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

by Christi Caldwell

  Daniel inclined his head. “Which we determined I’ve, no doubt, lost.”

  She nodded. “Which means you must offer me some form of payment.”

  He fished around the front of his jacket and his finger connected with the warmth of one coin. He paused and then, instead, extracted another.

  Daphne froze, her wide eyes going to the coin in his hand and then swinging back to his face. She stepped closer eyeing the shiny, new piece. “This is not it.”

  No. This piece was certainly not her treasure. He waved the guinea under her nose. “I expect any coin will do.”

  She retreated a step, like Red Riding Hood realizing too late that the wolf was at hand. “Oh, indeed not. My guinea was special.”

  “Of course,” he said dryly, earning another frown. He stuffed the inferior one back inside his jacket.

  “As such, I expect I should determine the proper form of payment. And that payment is references—”

  “For a job you’ve never performed,” he cut in. It really was rotten for him to lead her along, particularly when he knew precisely what she required. Even worse, he knew he’d never been the man to offer a favor without acquiring something in return. “I will help you,” he said. She continued to watch him carefully. Then, he’d long been the bounder she’d rightfully accused him of being. “But I do require something from you.” A pretty blush bathed her freckles in red. “Favors which are not sexual in nature,” he said lazily and the color of her cheeks only burned brighter. “Unless,” he dropped his voice to a husky purr. “That is something you wish?”

  “Decidedly not,” she squeaked.

  He quashed another smile. If he weren’t already going to hell for too many sins and crimes to count, then he’d be going there now with his teasing of an innocent Daphne.

  Putting aside that repartee, he returned to the matter of business. “Alice is making her debut and she requires a companion.” He waved a hand. “You will serve admirably in that role. The post is yours and then so too will be your glowing references, as soon as my sister makes a proper match.” Of course, with the young woman’s limited options, she’d no choice. The partnership was mutually agreeable to both. Then, he’d only ever dabbled in friendships and relationships that served his interests. “We leave within three hours.” He stalked over to his desk, only registering the absolute silence of the room when he’d claimed a seat. Daniel looked up.

  Daphne hovered at the sideboard, unmoving, unblinking with a motionlessness that could have confused her for a statue. “London?”

  Did that weak, threadbare whisper belong to the always fiery, fearless Daphne? Surely not. “I take it you did not approve of the place after your failed Season?”

  She gave her head a nearly imperceptible shake in the first real hint of movement since he’d handed her his offer.

  “In time, you come to appreciate it. Far more thrilling than the countryside,” he said dismissively as he dragged forth a ledger to review his mounting debts.

  “I cannot go to London.”

  At that strangled admission, he glanced up. All color had drained from her face, leaving her gaunt cheeks a pale hue. Having been born an earl’s second son, he’d often moved between London and the countryside, so much that he’d developed an ease and eventual appreciation for the thrilling city. A young woman like Daphne, however, who’d left but once that she’d shared, would never belong in that land of sin. Nor did he prefer imagining her forever immersed in that abhorrent place. It wasn’t for the handful of Daphne Smiths in the world. He frowned. “Then, I’m afraid I cannot provide you references.” If he were most men, he’d feel a modicum of guilt for forcing her hand this way. But he was not most men. He was the rake she’d accused him of being. A man who’d taken coin to betray his friend and that was only one of the things among his immoralities.

  If her skin went any whiter, there’d be no blood left in her being. “You are a bastard, Daniel Winterbourne.”

  “Yes,” he easily agreed. “But I am a bastard whose sister requires a companion. Someone to…” He searched his mind for his uncle’s specifics. “Take her to museums and the opera, and…” What did cultured entail? “And other events,” he settled for.

  A sound of impatience burst from Daphne’s lips. “I’d make her a rotten companion,” she said on a rush, limping forward with such haste, she stumbled.

  “Should I include that in your reference?” he asked, another smile forming.

  Daphne quickly caught herself and then straightened, speaking over his humor. “I’m not a lady. I expect you know any number of ladies—”

  “Oh, I know ladies.” Her shoulders sagged with relief. “None, however, that my uncle would ever deem appropriate.”

