  And that was only during dinner.

  As soon as the ladies were out of hearing, the men had descended into gossip that was more suitable to old, bored women. If he had expected a thrilling conversation about politics, he was sadly let down. The men could not wait to slander Daphne Davernay. They seemed to forget that her own guardian was in the room.

  Either that or they expected him to agree with them. Of them all, Lord Sinclair was the worst of the lot.

  As he stepped into the study, and heard the furious voice of Lord Sinclair, James knew. He did not know how, but he just knew. Suddenly the room was cast into stark, unrelieved silence.

  “You will kindly remove your hand from my ward,” James snarled dangerously.

  Daphne stiffened at the sound of his voice. Lady Sinclair looked as though she wanted to weep.

  Daphne felt every single eye on the room upon her. She knew she should turn around; say something witty and amusing to relieve the tense atmosphere. Blast him, every single time her guardian came near her every sensible thought fled from her head.

  Luckily for Chrysanthe’s father, he released her at once. She was no longer the brunt of his anger. He turned his short, boxer’s body to face the taller, leaner, and certainly younger form of the Duke.

  “You will not address Miss Davernay with such malice in the future, Lord Sinclair,” James told him with barely suppressed rage.

  “I won’t, will I?” He balled up his fists.

  Sense drove her. Daphne marched to the center of the room and said loudly, perhaps too loudly, “Lady Chrysanthe, I have not heard you play in a long time. Would you grace us?”

  Chrysanthe, captivated by the scene, blinked at Daphne. “Play?”

  Daphne nodded at the pianoforte she had brought in, begging with her eyes. Thankfully, Chrysanthe gave her one pitying look and stood up.

  “My pleasure, Daph.”

  Hold your head high, a voice deep within her ordered. Do not let them think they have beaten you. Mindlessly, Daphne obeyed, choosing an empty seat, far from everyone else, in a corner. She blinked once, twice, three times, praying to hold the tears at bay. If she could just hold it in a few more hours, it would be all right. Just a few more hours.

  Blessedly, Chrysanthe began to play, first with an achingly morose ballad that soon swept into a jaunty march. Daphne looked around. Almost everyone was riveted to Chrysanthe now. She saw her guardian sitting beside Annalise. Lord Sinclair was across the room, keeping away from anything that was remotely connected to Daphne.

  Lady Sinclair dragged a seat over and sat next to her once more. Daphne opened her mouth to beg her not to, but Lady Sinclair was not to be denied.

  “I apologize for my husband’s churlish behavior, Daphne,” she murmured. “I never thought he would be so outlandish. After all these years, and I still have not taught him to act the gentleman.”

  Daphne nodded, tight-lipped.

  “Chrysanthe has not played in some time. I often forget her talent.”

  “She is skilled,” Daphne agreed.

  They listened in tense silence for several moments. Chrysanthe burst into a loud overture.

  “Lady Sinclair, what is this about?” Daphne asked quietly.

  Chrysanthe’s mother did not pretend to misunderstand. “Daphne, I am sure you have heard how a rumor can bring about a girl’s ruin.”

  “So there are rumors about me?” she astutely guessed. “That explains a lot. I also take it Lord Sinclair believes these lies?”

  “Then they are not true?” It was almost a sigh of relief.

  “I would guess not, but perhaps you should tell me.”

  “Most are just jealous slaps,” Lady Sinclair murmured. “People do not understand how a daughter of a mere baron could become bosom friends with such affluent friends, or how you came to be the ward of one of the wealthiest and most powerful dukes in all England and h
er provinces.”

  Daphne sent her a baleful look.

  “Then there is the jealousy of your personal wealth.”

  Daphne inhaled sharply.

  “There is some supposition that you and Duke of Cheney, ah, have a special friendship.”

  Each truth was a barb that struck deep. The last was a slap, painful and sharp. She did not know what was worse, that people thought this of her, or that the idea of becoming his lover was not nearly so offensive as it should have been.

  “Anyone who could believe such a thing, of him or me, surely does not know either of us at all.”

