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

by Christi Caldwell

“Pleasure,” he purred.

  She paled and her freckles stood stark in her cheeks. She backed up. “You’re trying to shock me.” There was a breathless quality to her accusation better suited for whispered endearments behind chamber doors.

  “Yes,” he whispered. “Is it working?”

  “I wiped your tears when you cried after I bloodied your nose. I cannot be shocked by someone I’ve known that long, D-Daniel.” That faint tremble made a lie of her bravado.

  With every step, she moved deeper and deeper into the shop as he intended, pulling them away from the flurry of activity while his sister pored through fabrics with the modiste. Daphne’s back knocked against a pillar, ending her retreat. She glanced about as he came to a stop before her.

  Raising an arm, he rested his palm above her head, effectively trapping her, standing so close his chest brushed the soft flesh of her breasts. A wave of lust bolted through him as her eyes briefly clouded with passion. “If you cannot be shocked, then I’ll tell you how I live for the blissful surcease that can only be found when you lose yourself in another body.” For in those empty exchanges, where there was a moment of mindless ecstasy, he could then forget. Forget that everyone who loved him had died. His mother. His brother. And that of those who remained, was him, the Devil’s spawn, as his father had dubbed him. “For everything melts away in the throes of lovemaking. Where you live for nothing but feeling.”

  “I am not one of your lightskirts,” she whispered as he shielded her with his body.

  “No,” he conceded. “But…” You could be.

  By the regret in her eyes, she braced for that improper offer.

  He tried to push out the words intended to shock and hurt. To give them to her, the truest words; he’d like to lay her down and explore her body in every way, releasing her from the bonds that held her, until she exploded in climactic joy. What had become as a means to push her away and protect himself, now became something altogether more real, dark, and dangerous. I want her… Shock slammed into him. He, who reviled innocence and goodness, hungered for her.

  As if the fates sought to remind him of exactly the kind of man he was, a soft, husky purr sounded over his shoulder. “Lord Montfort, I thought you’d never return from the countryside.” He wheeled around. The Baroness Shelley, an overblown creature, a lady he’d taken as his lover on and off through the years stood there, regarding him through catlike eyes. Her smoky lashes lowered as she fingered the vast expanse of flesh spilling over her plunging neckline.

  It was a sight that should inspire lust, if not at the very least, appreciation. Instead, a wave of annoyance hit him at her untimely interruption. “Baroness,” he greeted smoothly, while Daphne slinked away. He positioned himself between the two women, but the baroness merely angled her head.

  She surveyed Daphne for a brief moment and then, with a haughty flick of her head, sauntered closer to him.

  He frowned. How easily this woman and the modiste dismissed Daphne. Yet, with the women side by side, he appreciated Daphne’s understated beauty and elegance more. From over the wanton widow’s shoulder, he followed Daphne’s movements as she limped around the opposite side of the table and made her way to his sister’s side.

  Baroness Shelley layered herself to him, calling his attention, once more, up. “I often think of our night together.” Her lips tilted up in a seductive, calculating grin. She trailed a searching hand up his leg, brushing him through his breeches.

  His skin pricked with the feel of knowing eyes at the front of the shop. And by God, if he, Daniel Winterbourne, the Earl of Montfort, didn’t find himself with a hot neck for a second time in the course of a bloody day. He artfully disengaged the lady’s gloveless hand and raised it to his mouth for a smooth, practiced, and deterring kiss. “Just the one?” he countered easily, with ease that only came from years as Society’s most notorious rake.

  She tossed her head back and an emotionless, husky laugh spilled past her lips. “I have thought of many of our nights together, but the night of your orgy, particularly,” she whispered. The lady stretched up on tiptoes and pressed her lips close to his ear. “You’ve an invitation to my bed this evening, my lord.” The rose fragrance that clung to her skin hung heavy and cloying, nearly choking him. So very different from the delicate scent liberally dabbed upon another lady’s skin.

  He glanced up. His and Daphne’s gazes collided and cheeks afire, she swiftly returned her attention to a bolt of fabric held up for her inspection.

