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

by Christi Caldwell

  She shook her head wryly, the irony not lost on her. As a child, she’d required less assistance through life than a woman of nearly thirty years. That, of course, only reminded her of the very specific request for assistance that brought her here, now. Daphne firmed her lips as she finally reached the generous stone landing. Before she thought again of the folly in being here, she banged her closed fist on the door.

  Silence met her rapping. She caught her lower lip between her teeth and studied the heavy panel a long moment. Mayhap, he’d already packed his carriages and been onward to London. It would hardly surprise her. It would, however, prove most inconvenient. Well, for her anyway. Having read of his scandalous pursuits over the years, she expected it would prove anything but inconvenient for the gentleman whose favor she now sought.

  She knocked again. The door opened and she didn’t know whether to give silent thanks or stamp her foot in frustration. The old butler registered his surprise with the flare of his bushy white eyebrows. “Miss Smith,” he murmured, shuffling slowly out of the way to allow her entrance. She took in his stiff movements. Mayhap that was the inevitable fate visited upon all, albeit at different times. Invariably, they each ended up with useless legs and shuffling steps that forced one to slow and think about one’s decisions.

  “Haply,” she greeted, offering a gentle smile for the servant who’d once obligingly chased her and Daniel around these very halls. “I’ve come to see His Lordship.” She lifted her gaze to the sweeping marble staircase that led to the grand living quarters. “Has he departed yet for London?”

  The servant shook his head. “Not yet, Miss Smith.” He is still here. An unexpected wave of relief assailed her. A foreign response to any nobleman…particularly the roguish sort. “If you’ll follow me?”

  A footman came over to collect her cloak and, shifting her weight over the cane, Daphne released the clasp of the old, slightly tattered garment. She handed it over to the waiting servant.

  She trailed along, taking in the threadbare, once great hall. Bright satin wallpaper where paintings had once graced the walls, stood a stark contrast to the faded, aged material. Daphne shook her head sadly at the shame of it. A family born with a wealth that should have seen their ancestors cared for through centuries, had squandered it away. And then people of her lesser station? Dependent on their wits and, now, the magnanimity of those same men who squandered away their fortunes.

  They reached the earl’s office and Haply scratched his knuckles along the surface of the door. A bleating snore reached through the thick wood. She knitted her eyebrows. What in blazes? The old servant gave her a sheepish look. Dispensing with the polite scratching, he pounded hard on the oak panel.

  A loud grunt and muffled curse stretched out into the hallway. “By God, man, you know not to disturb me at dawn.”

  At dawn, she mouthed. How could this be the same person who’d tossed pebbles at her windowpane to wake her so they could rush to the hillside and watch the sun make its climb? Haply made another clearing sound in his throat. “You have a visitor, my lord.”

  “Tell Mrs. Still—”

  “It is Miss Smith,” the servant quickly interrupted. Cheeks flushed, he swung his gaze quickly to Daphne.

  A moment later, Daniel pulled the door open, standing in his stockinged feet and sans jacket. “Miss Smith, we meet again,” he drawled, in sleep roughened tones as he stuffed his shirt inside his breeches.

  “My lord,” she said evenly, refusing to be scandalized. Despite his opinion of her, she was no missish, wide-eyed virgin, given to shock easily.

  He stepped back and swept his arms wide with the elegance of a lord greeting a lady in a drawing room and not—Daphne wrinkled her nose—a room heavy with a plume of lingering cheroot smoke and darkness. Squaring her shoulders, she marched, as much as she was able, inside. She jumped when he slammed the door loudly behind them.

  Her heart picked up its beat as she passed a wary gaze between him and that path to freedom.

  “You may rest assured, I’ve no grand designs upon your virtue,” he said wryly, striding over to the torn leather button sofa. Daniel retrieved his jacket. She bit the inside of her cheek at his taunting words. Do not allow him to ruffle you… Do not allow him to ruffle you… He smartly snapped the wrinkled black fabric. To no avail. Heedlessly, he pulled it on.