  “Very true,” Lady Sinclair agreed simply.

  “The Duke of Cheney is a man of honor, Lady Sinclair. If he ever did engage with such an abomination with a young girl, he would see right by her. Even I know that!”

  “Yes.”

  “As for the rest…” Daphne broke off, gasping for breath. She felt as though she had run a mile, so hard was her heart pounding.

  “As for the rest,” she continued painfully, “...it is hardly so mercenary. When I was a child, I nearly drowned. Annalise’s brother saved me before my father could reach me. He saw how he protected me and saw to my safety when everyone else, including your husband by the by, merely contented to sit and watch. Perhaps that is the reason he desired such a protector for me should he die prematurely.”

  Lady Sinclair quivered in her seat. Though she did not betray one whit of emotion, though she stared intently at the fiery fall of her daughter’s hair, it was almost all she could do not to embrace Daphne and pull her to her breast to comfort.

  “As to my inheritance, I cannot say for certain just why my father set things up as he did. I had no knowledge until the will was read. I could only guess that he wanted to protect me from fortune hunters, as his grace calls them. He would not leave me unprotected as my uncle Jon did to his wife.”

  “I understand, Daphne. Please know that whatever anyone else here believes, I could not.”

  Daphne exhaled sharply. “Thank you for that, my lady. I did not know anyone could be so spiteful.”

  Lady Sinclair’s lips twisted sadly.

  “Welcome to London.”

  Chapter Ten

  “Well, that went well, didn’t it?”

  Daphne had marched into the library as soon as the last guest had left. Annalise, curse her stubborn streak, followed her determinedly.

  “I dare say Lord Sinclair will not be on speaking terms with his wife for a few years,” she added cheerfully.

  Daphne ignored the attempt to laugh off the whole damnable affair.

  “Did you see her whacking him with her pelisse on the way to the carriage? I know where Chrys gets it now.”

  “Annalise, desist,” Daphne snapped.

  She kicked off her shoes and curled up protectively on a plump settee. She was irritated and hurt and, while earlier she longed to weep, she was now too furious to do so. A good cry would help her feel better. Damn it, she wanted to cry, but it was beyond her now.

  “I suppose Lady Sinclair told you?”

  “I suppose she did.” Daphne glared at her. “Although I would have thought my friends would seek to enlighten me before now, before I made a complete and utter fool of myself.”

  “You did not make a fool of yourself. Indeed, Daphne, you made a fool of anyone stupid enough to believe the lies,” Annalise entreated. “I wish you could have seen yourself. You stood so proud; you so bravely faced the room and stopped what would have surely ended in fisticuffs. Your father would have been so proud.”

  “I dare say he would have been prouder if I had never encountered this impossible situation,” Daphne snapped. “Oh, just drop it. I’ll pack some bags to night and leave in the morning.”

  Outside the door, James was listening, and when he heard that, his stomach knotted. Daphne, gone?

  “Why?”

  “Because all of London thinks I am whore to your brother, because I am seeking friendships with those too far above me. Because any man who pays me court thinks I will simply spread my legs and give him money, perhaps? Or is it worse than that? Do they think I am paying your brother to sleep with me, now?”

  “Daphne, it isn’t as bad as all that,” Annalise soothed. “They will soon forget. I dare say when Lady Sinclair puts her mind to it—”

  “I did sleep with him!” Daphne shouted.

  Annalise blanched.

  Before she could explain herself, James burst inside the room. She took one look at his furious face and resigned herself to a night of hell. Just when one thought things could not get worse, they always did.

  “Annalise, bed,” he said shortly.

  “But—”

  “Anna,” he warned.

  “Very well, but this isn’t finished, Daphne.”

  James waited until Annalise slammed the door. Nodding, he stared at the object of his obsession.

  “Daphne, there was no cause to tell her that.”

  “Why?” Daphne demanded. “It is true enough, isn’t it? I slept with you. Everyone is saying I did. I know I did.”

  “Yes, well you don’t generally go shouting that to everyone you meet.”

  “I do not keep secrets from my friends,” Daphne warned.

