A Kiss to Remember
Page 22
He was a nightmare. She was beginning to wonder if he was inhuman. He had set an impossible pace and, even with all her experience, Daphne had been hard-set to keep up with him. He never stopped and she was beginning to wonder if his body did not have the same needs as everyone else. She had to beg for him to stop long enough to relieve herself. As if the mortification of that had not been enough, he had complained about the wasted time when she limped out from behind the bushes.
She was coming to dislike him a great deal.
Daphne let out a long, ragged sigh when they stopped outside the glossy brownstone. James swung down as if they had just come from a ride in Hyde Park rather than halfway across the island. Silently, he swung her down, making certain not to hold her longer than was necessary. She glared at his wide shoulders as he made towards the steps.
“Won’t you reconsider,” Daphne whispered angrily as she half-limped, half-hobbled up behind him.
“We have discussed this,” he whispered fiercely. “I will be held accountable for my actions, Miss Davernay.”
She rolled her eyes as he lifted the heavy brass knocker. He had been like this all day until he had finally insisted she drop the topic so they could make better time. At first, when he had announced his intentions, she had been overjoyed. Then reality had set in. Whatever else he had said, James did not appear at all excited about their upcoming nuptials.
James thought he was doing the honorable thing…the right thing, but for all the wrong reasons. He was marrying her because they had made love, she realized. She had wanted a night with him. Indeed, she would gladly sell her soul for an endless barrage of nights with him. But he did not want that. The Duke did not want her at all, she had realized as they rode together. He could barely stand to look at her now. He was marrying for her sake, not his. She was nothing more than a much-despised duty.
Closing her eyes miserably, she recalled the desperation that had overcome her before all this had come to pass. She had loved, had known her heart’s greatest desire, and accepted the futility of that wish. She had not sought to escape James because she feared herself, but because of the pain. Seeing him each day, knowing he would never be hers, had been the sheerest hell to endure.
How much worse would it be when he actually married her? She would be bound to him, an eternity without end, seeing him, knowing him, living with him, dependent upon only his condescension for her every breath. He would be forever within her reach, but never truly hers, not where it counted.
James might have wanted her at one time, but now that he’d been with her, she knew he had tasted his fill. He had not so much as offered her a brief kiss throughout this longest day. He had only rarely asked after her. She would love him until her last breath. To him, however, Daphne Davernay would only ever be a duty.
It was deplorable.
Daphne forced her eyes open when door finally opened. She somehow dragged herself into the modest entry and into the drawing room where Lady Sinclair’s manservant asked them to wait as he fetched his lady.
James sent Daphne a worried look. His mouth thinned as he stared at her. Stoop shouldered and bedraggled, she seemed nothing even remotely similar to the vibrant little butterfly he had known. Her hair fell in tangled knots around a pale face. There were dark circles beneath her eyes. She couldn’t even walk properly, he thought, furious with himself. He had treated her callously, as though she were a leman rather than a lady.
He renewed his vow to make it up to her for the rest of his life. She should be garbed in only the rarest of silks, not an offensive stretch of coarse wool. He shoved a fisted hand roughly into the pocket of his coat. If he were not a loathsome, vulgar lout, she would not be in this condition. At least he knew she would be safe when they were wed.
“Daphne, please,” he said roughly, losing control of his uncontrolled emotions, “sit.”
He grasped her arm. She immediately froze, as though terrified he would attack her. A low, keening cry rose deep within his chest. He released her at once. God! What had he done to her?
He drew his fingers back through his mismanaged hair in frustration as Lady Sinclair walked in.
“Your Grace,” she greeted him formally. “Miss Davernay!”
Daphne sent Lady Sinclair a tired smile.
“Oh, you must be exhausted. Please, sit down. Are you hungry?”
“I cannot stay overlong,” James said stiffly, opting to remain standing.
