Demelza Saint James, formerly known as Daphne’s meek little Irish maid, lifted a brow. “I am about to kill you, Daphne. Don’t you have other concerns?”
“Not especially,” Daphne replied icily.
“Yes, the red was a wig.”
Stalling for time, Daphne struggled to get her talking. “It must have been difficult to serve as a maid, Demelza. Since you suffered from some daft notion this all belonged to you—”
“You were never worthy of it!” Demelza snarled. “Ungrateful, fat little piggy. This belonged to my mother!”
“Actually, it belonged to my father,” Daphne replied placidly. “It now belongs to Jonathan Morton. When he dies, it will belong to Elliot. You will never inherit this place, Demelza. You could kill off every single nobleman in England, and still this would not belong to you.”
“Your father was a fool to brush my mother aside.”
“Do you honestly think so? It appears he knew exactly what he was doing. What are you going to do once you kill me? Kill off my husband? Then what? Everyone in his line?”
“I will do whatever I must,” Demelza snarled. “I started the rumors, didn’t I? I made sure you were an outcast. Oh, how it thrilled me to watch you weep. I finally paid you back for all those years.”
“Did you?” Daphne breathed.
“I did,” she claimed victoriously. She began to pace back in forth in front of the frozen hearth. “Not that I had to look very far. The whole household was abuzz with your infatuation with that cold-hearted Duke.”
Daphne recalled her misconduct. Looking for him in his bedroom. Falling asleep in his bed. Looking back, everyone must have known from the start how she cared for him. It brought heated color to her cheeks.
“It was a simple matter to tell Earl of Brentwood all about it. He was so gullible. I probably wouldn’t have had to go to bed with him if I had not wished it,” Demelza said thoughtfully.
Daphne made a face of disgust. Who would want to go to bed with something so vile? She shook her head. What was she thinking? Brentwood was a real treasure compared to this woman’s treachery.
“When I killed your manservant, I decided to make a few suggestions to him. He still hasn’t returned from Scotland. I wonder what’s keeping him.”
“He’s dead,” Daphne told her cheerfully.
Demelza glared at her.
“He is,” she affirmed. “My husband shot him. He wept like the coward he is in the end. He begged and pleaded, but one does not so easily escape James. Unlike your lover, he has courage and honor.”
“You are so naïve,” Demelza sneered. “It would have been so much easier if you had not married him.”
“Easier for you, perhaps. I suppose you pursued him just to get back at me, too.”
Green eyes glinted with malice. “He refused me.”
Love blossomed in her heart. Her love had not taken her to his bed. There was a chance for them, after all. She might win his love yet. Even as joy filled her soul, she went cold. Demelza caressed her pistol lovingly.
“So few men dare to deny me. I can hardly believe two of your lovers dared such an insult.” She nodded at the prone figure of Elliot.
“I suppose they were able to see how ugly you truly are,” Daphne provoked.
Hissing, Demelza strode to the window. Daphne crouched down, pressing her fingers to Elliot’s throat. His shirt was soaked through with blood. Even as she felt his thready pulse, his eyes opened.
“Daph,” he groaned. “Get away. She’s…mad.”
“Yes, I know,” she said soothingly.
“Is that imbecile still alive?” the madwoman demanded.
Daphne removed her cloak, wrapping it around her cousin.
“Well, well, much stronger than he looks, isn’t he?”
Daphne wrapped her arm around his waist. Elliot clung to her shoulders as they struggled to get him on his feet. Breathing heavily, he leaned back against the wall.
“I am astounded that a little piggy like you could have two men sniffing after you.”
Elliot stiffened against her. “Do…not…speak to her…that way!”
“He is brazen,” Demelza laughed. It was a sound of absolute evil and wickedness.
Chilled, Daphne lifted her chin. “Elliot has honor, Demelza. I would not expect someone like you to understand.”
“Someone like me?”
Daphne’s eyes blazed. “Someone like you,” she agreed coldly.
Demelza lifted her gun, aiming it at Daphne with gleeful conclusion.
“Any last requests, cousin?”
* * * *
James burst through the door as the gun went off. He looked around wildly, only to duck as an ivory-handed pistol came hurling at him through the air.
“What the…”
His eyes widened at the impossible sight that met his eyes. His wife was… magnificent. He watched as she raised her hand again, slapping Demelza Saint James clean across her flawless cheek. She curled her tiny little hand into a tight fist and, he noted with pride, remembered not to tuck her thumb inside. As she yanked the crazed woman’s long, silvery hair back, she punched her, straight in her flawless nose. Blood pooled from her nostrils.
“You broke my nose,” the woman cried hysterically.
“That’s not all I’ll break, you brazen hussy!”
She was a dervish, furious, violent, dangerous. She was, James thought, his perfect match. Satisfied that she could handle this particular situation on her own for a few minutes, he turned to the young man leaning heavily against the wall.
“Are you badly injured?” he asked quietly.
