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

by Christi Caldwell

  “You don’t know that.” Her challenge emerged breathless. Her eyes turbulent with unidentified emotion cut across the haze of desire clogging his senses.

  He yanked his fingers back. By God, if ever there was a doubt of his rakish reputation, lusting after Daphne was proof of his wickedness. “Don’t I?” he challenged, winging an eyebrow up. “The girl who challenged me to races and fights is now a woman who’d storm my estate and demand I be a decent brother.” An impossible task, as there was nothing decent about him. “And you’re strong enough to make your way in the world.” Of all the ladies of his acquaintance, she was the only one who’d beg for references and not baubles.

  At the sudden adoration seeping from her expressive eyes, he recoiled, backing up a step, the moment too real. Unease filled him. He didn’t know what to do with that sincerity. It went against everything and anything he knew or dealt in. To shatter the solemnity of the moment, he waggled his eyebrows. “Plus, I’d never send you away because I’m a selfish enough bastard that I’d never absolve you of your tasks when I have need of your assistance.”

  A shuddery sigh filtered from her lips. Despite his tumult, that whispery exhalation pulled an unwanted grin from him. Of course, only Daphne would react so to those pragmatic words, when every other woman he’d bedded wanted his praise of their beauty. He reached for her leg and she squeaked.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded on a scandalized whisper, all dewy-eyed awe gone.

  “Examining your leg,” he said, easily disentangling her hand from his.

  “You most certainly are not,” she demanded, gripping him by the wrist.

  He made to shrug her off once more, but something in her eyes held him back, froze him. A pleading. Since they’d met as children of five and eight, respectively, she’d been bold and demanding, just as she’d been the woman who’d stormed his manor and put demands to him. Through it all, she’d never been this figure with entreating eyes. “I will not look at it,” he promised, in a gentled tone.

  She eyed him warily and the clock ticked away a long stretch of silence. Then, she gave a slight nod.

  With that, through the muslin fabric, Daniel ran a hand down the expanse of her lower leg.

  Daphne gasped. “Wh-what are you doing? You said—”

  “I promised not to look. I didn’t say I would not touch,” he murmured, stroking the taut, knotted muscles.

  “You cannot… You should not…” Her protestations trailed off as he ran his knuckles in a circular rhythm over her upper thigh.

  God, she must be in agony. It was a testament to that misery that she—now proper Daphne—did not resist his touch. Through the fabric of her out of fashion dress, he rubbed her calf until a little, throaty moan spilled past her lips. This was the first time in the whole of his life that he’d ever stroked or caressed a woman without sexual gratification being the ultimate goal to which they both sought. And oddly, there was a greater intimacy in this moment than any of the hot couplings he’d known.

  “I have never felt anything so exquisite.”

  Did those words belong to Daphne or him? He glanced up from his task and momentarily froze. She sat, with her head hung back, eyes closed, the delicate planes of her face softened in a languid splendor. A bolt of desire worked through him; a hungering from a simple touch, through her frayed skirts, no less.

  She opened her eyes and he swiftly yanked his attention back to her leg. He lifted her skirts ever so slightly and she jumped. “You said, you would not—”

  “Let me rub your leg, Daphne.”

  Indecision raged in her eyes.

  He’d been a rake far longer than he’d been a gentleman and, as such, a master of manipulation and words—it just had always been for his own personal gratification—until now. “Come,” he cajoled. “I’m the same boy who swam naked with you in a lake. There is nothing I’ve not seen.” A shame, he’d not had the proper appreciation to gaze upon her then.

  She flared her eyes. “Daniel,” she whispered, stealing a glance at the closed door. “We were children.”

  “There are no worries of disloyal servants,” he assured. “The majority of my staff was let go due to lack of funds. All that remains are the oldest, who with their advancing years, are all abed, as well as their kin.”

  Daphne caught her lower lip between her teeth, worrying that flesh, and, by hell, if he wouldn’t sell what was left of his black soul just then to taste the same succor. Then, she gave another slight nod.

  Daniel gently raised her skirts, slowly, allowing her time to voice any objection. He lifted his gaze, questioningly. She remained motionless and he resumed his efforts, pushing the fabric up until her lower limb was exposed.

