A Heart of a Duke Regency Collection : Volume 2--A Regency Bundle

by Christi Caldwell

  “My lord?”

  “Have Mrs. Stillwell’s carriage readied.”

  “As you wish, my lord.”

  Her mouth fell agape. “You mean you do not plan on returning? We were—”

  “We’re done here,” he repeated. And with her sputtering and shrieking after him, he started for the front of the room.

  “You are heartless, my lord,” she pouted.

  “Indeed,” he agreed, not bothering to look back as he pulled the door open. And it was folly for any person—man, woman, or child—to believe he was in possession of that organ.

  Stalking down the halls shirtless and in his bare feet, Daniel made his way to the foyer. In the hall, the truth of his circumstances glared back with a mocking potency. The dire state of his finances. As he walked, he took in the faded satin wallpapers. The frayed carpet.

  Yes, his last and latest attempt at financial survival was a failing mine he’d won in a lucky game of hazard, had proven little help. And he, who was emotionally deadened in every way, felt something deep in his belly: panic. It sat there like a pit in his stomach, needling and niggling.

  A familiar painting momentarily froze his steps and he stared at the heavy gold-framed portrait. A bucolic setting with twin boys, identical images of the other for all but their eyes, and a smiling papa with a hand resting on each of his sons’ shoulders. The smiling golden-haired mother, her eyes alight and vibrant. That moment, forever captured a lifetime ago.

  It was the easy smile of those twelve-year-old boys memorialized on that canvas which held him frozen. Real and joyous…and alive. That moment in time, may as well be fiction for how long it had been.

  …I cannot hold on any longer, Alistair…I’m so sorry…

  His own sobs from long ago echoed around his mind, making a mockery of the last joyous family tableau captured. Daniel gave his head a disgusted shake and moved on from that portrait. It should have been sold long ago. The gold frame would have fetched enough coin to make it worth the sell. For some reason, it had escaped him. He’d rectify that. Eventually. He’d speak to his man-of-affairs during their next meeting.

  For now, there was still the meeting with his mystery visitor. She was a lady, whom according to Haply, was “unlike that lady”…as in every woman who entered Daniel’s home and came to his bed. He reached the top of the stairs and, making his descent, he glanced around the spacious marble foyer. His gaze landed on a figure hidden inside a hideous brown cloak. That fabric was antithetical to the fine silks and satins donned by his lovers.

  “Madam,” he greeted, icing that single word with an edge of steel. “If you are here with hopes I’ll debauch…”

  The woman shoved her hood back and he froze with his foot suspended. There was nothing that a man would remarkably note of the lady being any grand beauty. She wasn’t. Her crimson hair, pulled back tightly at the base of her skull, accentuated the sharp angles of her heavily-freckled face. But there was something familiar about her. Too familiar.

  Surely exhaustion and too much liquor the evening prior accounted for seeing a girl from his past as a grown woman before him now. Then the lady collected the cane resting against her seat and struggled to stand. His lips parted in shock. He swung his gaze to her face. It had been countless years since he’d seen her or spoken with her but the green eyes, freckled face, and wooden cane all marked her identity. “Daphne.” Surprise pulled that word from him and he struggled against the onslaught of long buried memories. Of a carefree past, of laughter and happiness and—

  “Lord Montfort,” she greeted curtly.

  …I won’t call you ‘my lord’ or ‘lord anything’…you’re just a boy and I’m just a girl, so we’re equals, and this is as much my lake as it is yours… That long ago recollection of her, hands on her hips glaring at him from beside the brook, whispered around his mind, until now, forgotten.

  Her large, emerald green eyes snagging on his chest and her cheeks blazing the same shade of red as her hair, she dropped her gaze to the floor to his naked feet. She gasped. Then she glanced up at the mural painted on the ceiling. The tense lines at the corner of her mouth belied her casual perusal.

  A hard half-grin tilted his lips. This absolute lack of artifice was foreign to him in the life he now lived. The Daphne of his youth would never have done something as innocent as avoid his gaze. Then, time changed them all. “Daphne Smith,” he drawled. As soon as the name left him, he arched an eyebrow. “Or are you now a Mrs…?”