  “Yes, I expect a notorious rogue would have more discriminating taste than to bother with a spinster.” From her thankfully brief foray into London Society, she knew the smooth-tongued earl had his choice of ladies. The passage of time had been kind to him in some ways. His tall, muscle-hewned frame had more of a breadth and width to it than the lean, wiry figure of his youth. His thick, chestnut hair tousled, a day’s growth of beard on his face, he fit not at all with the proper lords of London she recalled from her too-brief foray into that miserable place. The harsh set to his hard lips and cynical glint in his chocolate brown eyes aged him in ways that time alone never could.

  At her perusal, he gave her a slow, wolfish smile. “I assure you, I’d never be so snobbish as to turn a spinster out of my bed.”

  And just then, he proved her earlier sense of calm around him entirely wrong. Heat scorched from the roots of her crimson hair down to her toes. She fisted the head of her cane. Everything was a game to these men. A lady’s heart. Her sensibilities. It was all fair game in their tedious world. “Well, I assure you,” she said with a sardonic edge, “I’m certainly not searching for a rogue in my bed.”

  Daniel folded his arms, drawing her attention to the broad muscles straining the expert cut of his midnight jacket. “Which begs the question, what manner of man are you searching for?” he asked on a silken purr.

  A snorting laugh bubbled past her lips and, with the aid of her cane, she strode to the tightly drawn brocade curtains. “Surely that is not the manner of drivel that’s earned you the reputation of rogue?” she goaded as she layered her cane against the wall and opened the curtains. Sunlight streamed through the crystal windowpanes and Daniel cursed, covering his eyes.

  “A rake,” he muttered as she retrieved her cane and turned to face him squarely. “I’ve earned the reputation of a rake.”

  Did he find honor in that notorious moniker attached to his name? “Yes, well,” she said with a flick of her hand. “Rogues, rakes, scoundrels. All really the same.”

  He took a slow, languid step closer, followed by another, and another. The smooth grace and elegance a black panther would be hard-pressed to not admire, until he ate away all the distance between them. Her pulse pounded loudly in her ears. “Ah,” he whispered, dipping his lips close to her ear. The scent of brandy wafted over her skin. This is Daniel. Do not be silly. He’s the same boy whose nose you bloodied countless times when he’d given her pugilism lessons. “But they are entirely different, Daphne.” He commandeered her name in a silken baritone that set off a wicked fluttering in her belly. A dangerous one. One that she’d known before and had learned was the root of evil, and ruin, and pain.

  It also served to coolly restore her logic. “They aren’t, Daniel,” she corrected, neatly stepping around him. “You are like all men who live for your pleasures, take countless women to your beds, and drown yourselves in liquor, caring for nothing or no one but yourselves. There’s no difference.”

  Most men would have been properly shamefaced by that leveling charge. Then, Daniel was not most gentlemen. “I do not expect you’ve come to discuss the differences, of which there are many,” he added, “between a rake and a rogue?” His smile deepened, revealing two even rows of pearl white teeth and a dimpled cheek. Everything about this man on the surface was masculine perfection. But so, too, had been the Devil in disguise in that fateful Garden of Eden.

  “No,” she agreed, drawing in a deep breath as he brought her round to the whole reason for her visit. “I once gave you a guinea and you vowed if I had a need for it, that you would return it. Well, I’ve a need for it.” She held her gloved palm out.

&nbs
p; He eyed her hand a moment through perplexed eyes and then looked to her face. “What?” That single syllable utterance conveyed his proper bafflement.

  “I did not believe you recalled—”

  “I recall,” he said suddenly, unexpectedly. The boy he’d been would have cherished that small treasure she’d found. The man he’d grown in to would have scoffed at the meagerness of it. Or she expected he would have.

  “Splendid,” she beamed, wagging her hand. “I shall take it back, then.”

  Daniel dipped his head, examining her for a long moment through bloodshot eyes. He whistled. “You’re out of your blasted mind.”

  Yes, well, desperation did that. “I take that to mean you do not have it.” She let her hand fall by her side.

  “That would be a safe assumption, Miss Smith,” he said, his tone drier than an autumn leaf.