  Silence fell on the room and agony squeezed his chest. The lower limb, improperly set, had left the entire portion below her knee twisted.

  …I’ll never ride again. Or curtsy. Or dance…

  Her child’s voice of long ago, wreathed in pain, echoed around the room as loud as though they were the words whispered in the copse where he’d found her. Had she done those things with the passage of time? Or did the old injury make those movements impossible?

  His throat worked. She’d marched to Mrs. Belden’s and then sought him out. And then marched back home with nothing more than a wooden cane to aid her. God, he was humbled by her strength.

  Aware of her gaze burning a spot into his neck, he proceeded to rub the flesh, working the knots, and then continuing higher.

  “D-Daniel, this is too intimate,” she chided, her voice faintly breathless as she made to push her gown back into place.

  “Bah,” he interrupted. “This isn’t intimate.” He raised his eyes to hers and, never taking them from her face, said, “Touching you here,” he brushed his palm higher up her thigh. The warmth of her leg burned his hand and killed all levity. He forced himself to finish the thought, his tone garbled. “That would be intimate.” What had begun as an attempt at teasing, quickly faded as a charged undercurrent blazed to life. He lingered his hand on the smooth flesh of her thigh and worked his hand higher, stroking his fingertips over her searchingly.

  Her breath hitched loudly as he came up slowly on his knees. His pulse pounded hard in his ears as he drew his hands out from under her skirts. Daphne’s eyes, limpid with desire, searched his face. “Daniel,” she whispered.

  On a groan, he cupped a hand about her neck and availed himself to her lush lips as he’d ached to do since she’d pushed back her hood at Winterbourne Manor. Not bothering with gentility, he plunged his tongue inside her mouth, searching the hot cavern. A low, throaty moan spilled from her and he swallowed that testament of her need.

  She twined her fingers in his hair, bringing her flush to his chest so her small breasts crushed against him. Emboldened, he reached a hand between them and caressed one. He tweaked the erect peak through the fabric of her dress and the bud pebbled all the more under his ministrations. His groan melded with her throaty whimper.

  Fueled by a desperate hungering, Daniel slanted his lips over hers, drowning in the intoxicating taste of mint and chocolate. By God, she tasted of sweetness and innocence and he wanted to lose himself in her. He guided her down and shifted himself over her, never breaking contact with her lips. Working his hand up her legs, he cupped her mound and her hips bucked.

  All these years, he’d disavowed innocence. With Daphne undulating into his hand while he rang little pleading sounds from her lips, he conceded that mayhap there was something to be said for innocence, after all.

  Chapter 11

  At seventeen years of age, Daphne had turned her virginity over to a rogue. She’d known that man in the most intimate ways, joined together in a quick moment. That had seen her willingly divested of that thin bit of flesh and innocent no more.

  And yet, never before, not even in Leopold’s arms for that coupling had she felt…this. This exhilarating blend of pleasure-pain from Daniel’s expert stroking. And more, as he caressed his lips down her cheek,
blazing a hot trail with his mouth, lower to her neck, she felt—beautiful.

  Her head fell back involuntarily as she opened herself to his searching. He nipped and sucked at the flesh, grazing his teeth lightly over her skin, as though he were a primitive warrior branding her as his. And God help her, with all the follies of her past, knowing the dangers in this seductive bliss, she wanted to belong to him.

  “I have wanted to worship you here since you stood in my office,” he breathed hotly against her skin that was moist from his ministrations. “I—”

  Daphne twisted her fingers in his thick chestnut strands and met her mouth with his. She didn’t want words from him. Words that reminded her of all that was wrong in allowing him, nay, needing him to touch her in these ways. She wanted this rapturous wonder to carry on into forever, where all she knew was this burn inside her veins.

  They tangled their tongues in a volatile thrust and parry, exploring one another, and she cried out as he drew his mouth back, but he lowered his head to her chest.

  With deft movements, he slid her bodice down. The night air slapped at her heated skin and a shuddery gasp exploded from her lips as he palmed her right breast. Daniel raised it to his mouth. He closed his lips around the taut, sensitized nipple, drawing it in and suckling.

  “Daniel,” she cried out softly, past the point of shame or fear of discovery.

