A Kiss to Remember

by Rebecca Minto

  Something was bothering her. He could tell in the way she nibbled on her lower lip, how her forehead creased. She was thinking about something that bothered her. He had learned those tiny little signals, so attuned was he to her every heartbeat and movement. James sat on the side of the bed and ran his hand down her arm until he could wind his fingers with hers.

  “What ails you, sweetheart?”

  Daphne bit her lip, thinking. What could it hurt, she mused sadly. “Is this all there is, James? Sex?”

  Smiling, he kissed her brow. Her nose. Her lips. “I prefer to think of it as lovemaking.”

  Her eyes entreated him. “Is this all I am good for?”

  James inhaled sharply. Where had she gotten such a daft notion? “Of course not, sweetheart. You are smart and talented. You are beautiful beyond words…” He trailed off, trying to think of more ways to praise her. It was damned hard with her looking so sweet and beautiful and fresh. “Um, you can plan delicious meals—”

  “James,” she moaned.

  It wasn’t what she’d meant. Daphne wanted to know if he only wanted her in bed. It had been a foolish moment of weakness to allow such vulnerabilities show. She felt raw and open. She wanted him to hold her and kiss her and…

  Love her as much as she loved him.

  Suddenly, his mood seemed to change. He stared at her, forcing her chin up so she would meet his intense gaze.

  “You know I will always protect you, don’t you, sweetheart?”

  She kissed the knuckles of his hand. “I know, James. You are a good husband,” she praised lightly.

  He nodded shortly. His mind was already on other things. After giving her temple another chaste kiss, he stood up. Daphne watched longingly as he strode into his room. A few minutes later, she heard his bath.

  Groaning, she collapsed back onto her pillows. She still did not have the assurances she needed. She wanted him to march right back through that door and to tell her that he loved her. That he couldn’t imagine a single day without her. That he wanted their children. That he needed her every single bit as much as she needed him.

  Nothing for it, Daphne thought miserably as she got up and rang for her maid. She had another day to suffer through before she could have his arms around her one more time. Another long, tedious day before she could pretend, as his body rose over hers, that he loved her.

  Resigned to another day of planning menus and struggling to recall anything that might help her with her stilted investigation, she was therefore pleasantly surprised when Mrs. Tibbs told her she had a guest waiting in the front parlor.

  Daphne strode in and when she saw Elliot sitting uncomfortably on a plush, utterly feminine settee, curiosity turned to pleasure.

  “Elliot! It is so wonderful to see you,” Daphne exclaimed. She crossed over and seized his hands, squeezing. “Let me look at you.”

  And look she did. Although she was madly in love with James, she could not help but admire her cousin. Elliot was a handsome man, with his clean hair overly long and gleaming soft gold, his eyes, so shocking and intense, smiling down at her. He had lost the gaunt, hollowed-out look of their last meeting and was beginning to fill out again. Fine, fit and perfect husband material.

  “You glow, Daphne,” he praised her. “Marriage suits you.”

  She smiled warmly and took a seat. “I did not expect to see you so soon,” she told him. “What brings you out this way?”

  He smiled, a self-mocking smile that was nothing of the bitter countenance she had last seen upon his handsome face. It warmed her heart. “What, I can’t come see my littlest cousin without an ulterior motive?”

  Daphne laughed. “I am glad to see you, Elliot. I was just thinking of you the other day.”

  “I am humbled you would waste your precious thoughts upon me.”

  She sent him a brilliant smile. He was a devilish charmer.

  His face sobered and he became quite grave. “I heard about what happened. Please, allow me to convey my most sincere apologies. I hope Brentwood did not injure you too severely.”

  She shook her head. “Actually, looking back, I can laugh,” she said honestly and told him of the mad, muddy chase she had given him before his demise.

  Elliot laughed, a rich, seductive tone that Daphne guessed that, were she not married and devoted and madly in love with her own husband, or had she not known Elliot from when she took her first steps, she might have been attracted to him in a way she certainly would not want to admit to.

  “You are a good storyteller,” Elliot praised her. “Tell me, Daphne, are you happy with your new husband? I could hardly believe it when the rumors reached me,” he added, lest she think he was offering an indiscretion. “You did not appear overly fond of your guardian last I could recall.”

  Daphne blushed and lowered her head. “I am very happy… most of the time.”

  Elliot angled his head, curious. “And the rest of the time?”

  “He drives me mad,” she laughed.

  Elliot studied her in silence for several long, tense moments. “You care for him.”

  Her cheeks flooded with hot color. He nodded, pleased.

  “Good. He might, almost, be worthy of you.”

  “Elliot,” she gasped.

  “Mind I said almost, Daphne.”

  She laughed again. She couldn’t help it. He was outrageous.

  “Did you come here to check up on me?” she giggled.

  He smiled, nodding. “Just why. I am on my way to Lilac Manor. It is only a few hours from here. I thought I would check up on my little cousin. You know, since you haven’t a brother, I figured such things fell to me now. Tell your husband I will return in a few weeks to give him a proper interrogation.”

  “He’ll bar you out,” she jested.