  The lady wetted her lips. “I’m a….” She firmed her shoulders and squarely met his gaze. “I am a cripple.”

  Daniel passed his eyes over her, lingering on the cane. She’d once been spry and quick. He, mayhap, was somewhat human after all, because he despised the sad glimmer in her eyes. “Daphne Smith, an old injured leg would never stop you from marching on the king’s forces if you so chose. I would favor any wager with you and your limp over a gentleman without.”

  Her lips parted and, at the softening in her eyes, a shudder wracked his frame. Egads, he could do without any hint of adoration.

  “I do not have a wardrobe,” she said, this time, tentative. “I have no noble connections.”

  “If you are attempting to convince me of your unsuitability, you’re doing a splendid job,” he drawled and leaned back in his chair. “Are you suggesting I find another?” Countless years at the gaming tables had made him a master of dissembling. The truth was, he was without options, in terms of coin, and in terms of so much as knowing a single appropriate and, more, respectable, lady to serve as companion.

  “No,” she said quickly. Daphne searched around the room and then turned resigned eyes back on him. “Very well. I will, come with you.” She spoke with all the enthusiasm and excitement of a woman agreeing to march to the gallows to face her executioner. “At the end of my tenure, I expect references and one hundred pounds,” she demanded and then added on a rush, “and one replacement guinea, of course.”

  Poor Daphne, she’d always been rot at wagering. He’d have offered her five hundred of those eight thousand coming to him. He inclined his head. “We’re agreed, then.”

  She came to the edge of his desk and stretched her hand out.

  He furrowed his brow, taking in her long, graceful fingers. Fingers that conjured all manner of wicked thoughts of that hand wrapped around his length, stroking him—

  “You are supposed to close your hand around it, my lord.” At the mental imagery she conjured, a surge of wholly inappropriate thoughts for this woman burst forth. Lust blazed to that uncircumspect organ.

  “Uh, yes. Right.” Daniel placed his fingers in hers and heat burned his palm. Slightly callused and tanned from the sun, that skin was nothing like the smooth, white palms of the ladies who warmed his bed. Yet, there was strength to hers. A strength he was hard-pressed to not admire.

  “We are done here, then,” Daphne concluded. With a nod and demonstrating a remarkable, if infuriating, calm to his touch, she drew her hand back. She started for the door.

  “Daphne,” he called out, halting her in her tracks. She glanced back over her shoulder. “See that Haply has a carriage readied to deliver you home, first.” Her eyes registered her shock. Then she nodded. With a word of thanks, she took her leave.

  Yes, the lady was wise to also be surprised by any show of goodness in him. For in truth, there was none. All good had died long, long ago. Forcing his onetime friend to enter a world she so hated, was proof of it.

  Chapter 5

  When Daphne Smith had left Polite Society ten years ago, she’d vowed the only way she’d ever reenter their midst was if her life depended on it. Even then, if she could strike a deal with the Devil to retain her hold on living, then that was a deal she’d hap
pily take.

  In the end, she’d made a deal with an altogether different devil and ironically one that would thrust her back amongst the ton. A devil who’d also politely refused the use of his mount to claim the seat opposite her.

  “You’re not riding Satan?” Lady Alice puzzled aloud, echoing Daphne’s very wondering.

  Satan?

  Daniel rolled his shoulders. “How could I be so rude as to forego the delightful company here?”

  His sister rolled her eyes to the ceiling.

  “You named your horse Satan?” Daphne snorted. “I would suggest striving for being less obvious in conveying the depth of your wickedness.”

  Alice widened her eyes and burst into laughter.

  Through the mirth echoing off the walls, Daniel winged an arrogant eyebrow up. “It occurs to me you have been attending stories of my wickedness, Miss Smith.”

  Daphne promptly closed her mouth and redirected her attention out the window, staring out at the passing countryside, deliberately ignoring him and the intense gaze he trained on her. How empty were the lives of noblemen that they would find enjoyment in needling and baiting a lady. And in this case, a lady who’d once been a friend.