  What in blazes was this fascination with Miss Daphne Smith and why did he not feel so much as a stirring of lust for the wanton creature against him, even now?

  She should not be shocked. Nor scandalized. Nor even the faintest bit surprised that Daniel Winterbourne had gone from an ill-attempt at seducing her against a pillar in a modiste’s to favoring a lush, stunning beauty courting his favors.

  Of course, any attention he bestowed on any woman was a meaningless, artful attempt from a notorious rake. In every way, her imperfect body had earned her derision from those who’d not employ her to gentlemen who’d never noticed her to one nobleman who’d bedded her for no desire other than to add a cripple to his list of conquests.

  But God help her… Daphne briefly pressed her eyes closed—for one breathless moment, with her back against that pillar and Daniel’s body shielding their scandalous exchange from scrutiny, she’d felt very much a woman…a beautiful, desirous one, who yearned to know the passion and desire he spoke of.

  For that act he so exquisitely painted was the manner of splendor she’d dreamed of and hoped for. In the end, there had been nothing but pain. A quick coupling with skirts yanked about her waist and a man who professed love, rutting between her legs and grunting, while she fought through the agony, seeking the very beauty Daniel had just described.

  She forced her gaze back to him and his nameless beauty and allowed the truth of who he was and the truth of the mistakes she had made to sink in with the weight of her previous folly. Lest she become lost in the false defenses she provided his hopeful sister or lured by his easy charm, he was a rake. And ultimately, those rakes took their pleasures where and when they could. Be it against a pillar in a modiste’s shop or against a wall inside a host’s library with a virginal lady so desperate to know love. Her stomach twisted in remembrance of her own long-ago folly and she balled her hands. She’d not further risk her reputation and her chance of a future at Ladies of Hope.

  “She looks scandalous.” Alice’s words penetrated the memories of that night made in folly. “The woman with Daniel,” she whispered. “Is that the manner of woman gentlemen prefer?”

  Midnight curls, breasts over-spilling the strained bodice of her gown, flawless, unfreckled skin, yes, Daphne rather thought that was precisely the manner of woman gentlemen preferred. Particularly rakes. “I expect some gentlemen,” she settled for.

  Alice grunted. “Well, I’d hoped Daniel had more discriminating tastes than to take on with that woman. Shamelessly throwing herself at him.”

  “My lady, I am ready for you,” Madame Thoureaux called. The woman rushed over to gather Alice, once more.

  Her charge gone, Daphne was left alone on the shop floor with the assistants bustling about, and Daniel and his…his…siren. Or lover. Or whatever they two, in fact, were. Nor did it bother her whether they were something or anything, or nothing. She stole another peek. Daniel still clung to the baroness’ fingers. His sister had been incorrect. No throwing necessary. A pebble of jealousy, dark and niggling and very much unwanted, settled in her belly. That green-eyed emotion making a liar of her earlier thoughts.

  After endless hours in the miserable shop with Daniel hovering in the corner, they’d finally concluded. Never was she more eager to be free of an establishment.

  Holding the door open, Daniel allowed his sister and her companion to move ahead of him. Daphne deliberately held back and followed along at a slower pace behind brother and sister.

  Her role in this famil
y was that of servant and, as such, her place was behind them. Propriety dictated as much.

  Liar. You just need distance from him. She needed an order over her senses and a restoration of logic, where she could quash his correctly whispered supposition about how she’d hidden herself away these years. What would he say if he knew of her dreams as a woman? A gentleman so driven by his own self-pleasures, he’d, no doubt, sneer and jeer a lady taking employment inside an institution for disabled women.

  Staring at his broad shoulders as he lifted his hand in greeting to passing lords, Daphne marveled at the divergent direction their paths had taken. Once they’d danced along the same trail, but somewhere along the way, he’d moved along one where he was this revered, sought after gentleman, so wholly in his element among people of every station. And then there was her. Reserved. Quiet. Eager to shape and make her own way in the world.

