A Kiss to Remember

by Rebecca Minto

  She huffed. “Don’t you dare remind me—”

  “I am reminding you,” he interrupted impatiently. “Daphne, don’t be foolish. You think I took a mistress. I am telling you I did not.”

  “You expect me to be foolish enough to fall for such lies?”

  He stood slowly, a sinuous stretch that was a dangerous reminder of just what he was capable of. Daphne gulped. It was far too late to take it back now.

  “Are you calling me a liar, dear wife?”

  She lifted her chin defiantly. “You lied before. How am I to know what words are truth? I can never trust your word again.”

  The quiet conviction stopped him from crossing to her at once. He wanted to shake some sense into her. When she was finished with her tantrum, he would take her to bed, he would make her forget that she had ever heard such foul untruths. She was not simply striking out at him now, however. She believed him to be a liar.

  “When have I ever lied to you, Daphne?” he demanded starkly.

  Her lips trembled. “When you said how long you would be gone.” Feeling vulnerable, she wrapped her arms around her belly. “You knew then you would be away far longer, didn’t you?”

  He swallowed with difficulty. She was right. He had lied to her. He had intended to. Apparently, he had not been quite as convincing as he’d thought.

  “I am sorry, Daphne.”

  “A fortnight, James?” She snorted. “A lot can happen in two months.”

  “Admittedly. Shall I ask how you have changed in these past two months? Did you perhaps take a lover in my absence?”

  She flushed. “And who would you suggest I…” She could not even finish the thought, it was so hideous.

  “A footman perhaps or there is always your amorous cousin. Morton, I believe his name was.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous!”

  James lifted a brow. “Daphne, stop this. It serves no purpose.”

  She turned away. It hurt to look at him.

  Sighing, James came ‘round his desk and placed his hands on her shoulders. He was furious with her for not believing him. He was furious with himself for ignorantly expecting her to be happy to see him after all this time. Of course she would be upset and hurt. Damn it, he still didn’t quite know what to do with her.

  Kneading her stiff shoulders, he tried to find something to make her see the truth.

  “Sweetheart—”

  “Stop it,” she hissed.

  “Baby—”

  She jerked away from him, eyes flashing. “Do you say those abominations so you won’t have to remember my name?”

  “What?”

  “Sweetheart, baby, darling, buttercup… Aiieee! I am sick of them! Do you call Miss Saint James by those names? Does it make it easier for you?”

  James blinked. “I have never, in all my life, called you buttercup. Sweetheart,” he added, just to provoke her.

  She growled.

  He smiled. “Daphne, I use endearments because you…you matter. You are my wife. You—”

  “—are sick and tired of being your unworthy duty!”

  He grabbed her, pulling her close. His hands framed her face, forcing her to look into his eyes. “You are not a duty.”

  “Am I not even worth that much of you?” she choked.

  He let out an impatient breath. Stroking his fingers through her hair, memorizing her flushed, miserable face, he said, “You are a pleasure. You are my joy. You are never, ever a duty.”

  He turned her, wrapping his arms around her waist and hugging her back against him. Nodding to the desk, he said, “See all that? There lies my duty. Do you honestly think I would take you to bed so often if you were no more than a obligation?”

  She pulled away, shaken by his words. She didn’t want to believe his lies. If she started to believe them, and he left again, it would destroy her. With hands that shook violently, she shoved her hair away from her face.

  “You take me to bed to beget your heir. I am not foolish, James. I know what my duty is. I was raised for it.”

  “You think I…” James sputtered. He shook his head violently as though struggling to free it of an unwanted vision. “That is daft!”

  She crossed her arms. Studying her, he came to a decision.

  “Very well, Daphne. When is your menses.”

  Vivid color flooded her cheeks. “I cannot discuss such things with you!” she hissed.

  James studied her woodenly. “I have touched every inch of your body, sweetheart. I would think there is nothing off-limits by now.”

  She shook her head. “This is an indecent topic of discussion.”

  “How do you expect me to know when I cannot come to your bed?” James demanded harshly. “Tell me, when is your monthly due?”

  Blushing violently, she told him in a choked voice.

  He nodded. He did quick calculations in his head. “Very well. I will not come to your bed during your fertile cycle.”

  “What?” she cried.

  He sent her a steely glare. “You are suffering under some misconception that I am desirous of getting you with child.” An image of her, flushed and plump with his seed, flashed behind his eyes. His body reacted immediately.

  “I do not understand,” she said weakly.

  “It is quite simple, Daphne. Until you can allow yourself to believe that I want you, I shall not touch you while you are most likely to conceive. Is that clear enough?”

  Her fingers curled around the material of her gown over her belly. No child? Her heart screamed in denial. She felt cold, bereft.

  “I want children,” she rasped brokenly.

  He nodded. “So do I, sweet. I want to fill these walls with them, but not at the cost of your happiness. When you are convinced that I am not simply using you to… How did you put it, to beget an heir? When you understand I want you for the right reasons, I will consider extending our family.”