Elliot stared at him with eyes glazed with pain. “I guess you might deserve her, after all,” he hissed.
James yanked Daphne’s cloak back, wincing at the sight of blood. Second gunshot in a number of months. Careful not to jar him more than necessary, he ripped the spoiled material apart so that he could see how bad the wound truly was.
“You’re a lucky bastard,” he said lightly.
Elliot blinked at him.
“It is your shoulder. It is a clean wound. Looks like it went straight through.”
Elliot’s legs went weak with relief. He slid down the wall, leaving a streak of reddish-black along the wall.
“…weak-minded, crazed bitch!”
In unison, the two men turned to stare at Daphne. Demelza was curled into a tight ball, weeping and begging for mercy. Daphne, apparently, had none to spare. Gripping her hair, she yanked her head away from her protective arms and slammed her fist into her face again. This time, everyone heard the crunch of breaking bone.
“You killed my father!” Daphne heaved.
James felt all the blood drain from his chest as he realized what this must be doing to her. This was where she’d found her father. This is where her cousin had been shot.
This is where that lunatic thought to end her life.
“Daphne,” James said quelling, “that is enough.”
Her head shot up, chocolate eyes met gold and held.
“She killed my father.”
James nodded. “I know, sweetheart.”
“She shot Elliot.”
“He is going to be okay,” James promised her.
“She was going to kill you!”
With that, she burst into tears and hurled herself at him. His arms wrapped around her, holding her safe and secure. She clung to him, kissing desperately at anything she could find. In the corner, Elliot managed a pained smile at the touching scene. No one was paying attention to Demelza.
It was a mistake.
Weeping, she crawled across the room, fetching her gun. Shaking, she stood up, green eyes glazed with madness. She slowly cocked back the hammer.
An explosion rent the room, leaving a quaking silence in its wake. James and Daphne pulled apart, shocked. They stared as a slow hole appeared in the center of Demelza’s forehead. Blood began to trickle slowly. Her face registered mute shock.
She was dead before her body crashed to the floor.
Three disbelieving pairs of eyes shot to the doorway. Annalise stood, shaking and pale, her eyes blazing with emotion.
“Anna,” Daphne whispered.
She lifted her chin proudly. “Chrys didn’t think I had the guts to shoot a gun.”
James couldn’t help it. It was such an anticlimax. He threw his head back and laughed until his rips ached. When Daphne sent him a quelling look, he laughed all the harder.
“This is no laughing matter, husband.”
“I’m sorry, sweet,” he said, choking. “Anna…she just…” He couldn’t go on. Chortling, he wrapped his arm around his wife. His beautiful, safe, beloved wife. She sent him an irritated look and jerked out of his arms, running to Elliot.
“Are you hurt badly, cousin?”
He let out a ragged breath. “Not so bad,” he lied.
She sent James an unfathomable look. “He needs a doctor.”
He nodded. “We’ll send for one, baby. We’ll head back now and send a carriage ‘round.”
“But—”
“No offense, young man, but you don’t have the necessaries here,” James said sternly. “You will stay at the Fold until you are fit enough to go about.”
Annalise grimaced.
“James, I shall stay with him. We can’t leave him alone this way.”
He lifted a brow. “I am certain my sister will stay behind. Won’t you, Anna,” he said meaningfully.
Her shoulders slumped. “Of course,” she said grumpily.
Annalise watched as they strolled out, arm in arm. She knelt down beside the impossibly handsome man. He sent her a lazy grin.
“I am certain you would have preferred Daphne,” Annalise said scathingly.
His smile warmed. “I’m always happy to be alone with a beautiful woman.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
It was several hours later before James could get his wife alone. He wanted to drag her to bed the moment they got back, but he knew she would not be able to rest until she was certain everyone was safe and sound.
She has been through a terrorizing ordeal, he reminded himself when she decided to fix her cousin her special posset. Once more, he could not help but admire the amazing woman he had married. In what had to be one of the single most frightful ordeals of her entire life, she had not fallen apart, but fought back valiantly. She had not displayed a daring courage they wrote sonnets about, nor had she found a blazing sword in which to vanquish her enemies.
She had, quite simply, been her wonderful self. She had annoyed, provoked, tended and, when all else failed, lost her temper. She was wonderful. She was amazing.
And she loved him. She’d said it twice now. He would never permit her to rescind it.
When she came into her room, she was frowning.
“What is the matter, sweet?” he inquired tenderly.
She shook her head. She was still puzzling over Anna’s peculiar behavior wherever her cousin was concerned. Annalise blushed at the mere mention of his name and became irritable. She wasn’t talking about what had passed between the two of them, and neither was Elliot. Given, her cousin was not sensible at the moment, considering the doctor had prescribed an opiate to help with the pain.
“I was just thinking,” she said simply.
James smiled. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed the tip of her nose. “So was I. Do you know what I was thinking about?”
She shook her head.
“I was thinking about taking you to bed,” he purred.