  But it hadn’t always been that way. There had been a time she had thrilled at the adventure of Daniel’s world. The balls and soirees, the slide of satin fabric as a maid had helped her into the extravagant piece. Time had proven how useless those scraps were. The immaterial mattering so very much more. And so when she’d left London with her own secret shame all those years ago, she’d been eager to put distance between herself and the mistake of her poor judgment. She’d not looked back with regret. In time, she’d built herself up on the hope and determination to be more, when the world insisted she could not.

  Now, there was Daniel, the immovable rake, who, by the accountings of him, was nothing more than a shallow, selfish figure. And yet, he’d seen the lie she’d told herself for so many years. He’d looked close enough to see the regret there and that passion she secretly yearned to know.

  As they moved over the pavement bustling with pedestrian traffic, Alice assessed the wares in shop windows. Daniel remained as aloof as he’d ever been, not even bothering to glance at Daphne.

  “Montfort!” That greeting cut across her tumultuous musings and Daphne slowed her step behind Daniel and Alice. They had stopped to greet the owner of that booming baritone.

  “Webb,” Daniel returned, impatience lacing that exchange.

  Tall, blond, and sporting a similarly cold smile as the one donned by Daniel, the other man’s grin painted him as a rogue. But then, would he truly keep company with any other?

  She hovered at a safe distance as the gentlemen exchanged slight bows and greetings. Alice dropped a curtsy and returned her attention to perusing the front, dusty window of a bookshop. Just then, the door opened with such alacrity, the wood panel slammed into Alice’s hip and she gasped as a patron stepped outside.

  Young, with pale blond hair, and a pair of spectacles perched on his nose, the gentleman took one look at Alice and blanched. “Egads, f-forgive me,” he stammered, doffing his hat. “I did not—” The young man’s words trailed off as he stared wide-eyed at the equally wide-eyed girl.

  At the silent, but charged exchanged, Daphne cocked her head.

  “Montfort, this graceless clod is my brother, Mr. Henry Pratt,” his friend spoke in bored tones.

  Mr. Pratt’s neck went red and he jammed his hat back on. All the while, he lingered his gaze on Alice. A small blush marred her cheeks as she glanced down at her slippers. The young man shifted a wrapped package under his arm and sketched an awkward bow. “How do you do?” he murmured to Daniel, his stare wandering once more to Alice.

  While the necessary introductions were made, Daphne stood a silent observer. The young pair eyed one another with equal interest. A potentially dangerous interest when shown to the wrong suitor, as she knew too well. And yet, where there was a feral glimmer in the man named Webb’s eyes, this gentleman’s sparkled with kindness. She looked to Daniel. He took in the silent exchange between Alice and Mr. Pratt with a frown.

  “You are withholding introductions, chap,” Webb chided and Daniel snapped his focus over to the other man who gawked at Daphne’s cane.

  She reflexively curled her hand hard over the head of her walking stick. Society had a bothersome and unwanted fascination with a disfigured person. Interesting enough to gape at but, by their standards, not worthy enough to hire. She tightened her hold on the wood. …you should be honored, Miss Smith. I’ve never rutted with a cripple before… Bile burned in her throat and she briefly closed her eyes as the harsh laughter echoed around the chambers of her mind.

  Daniel’s voice reached across that horror, pulling her back. “May I present my sister’s companion, Miss Smith. Miss Smith, Baron Webb, and his brother, Mr. Henry Pratt,” he said, his smooth baritone forcing her eyes open. Curiosity wreathed the brothers’ expressions.

  She shoved aside those old, but still fresh memories. Daniel’s brow dipped and he looked at her, a question in his brown eyes. A concern that was oddly harder to take from this man than the wicked glimmer of before. “My lord,” she greeted. “Mr. Pratt,” she added, dropping a hasty curtsy. She gasped as her leg buckled under the suddenness of her movement. Her cane slid along the ground. Her stomach lurched as she stumbled sideways.

  “Miss Smith,” Alice cried out.

  Daniel instantly shot a hand around her, effortlessly catching her to him and her heart thumped hard as he spared her the indignity of crashing to the cobbles. The weight of his hand at her waist was strong, reassuring, and burning her with the heat of his palm.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, her face awash with humiliation as she sought to avoid his gaze.