Lady Sinclair took Daphne by the hand and led her to a plump settee, forcing her down. Daphne collapsed inelegantly, exhaustion taking over.
Lady Sinclair sent the Duke of Cheney a worried glance. “My dear, whatever happened? You look terrible.”
“It was terrible, my lady,” Daphne admitted in a low whisper. “That… that awful man took me to Gretna Green!”
Chrysanthe’s mother grasped her hand in alarm. “But you are uninjured?” Please, Lady Sinclair thought wretchedly. Let the girl be all right.
“I am well enough,” Daphne lied.
“I was hoping you could extend your hospitality for a few days, Lady Sinclair,” James interrupted determinedly. “As soon as I can make arrangements, Miss Davernay and I are to be wed.”
“Please,” she whispered pleadingly.
Lady Sinclair glanced from Daphne to the obdurate Duke. “I shall be pleased to help however I might,” she said carefully.
He nodded brusquely. “Miss Davernay needs house room until I can make the arrangements.”
“Oh, please allow me to host a wedding,” Lady Sinclair interrupted.
Daphne sent her a horrified look.
She smiled serenely. “It will give the girls something to do while we wait. Surely you shall permit Lady Annalise to remain with us, as well?”
He bowed his head regally.
Daphne turned to her hostess, her eyes beseeching ineffectually. “It is not necessary—”
“Miss Davernay, there will be a wedding, whether you will it or nay,” James thundered. “I suggest you resign yourself to planning a quick, quiet wedding, to your pleasure. I promise you unlimited resources.”
“Your Grace, you must be exhausted,” Lady Sinclair hurriedly interjected. She had noticed how Daphne blanched as his merciless tone. “Please, will you not allow me to call for refreshment.”
His eyes bore into Daphne’s. “You are gracious, my lady, but no. There is much to do.”
Daphne blinked back tears. She could not bear what he meant to do.
James remembered himself and bowed to Lady Sinclair. “Your servant, madam. Miss Davernay,” he added more coolly.
Chrysanthe’s mother stared after him for several long moments after he had left, a baffling look on her face. She seemed to remember, herself, though, and turned to Daphne with a forced cheerfulness she did not believe the dear woman could actually feel.
“I dare say you are starved,” she said kindly. “What would you like first? Food? A bath?”
Daphne smiled tentatively. “A bath would be good.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Daphne walked slowly into the parlor, careful not to overtax her sore, aching muscles. She looked around curiously. Chrysanthe had rarely invited her friends over to visit. Daphne used to think it was because she was worried her home could not meet up to their expectations but as she stared at the outstanding décor, not to mention the handsomely attired woman to whom all this belonged, she could not help but wonder what Chrys had been worried about.
“There she is,” Annalise crooned, half-rising from her perch upon a comfortable chair upholstered in fine brocade in her eagerness.
Daphne smiled faintly. It was so wonderful to be surrounded in a bower of women at last. She had not realized how much she could miss her friends until she had been deprived of their comforting support and their bickering and jests. It was
like having a stray beam of sunlight flicker through drawn draperies on the most dreary of days.
“Come, my dear child; sit by me,” Lady Sinclair invited, patting the settee where she sat with a steaming cup of chocolate.
Annalise poured Daphne a cup of tea while she slowly walked across the room. The bath had helped a great deal, but her thighs were still throbbing incessantly. She felt mismatched as she sat down, oddly out of place in the outstanding room. They had a difficult time finding aught Daphne could borrow until her own clothes arrived. Both Lady Sinclair and Chrysanthe were quite petite and small-boned. Even Annalise was too slim for Daphne to stretch into her clothes. Lady Sinclair had finally found an old, flowing dressing gown she had worn while pregnant with Chrysanthe.
Daphne sat comfortably for several long minutes, sipping at her tea. It was almost amusing. All three women were staring at her as though they expected her to break out into song at any moment. She knew they expected her to admit aught that had happened to her since she had disappeared. Daphne had no such intentions, however, although she knew she would have to admit a great deal.
