A Kiss to Remember

by Rebecca Minto

  She took a deep, steadying breath, then another and another until she felt her resolve return. It had to be done. The sooner, the better. She knocked on the heavy study door.

  “Come in.”

  Stomach twisting in knots, Daphne entered, quietly shutting the door behind her. He was there, as he had been so often, sitting behind his desk with piles of paperwork. His hair was mussed, as though he had swept his fingers through it in agitation many times. There were dark circles beneath his eyes, speaking of a sleepless night.

  Unlike the other times, there was a snifter of brandy beside his right hand. It had not been touched. Yet.

  “Good afternoon, James.”

  His eyes swept over her, devouring. He took in her tired, resigned face, the gold of her hair spilling around her, the warm glow of her rich dark eyes. He looked at her as though he was a man starved for her sight. Daphne’s heart shuddered in her chest.

  “Daphne,” he breathed.

  She quietly sat down, folding her hands in her lap.

  “I have received an offer I would like to consider, James.”

  His gaze snapped up to her steady gaze. “What? I have received no additional offer.”

  She nodded. “Yes, he thought it best to see how I felt first before approaching you. I have been considering it carefully.”

  He closed his eyes, as though he could not bear to look at her anymore. It hurt, so much more than Daphne had ever thought it would. Her heart trembled in her chest. Deep, stabbing pain threatened to pull her down.

  She renounced it.

  “It is Elliot, James. I must say it is difficult to refute him. I could have everything I ever wanted.”

  James strode to the window, staring out at nothingness. Daphne to be wed. Daphne in another man’s arms. Daphne married. Pain stabbed, deep and insistent. It was his worst nightmare, a living horror that would never end.

  “You do realize it is only his interest in your wealth,” he growled.

  “I am not without intelligence, James. However, he agrees that I should maintain control. For whatever is spent on Lilac Manor, I will always know how it is spent. I want this,” she added quietly.

  James turned to stare at her, fury distorting his precious face. “I could deny you.”

  She nodded slowly. “You could,” she agreed lightly. “Will you, James?”

  He could not bear to look at her. He braced his hands on either side of the window, struggling to recall how to breathe. He took one, deep inhale of air, then another and another. It was his first instinct to fight, to maul and destroy. To take what his body demanded, to take her and damn the consequences.

  But that was something he could never do.

  “Are his kisses pleasing?” He had to know. It was torture, simply thinking about it, but he had to know.

  “I have not kissed him,” she admitted quietly. “I am comfortable with Elliot, James.”

  He turned to her, wild and savage as the rage boiled deep inside. “He will never make you wild, Daphne.”

  She beseeched him with liquid eyes. “James, when I came here, all I wanted was to go home, to have my freedom. Elliot can give me that.”

  He prowled the four walls of his prison, like a great snarling animal. His hands were fisted at his side, as though he would pummel her the first opportunity he had. She watched as he struggled to find a reason, any reason, to deny her. There were reasons, some of them quite plausible, but when he finally faced her, she knew by the resignation in his eyes that he would not push the point.

  “I will not deny you your wish, Daphne. It will take some time to call the banns and ready for a wedding, but I suppose I can permit him to officially call on you.”

  “James, I do not want a large wedding. I want it small and quiet and…” She trailed off as tears stung her eyes. “I want to be married as soon as possible.”

  “Daphne.” Her name was a curse.

  I love you, her heart cried. I need you. Give me one reason to stay, and I will.

  “Very well, a short betrothal and a rushed wedding. Another scandal will ensue.”

  “It does not matter. I do not plan to mingle in polite society in the future.”

  He cursed under his breath. He was losing her. Damnation, he had already lost her. There would not even be those short, momentary glimpses of her in the streets. There would be nothing.

  She would be gone.

  Quaking, James downed his brandy in one burning gulp.

  “You do not have to do this, Daphne. I would never—”

  “You should know it is because of me that Villiers is abed,” she said over him, over what more he could say to break her heart. “When I leave, the danger will be gone.”

  “Your maid—”

  “She did not poison him; she tried to poison me. She obviously did not pay attention to my habits, of course. If she did she would know I never drink chocolate because it leaves me feeling thirsty for hours afterward.”

  He nodded shortly. The authorities were already looking for the wicked Darcie. He would relay the information to them.

  “You should have told me this last night, sweet.”

  She turned away from his inquisitive gaze. She could not bear it. “You had enough worries at the time, James. I am telling you now.”

  “They will arrest her soon,” he tried to soothe.

  She rejected it with a shrug. “It is no longer important. Is this meeting over now? May I leave?”

  “No.”

  She glanced at him warily. “No?”

  “No, Daphne, it is not over. I am giving you what you desire.” His lips twisted in a horrible grimace. “Your home. A hasty wedding. Will you not give me something in return?”

  She shivered. He already had the greatest thing she could offer any man. He had her heart.

  “W-what?”

  James leaned down so his face was close to her. “Give me a kiss, Daphne. One last kiss to remember.”

  “That is not fair.”