  “I am no Mrs.,” she said tightly.

  When had she become this staid creature? A peculiar regret stirred for the girl she’d been. “A shame.” He stretched those syllables out in a husky whisper, in a bid to elicit some Daphne-like response.

  She cocked her head and then slapped her spare hand over her mouth, glowering over her long, gloveless fingers. “My lord,” she scolded with far more impressive sternness than any of the tutors he’d suffered through as a boy. “I understand you are a rake, but I daresay even you draw the line at attempting the seduction of a childhood friend.”

  He tamped down a grin at that show of spirit. “You would be wrong.” In a deliberate bid to further unsettle, Daniel folded his arms at his naked chest. “In the ten years since we’ve last exchanged words,” he said in lazy tones, “the rule of seduction expanded to include all.” He followed that up with a wink.

  The lady narrowed her eyes.

  A loud commotion sounded from the landing above, calling their attention up. Mrs. Stillwell, golden tresses disheveled and gown wrinkled, stormed down the stairs.

  If Daphne’s cheeks burned any brighter, she was going to catch fire. When was the last time he’d so much as exchanged a single word or greeting to one of those innocent creatures? Then, this wasn’t just any innocent creature. This was Daphne Smith, whom he hadn’t seen in thirteen years and he didn’t care what she thought of him. Or he shouldn’t. And yet, with Daphne frowning on as his lover from last night made her appearance, his ears went hot. Surely he was not…embarrassed? He thrust aside the preposterous thought.

  Mrs. Stillwell paused briefly beside Daphne. “Miss Smith,” she greeted in cool, polite tones.

  “Mrs. Stillwell,” Daphne returned punctiliously.

  For, of course, even in matters of extreme discomfort and slight scandal, ladies recalled the rules of propriety. With a last pout for Daniel, the plump woman stormed through the door that a diligent Haply pulled open.

  As soon as he’d closed it behind her, the older man stalked off, after a bow in Daphne’s direction. A twinkle lit the old man’s rheumy eyes. She favored him with a wide smile that dimpled her cheeks, softening her features and momentarily transforming her.

  Daniel cocked his head. By God, Daphne wasn’t truly ugly. She was—

  Frowning once more. Her sharp features drawn into a smooth mask of disapproval, she flicked her gaze up and down his largely naked form. “Thirteen.”

  It was his turn to tip his head.

  She thumped her cane and glanced about. “It has been thirteen years since we’ve spoken. Not ten.” A sad, wistful expression stole over her face as she took in the discoloring left by paintings that had long since been sold.

  Daniel shifted, unnerved by her obvious disapproval. “I did not expect you’d be keeping track, love,” he said with forced nonchalance. He was a heartless bastard, but long ago they had been inseparable friends and her opinion had once mattered more than his own parents’.

  Again, Daphne whipped her gaze to his.

  Daniel took several slow, predatory steps forward, closing the space between them. He more than half-expected this new Daphne Smith to retreat. Then, he’d underestimated her too many times in their youth.

  She rooted herself to the floor and angled her chin up. “I’m hardly one of your doxies.” Doxies? “I’m here because of Lady Alice.”

  He furrowed his brow.

  “Your sister, Daniel,” she snapped, the sharp ire in her tone stripping his name from her proper
lips.

  His favorite part of a woman was her mouth. A man could imagine and receive so many wicked pleasures from a woman’s mouth and learn just as much. Never before had he noted Daphne’s lips. Then, the last time he’d seen her had been in black mourning attire, when she’d been a girl of fifteen. Now, he appreciated the bow-shape to the plump flesh. The—

  “Aliice,” she spoke slowly as though talking to a lackwit and effectively killed his improper musings. “You do remember your sister?” she gritted out.

  By the downturned corners of that same mouth, the lady was furious. Then her frigid tone and furious eyes were proof enough of that. “I know who my sister—” He froze and his mind ran through a meeting several weeks ago. A letter received from his uncle. Cutting off funding to Alice’s finishing schooling at Mrs. Belden or Mrs. Biden’s, or whichever Mrs. B’s Finishing School had been one more expense cut. Bloody hell. The whole bloody reason he’d been forced from London to the countryside.