  Elliot coughed to hide a grin. Although she was joking, he would not put it past the Duke. Last time they had crossed paths, the Duke had all but called him out. That had been before they had married, of course. The man had been smitten, even then. It still did not keep him from acting the idiot. He scowled as he thought of the man’s extraordinary mistress. She was familiar somehow…

  “Before I take my leave, Daphne, tell me, is there aught I can do for you? If there is, you’ve but to say the word.”

  She sent him a puzzled look. “Elliot, what would be the matter?”

  “There are not any…ladies…” he coughed uncomfortably. “Ah, interfering in your happiness.”

  She paled as she understood his meaning. He was thinking of her husband’s ex-mistress. The one who he denied. She scowled. Just thinking about it made her so angry she could wring his neck.

  “I have opted to forgive him this once,” she said sweetly. “But to clarify, the woman in question was no lady.”

  Elliot lifted his brows in admiration of her cool tone. Daphne was apparently more capable than he’d thought. His respect for her raised several notches.

  “Hmm. Just wanted to make sure.”

  He thought several minutes about discretion. If she was happy, he did not want to do anything to threaten it. Yet… Damn it, she was family, about all the family he had left. He had a soft spot for her. She was so sweet and generous… Indeed, she had bought him time and warmth in a time he desperately needed it. His life had changed drastically since that quiet afternoon tea.

  He was halfway to the door when he looked at her, sitting so serenely, a pleased smile curving her lips.

  “I stopped at the village inn before I came here to freshen up,” Elliot said quietly. “There is one D. Saint James in residence. I thought you would want to know.”

  Daphne gasped, all the color draining from her face. She met his eyes. A silent understanding passed between them. Slowly, she pressed her trembling lips together.

  “Thank you, Elliot,” s
he whispered. “I would want to know.”

  He cursed under his breath. “You love him, don‘t you?”

  She nodded tremulously.

  Elliot strode to her, kneeling at her feet. He took her cool hands in his. They were trembling.

  “I should have said nothing,” he muttered.

  Daphne shook her head.

  Neither saw the shadow stop at the door, or the furious, unbelieving face that stared a mere breath before striding away.

  “Do you wish me to say something to him,” Elliot demanded.

  “My problems, my marriage. It is sweet, but no. I must manage these matters myself. But what about you? I meant to marry you, Elliot.”

  He spat something unrepeatable. “I wish you had. I have time, Daphne.”

  She stood, taking his arm. “What do you mean?”

  He cleared his throat. “It seems I came into possession of my mother’s jewels. Father had not managed to find them in all the years. She hid them for me.”

  Her heart dipped. “You didn’t sell your mother’s jewelry, Elliot.”

  “I kept a few pieces… for my wife,” he explained. “I have decided I shall seek a wife.”

  “With a handsome dowry,” she mused. The thought had occurred to her, as well. “Shall you require my assistance?”

  He lifted a brow. “The last man I would have chosen for you is the Duke, Daphne.”

  She smiled. What she would find suitable most likely isn’t what Elliot would want. Point taken. Although, at the moment, the last man she wanted to be married to was her adulterous husband.

  She walked him out and nearly into a servant. The young man dropped the sealed letter he was carrying. Elliot, ever the gentleman, stooped to fetch it for the worrisome lad. He glanced at it briefly, before tilting for Daphne to read herself.

  It was addressed to a Miss D. Saint James.

  * * * *

  James sent his balled fist into the wall. He relished the pain. It might draw some of his attention from the pain in his heart.

  Daphne and Mister Elliot Morton. He punched the wall again. Again and again and again until his knuckles were bruised and bleeding.

  Snarling, he turned to his brandy next. He took out a tumbler and then changed his mind. It was a waste of good crystal. Uncorking the heady wine, he chugged it straight from the bottle.

  What else should he have expected? Someone as beautiful as Daphne could never come to care for a stuttering, rigid man like himself. She wanted someone as golden as she was. As handsome as she was beautiful. As lighthearted as she was.

  He had seen them there, him kneeling at her feet, her enigmatic eyes trained on her face. Enraptured, she had not noticed him. Thank God for small mercies. If she had looked up, she would have seen the pain streaked across his face.

  That was it. He was going to kill the bastard. He had touched his wife. No judge would convict him. Who cares if they were but holding hands? James sure as hell didn’t.

  Disgusted with himself, he sent the bottle flying across the room. It shattered against the wall, staining paper and carpet. Good, he thought. He was sick of it anyway.

  He jumped up, intending to find his faithless wife and remind her who she belonged to. She was his. His property, his wife, his lover.

  His love.

  The truth came crashing down upon him with a vengeance. James collapsed to his knees in the rush of an emotion so deep, so staggering, he was made helpless. The pain of it had him roaring out incomprehensibly.

  He loved her. It was so easy to see now that he wasn’t fighting the truth. It was not madness, or even obsession. He had fallen completely and irrevocably in love with her.