  The baron peeled his lip back in a derisive sneer that sent further shame burning through her. Mr. Pratt frowned at his brother and bent to retrieve her cane. “Miss Smith, it was a pleasure,” he said gently. Alice’s little sigh cut across the busy London street sounds.

  Daphne accepted the walking stick and cleared her throat. “Thank you,” she said quickly. Webb stole another mocking look at her. She was never more grateful than when the unlikely pair of brothers took themselves off and left her alone with the Winterbournes. As she limped, ahead her movements were met with further scrutiny. The stares from the shopkeepers, lords, and ladies were no less probing now than they’d been all those years ago. Other than an object of sick fascination, Society had little use for a woman such as her.

  Daniel was so very wrong. There was nothing thrilling in London. And the sooner she was gone to begin the life she wanted for herself, the happier she would be.

  Chapter 9

  That afternoon, Daniel had earned so many reproachful sideways stares from Daphne that he began to think he’d be better just giving her those damned references she wished for and sending her on her way. The only reason he kept her on in her post was his own need of a companion for Alice.

  He told himself that. Mayhap, if he repeated that mantra, he’d come to believe it.

  Having tolerated enough of the lady’s obvious letdown, Daniel had taken his leave quite gladly of his townhouse. Given the Baroness Shelley’s offer that afternoon, there was only one place he should be. And on any other day, would be.

  …I am not one of your lightskirts, Daniel…

  Except, this night.

  Not for the first time since his uncle’s ultimatum, he cursed the old bastard whose orders for no scandals or wicked behaviors had seen him at White’s, instead of his other wicked clubs. For if he hadn’t cut off the remaining funds and, more importantly, Alice’s tuition at finishing school, Daniel would even now be at Forbidden Pleasures with a whore, mayhap two, on his lap.

  Or, in the baroness’ bed.

  And there would have been no Daphne Smith, the straitlaced, purse-mouthed lady in desperate need of several uninterrupted evenings of lovemaking and who retained a grip on his musings. For reasons that, for the first time with any woman, moved beyond a sexual hungering.

  Such madness accounted for his presence at White’s, the sole intention to forget his unwitting fascination with her.

  By God, she was Daphne, the freckled girl who’d been at his side whenever he spent his days in the country. On
ly now, she was Daphne, the fiery-tempered siren, independent and strong. A fearless woman, who’d stormed his estate and demanded references. A woman who’d make her way in the world not by cheating others or selling parts of her soul the way he had—but through unwavering strength and, in that, wholly unlike any other lady he’d known before her.

  There was something tantalizing about a woman who didn’t preen or fawn or wished to be fawned over, but rather commanded control of her life.

  He rolled his snifter of brandy back and forth between his hands. Why could Miss Daphne Smith not stay relegated to the corner of his mind where forgotten souls dwelled?

  “Montfort.”

  He looked to the two gentlemen now interrupting his musings, grateful for the distraction. “Webb,” he greeted jovially, gesturing to the open seat across from him. It was in bad form to drink and carouse alone. Surely there had to be some Parliamentary rule against it. If not, it certainly deserved a look in the House of Lords.

  The baron commandeered one chair while Mr. Pratt hovered, shifting back and forth. That telling discomfort was at odds with the carefree gentlemen Daniel kept company with. Nor was Webb the devoted familial sort to drag his brother around. Curiosity piqued, Daniel gestured to the other vacant chair. With a hurried thanks, the young man plopped himself down.

  A servant came over and quickly deposited tumblers before the other gentlemen and then, with a bow, took his leave.

  Webb tipped back on the legs of his chair. “I could not fathom what God-awful business was keeping a gentleman who so despises the country away from London.”

  Daniel reached a hand out to shove the bottle across the mahogany table to the baron.

  “But then I saw the delightful creature you’re squiring about London and it became clear,” the man finished.

  Daniel tightened his mouth. “The delightful creature you refer to is, in fact, my sister.” As such, even rakes had to adhere to some form of rules where at least their sisters were concerned.