  Blindly, Daphne turned. No children. A vast expanse of the lonely years ahead stretched before her eyes. No babies with her husband’s dark hair to cuddle to her breast. Her womb ached at the loss.

  “Daphne, I have not given you my leave,” James reminded her.

  She turned to face him again. “Is there more?”

  He nodded grimly. “There is more,” he allowed. “Won’t you be seated?”

  She made for a chair.

  “Not there,” he said with a warning smile.

  She gulped. She knew exactly what he wanted. Heart pounding, she circled his desk. He yanked her into his lap none too gently. Her body reacted at once to his heat, the possessive way his forearm rested upon her belly.

  “I want you to stay inside until I say otherwise,” James told her gruffly.

  Daphne stared up at him. “What? Is this a punishment?”

  He shook his head. “I can hardly imagine you want to go riding or strolling through the gardens. It is storm season, baby. You could slip and fall or, worse, riding your horse could slip and break her leg. You could catch a chill. The possibilities are endless.”

  She could be ambushed, he thought angrily, by some thoughtless fool who meant to hurt her.

  She felt the tension in him and fretted. “But James…what am I to do all day?”

  “Arrange the household to suit your preferences,” he suggested dryly. “Redecorate. Learn how to plan menus. Whatever you like, dearest. Perhaps you should think what you would like to do for Christmas. It is only a few months away, you know.”

  She gulped. “But James—”

  “Give me your word you will not leave the house, Daphne.”

  She sent him a furious look. “Not even to see Chrysanthe to her buggy?”

  He smiled. “We will both see her out. Unless I am with you, I do not want you out
side. Do I have your word?”

  “But—”

  “Your word, Daphne.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Surely—”

  He cocked a brow. She sighed.

  “You have my word.”

  He nodded, relieved. If naught else, he could trust her word.

  * * * *

  “It is boring since Chrysanthe left, isn’t it?” Daphne complained one dreary afternoon.

  Annalise glanced up from her latest book, a new publication about female reproductive health. It was the most scandalous book of the moment, made all the more by the doctor’s progressive view about complications during breach.

  “It seems rather peaceful to me. Listen to this, Daphne—”

  She held up a hand. “Please, no more, Anna. It is difficult enough.”

  Annalise sent her a sympathetic look. “He still has not abated on this ridiculous stance?”

  Daphne shook her head miserably. She was feeling rather morose. She was in what James called her fertile cycle, which meant he would not touch her. It was becoming more and more tempting to rip his clothes from his body and have her wicked way with him, whether he was willing or nay.

  She sighed glumly. She’d vowed she would not steep so low ever again. She was suddenly regretting that decision, however. Her body was thrumming with need more than ever.

  It was all his fault, of course. He had said he wouldn’t make love to her, and he kept his word. Of course, that did not mean he wouldn’t torment her. He actually appeared to take inordinate pleasure in driving her daft.

  The contrary man went to bed with her every single night, even when she was on her monthly despite her protestations. He would hold her and cuddle her. He would kiss her until she was a puddle of molten need. He would rub her back and whisper little endearments that she pretended to despise in her ear until she fell asleep longing for him. She suspected he knew his effect on her and did it on purpose.

  She wanted to leave. She wanted to ride out and feel the crisp autumn air on her cheeks, the icy coils running through her hair. She would do anything, absolutely anything, for a ride. Yet, she could not. She had promised that she wouldn’t. Daphne Davernay never, ever broke a vow once made.

  Standing, she strode to the window to stare out into the dreary afternoon. She was going crazed, staying inside all the time. She was so bored. Bored, bored, bored and beyond. She had already planned the menus for the next two months. It actually wasn’t nearly as difficult as she had once thought it would be.

  She had also gone through the house, trying to decide what changes she would like to make. Everything was so lovely already, all she knew to do was hang a few of her own portraits up to replace some of the more stodgy ones. During the spring, it would be nice to have some fresh flowers, too.

  It wasn’t that she hadn’t thought of making more drastic changes, of course. She had. She had even ordered a booklet of sample papers for the walls. She had abandoned that chore when she found herself sighing over papers for a new nursery. Disgusted with herself, she had packed it all away, absolutely refusing to think about such things.

  She was becoming more and more obsessed with the prospect of having a child. She found herself hoping that James had miscalculated her fertile time. She found herself thinking more and more about tiny fingers and toes. Daphne had always loved to cuddle the crofter’s wee ones. Imagining that she could have one of her own was making her crazed.

  It was difficult to stay mad at James, especially when he was such an attentive lover. Even when he vowed not to be with her, he was attentive, touching her frequently, listening to her as though he might actually be interested in anything she had to say. He kissed her often, and just recently she had caught him taking hold of her hand when there was no need.

  He was being wonderful and Daphne hated it. If she intruded upon his day, he always made time. He always made her feel welcome and, blast him, adored. Sometimes he would come to find her and would tell her an on dit he had read in the paper. The way he looked at her…it was enough to make her forget she was supposed to be unhappy with the blasted scoundrel.