To his surprise, she turned away. Gently, he cupped her shoulders and forced her to face him. With the tip of his finger, he tilted her head up. “What is it?”
“I am not particularly in the mood for sex,” she told him.
“Making love,” he corrected firmly.
To his dismay, tears filled her eyes. Wrapping his arms around her, he held her close. “Darling, what is the matter?”
“I am overemotional,” she sniffed miserably.
“It is no wonder, with all that has happened. Anyone would become overset with a crazed woman trying to kill off her family.”
Daphne wiped at her tears and pulled out of his arms. She began to pace. Patiently, James sat down on the edge of the bed, waiting her out.
“She wasn’t just some crazed madwoman,” Daphne told him stiffly.
“She was your maid,” he said quietly.
Shaking her head, Daphne paced and told him about the journal she had discovered. He listened intently, never interrupting until she finally slumped her shoulders in relief. She hadn’t realized how much it bothered her that her father had known about this all these years.
And never told her.
“Sweetheart, none of this was your fault,” James said worriedly.
Daphne stared at him. “He knew… All this time, he knew and he never said a word to me. I trusted him to confide in me.”
“Who?” James wanted to know.
“My father,” she whispered sadly.
“Perhaps he thought he was protecting you.”
She sent him a dark glare. “Is that what you do?”
Ouch. “Perhaps,” James hedged nervously.
“See, you’re doing it again. She said you…you denied her, so why were you so obsessed with the Incomparable Miss Saint James?”
James took a quick breath. “I recognized her as Darcie,” he admitted. “I was trying to discover what was going on, Daphne. Did you think I did not realize someone was trying to kill you?”
She flushed. “But you didn’t tell me! I went through hell thinking you took her to your bed.”
He lifted a brow. “Perhaps I did not tell you for the same reason you did not tell me about your little investigation.”
She flushed. “That was different.”
James took her hands and drew her between his legs. Slowly, with infinite care, he kissed her scratched knuckles.
“I did not tell you about my suspicions because I did not wish to worry you.”
She blinked back tears. “I thought you had chosen her over me.”
He rubbed his thumbs over her knuckles tenderly. “I’m sorry I put you through that, sweetheart. If you had trusted me—”
She stared deep into his eyes. “I do trust you, James.”
“I would never hurt you,” he promised.
But you do, she thought. Every single day.
As though he’d read her mind, he asked, “What is it?”
“You do not trust me.”
“I trust you implicitly, Daphne. What makes you say such a thing?”
She gulped. “You will not tell me anything of your life. I told you all about my childhood and the boarding school and…and absolutely everything, James! You share nothing of your life with me.”
“Not because I do not trust you, sweetheart, never believe that! You are a creature of light, Daphne.”
Her dark eyes burned as though lit with an inner fire. “What is that supposed to mean?” she shrieked.
James wrapped his arms around her waist and drew her into his lap. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and stared deep into his eyes. What she saw there made her heart gallop in her chest.
He was vulnerable.
“Daphne, only the best the world has to offer should ever touch you. You are all that is light and good and pure and I…am not. I would never, ever damage you.”
She shook her head. “James, you are not making sense!”
“Daphne, I did not have a happy childhood,” he began.
“No one has a happy childhood, James,” she interrupted, her voice filled with disbelief. “I did not particularly have a happy childhood. I simply choose to focus on the happier memories.”
“Daphne, you could never understand how it was for me,” he ground out, releasing her so he could turn away. “I was a disappointment to my parents. I-I do not speak clearly any time I am nervous or upset. My parents allowed my tutors to beat me whenever I stumbled over my words.”
Eyes wide, Daphne touched his shoulder. He shrugged her touch away. He did not want her pity or compassion.
“My parents were nothing like your father. I was not a child born of affection, only a duty to family name and title. I was a thing,” he ended on a growl.
“You were a child,” she soothed gently.
“Not to them. All they cared about was title and wealth. They lived separate lives, Daphne. Mother had her discreet lovers. Father…” He shook his head in shame. “He was not so discreet. I hated them. As a child, I felt nothing but hatred for those who made me.”
“I am sorry, James.”
“I don’t want your pity,” he barked. “Why should I tell you such things and have you look at me with sadness? You were made for joy. I am neither a happy or good man. I did things during the wars, Daphne, that I cannot forgive myself for. I have killed blindly, even eagerly, and I know I would do so again.”
He hurt, deep inside, she realized for the first time. He would never admit it to her, but she could all but hear him screaming as he thought back over these painful memories. She did not know if she could do or say anything that could help him.
But she would try.
Sadly, she wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek between the wide expanse of his back.
“Do you expect to beat your children?” she asked softly.
“Of course not,” he snapped. “I would love any child you gave me, Daphne.”
She rubbed her cheek against the soft cambric of his shirt. “Then why are you dwelling on these things, darling? You are not responsible for the failure of your parents. You are only responsible for your actions.”
A Kiss to Remember Page 33