  Daniel shifted his weight on the bench and that subtle movement brought their knees into contact. An unwanted heat burned through her fabric. She gritted her teeth and inched closer to the side of the carriage.

  Seven hours. That was how long she’d be forced to endure the jolting, miserable carriage ride with Daniel across from her. And she only knew the precise amount because she’d counted the minutes with excitement as a girl of eighteen when she’d first gone to London. Then she had lamented the infernally slow passage of time on the return from that miserable hell.

  Alice broke the tense impasse. “Have you been to London, Miss Smith?”

  “Once,” she murmured. “Ten years ago.” Unease formed a pit in her belly. It was not that she’d despised London. She had enjoyed the thrill of the city. But rather, it was a certain gentleman that she despised. Lord Leopold Dunlop’s face flashed behind her mind’s eye. She’d never meant anything to that rogue. As such, he’d hardly remember the cripple he bedded against a wall, like a cheap dockside doxy.

  Alice surged forward in her seat, her brown eyes radiating an excitement Daphne herself had been filled with years earlier. “Is it as wicked as all the gossip columns claim?”

  Worse.

  “I would have to defer to your brother,” she murmured and then mentally cursed herself for inviting Daniel into any discourse of which she must be part.

  Alice turned an expectant stare on her brother.

  “Worse,” he supplied, stretching his legs out once more, sending another round of that unwanted awareness. She didn’t want to notice that he’d grown into this towering, well-muscled model of male perfection.

  He gave her a slow, languid look. A knowing one.

  Daphne gritted her teeth and attended Alice. “I expect your brother would rather you not know of the wicked end of London,” she supplied for him.

  “All of London is depraved,” he countered, unhelpfully.

  Daphne shot him a reproachful look. “That is untrue,” she countered. Ladies of Hope was proof of the good in the world, still. “Some parts are not,” she said lamely when brother and sister continued to stare at her.

  “But most are,” Daniel persisted.

  Alice brightened. “That will do. I was hoping for wicked.”

  She swallowed a groan. Her charge would, of course, possess a bit of her brother’s wild spirit. “There is something to be said for dull.” Of course, an earl’s sister didn’t know the same uncertainty that came for lower-born women like Daphne.

  “Yes, there is,” Daniel concurred, unexpectedly helpful. “It is tedious.” He followed that outlandish charge with a wink, eliciting a bark of laughter from his sister.

  Daphne swiped a hand over her eyes. Could he not be a proper brother? The protective older brother who scared off suitors and showed the correct level of worry for his sister’s reputation. “No, there is something safe in it. Reassuring. Comforting. Wicked is uncertain.” Lord Leopold Dunlop’s smug, smirking face flashed behind her eyes again. “And often dangerous,” she added and thought better of it. “Always dangerous. Always,” she whispered to herself, an unnecessary reminder she no longer needed. Not when her lack of virtue stood as a testament to that very fact.

  She registered the absolute silence in the carriage and looked up to find the Winterbourne siblings studying her with varying degrees of interest. Cheeks heating, she shifted her attention to the window. She’d said too much. Mayhap, they’d let the matter rest and go on with their discussion on the wicked wonders of London.

  Of course, that was all too much to hope for. “Do you know, Miss Smith,” Daniel began. “You speak as though a woman who doth protest too much.”

  Her skin pricked with the curious attention Alice trained on her. “I speak as a woman who was properly warned away from scandal and not one who’d romanticize it. And given,” she held his gaze, “Lady Alice’s entry into Polite Society, I should think you wish her to embrace respectability and honor.”

  “Yes, well, I do not care if the gentleman to court me is a rake or honorable gentleman, as long as he is hopelessly in love with me,” Alice piped in.

  “Rakes don’t love,” Daniel interrupted with a jaded edge as he reached inside his jacket and withdrew a silver flask. He removed the stopper and took a swig.

  “The reformed ones do,” his sister protested with a frown of one who believed she knew more than she, in fact, did.