Chrysanthe was the first to break. She had always been the most impatient.
“So? Tell us what happened, Daph! We’ve been dying with suspense.”
“And worry,” Annalise hastily added, as though Daphne might misunderstand what Chrys had meant.
Daphne sighed and sat the tea into her lap. It was most unnerving to have three pairs of female and, admittedly, intelligent eyes gawking at her.
She cleared her throat nervously and began, “Well, I suppose you know most of it. Earl of Brentwood broke into the Duke’s home a few days ago and kidnapped me.”
“But why?” Annalise wondered. “I mean, we have ideas why he did it, but why did he really do it?”
“You know he was pursuing me and that I was avoiding him, Annalise,” Daphne retorted simply. “He got tired of waiting, I suppose. He took me out of the house and into a hack he had obtained for the occasion.”
Daphne stopped and frowned, considering how much to tell them. She wasn’t about to admit how terrified she had been, or any of his numerous threats. Nor did she have any desire to explain how he had coerced her into cooperating with his malevolent plans. Self-consciously, she dipped her head so that her hair would mostly cover her cheek. Although it had healed nicely, there was still the briefest shadow of a bruise marring her face.
Daphne cleared her throat. “He took me to Gretna Green,” she continued quietly. “I knew my time was about out if I wanted to find a way out of the… situation.”
She glanced up at them with an amused smile in her eye. “Gretna isn’t at all romantic,” she added furtively. “It was terrible and muddy and ugly. I cannot understand why so many ladies speak so fondly of the place.”
Lady Sinclair chuckled slightly, amused. She sent Daphne a benevolent beam.
“But how did you get away?” Chrysanthe demanded abruptly.
Daphne told them briefly of how she tricked the minister and how he, and everyone else as far as she could tell, refused to help her. She told them how she spent most of the night running away, in the mud, hiding in first one place and then another.
“Then he caught me,” she sighed. “But it was okay. Jam-erm, the Duke arrived. He saved me.”
Lady Sinclair lifted her brows. “He saved you, dear girl?”
Daphne shifted uncomfortably. She had absolutely no intention at all, whatsoever, of ever telling another soul about that moment. Just thinking about it made her heart pound. James had been so frightful, so absolute. He had not hesitated at all when he had gunned down Brentwood. She did not want anyone else to know what happened.
Especially Anna.
“Yes, my guardian saved me,” Daphne repeated more forcefully. “He put me on his horse and we rode most of the night. He did not want to stop at an inn until we were safely back in England.” Or so she had assumed, anyhow. He had not precisely said so much to her, had he?
“Then what happened?” Chrys wanted to know.
Daphne smiled. “He found an inn and we stayed the night. He purchased a dress for me as mine was beyond redemption. In the morning, he had a horse for me, and we rode here in all haste.”
“Uh, Daphne,” Annalise said weakly.
“Yes, Anna?”
“You left something out.”
Daphne blinked. “Did I?”
“You did,” Lady Sinclair agreed benignly.
“L-like what?”
Chrys glowered. “Like why you are going to be marrying as soon as possible.”
Daphne gulped. “We aren’t,” she announced defensively.
Lady Sinclair patted her hand. “He appears to have other ideas, my dear. Perhaps we could help?”
Daphne let out a long sigh of relief. Possibly Lady Sinclair could talk James out of his ridiculous notions. Or help her run away. Or… anything that might save her and James from what he meant to do.
“He is being utterly foolish,” Daphne confided passionately.
“How?” they all wanted to know.
“Well, the inn had only one room available,” she lied. James hadn’t even asked, she recalled. He had wanted one room, period. The end. “We were forced to share a room for the night. Because of this he seems to believe my reputation shall be utterly ruined unless he… rectifies the situation somehow.”
Annalise sent her a disbelieving look.
“It is true,” Daphne spat feelingly.