  “I trust you’ve remembered to collect her?” Like an elderly Society dragon, Daphne again thumped her cane on the floor. The sharp staccato echoed around the space.

  “I remembered,” he groused under his breath.

  Some of the vitriol faded, replaced by a wistful glimmer. “You were always a rotted liar. Go get her, Dan—my lord,” she quickly substituted. She drew her hood back into place and then gave him one final reproachful look. “And I suggest you put a shirt on.”

  Haply materialized, sliding from the shadows, and rushed to pull the door open with a speed befitting a man many years his junior. Daphne’s words of thanks were met with another grin from the old servant.

  She paused on the threshold and then angled her head over her shoulder. “Oh, and one more thing, my lord. With your reputation of charmer, I expect you can at least pretend you didn’t forget her.”

  “What do you know of my reputation, love?” he called after her.

  Daphne snorted and without another glance, took her leave.

  Chapter 3

  In the whole of his thirty years, Daniel had never been without words around ladies. Widows and debutantes. Dowagers and women of the demimonde. Words flowed freely.

  Until this very moment.

  His sister sat on the opposite bench of his carriage. Her arms folded in a mutinous pose, Alice had a hard look he himself would struggle to emulate on her face.

  “I didn’t forget you,” he blurted. And generally, he was a good deal more effortless with his words than that.

  Alice narrowed her eyes all the more. “I didn’t say you did.” Some of the tension went out of his shoulders. A gent never knew how to speak around a sister. Vastly different creatures than the ladies one took to bed. “However, by those words, I expect that you very much did forget me.”

  Apparently, Daphne Smith had been incorrect. He’d been wholly unable to muster a sufficient charm to at least pretend he’d not forgotten Alice. If he were capable of feeling guilt or remorse, then this would certainly be one of those times. Long ago, he’d ceased to care about anyone’s opinion. Such a weakness only opened a person up to pain and he was quite good without any emotion.

  Daniel reclined in the torn seats of his conveyance. Had the carriage ride through Spelthorne ever been this long? Tugging back the curtain that was in equal disrepair to the seats, he stared out at the passing hillside and yawned. God, he despised the country. The shameful wagers, scandalous affairs, and abundant widows of London all beckoned. The only break from the tedium of a long summer was the naughty party he threw annually; those orgies that had earned him the deserved reputation of rake and scoundrel and every other nefarious word that could be handed down to a gent. At one time, the ill-opinions of others had chafed.

  …You’re a sorry excuse for a son. It should have been you… His late father’s booming voice thundered around his mind and Daniel forcibly thrust back that hated reminiscence. With time, that paternal disapproval had mattered less and less, and Daniel had taken an unholy delight in becoming an unfeeling rake.

  A rake who… A rake who…

  He peered out the window and then rubbed his eyes. Alas, the sight reminded him. With a sigh, he shot his hand up and rapped once on the roof. The carriage lurched to a sudden stop. His sister went flying forward and caught herself against the side, landing with her face pressed to the window.

  “What…?” Alice narrowed her gaze on the willowy creature limping along the road, with the aid of her cane. She cursed soundly with an inventiveness most gentlemen would be hard-pressed to rival. “You forced the lady to walk,” she lambasted.

  “I didn’t—” his neck heated as he almost inadvertently confirmed his sister’s earlier supposition. Nay, he hadn’t forced Daphne Smith to return on foot. He’d simply failed to realize that the lady was absent a carriage. The ladies he kept acquaintances with rode in fancy barouches and elegantly sprigged vehicles. And they certainly didn’t walk. Daniel shoved the door open and cupped his hands around his mouth. “Daph—oomph,” he paused to glower back at his sister.

  “She is a lady.” His sister’s stern rebuke was better fitting a leading Societal matron and not the young woman about to make her Come Out.

  Daniel sighed. He’d not debate the history and length of friendship between him and Daph—Miss Smith. Miss Smith, who still continued her onward march. He searched around his mind for the long ago details about the girl he’d called friend. She’d suffered a nasty fall and shattered her limb. Had the lady also injured her hearing that long ago day?