  He smiled grimly. “It is what I want from you.”

  She pushed at his shoulders and stood. She would not finish this business without having equal standing with him. She took a long, deep breath. A kiss? Was this how he meant to kill her?

  James slowly framed her face in gentle hands. There was no backing out now. Daphne took a fortifying breath to prepare for his attack.

  When his lips finally touched hers, she knew she could never have prepared herself for the invasion. She could never have known or guessed how he would destroy all her defenses with sneaky tenderness. As his lips rubbed over hers, his breath mingled with hers, she felt herself falling, more deeply, more completely than ever before.

  It hurt. His tongue swept inside, and it hurt, loving him and needing him as she did, unable to give him the words and accept the need that burned inside him. She clung to him helplessly as he kissed her.

  And kissed her.

  Moaning, she wrapped her arms around his waist and held him to her heart. Tenderness was quickly replaced with heated desire. His hands buried in her hair, holding her face still as he slanted his mouth over hers, again and again and again. He suckled her full lower lip into his mouth, nibbling delicately, rubbing his tongue over it again and again, only to release it and find her tongue. They warred, tongue surging forward and retreating in a teasing dance.

  His hot mouth abandoned hers, only to trace a blazing trail down her throat, nibbling, licking, suckling the sensitive flesh, over and over again. Her head fell back, giving him greater access.

  He could not get close enough, could never get enough of her. Groaning, he cupped her buttocks and lifted her up. He grasped her legs, forcing her to wrap them around his waist. Frightened by this new intimate position, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and clung
.

  “Daphne,” James groaned as he took her mouth again.

  He kissed her with all he was worth, branding her, demanding her to give it all to him, only him, for all of eternity. He leaned her over his desk, following her down, kissing, loving her sweet, plump lips.

  He changed the intensity when he realized how close he was to demanding what she could not give him. Soothing them both, he tapered the kisses off, gently, moving back gradually until they were both touching and tasting in quiet, steady need.

  James somehow managed to pull his mouth from hers. He did not know how. It was nigh impossibly to leave her completely. He dropped his forehead to rest against hers.

  Daphne was out of breath, as though she had just run a great long distance. He found himself stroking her hair, her jaw, her arm, whatever he could touch.

  “Assumedly this is the point where you will tell me this never should have happened, that our desire was a mistake, and that this will never happen again,” she sighed miserably.

  The idyll was over. James pushed away from her.

  “I am going to apologize, say that should have happened many more times than it ever did, and I am going to miss you,” he told her stiffly.

  Daphne glared down. Her skirts were twisted around her stocking-clad thighs. She struggled to get up and shove them down again while James poured himself another drink.

  Kissing him again had not helped matters a single bit.

  “Good-bye, James.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Daphne desperately wanted to cry. She was warring with herself over issues of wants and needs, however. She wanted to crawl into that big, plush bed in his room and wait for James to come home. She wanted to wrap herself around him and hold on every single night until she had to leave. She wanted to spend every waking and sleeping moment in his arms.

  She needed to get away from him, before she pushed him into breaking his code of honor. She needed to return to Lilac Manor with a husband who would never push her or make impossible demands upon her. She needed a husband who would let her be as much as possible, who would look after the family estates with integrity and honesty.

  As tears were a want, and not a need, she refused them.

  Clad only a diaphanous nightrail and matching dressing gown, she padded barefoot into the study. James and Anna were gone for the night, as usual. She was all alone.

  She had checked on Villiers, who was comfortably sleeping. She was tired of painting and of reading and pacing and torturing herself with memories. It was a time of action.

  She sat down at the writing desk and began to pen a note to Elliot. She started to tell him outright that she accepted his proposal. As she peered at the words, they stood out blaringly. They seemed cold and rude and awful. She wadded up the parchment and started again.

  Impatient, she started again.

  It took time for her to force a warm salutation and speak of only good wishes in his new home. She wanted to convey friendship, more than anything else. She quickly found herself explaining about Villiers and her worry about him. It was so easy to pour her heart out on a lone sheet of parchment.

  She heard a crash in the front hall, and the sound of a woman crying out. Daphne glanced up, concerned. There were no additional sounds, however. She dipped her quill into the ink pot, deciding that someone had dropped something, perhaps a tray, or possibly they had even broken on of the expensive decorations that lined the hall. It was not important to her.

  A few moments later, when a vaguely familiar, and wholly unwanted figure burst into the library, it mattered a great deal. Daphne stared, uncomprehending, at the portly figure of Brentwood, standing there with sweat pouring down his chubby jowls, his stomach heaving with deep breaths.

  Daphne immediately stood up. “My Lord, what is the meaning of this intrusion?”

  “Don’t you go and talk to me like that, you brazen hussy! I have been waiting weeks for your attention. I have it now, don’t I?” He let out an awful guffaw of amusement. “We’re leaving.”

  Daphne stared at him as though he had gone completely mad. “What are you talking about?”

  “We are leaving. Now.”

  She simply stared at him. What was he doing here? Was this what that terrible sound had been? Why was he sweating?

