A Kiss to Remember

by Rebecca Minto

  “Everything looks delicious, Daphne. Did you order the menu yourself?”

  Silently, she shook her head. “Am I supposed to?”

  He nodded wordlessly. “You will learn. I would have thought the boarding school would have taught you such things.”

  She shifted. “I suppose they did…in their way.”

  He chewed thoughtfully on chilled lobster. “What do you mean?” he asked slowly.

  “They never went into detail on actual duties we would have as wives,” Daphne explained. “They must have expected our mothers would teach us. Mostly they focused on the importance of lineage and fashion. We also learned other things,” she added hastily when he frowned.

  “What other things?”

  “Oh, we learned French and our numbers, we did a brief study of some of the classics. I refined my painting techniques. Chrysanthe was always the best at music, of course.”

  “Of course. It is difficult to comprehend the scope of her talent.”

  Daphne shrugged. “Each of us had our own…specialty, I suppose.”

  “As in your art?”

  She nodded. “They were difficult years. The instructors were stern. Misbehavior was dealt with efficiency and severely. We needed an escape. I had my art.”

  “Annalise her books?”

  “Hmm. Perhaps her mind more than mere books,” Daphne smiled fondly. “She was always up to something. Of everything Chrys got into, it was Annalise that got us into the most trouble, testing her hypotheses.”

  James smiled. “I did not hear about that.”

  “She does not like to talk about it,” Daphne explained. “I used to wonder that her intelligence did not embarrass her.”

  “I suppose you missed your father while you were at school.”

  Daphne nodded sadly. “I did, yes, but he feared he could not teach me all I needed to learn.”

  “It is customary for parents to hire tutors for the education of their daughters.”

  Daphne nodded. “But there are some things that a mother must teach her child, such as planning meals,” she said with a smile. “I did not have a mother.”

  “I doubt you felt the loss.”

  Daphne’s eyes clouded. “Of course I did,” she murmured. “Papa told me she was looking after me from Heaven, so in a way I thought she was there, but it wasn’t the same.”

  He took a deep gulp of champagne. The conversation was making him nervous. “I am sure your expectation of her was slightly skewered.”

  “Papa told me all about her.” Daphne sighed and forced the maudlin recollections aside. “What about your childhood, James? I know you, too, lost your mother.”

  “I was old enough to remember her,” he told her stiffly.

  “Was she pretty?”

  “Exceptionally.”

  “Was she kind?”

  James smiled bitterly. “Not at all.”

  “You do not want to talk about this,” Daphne realized.

  “I do not,” he agreed.

  They ate in tense silence for several long minutes. James realized he was making a muck of things. So much for charming, he thought ruefully. He would be lucky if she didn’t bar him from her chambers after an entire afternoon spent together.

  Determined, he tried again. “You seem to have a great fondness for Lilac Manor. Tell me about your favorite spots.”

  Daphne warmed at once. Her face softened, losing the tension and strain. “My absolutely favorite spot was the lake. I would sit there for hours, thinking or painting. I actually painted the lake itself.”

  “There is a lake here.”

  She nodded, she wasn’t thinking about Cheney Fold. “I also enjoyed spending time with Papa in his study. He would let me stay there with him while I played or painted, or just looked out the window. Those are my warmest memories.”

  James finished his champagne thoughtfully. “Why is it called Lilac Manor.”

  Daphne laughed. “Some ancestor named it for his wife. Apparently, she enjoyed the blooms. Even today, there is an abundance of lilacs growing in the gardens.”

  “Perhaps you would like to tour our gardens?” James suggested.

  “Oh?” Daphne wasn’t in the mood for gardens.

  “We have wonderful gardens here, Daphne. I believe you will take particular interest in the pleasure gardens.”

  “P-pleasure gardens?”

  “Then there is the maze…”

  Her eyes widened fractionally. “A maze?”

  “Would you care to take a stroll? After you finish eating, of course.”

  Daphne glanced down at her nearly full plate. She had suddenly lost her appetite. “I am finished,” she said weakly.

  James rose, smiling. Daphne took his arm as he led her down the steps. His arm was steady and warm beneath her fingers. She squeezed slightly, testing his muscle. He was so strong, she thought to herself. It never ceased to amaze her how different their bodies were.

  “Perhaps the maze first?” James suggested. “Let us see if we can puzzle our way out.”

  “James, may I ask you a question?”

  “Of course, Daphne.”

  She cleared her throat nervously. “Ah, do you entertain all that much?”

  He glanced down at her. “I have been known to on occasion. Why?”

  “Oh, n-no reason.”

  “Is anything wrong, wife?”

  Wrong? She almost snorted. Why would he think anything could possibly be wrong? He only lived in the biggest mansion in all of England, possibly the whole of Europe, he had pleasure gardens and mazes and who knew what else hiding in his arsenal of opulence. And he was known to throw parties and balls, probably some musicales, too.

  Oh, no, there was nothing wrong at all, not unless one considered the fact that Daphne was an absolute failure at all things social. That wasn’t even to mention that she had no idea as to how about organizing a small, intimate luncheon, not to mention a ball. Perhaps the fact that the one time she had actually tried to hostess a meal she had failed dismally should have given him a clue.