  His sister shoved him between the shoulder blades, propelling him forward, and he landed hard on his feet. He stumbled a bit and then caught himself. His driver made to dismount, but Daniel waved the man off.

  “Go,” Alice snapped.

  “I am going,” Daniel muttered. He quickened his stride. “Daph—Miss Smith?” he bellowed, cupping his hands about his mouth, once more. His long-legged strides easily ate away the distance between them.

  Leaning her weight on her cane, the lady wheeled around and glowered. “I am a cripple, Daniel. I am not deaf.”

  Ah, so it was just the lady’s leg. He doffed his hat and beat it against his leg. “Unpardonably rude to not offer you the service of my carriage earlier.” At one time, there had been several conveyances. Well-sprigged, velvet-upholstered ones. Now, there were but two. And they were sad affairs that put most hired hacks in a grand light. All the rest, lost to too many wagers and failing estates.

  Daphne shielded her eyes from the sun and lifted her head. “You do not strike me as one overly concerned with being taken as unpardonably rude.”

  Daniel offered her a wolfish smile. “I’m not. But I’d still offer the use of my carriage.”

  She eyed him warily. It was a suitable, proper response any young or old miss alike would be wise to don around him. Then she slid her gaze over to the conveyance.

  “Hullo, Miss Smith,” his sister called cheerfully, waving a hand.

  Daphne returned the greeting, but hesitated still. The girl of his youth had cursed, spit, and skipped with equal abandon. Inevitably they’d all gone from carefree to jaded. What had resulted in her transformation? Had it been that moment, long ago, when he’d found her with her shattered limb? He dipped his lips close to her ear, his breath stirring a red curl that had escaped her hideous chignon. “You were not always so cautious.”

  “And you were not always a rake,” she countered and his grin deepened. The lady eyed the path toward her home and then looked to his carriage. The war raging in her eyes spoke to her indecision.

  “Come, my sister is present. As such, your virtue will remain safe.” High color flooded her cheeks, swamping her freckles, but she remained tight-lipped. Daniel held out his arm. “What will your father think of me, if I fail to provide a proper escort home?”

  She turned her lips up in a dry smile. “Given he is dead, I’m afraid I’ll not have the luxury of inquiring.”

  He opened and closed his mouth several tim
es. And he, who was never without the proper words and, more importantly, the improper ones, came up empty, yet again. Her father had died. A man who’d been a loyal, loving papa. Daphne would have been devastated and, yet, Daniel had not even known of her loss. If ever proof had been needed of his self-absorption, this moment was certainly it. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. Not that any proof would be required. Everyone knew the contemptible blighter he was.

  “Thank you,” she said softly. A spark of pain lit Daphne’s eyes and he looked quickly away, horrified by that show of emotion. He didn’t deal in feelings. Once he had. After a reminder given him by his miserable sire that everyone and everything he touched was destroyed, Daniel had embraced a deadened state. Feelings were an empty currency that held no value. And he certainly couldn’t commiserate with sadness with the loss of a father. His own father had been a bastard who’d depleted the crofters and left them in near dun territory. Daniel had seen to the remainder of that grand effort for him.

  “Come,” he urged, waving his arm. She eyed it the way Eve must have studied that apple in Lucifer’s hand.

  Smart woman.

  Squaring her shoulders, Daphne shifted her cane and then, pointedly ignoring his arm, marched to his carriage. He stared bemusedly after her. As one of the most notorious rakes in London, there was always an eager woman to warm his bed. Both young and old ladies sought his favors, if for nothing more than the thrill of risking their reputation. Not a single woman had rejected an arm he held out.

  His longer-legged stride immediately closed the distance between them. He reached her side. Then he captured her about the waist and tossed her inside onto the bench alongside his sister.

  Daphne frowned. “I can climb inside without assistance.”

  “I’ve no doubt,” he muttered, hefting himself inside. The lady had always been capable of doing anything and everything. Or that had once been the case. After his brother’s death, he’d seen the girl he’d once called friend less and less, until not at all. Who had she become in those years? Daniel frowned. Not that he much cared at all either way.