  “My lord, has there been an accident.”

  Brentwood glared at her. “There will be if you don’t move. C’mon, bitch!”

  Daphne stood still, her mind racing. Brentwood was here. James was gone. Villiers was incapable of coming to her aid. This beast was suffering under some misconception that she would go anywhere with him. Her heart began to thud with fear.

  Think, Daphne ordered herself. She could not freeze now. If she lost her wits, she had no doubt this wretched man would take disgraceful advantage of the situation. She had to remain calm; she had to think.

  Forcing a smile, she stepped towards him, spreading her hands magnanimously. “My Lord, won’t you sit. I shall order refreshment, and we can discuss this…” Travesty, she thought. “This misunderstanding.”

  “The time of talk is over, you little slut. I have waited and waited. If you had taken the time, just once, to ride out with me, it would have never come to this.”

  Daphne blinked at him. “Come to what?” she asked quietly.

  He was in front of her in two strides. She stared at him, not understanding the glint in his mud-brown eyes until it was too late. His balled fist crashed into her cheek. Crying out in shock and pain, Daphne fell to the floor. For a moment, there was a blinding, burning light behind her eyes.

  Breathing heavily, she managed to rise to her feet again. Swaying slightly, she opened her mouth to speak. His fist crashed into her face again. Three more times he hit her until she lay on the floor, weak and shaking. She just wanted to close her eyes, to escape, but she knew if she did things could only get worse.

  He was going to keep hitting her until he killed her, or she agreed. Daphne blinked back tears. James had been right, he was an awful brute. Had she truly thought of marrying such a monster, just to be rid of James?

  James. Oh love, she thought sadly, forgive me.

  She would have to go with him. If she did not, she very much feared he would kill her before anyone could come to her aid. Even if James were to come through the door that instant, she could not bear for him to see her in such an inelegant position. That wasn’t even to mention what Brentwood might do to James and Anna before anyone could stop him.

  Daphne sat up, shoving tangled hair out of her eyes. Her face was throbbing. What would happen when she left? Would he take her somewhere and beat her into submission? Or worse, would he take what she should have openly offered to James? She closed her eyes, fighting the pain. She had been so foolish. If only she could see him one last time…

  “Please allow me to dress,” she whispered hoarsely, “and I shall gladly leave for wherever you wish to go.”

  “I don’t think so, Miss Davernay.” He leaned down and clamped her arm in a bruising, vice-like grip. The smell of sweat and meat permeated her senses as he dragged her up. “So you can call for help.”

  Daphne forced herself to look at the loathsome man. “I cannot go riding about London in naught but my dressing gown,” she snapped. “At least allow me shoes and a cloak.”

  His laughter was most obscene. “You won’t need shoes or clothes where you are going.”

  * * * *

  Chrysanthe peered around the corner, making sure none of the servants were about. She pulled her dressing gown more securely across her bodice as she padded down the hall.

  She had returned only a little over an hour past with Mama. Papa was still staying out of their way. He was absolutely convinced that Daphne was little better than a whore, although Mama had boxed his ears the last time he’d said such an unsavo
ry word in Chrysanthe’s presence. Personally, she thought Mama was being a trifle silly. Chrys knew much worse blasphemies than that particular word.

  Her heart was heavy. Slowly, she tiptoed downstairs. Daphne was making the biggest mistake of her life. Everyone knew it. Even Anna knew it, and she was still denying that there was aught between her brother and Daph other than a passing friendship. She absolutely refused to simply sit and watch while one of her best friends in all the world made the greatest mistake of her life.

  If Daphne refused to fight for the man she would, then Chrys would do it for her. Still, her heart ached in her breast at what she was about to do. Never, in her entire life, had she ever considered doing what she was about to do. She had never betrayed a single secret. She had never admitted to the mischief Daph and Anna had gotten into with her. But enough was enough. It was for Daphne’s own good.

  Besides, Chrysanthe comforted herself, she was not absolutely certain that Elliot Morton was innocent.

  She tiptoed to the doorway of the receiving room. She saw Mama sitting, twisting her hands together in agitation. She was still dressed in her ball gown. Chrysanthe inhaled sharply as she recognized her uncle. What was he doing here at this late hour?

  “Chrysanthe, don’t hover,” her uncle said in a bored tone of voice. “In or out, girl? Haven’t I told you never do a thing halfway?”

  Smiling slightly, Chrysanthe walked inside. Her uncle was a giant of a man with bulging muscle and sinew. He still stood straight and tall, a remarkable thing at his age, with keen, intelligent eyes and, she thought ruefully, very good hearing.

  “I thought you were abed, Chrysanthe,” Lady Sinclair said unhappily.

  She shrugged. “I heard the door, Mama.”

  Chrysanthe sat down on a small stool, staring up at her uncle with badly disguised awe. She had always looked up to him. He was so smart and brave, so intelligent. He did not mingle with society near as much as Mama thought he should. He worked hard in the war office, ferreting out spies and doing good deeds for the good of all England. She used to want to be just like him. In truth, she still did.