  Daphne folded her arms before her and the end of her cane knocked into his leg, coming dangerously close to—

  “Have a care to not unman me, love.”

  For a less cautious, less jaded by life young woman, that husky endearment would have posed dangerous to her self-control and virtue. Fortunately, she was no longer a young woman. She thumped the heel of her cane on the floor. “I assume you lost it at a hazard or faro table long ago.”

  “Oh, no doubt,” he conceded, marching over to his well-stocked sideboard with such speed and grace, a wave of envy filled her. “Though,” he paused in the process of pouring himself a glass of whiskey. “It very well may have been whist.”

  She tightened her mouth. Good, that coin should be well and truly lost. It had represented the end of dreams she’d not yet even realized as a girl and the uncertain future that awaited a poor gentry man’s crippled daughter. Thrusting aside the useless, unwanted self-pity, she nudged her chin up. “Given this unexpected,” of which it was not at all, “turn with my fortune—”

  “Treasure.”

  She tipped her head.

  “I believe you once referred to it as a treasure.” He toasted her with his glass and then downed it in a long, slow swallow. His lips pulled in a grimace and he set the glass down. Only to reach for the bottle once more.

  Daphne stood, opening and closing her mouth. She was properly flummoxed, as he no doubt intended. “You remember that?”

  He paused mid-pour of his second whiskey, blinking slowly. And then, waved her on. “You were speaking about your guinea, Miss Smith.”

  Yes, right. Of course. She smoothed one palm along the fabric of her coarse woolen skirts, which only brought Daniel’s attention downward. She bit the inside of her cheek, hating that he should see the threadbare garments and know precisely her state. How different it was for a lord, born with a proverbial spoon inside his mouth only to throw the contents of it at the wall, and a woman who was…well, born with few options other than to marry.

  “Miss Smith,” he said impatiently.

  “As I was saying, I’ve come for my coin. Which I believe we’ve ascertained you do not have?” She pressed him with her gaze.

  “To which I already said yours was a safe assumption.”

  “Which means, we have a bit of a problem, then, my lord.”

  “Oh?” he asked, his eyes straying to the clock in the corner, a telling indication of just how concerned he was about this very problem. “And why do you not enlighten me as to your problem.”

  “Your problem,” she swiftly amended. “You see, you pledged to return it and, yet, you do not have it. As such, I expect some form of payment.”

  Generally, those words coming from the lips of lovers portended all manner of wicked deeds and naughty delights.

  This stern-faced, pinch-mouthed creature before him was most certainly not a lover. And if she was coming to him for a fortune, treasure, or pence, she sought the wrong lord. “Tell me,” he said, wrapping those two words in a husky whisper. “What form of payment do you seek, Daphne?”

  Where he’d demonstrated so many failings in life, he’d become an expert at reading a woman’s body; the soft flush on her naked skin as she climbed toward her release. The whispery sigh that hinted at romantic musings. Or in this case, the slight tremble of too-full lips as they fell slightly agape. Proving that even an angry spinster, once a childhood friend, Daphne Smith was not wholly immune to him. A wave of masculine triumph ran through him.

  Then, she whipped her eyebrows into a single, angry line. “Surely you are not attempting to seduce me?”

  “Uh…” Or mayhap she was wholly immune. He stared on with an increasing curiosity for the woman who’d shattered his quiet not once, but now twice this week. Daniel angled his body closer, lowering his lips once more to the lobe of her ear. The faint scent of lilac wafted about him; a wholly innocent, feminine scent which he should detest for that innocence and, yet, it flooded his senses, dangerously intoxicating. “Only if you wish me—”

  “I assure you, I’ve no desire to be seduced by you, or anyone,” she added, through tight lips.

  “A shame,” he whispered, once more, brushing a speck of dust from his sleeve. He narrowed his eyes on that recalcitrant fleck.

  Daphne reached out and dusted her long fingers over the fabric. “There. Now, do attend me.”

