by Adele Clee
“And if adultery was the motive?” He seemed almost sorry the words had left his lips.
“Then I must accept that he sought satisfaction elsewhere.” Even though she’d made a tremendous effort to be happy in her marriage, Thomas knew they were not suited in a physical way. “Perhaps I was not enough for him.”
Thorpe shot out of the chair. “Then Thomas was a bloody fool. There’s not a man alive who’d think you inadequate.”
Daphne’s throat grew tight at his uncensored outburst. The compliment touched her. Did Thorpe really hold her in such high regard?
“Forgive me,” he continued though struggled to hold her gaze. “I spoke out of turn. It is not for me to comment on the nature of your relationship with your husband. He loved you. That much I can attest to.”
Daphne could no longer allow ignorance to form the basis of Thorpe’s opinion.
“We were not in love, Daniel.” His given name slipped easily from her lips, yet she noted the look of surprise in his eyes. “Thomas was my friend, and in a strange way my saviour. He was a good man, and I cared for him deeply.” For some reason, she stood too and placed her hand lightly on Thorpe’s chest. “But our marriage lacked the soul-deep love that lasts a lifetime. I have never felt an all-consuming passion. Never felt the ache of physical desire.”
“Never?” He stared at her lips. “You’ve never lost yourself in a moment of unbridled lust?”
Heavens, her body reacted instantly to his rich tone. All she could think about was kissing him, running her hands over his impressive chest, taking him into her willing body.
“Perhaps once,” she said recalling the amorous interlude in his carriage, “in a moment of madness when I was eager to prove a point.”
“Did this passionate event happen to take place recently?”
“It happened only this afternoon.”
His eyes brightened. “Then I must tell you that a single event is not enough to deem a person mad. One must experience the sensation numerous times before a more definitive diagnosis can be made.”
Daphne couldn’t help but smile. “And so, in your expert opinion, are you suggesting I repeat the experience?”
Thorpe moistened his lips. “I am. Though as with any experiment, the conditions must be the same.”
“But I am not in a carriage, Daniel.” She liked the sound of his name. “I am not sitting astride your muscular thighs.”
“It would take but five minutes to run to The Cock Inn and drag Murphy from his supper.”
“You would do that in the name of science?”
“No. I would do it for you.”
Those words were like a potent aphrodisiac. Blood flowed through Daphne’s veins at so rapid a rate she could hear it thundering in her ears. As soon as she stood on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his, the spark in her belly ignited.
His hand cupped her neck as he deepened the kiss, his groan of appreciation was perhaps the sweetest sound she’d ever heard. So lost in the magic of the moment, she failed to hear the trudge of Bostock’s footsteps coming up the stairs, not until he was almost at the door.
“Bostock …” The word was accompanied by a gasp as Daphne dragged her mouth away and took a step back. “Mr Bostock is at the door.”
Betsy burst into the room carrying a loaf of freshly baked bread. “And so Lady Fairweather said the bigger the skirt the better as she needed somewhere to hide her lover should her husband come looking.”
Betsy loved to gossip.
Mr Bostock snorted. He placed the knife and board on the table. “Those fancy folk still amaze me.”
Daphne glanced up at Thorpe and their gazes locked. Were his thoughts aligned with hers? If this overwhelming need for him continued to grow, it was inevitable they’d become lovers.
But what then?
“Don’t stand there gaping. Come and get your supper, else it will be cold.” Betsy beckoned them over, took charge and portioned the stew between four plates. Bostock took a plate even though he said he’d not long eaten. “You don’t mind if I take my supper here with you?”
“Of course not.” Daphne was glad of a chaperone else she was in danger of giving Thorpe more than her opinion on the case. “We’re incredibly grateful to you for providing such a hearty meal when you’ve had Lady Arnshaw’s gown to finish.”
“Consider it a gesture of my appreciation.”
They all took a seat around the small oak table. Daphne tried to focus on her meal but whenever Thorpe opened his mouth or moistened his lips, her stomach performed strange flips.