  Whatever would give him the idea that something was the matter?

  She suddenly stopped, frowning.

  “James, we come from very different worlds, don’t we?”

  “Does it matter, sweet?”

  Daphne looked up at him. He suddenly turned her, wrapping his arms around her waist. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to slide her hands up to his shoulders.

  When he kissed her, it was tender. Tenderly, he pressed his mouth to her, cherishing her with breath and tongue. She could only kiss him back, comforting herself with the press of bodies and mouths.

  When he released her, when she stared into the warmth of his vibrant leopard’s eyes, it didn’t seem to matter at all.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  He had to leave.

  That was all there was to it. James came to this realization two weeks later when he entered his office. Frantically, he locked the door, but he knew it was a futile barrier.

  He roughly shoved his fingers through his hair. There was no choice for it, he had to leave. He had to finish his work. He had to get away from her.

  He spent entirely too much time with his winsome wife, and it wasn’t because she turned those enormous doe eyes on him and begged. She certainly didn’t have to cry and ask him to stay. He did it because he wanted to. Dear Lord, how he wanted to.

  He would awaken, hard and aching for his wife. Then, they would take breakfast together, usually feeding each other bits of food with their fingers, and when the situation called for it, other parts of their bodies. They usually needed a bath by that time and damn if he didn’t usually opt to bathe with her.

  Then, they might stroll about the many chamber
s of his home, with Daphne asking questions or suggesting small changes that might lighten the atmosphere. She wanted his opinion, for sweet Christ’s sake, and damn if he didn’t give her one, each and every time, even if he had to make one up! Of course, there was the side benefit of finding a shadowy corridor where he could make love to her again.

  And they talked. Lord how they would talk. He was coming to learn his wife very well. Too damned well! As if that weren’t bad enough, he was coming to feel things. Treacherous things. Things that he didn’t want to feel, damn it. He certainly didn’t want his heart beat to accelerate whenever he looked at her, which was constantly. Nor did he like the way his stomach knotted when she smiled. Sighed. Bloody hell, when she so much as blinked! He certainly didn’t like the possessive way he was getting to be around her. He found himself jealous of her paintbrush the one day he had managed to put some time into his work. Ah, to be caressed in that hand…

  Growling in frustration, he paced the confines of the four walls. That was another problem. He’d always heard that a man’s sex drive lowered after he married. Why was it, then, that James had never wanted sex so much in his life? He was getting it so often he wondered that he hadn’t keeled over from the shock of it.

  A woman wasn’t supposed to be addictive, but damn if he wasn’t addicted to Daphne. Every single time he saw her, he went rigid. The more he took her, violently, tenderly, slowly, hastily— it didn’t appear to matter how he did it— he only wanted her more. She was a constant craving beneath his skin.

  He sent the door a scathing look. So, that door, bolted or not, would be no protection against the driving whirlwind that had invaded his sanctuary. Her name was Daphne, and she was an incessant force to drug him and drive him slowly madness. He doubted he should last ten minutes without going to check on her, which would lead to…

  Sex. Just thinking about it made him hard. He shut his eyes. He had to leave. That’s all there was to it. He would leave, return to the townhouse in solitude. He would do his work. He might even go out and prove to himself that there were more attractive women out there than his wife. When he returned, James would be immune to her power over him and her tenacious grip over his weak mind.

  He would leave. He thought of her sleepily sated body waiting upstairs.

  Tomorrow, he decided weakly.

  * * * *

  Daphne smiled at her James as they strolled, hand-in-hand, upstairs. He had been the most attentive husband throughout the past week. It had been better than her most forbidden dreams. She had been wrong to worry that their marriage was doomed.

  As he shut the door to her chamber, she slowly began to remove the pins from her hair. She shook it back, reveling in the feel of it unbound and free. She felt his hands cup her shoulders and turn her around.

  “Daphne, there is something I needs tell you,” James said in such quiet tone.

  Her hands came to rest on his hips. She steadily looked into his warm eyes. “What is wrong?”

  His hands stroked up and down her arms. “Sweetheart, I have to return to London.”

  “W-what?”

  “I am sorry, sweetheart. It is a business matter. It can’t wait.”

  Daphne blinked. They were leaving this big house? She shrugged. She would be glad to return to the more comfortable abode in town. Though she did prefer the countryside, the townhouse was much more suitable to her preferences.

  “When do we leave?”

  James let her go. She felt his withdrawal acutely. Even as her heart began to race, she forced the anxiety away. There was no law that said he had to touch her twenty four hours a day.

  Although he usually did.

  “We aren’t going anywhere, Daphne. I am going to London.”

  Alone. Without her. I’m not invited.

  Abruptly, she whirled away, striding to the doors that led onto her balcony. Tears flooded her eyes. Oh God, she was going to cry. This wasn’t happening.

  She would not believe it, Daphne thought furiously. James would not just leave her here to wither away, not like all those other husbands had. He would never do such a horrible thing to her. Never!