  She wondered what her father would make of her marriage. A wry smile came to her lips. She did not believe Papa would have approved of her husband in the very least. Her father had always said she would know love one day, but Daphne found it hard to believe that he had expected the very man he had placed as his daughter’s protector would fill that bill.

  She thought he would like James, whether Papa could have approved of him or nay. James was a strong individual, both in spirit and in body. He was mostly honorable and just. He was certainly fit. Daphne hoped wherever her father was, he was happy she had found love, even if it was an unrequited love.

  Sighing, she narrowed her eyes. Guilt swamped her. Had it only been a few months ago when she had determined to find out who had killed him? She had been so focused on marriage for the past three months that she had barely paid the investigation any heed at all.

  Oh, she wished Chrys were here. Annalise had mostly given up any hopes of ever finding out the truth. Daphne felt like an idiot for allowing herself to become bored when there was certainly more than enough to keep her mind from growing idle.

  Who had killed him?

  Papa had never told her all that much about his business dealings, of course. She had never met anyone who disliked her father. Why, even Elliot and Uncle Jon thought well of him, even though he had stopped helping them at all. She supposed they both might be entitled to their ire at how Papa had done them, but Elliot said himself he understood why.

  Who had disliked her father enough to kill him? Was there some little clue left at Lilac Manor? If there was, she thought glumly, she would certainly never know of it. Elliot, Chrys had told her quietly when Anna was not paying attention, was still in London. It was said that he had snubbed Countess le Dubois several times. Publicly.

  Daphne was so proud of him.

  She had to figure out a way to help Elliot without insulting him. It would have been so much easier if Papa had not been so single-minded with his money. Her cousin should not have to pay his entire life for his father’s sins.

  Perhaps she would discuss the problem with James. She could not simply give him what she thought her father should have left him. Elliot, no matter the need, would never accept such a gift. He was very proud and righteous. Yet, she recalled smugly, he had been willing to accept her dowry.

  Hmm.

  “So, Annalise, what did you think of Elliot? Handsome devil, isn’t he?”

  Anna’s head shot up, eyes narrowed in acute dislike. “He is the most foul sort of man. I think he should be banned from polite society!”

  Daphne’s brows lifted in shock. She had never heard her gentle Anna speak with such barely-veiled scorn for anyone.

  “Um, did he insult you?” Daphne asked slowly, determined to get to the bottom of the situation.

  “Of course not. He seems to know he is beneath me,” Annalise muttered.

  Daphne sat down abruptly. Annalise was not one to pontificate over titles and lineage. “What has gotten into you?”

  Anna tossed her head back. “Nothing at all. Why do you bring him up? As far as I am concerned, you are safe from the scoundrel.”

  “He did say something to you, didn’t he?”

  “Of course not! Men such as he do not speak to women such as I,” Annalise said heatedly.

  Daphne blinked in confusion. “What kind of man is he?” she wanted to know.

  Annalise glared. “Oh, surely you jest. I know you noticed the way his hair glints in the firelight and the way his eyes seem to glow.”

  “He is handsome,” Daphne agreed placidly. “So is your brother. You do not appear to hold that against him.”

  “James does not prance around quite so arrogantly. Besides, I
did not say your cousin was handsome in the least,” Annalise sniffed inelegantly.

  You didn’t have to, Daphne thought, fascinated.

  “Elliot is a true gentleman, Anna. I dare say he would never dream to give deliberate insult, especially to one of my dearest friends.”

  Anna tried to hide her face in her book, but not before Daphne had caught the way her cheeks burned.

  “He is handsome,” Annalise huffed. “And he knows it, too. I have no time for such pretty peacocks.”

  “Mmm.” A plan began to work its way in her mind. “Then perhaps you would know of some pretty young girls who would have time for him,” she suggested slyly.

  That brought Annalise out of her book. She snapped it shut with short, choppy movements. Shoving her spectacles up her nose in annoyance, she sent Daphne a steely glare. Daphne took it for encouragement.

  “I have been thinking that, perhaps, if we found him a pretty heiress, his problems might be solved.”

  “Well, do not count upon my help,” Annalise hissed as she stomped to her feet. “As far as I am concerned, you are well shut of that man!”

  With that, nose pointed in the air, Annalise stomped out, leaving a riveted Daphne staring after her.

  “Fascinating.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Humming, replete, James pressed a lingering kiss on her shoulder. Her fingertips stroked across his cheek as he rolled off her. James stood up and began to shrug into his dressing gown.

  Sighing, Daphne sat up while the slippery sheets pooled around her waist. She watched him hungrily. There was a wide, pale scar on one of his shoulder blades. She had never noticed it before. She wanted to ask him how he had come by such a mark, but knew her questions would go unanswered.

  “James, is this all there is?” Daphne asked quietly.

  Tying the sash around his waist, he frowned at her. “It only gets better with time, sweetheart.”

  She shook her head, sending spiraling curls tumbling over her naked breasts. James took a deep breath, appreciating the view immensely. Naked, her body still glowing with the aftermath of their loving, she was resplendent. He could not name another woman who would ever even begin to near the brilliance of his Daphne.