  The women he favored were warm, willing, and always eager. They were certainly not those bossy, ordering creatures. Though, in this moment, with Daphne’s talk of rogues, rakes, and seduction, and unintentionally suggestive words, mayhap he’d been wrong all these years. There was something quite appealing about those ladies, too.

  “Daniel,” she snapped.

  “Yes, yes. Your pence.”

  “It was a guinea,” she gritted out. “You promised to return it. You do not have it and, as such, some payment is necessary. I require references.”

  Of all the requests she would have put to him, that was certainly the last or least that would have come to mind. “References,” he parroted.

  She nodded.

  “What manner of references?”

  “Glowing ones.”

  His lips pulled at the corners in a rusty smile that strained muscles he only turned up in coolly mocking grins. Until this very moment. Unexpected humor filled him. “And what are these references for, Miss Smith?” he asked, swirling the contents of his glass.

  “For?” It would seem it was now her turn to repeat. “I require employment,” she said haltingly. Ah, her visit to Mrs. Belden’s. Or Mrs. Belten’s? “And my prospective employer requires references.” She paused. “From a nobleman.”

  So his sister had been correct and Daphne sought work at the finishing school instructing proper young ladies. A slow, niggling of a thought took root in his mind. “And the word of any nobleman will matter? Including a rake, rogue, or scoundrel?”

  “To this woman it will.” By the crispness of that deliverance, the lady was of a contrasting opinion than this illustrious prospective employer. Then, Daphne had always been a clever girl.

  “I expect I’ll need to know what to write or what manner of work you wish me to endorse you for.”

  “I simply need a testament to my character and capabilities with young ladies.” Hope filled her green eyes and small silver flecks danced to life.

  He froze, momentarily transfixed by that emerald hue. Why, with those lively eyes, when she wasn’t frowning and snapping, she was really quite pretty. He coughed and quickly downed another drink, again grabbing for his bottle. “I hardly know any young ladies who’ve benefited from your, uh, assistance,” he said, when he faced her.

  And damn if he didn’t mourn the light that those words extinguished from her eyes.

  “Given your penchant for carousing, whoring, and bedding other men’s wives, I expect mustering a few glowing words on my behalf would hardly be out of the realm of what is acceptable of your character.”

  Of his character. The lady had rightly formed the same ill-opinion of his character and honor. Which, once more, just proved Daphne Smith’s cleverness. Such a truth might have
mattered to the boy who’d called her friend. That boy was long, long dead. As dead as his brother, which had left an undeserving Daniel as earl in his stead. “Reading of my pursuits, love?” he asked, stretching an arm out. Her breath caught audibly. But he only reached around her for his bottle, refilling the partially empty glass.

  “Witnessing them,” she clarified.

  He eyed her over the bottle.

  “I had a Season, my lord.”

  Daniel looked to her with some surprise and he dug around his mind for memory of Daphne Smith in London. “You had a Season?” A lady of her spirit and honesty had no place in that rotted place. It was reserved for men and women with black souls who’d do anything to survive. Of which she was now a member. Minus the whole black soul part.

  A wry and not at all Daphne-like smile formed on her lips. “Yes, even I, a poor cripple, had a Season.”

  At her incorrect supposition, Daniel frowned. Is that the light she saw herself in? And he, who’d long ago ceased feeling anything, found himself—annoyed. Thrusting aside the peculiar sentiment, he grunted. “I do not recall seeing you in London.”

  “Yes, well, a gentleman so self-absorbed with his own pursuits, dancing attendance on widows and unhappily married ladies, would hardly notice something outside his own pleasures,” she said pragmatically.

  Long immune to anyone’s displeasure, her barb somehow struck at a place of caring that he’d long believed dead. Unnatural stuff. He tossed back another drink, welcoming the burn. Yes, he far preferred feeling nothing. “I hardly think insulting me is the best way to attain your glowing references,” he pointed out, arching a single eyebrow.

  “I’m not here to mollify or beg, Daniel,” she said tersely. Did the lady realize she’d slipped back into the use of his Christian name? And even more dangerous, how much he preferred hearing it spoken in her husky contralto? “I came for my guinea,” she said, neatly bringing them round to the reason for her visit.