  It had been absolute, for years now, even. From that first time he saw her peering up at him, he had loved her. He had been a foul excuse for a human being until that little sprite of a girl came to him, enchanting him out of his misery. He had loved her then. More powerfully than even he had realized. Hadn’t he, when he saw that little boy pushing her head under the water, gone mad with terror? She was the child he had always recalled with fondness, the woman he had always craved.

  She completed him. It was that simple. Daphne was the other part of him that he’d felt missing until the first moment they came together. Her light drowned out the shadows of the past.

  “Oh, God,” he groaned in agony.

  Had he driven her away? He was always pushing her away, controlling her. It was miracle enough that she submitted to his rigorous demands. Was it his fault she had sought out that golden Adonis?

  He had to find her. He had to show her.

  Stumbling to his feet, he barreled out the door. He ran her to ground in his old schoolroom. She’d stripped it down until it was barren but for her easel and paints.

  He was awestruck by the sight of her at work. Her lips pursed, her eyes hot, as she attacked her canvas with a bright brush. Her breasts heaved, as though she were out of breath, her hair sprung wildly around flushed cheeks. She looked like she was in the throes of passion.

  James slammed the door shut, bolting it. Her eyes snapped to his, annoyance, desire and some other emotion warring in their depths.

  He began to unbutton his shirt. “I need you,” he snarled.

  Her eyes widened slightly.

  He kicked off his shoes. Next came his trousers and then his drawers until he was completely nude. A slight smile softened her as she angled her head and considered him.

  “You would make a nice subject,” she decided.

  That stalled his threatening advance for a moment. “Subject for what?” he bit off.

  She waved her hand so that it encompassed all of him. “A portrait, husband. I should call it ‘The Randy Husband.’”

  He wasn’t in the mood for her quips. He snatched the paintbrush out of her hands and hurled it across the room. Hand cupped around the back of her neck and drew her in for a kiss. She melted against him, her mouth softening at once. His hands swept over her in bruising possession. His. Daphne belonged to him.

  Daphne closed her eyes and clung to him as though her very life depended upon it. She could sense his powerful need. He was nearly out of control. She’d only seen him this way once before. She would love him with all she was worth…

  She cried out as he ripped at her clothing. He was nearly wild with desire now, his heated mouth inexpert as it bit at her neck, her throat. When he revealed her breasts, he bit there, too.

  “You are mine,” he growled as he lowered her to the floor.

  She was his. Completely. Always.

  He kissed her like the madman he had once thought he was, forcing himself to slow down. If he took her like this, he would hate himself. He needed to arouse her, to make her wild for him. He whimpered as he found her moist and ready.

  Daphne gripped his hair and drew his face to hers. She licked at his lips, demanding he respond. She took his sigh into her and cherished it. His tongue warred with hers. She caught his pulsating member and tried to lead it into her heat.

  James drew back, panting. “Not like this,” he rasped unevenly.

  He shook his head, struggling to find some sense of sanity. She was still half-dressed, for crying out loud. He wanted her naked and weeping for him. He wanted…

  He forgot all about what he wanted when she wrapped her arms around his neck and drew him down to her. He shoved her skirts up to her waist, yanked her legs wide apart and dove into her with a single savage thrust, impaling her completely.

  Daphne closed her eyes, euphoric. Here, she could pretend he cared. Here… She cried out in ecstasy as he began to thrust, deep and hard, within her. She was surrounded by him. His heat and scent, his feel and taste. Here, they were one. She wrapped her legs around his hips and held on tight.

  The emotion welled up, a wave of fire scal
ding them both. Tears spilled out of her eyes. Daphne squeezed him tight as, unwillingly, the words were ripped from her very soul.

  “I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you…”

  James stilled as he heard those precious words, words he never expected to hear from her. His eyes lowered briefly in exultation. My love, his heart cried triumphantly.

  His mouth lowered, needing to taste the words on her lips, needing to draw them inside him forever. His hands cupped her hips painfully as he began to thrust anew, taking them both over the crumbling edge of reason.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  “Where are you going, James?”

  He looked up and smiled. Daphne was standing in the doorway, looking as beautiful as a dream in an ivory gown, a worried frown stretched across her features. He ran his fingers through his hair in irritation.

  “Just into the village for a bit, sweet,” he said absently. He shrugged into a heavy coat.

  “Whatever for?” she asked in a damned queer voice that had him glancing up at her.

  “I have a business meeting,” James said grimly. Unfinished business, he thought furiously.

  “Might I come with you? I fancy a ride.”

  “Another time, sweetheart. This will not be pleasant business.”

  Her lips thinned unpleasantly. Oh, but she really wanted to get a good look at this particular business partner. The one he was meeting in the village. At the inn. Daphne wanted a good look at her competition.

  “I could wait outside. You said I could be outdoors as long as you were with me.”

  James shook his head fervently. “Not this time, Daphne,” he told her more severely than he intended.

  She flinched. Her eyes implored him. “You are certain?”

  James strode over to her, cupping her shoulders in his strong hands. He kneaded gently, staring deep into her eyes.

  “Sweetheart, I promise, as soon as I return I will take you for a ride. This just isn’t a good time. I’m sorry.” He pressed his lips into the center of her forehead. “You understand, right?”