“Mr Bostock says they’re to stay the night.” Betsy raised a coy brow at Thorpe’s man seated across the table. The man looked down at his stew though a smile touched his lips.
Daphne almost choked on a piece of beef. It was what she’d expected after the accident in Covent Garden. But after yet another amorous interlude with the brooding Mr Thorpe, how would she sleep knowing he was but a few feet away?
Thorpe cleared his throat. “Bostock can sleep on the sofa in the parlour if Madame Fontaine agrees.”
“You can call me Betsy, Mr Thorpe, or Miss Betsy if you prefer.”
Thorpe nodded. “I shall take a chair and sit outside Mrs Chambers’ door.”
“You can’t sit out in the hall all night. Sleep on the sofa in here.” Daphne gestured to the small blue damask seat. There would be plenty of room if he dangled his legs over the arm. “It will be far more comfortable.”
“Comfort is not a consideration, Mrs Chambers.” Thorpe’s formal tone revealed nothing of his inner emotions. “I want to be certain no one enters your apartments. The best way to do that is to block the only entrance.”
“Why would anyone enter the house?” Betsy frowned. “You said there was nothing to fear now we know who smashed the window and stole the gowns.”
When Thorpe caught Daphne’s gaze, she hoped the inconspicuous shake of the head would communicate her reluctance to involve Betsy in their current investigation.
“While Miss Cartwright confessed to the theft and returned the stolen goods,” Thorpe began, “I have yet to speak to the courtesan’s accomplice, Mr Reynolds. Until I have confirmed her story, I prefer to be cautious.”
“Oh.” Betsy swallowed deeply. “When you came back with the gowns I thought …”
“There is no need for concern,” Daphne said. “Mr Thorpe is nothing if not thorough.”
They ate the rest of their meal in silence.
“Would you mind helping me move a cupboard before you retire, Mr Bostock.” Betsy eyed the man’s muscular arms. They were so large the threads on the seam of his shirt were liable to split at any moment. “It’s too heavy for me, and I’m tired of seeing clutter lying about the place.”
“Of course, Miss Betsy.”
“The wooden frame on the back window is swollen, and it gets ever so hot in the dressing room.” Betsy was determined to make use of having a man on the premises. “Would you mind seeing if you could open it?”
“Not at all, Miss Betsy.”
“Then there’s no time like the present.” Betsy stood, and Bostock followed her to the door.
“Do you need me for anything else this evening?” Bostock directed his question at Mr Thorpe.
“No, but if you could make sure all the doors and windows are secure before you retire I’d be grateful.”
“Right you are.”
Betsy and Mr Bostock left the room. Their animated chatter faded leaving nothing but the constant tick of the mantel clock to fill the silence.
“Let me find you a pillow and a blanket,” Daphne said though she doubted either of them would get much sleep. “A draught blows in through a gap in the window, and it can get cold in here at night.”
“That won’t be necessary. I have no intention of using the sofa.”
Oh, this was ridiculous. His sullen mood was beginning to grate. She was a grown woman who managed her own affairs, not a simpering miss naive enough to succumb to temptation.
She had no intention of creeping out in the dark to seduce him.
“Mr Thorpe, why is it that whenever our lips meet, you turn into a brooding beast? Why should one simple kiss cause you to fall into a bout of melancholy?”
“Two kisses,” he corrected. “You’ve kissed me twice, Daphne.”
Daphne stamped her foot in frustration. “Must you be so pedantic?”
“Minute details are important. Surely you know that. One kiss could be considered a mistake. Two kisses might lead a man to jump to other conclusions.” Thorpe tugged at the sleeves of his coat. “But this is a conversation for another time. Now, I ask that you lock the door behind me.”
Lord above, the man was as stubborn as a mule. “But you can’t sleep outside.”
“I have no intention of sleeping.”
Daphne jerked her head back. “But you must be exhausted. No. I’ll not allow you to sit on a hard chair in a dingy hallway while I sleep in a plush bed.”