  He took another sip. “Rogues may be reformed. A rake never. Find the suitable lords. A proper, wealthy duke. In fact, any wealthy gent will do. Don’t go wasting your attention on anything less.”

  The muscles of Daphne’s stomach knotted. How many believed those powerful peers made the ideal match? Most ladies dreamed of lofty, fat in the purse, lords. She had been a lady, dreaming only of love. “Think equally with your heart and with your mind when deciding on a suitor,” she said quietly.

  “Your mind?” Daniel chuckled, the sound empty and devoid of mirth. Oh, how changed he was from the freckle-faced boy who’d snorted and shook with laughter. “Hardly the romantic words to pass on to your charge.”

  “I would pass her words of wisdom,” she challenged. He narrowed his eyes on her face and the dark, piercing intensity hinted at a man who could see inside a woman’s head and extract her every secret. If he did, he’d have seen her unsuitability, tossed the carriage door open, and kicked her back into the countryside where she belonged.

  Daniel said nothing more. Instead, he returned his attention to that silver flask.

  Another thankful silence descended on the carriage. The quiet was only shattered by the rumble of the carriage wheels and the soft, evenly drawn breaths of Alice slumbering and the faint snoring of Daniel as he slept.

  Daphne released the tension she held in her shoulders and rolled the muscles aching from her stiff carriage. For so long, it had been easy to put her experience in London into a trunk, close the lid, lock it up, and bury it away under her bed, to never be brought out again. That place where horrible memories and foolish mistakes were dusted aside, but never truly forgotten. For they could not be forgotten.

  Now, Daniel, with his offer of employment, had forced that trunk out into the open. All her sins and follies mocked her once more for the hopefulness of her youth.

  She’d been tricked by a smiling, dashing gentleman, far too handsome than a man had a right to be, with the right words on his lips. She would forever live with the reminder of trusting a rogue. Or rake, or scoundrel. Because even with Daniel’s semantic dance, they were all invariably the same.

  Just as he was the same.

  She shifted her gaze over to his sleeping form. In repose, the cynical lines melted from the harsh, angular planes leaving in their place a beautifully sculpted gentleman. The square jaw, the high cheeks, a
ll embodied the perfect material for those great artists to memorialize in their precious stone. It was no wonder he’d become one of those lords whose favors were coveted and craved by unhappy women and debutantes eager to dance with excitement and danger.

  For he represented that. Daphne captured her chin in her hand. He’d not always been that way. He’d been outrageously fun to bait and tease and chase. A boy with clever jests, who’d seen stags in the stars and wolves in the clouds. Then, a boy and girl invariably grew up and became the jaded figures that she and Daniel now were.

  He…was awake.

  Her stomach lurched as his chestnut brown lashes twitched. Impossibly long lashes that no gentleman had a right to possess. She bit the inside of her cheek. The bounder. A slow, decidedly wicked grin curved his lips up. “How long have you been awake?” she demanded on a charged whisper.

  “Long enough.” He waggled his chestnut eyebrows and then spoke in hushed tones. “Did you enjoy what you saw, Miss Smith?”

  Daphne rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “Hardly.” She was going to hell for lying.

  “And yet, you stared.” God, he was more tenacious than he’d been as a boy, rooted at the shore at dusk, refusing to leave until he’d caught a fish.

  “I was thinking of how you have changed,” she said, off-setting him with her honesty.

  He opened and closed his mouth several times, like that very fish he’d inevitably prevailed to catch. The company he now kept, he’d not know what to do with honesty. His momentary lack of control receded, replaced by the smooth, cocksure arrogance that could only belong to a sought-after rogue. “So tell me how have I changed?” he urged.

  Of course, he’d noted her earlier appreciation. She was wise and wary, but she was not dead. That was where she’d fail and she’d see the glorious specimen he’d become. “You used to smile.” A glorious sunny grin that had twinkled in his eyes and matched his dimple. “I preferred when you were smiling,” she added, unable to keep the regret from seeping into her musings.