  Irritated with both of them, mostly with himself, James dragged his hands through his hair.

  “I am sorry about what happened tonight,” he began.

  “Oh, now are you going to say you knew what they were saying, too?”

  “No, I did not,” James snapped. “I should have, but it is too late for recriminations now. If I’d had any idea—”

  “You can’t go out and slay all the gossip mongers, Your Grace.”

  “James,” he corrected her shortly.

  “Will you make up your bloody mind? One minute you’re this high and royal Duke, and the next minute you’re a man. Will you just tell me what to call you for once and for all?” Daphne shouted.

  He blinked at her. “Daphne, you are being ridiculous.”

  “I am not. Every time you are alone with me, you ask me to call you by your name. Whenever anyone else is around, you make me address you with a title. If you don’t give me leave to call you one or the other, all the time, I’ll just start calling you bastard.”

  Despite his anger and annoyance, a smile tugged at his lips. “Here I thought you wanted to end the rumors.”

  She sighed dejectedly. “I just want to go home. And you know what? I no longer have a home.”

  “Daphne, please—”

  “Please what?” she interrupted, beyond polite civility. “Please don’t talk? Don’t be honest? Don’t be the pitiful little foundling you’re saddled with? I am all those things, James.”

  “You are not a foundling,” he growled.

  She shrugged, as though his assurances were nothing to her. As if she could not believe aught he might say.

  “Daphne, please do not feel you have to leave town because a few stupid people are jealous of you.”

  “I am tired, James,” she whispered. “I am so tired of this.”

  He sat down beside her and tried to tug her against him. She smacked his chest. He was determined. The more he tried to comfort her, the more she hit him.

  “Daphne, for Christ’s sweet sake!” he snapped.

  “Stop manhandling me!”

  “Stop being so stubborn.”

  Finally, with a great deal of irritation, he managed to pull her into his lap. Given, she was glowering at him, but when he shoved her face into his shoulder he couldn’t see that. He could stroke his hands down her back and pretend she was pleased for him to touch her, to soothe away her worries. Or, at least, he would have if she was not all but humming with tension and ire.

  He gave i
n to the need. He wound his hand in her velvety curls and tugged her head back none too gently. Staring into her eyes, he rubbed a thumb over her pink cheek.

  “I am going to kiss you, Daphne, and you are going to like it.”

  He did not give her time to object. With intent, he lowered his face to hers, brushing his lips over hers, with tenderness and need. He wallowed in that first taste of her, of honey and sunshine. Slowly, carefully, he outlined her mouth with his tongue before delicately delving deeper to taste more. She was like a fine wine, each taste richer and infinitely sweeter. He found himself losing himself in the slightest brush of her tongue, in the texture of her lips as they softened to his sweet invasion. When she moaned, he could have died happily.

  Daphne blossomed under his care, arching towards him so that he was surrounded by the soft floral of her, into the warmth of her supple body as she curved around him. Her arms slowly wound around his neck, stroking upward until her fingers could bury into the sleekness of his hair.

  She clutched at him, pulling his head closer with a tug on his head even as her tongue, tentatively at first, and then with increasing fervor, came to stroke his. She found the shape of his mouth, licked at the dew of his lips as he had done, drawing a groan from deep within him.

  James was mindless with need now, mindless to anything but the sweet woman pressed against him. He did not remember lowering her until she lay on her back with him draped over her. Their kisses grew more frantic, more needy. She bit his lip, he sucked her tongue into his mouth. His hands left her face and wandered, stroking the concave of her hips and up again so he could hold the weight of her breast in his hand.

  She was wonderful. Perfect. Better than even his most prurient of fantasies. He yanked at her bodice. Once, twice, three times until bare skin fell into his palm. He groaned, instinctively rubbing his throbbing erection against her belly.

  “James,” she whispered against his mouth.

  “Mmm.”

  He kissed her as his fingers kneaded her breast, circling the plump, soft skin, drawing nearer and nearer until he was stroking his fingers over the sensitized nipple. He stroked her again and again until it hardened into a throbbing nub.