Thorpe raised an arrogant brow. “Do you know you’re the only woman who has ever attempted to tell me what to do?”
“That’s because most women are too frightened to approach you.”
“But you’re not frightened.”
Daphne considered the comment. In Thorpe’s company, she felt safe. There was no one she trusted more. “No, Daniel. Fear is not the emotion I feel when I think of you.”
His dark gaze softened. “Then know you’re the only woman I would ever listen to. Indeed, the sofa would be more appealing if my intention was to rest my weary bones. But there is no need for concern because I’m going out.”
“Out? At this time of night?” Her tone was that of a jealous wife. “Where are you going?”
“The odd prickling in my gut forces me to go to The Mariners.”
“The Mariners?” Now she sounded like Mrs Montague’s parrot. She knew better than to question the motive of a man who relied on instinct. “Must you go tonight?”
“No doubt it will be a wasted journey.” He took his coat from the stand and shrugged into it. “But I cannot wait until tomorrow.”
“But you told Mr Bostock he could retire for the evening.” The thought of Thorpe going to the docks alone terrified her.
“Bostock will remain here as instructed.”
“Have … have you arranged to meet someone there?” Was he intent on speaking to the woman who’d lured Thomas to drink in the sailors’ den? The last person to see Thomas alive. Daphne looked him in the eye. “Is it the mystery woman the Turners spoke of?”
Jealousy flared. How odd? She’d felt nothing when she discovered Thomas had met with the wench numerous times.
“Her name is Lily Lawson. The Turners said she waits for the Carron whenever it docks. That’s tomorrow by all accounts. But the weather can alter the best-laid plans. As I’ve heard she rents a room in the vicinity, logic says I might find her there tonight.” He brushed his hand through his hair. “I can’t sit around idle when there’s a lead to follow.”
“Then I am coming with you. I shall go out of my mind sitting alone waiting for news.”
Thorpe smiled. “I’d not have it any other way.”
Chapter 11
Daniel hired a hackney to take them to the docks rather than send word to Murphy. The decision had nothing to do with giving the coachman time to finish his supper. Discretion was paramount, and his carriage always drew attention. The black matching pair were such excellent specimens of their breed it was as good as leaving a calling card.
As they approached the London Docks, Daniel leant closer to Daphne seated at his side. “I assume you brought a weapon.” He’d make sure she had no need to use it but took pleasure from the spark of excitement in her eyes whenever he spoke to her as an equal.
She smiled. “When working on a case, I’m never without a means of protection.”
He glanced right and scanned her from head to toe, wondering whether she had a blade strapped to her thigh, a pistol tucked into her bodice. “Will you tell me where you’ve hidden this weapon or am I supposed to guess?” Of course, he’d be happy to frisk her, to run his hands over every inch of her body in the hope of finding one.
She turned her head, her mouth but a fraction from his ear. “I have a pocket pistol somewhere on my person, a sheathed blade tucked into my boot and a pot of pepper in my reticule.”
“Pepper?” It was obvious why she carried the condiment, but he wanted to feel her breath breeze against the sensitive skin on his neck once more.
“When thrown in a blackguard’s face it is most effective.”
“I’m sure it is.” The image of Daphne wrestling with a fiend in a dark alley filled him with dread. “Remind me never to pick a fight with you. It will do nothing for my reputation if I’m blinded by seasoning.”
“The unconventional weapons are often the best.” She raised a curious brow. “Please tell me you’re armed too?”
“Of course.” The pistol sat nicely in the pocket of his greatcoat. “Though I’ve found my fist to be my most effective weapon.”
“Yes,” she said with wide eyes. “I recall the little trick you used when on the Harwood case. You put the guard to sleep by simply applying pressure to a point on his neck.”
“When one restricts the flow of blood to the brain it is possible to render a person immobile for a short time.” It was a skill that came in useful when walking the streets at night. “An uppercut to the chin works just as well.”