“No one said it was not,” Lady Sinclair murmured knowingly. Daphne’s version of the events appeared to have some gaping holes. She could easily fill in the blanks herself. “But if what you say is true…”
“Would I lie to you? To my friends?” Daphne felt a twinge of guilt for doing just that.
“Would you?” Anna worried.
“Where did you sleep?”
Daphne frowned down at her tea. She took a sip and nearly choked. It was now lukewarm and not at all palatable. “Um, it was a bit cold so I slept under the covers. He slept on top.”
“On top of what?” Chrysanthe asked slyly.
Daphne flushed with embarrassment. “The covers!”
“My dear, your guardian is correct,” Lady Sinclair interrupted the amusing exchange. “You are quite ruined now.”
Daphne shrugged. “I was already ruined.”
“For one Season, perhaps merely two,” Chrysanthe’s mother chided. “If you spent a night alone with a man, any man, you are wholly ruined now.”
“But Elliot would marry me anyway,” she pouted. “Indeed, I dare say he would marry me if I had slept with the whole of the Royal Calvary.”
“Daphne Davernay,” Annalise gasped, horrified.
Chrysanthe sniggered. “See? I told you she was becoming more like me.”
“That isn’t something to boast about,” her mother scolded her meaningfully.
“But Lady Sinclair, I cannot possibly wed to…him,” Daphne said hotly. “I have an understanding with my…with Elliot,” she supplied. In truth, it was difficult to see her cousin as a husband. “What will happen to him?”
“He is a man grown, my dear, indeed elder to you by several years, unless I miss my guess. He is capable of taking care of himself.”
“But—”
“Daphne,” Lady Sinclair said in a voice that brooked no argument, “you must marry the Duke of Cheney.”
Chrysanthe and Annalise shared a worried look. Daphne was looking petulant and, unless they misjudged her, not at all inclined to go along with the plan. Had they miscalculated her true sentiments for her guardian?
More gently, Lady Sinclair added, “Truly, dear child, the sooner you accept this, the better all shall be. When you accept, we can begin.”
Daphne blinked. “Begin
what?”
“Why, planning a wedding fit for a duchess, of course.”
* * * *
“The pink satin!”
“No, the gold brocade.”
“Try the Venetian silk.”
Daphne stood still, goggling, as a harried seamstress slid bolts of fabric over her shoulders as the women argued and made impossible suggestions until surely the Frenchwoman would throw up her hands and refuse to finish the job.
Daphne shrugged out from beneath a pile of cloth and marched over to her hostess, fisting her hands on her hips. “This is utterly ridiculous, your ladyship! This is a mockery of a wedding. The Duke does not want much of anyone present. A waste of coin and time, and I for one—”
“Will suffer through the indignity of it all with nobility and decorum, as any grateful duchess should,” Chrysanthe’s mother told her threateningly.
Chrysanthe goggled the two women. Daphne had just risen in her regard. She had never seen anyone stand up to her mother before. Her respect intensified tenfold as Daphne scowled menacingly.
“I mean no disrespect, my lady, but I am not a duchess, I am just Dumpy Daphne. I don’t want a wedding gown, I don’t want diamonds and I most certainly do not wish to wed that barbaric scoundrel,” she said, her voice rising up until she was shouting at the very end.
Lady Sinclair lifted a brow in fascination. “Well done, Daphne. Add a few years, and you should have all the ton cowed.”
Daphne stomped to the window, muttering under her breath all the while. Chrysanthe distinctly heard something about men and she thought she heard a few blasphemies aimed at her mother, as well. Chrysanthe had never dared such irreverence in her life. One look at the livid look in her mother’s eyes, and she knew she never would be quite so brave.
Helena Sinclair was capable of great kindness. She could nurture and love like the best of them, but when riled, her temper was insurmountable.
Chrysanthe would never dare to chance her ire. Nope. No way. Not in this lifetime.