  She heard him exhale wearily. She knew what he would do next. It was what he always did when she was upset. Sure enough, a moment later, he was behind her, rubbing the tension out of her shoulders.

  “I wish I didn’t have to go, Daphne. If I could put it off, I would. Surely you understand…”

  Daphne inhaled sharply. She would not cry. She would not humiliate herself so completely.

  “You said yourself your father was often busy…”

  “Yes, I understand, James. Forgive me, but I do not understand why I may not accompany you.”

  He winced at the cold civility of her tone. It was her shield. It was her only defense against hurt. Damn it; it hurt him that he was hurting her now.

  “Daphne, you knew you would be ostracized when we married.”

  “I was an outcast already,” she reminded him thickly.

  “It will be worse now, Daphne. I go for business alone. You would be bored, sweetheart. There is so much here for you to learn. Plus…”

  She turned around to face him. “Yes, James?”

  He cleared his throat. It was damned difficult to lie to her.

  “There isn’t time to take the hack. I have to ride.”

  “I am a sturdy horsewoman.”

  “The last time you rode so far and fast, you paid the price,” he patiently reminded her.

  “That was just because—” she broke off as her cheeks filled with color.

  “It was a factor,” he conceded, “but not the only reason.”

  “I see.”

  She stormed to the armoire and pretended to hunt for a nightrail. Preferably a prudish one. Ugly and unattractive and-

  “Daphne, I have many duties.”

  “I know.” She swallowed heavily. “Believe me; I know you do.”

  He sighed in relief.

  “How long will you be gone?”

  Damn.

  “I don’t know.”

  A fortnight? A month? A year?

  She turned around and stared into his eyes. “How long, James?”

  “Possibly a fortnight,” he mumbled. “Damn it, Daphne, I don’t know.”

  A fortnight wasn’t so bad, she thought. It would seem like a long time, but truly, she stayed with Lady Sinclair that long, so surely she could survive two weeks alone here.

  She let out a sigh of relief. Maybe he was just going there for unavoidable business. She could only hope that her worst fears were not coming true.

  “I am very tired tonight.”

  “I see.” And he did see, all too well. She was struggling not to show him how disappointed she truly was. It touched his heart. It hardened his resolve to leave at first light. “Aren’t you going to get ready for bed?”

  Daphne shrugged.

  James gave in to the desperation that rung in his blood. He pulled her into his arms, needing to soothe. He slid his fingers through her hair, marveling at the velvety feel for what had to be the thousandth time. Would he ever tire of touching her this way?

  Groaning, he lowered his mouth to hers. One last night, he thought, to rid himself of this madness. Growling, he ravaged her mouth with an intensity that had her crying out in alarm. He bit down hard on her lower lip, licking the abrasion, demanding a response from her.

  His blood rang in his ears, a deafening roar. His hands streaked up and down her silk-clad body, yanking her against him, rubbing himself against her even as he demanded a response from her. The need was an intoxication. He lost all semblance of control as he touched and tasted. He could have wept with joy as the feel of her against him. He plundered and took, more and more until he heard her terrified cry, a muffled whimper again
st his tongue.

  He pulled back at once, aghast at what he was doing, only to realize what he had done. Her gown and shift lay in tatters at her teeth. He had not realized he had done it. It was a terrifying thought. Worrying that he had hurt her, he examined her delicate skin, searching for abrasions.

  “James, what has gotten in to you?” Daphne asked worriedly.

  He slid his hands up over her breasts. “I want to take my wife to bed,” he choked.

  “Jam-mph.”

  His mouth returned to hers, devouring her as he backed her towards the bed. When her knees hit the edge of the mattress, they both fell in a tangle of legs. He rolled to his side so he would not crush her and let his hands roam freely. She slowly began to soften beneath his gentle touch, even as he kissed her.

  And kissed her.

  “I never tire of your taste,” he hummed as he moved his lips down her throat.

  Daphne wanted to tell him she never tired of his taste. Or scent. Or touch. But he robbed her of breath as his fingers slipped inside her demandingly. She whimpered; she wasn’t ready yet, but he seemed to realize that at once, and retreated. His hand cupped her, gently rubbing the heel of his hand back and forth until she began to feel those delicious spirals of pleasure ripple across her belly. She sighed exultantly as his mouth found her breasts.

  “Mmm.” James loved her breasts. Truly stupendous breasts. Soft as silk, fragrant as a flower garden. High and taut and always eager for his attention. He nibbled, decadent little love bites that had her whimpering, laving until she sighed, biting hard until she cried out in a dark mingle of pained pleasure, suckling her deep and hard until she clawed at him.

  His fingers thrust deep inside her, finding her hot and wet and ready. Growling, he rose over her and found her mouth once more. He kissed her savagely and led her hand right where he wanted it.

  “Touch me,” he demanded.

  As he deepened the kiss, she struggled to unbutton his trousers. She fumbled several times, at last managing to open the gap. He sprung free, swollen and more than ready. Whimpering as he sucked on her lower lip, she fondled him lovingly.