Daphne glanced at his hands. “Is that how you came by so many scars?”
“No.” The question caught him off guard. “Bruised knuckles heal well enough. Broken ones not so.”
“But the scar on your hand was made by a blade,” she persisted. “The silvery skin on your knuckle looks to be evidence of a burn.”
For some strange reason, he held up his hand to examine the marks she mentioned, as though he hadn’t realised they were there. But how could he forget? They were the marks that made him the man everyone feared, the man who commanded respect wherever he went.
“The marks were made as you said. A sharp swipe across the fist with a knife. A hand held forcibly over a flame.”
Her face turned ashen. “A man who thinks nothing of storming a smugglers’ den must be numb to pain and fear.” The soft, soothing quality of her voice edged towards pity.
“Mine are the scars of a boy, not a man.” God, how he wished he could go back to his school days. If only the boy had possessed the strength and wisdom of the man. “But you’re right. What once seemed unbearable now runs off me like rain on a window pane.”
“You were a boy when those terrible things happened?” Daphne put her fingers to her lips and swallowed deeply. “Did… did your father do this to you?”
“No.” His father was an honourable man by all accounts. Had Fate not intervened when it did, Daniel’s life would have been vastly different. “A few boys at school decided to teach me a lesson.” A bastard was no match for the sons of the aristocracy.
“What by slicing your hand with a blade? I hope they were punished severely.”
“Oh, they received their punishment.” Daniel had waited patiently until they were men with title and the responsibility befitting their station. “But not by the master and not with my fists. The pain of a punch or the whip of a birch is over in seconds. Cuts and bruises last a week or two. Hitting a man in his pocket has repercussions that extend beyond his lifetime.”
“I suspect someone with your connections could ruin a man fairly easily.”
It had taken years to gather the power needed to take the men down. “With hard work anyone can read Latin, or name the great philosophers and their theories. While knowledge can help a poor man rise to greater heights, it cannot rid a rich man of his arrogance.”
Daphne sighed. “Conceit is often the mark of the privileged.”
“Their belief in their own superiority was their downfall. The self-absorbed often fail to see that which others find blindingly obvious.” Da
niel could still hear the bitter edge in his voice. “A demanding mistress, an addiction for the gaming tables, an untimely investment or a corrupt man of business can empty one’s coffers overnight.”
Daphne stared at him, the corners of her mouth turned down. “People believe revenge rids them of past pain.” She placed her hand lightly on his arm. “And I suppose it does to a certain extent. But it does not bring peace to the soul. Happiness comes from acceptance.”
“To my mind happiness and acceptance are on opposite sides of a coin.” Daniel stared at her dainty fingers. Her touch always brought comfort. How could something so small and delicate have such a powerful effect on him? “I can’t have the one thing that would make me happy, and so acceptance is all I have left.”
Damn, he’d said too much.
She looked deep into his eyes, stared at him as though his darkest fears were evident there. He struggled to gauge her mood. Was she preparing to ask him another probing question? Would she press her lips to his just to torment him all the more?
Thankfully, the hackney ground to a halt on the corner of Burr Street and Nightingale. While Murphy sat atop his box all day without complaining, the cab driver wanted them out so he could find another fare.
“You’re to stay at my side at all times,” Daniel said, placing her hand in the crook of his arm as they made their way towards the warren of back alleys, home to The Mariners Tavern, brothels, rope-makers and a ship chandler. “Hold on to me like you never want to let me go. Hold on to me as though your life depends upon it.”
Daphne gripped his arm tight. Perhaps it was the anticipation of what their investigation would bring that forced his blood to pump rapidly. Perhaps it was being so close to the only woman who’d ever captured his interest that caused the molten heat to burn inside.
“People will assume we’re lovers.”
“Good,” he snapped as they strode past labourers, watermen and a host of other poor beings who made their living providing services for seafaring folk. “Then it will save me the trouble of beating the life out of every man who dares look your way.”