  Against her chest, his rumble of masculine approval increased her desperate fervor. In the single time she’d lain with a man, he’d given no consideration to her body. There had been only hasty caresses and a mouth used to silence her quiet cries of pain. This slow unfurling inside, that Daniel awakened her to, shattered every belief she’d had about lovemaking.

  Daphne lifted her hips, searchingly, and he placed his hand on her mons. She bit her lower lip and thrust into him, besieged by the realization that he had, in fact, been correct—there was a vast difference between a rake and a rogue. This was it. This caress. This inspired a sense of beauty from a woman who was anything but.

  Daniel palmed her center, with only her shift as the thin barrier between his touch and her body. And in that touch, she could almost believe, wanted to believe, she was…beautiful.

  As though he heard that secret longing, he whispered against her breast, “You are so beautiful, love.”

  …You are so beautiful, love… I want to know you in every way…

  Daphne jerked as Lord Leopold’s whispered lies filtered into the moment. She bolted upright and the suddenness of her movement sent Daniel spilling onto the floor.

  He grunted as he landed hard. “Bloody hell,” he muttered.

  She gasped and leaned over the edge of the sofa to where he lay sprawled. “I…I…” Daphne fell backward and slapped her hands over her face. What have I done? Her chest heaved with the force of her desires and a rapidly growing horror. By God, she was wicked and wanton and the same fool she’d been all those years ago, lured by pretty words. Nay, this, this was far worse. This was a heady, breathless desire that had consumed her like a conflagration.

  Daniel’s quiet, wholly unaffected voice cut across her spiraling panic. “Daphne.”

  She dropped her hands to her sides and quickly sat up. “We should not have done that.” He opened his mouth. “I should not have done that. We cannot do that. Ever again.” Even if it has been the single most erotic moment of my eight and twenty years. “I—”

  “Daphne,” he interrupted firmly, coming up and perching himself on the edge of her seat. “It was a kiss. Nothing more.” He may as well have spoken as casually as he would about his preference for tea or the unseasonably warm spring they’d been enjoying.

  Nothing more? It had been so much more than a mere kiss. It had been the Vauxhall fireworks she’d watched shoot high above the London sky all those years ago, only tiny, colorful explosions inside.

  Or, to her, it had.

  Staring at him, his face an emotionless mask, reality intruded. This was Daniel, renowned rake. An embrace could never, would never be more to him. Regret stabbed at her chest, but was swiftly replaced by relief. “Of course,” she said in steadying tones. “It cannot happen again, Daniel. I have my reputation and you…” Her words trailed off. For he was a rake and a nobleman rolled into one, and through that, he was permitted liberties that would mean the ruin of a lady.

  He reached his left hand out and she stiffened as he trailed the pad of his thumb along her lower lip. “It could though.” Her lashes fluttered wildly. He is going to kiss me, again. And for my weak protestations, I want it and all it entails… “If you wish it, Daphne.”

  If she wished it. His words brought her eyes open with a soberness that dulled all desire. This exchange, this fleeting passion, though toe-curling and magical to her, was no different than any other embrace he’d shared with countless women.

  He might have scruples to not dally with an innocent, but neither would he ever be a gentleman to give his heart and his loyalty to only one woman. She would do well to remember it. Remember what came in trusting a rake. Even if it was a rake she’d swum naked with as a girl, as he’d pointed out earlier. “When I came to London all those years ago,” she started slowly. “I was filled with excitement. How grand it all was. The gowns, the glittering balls, the unending nights.” She paused and glanced past his shoulder, as memories intruded. “The promise and hope of a wild, thrilling love.”

  How very naïve she’d been. “You asked what I wished for. Do you know what I wish for now?”

  He brushed a loose red curl back behind her ear. “Tell me,” he commanded, touching his lips to her temple. She cursed the wild fluttering in her belly.

  “I wish for stability,” She spoke with a quiet solemnity that froze his movements. “I wish to have a respectable position where I have security and do not have to worry about funds or where I shall live.” With tremulous fingers, Daphne reached inside her pocket and fished out her page. She handed it over to him. Daniel took the sheet and their fingers brushed, sending heated warmth shooting up her arm. “That is what I want,” she murmured as he read the cut-out.

  A lock fell over his brow and she ached to brush it back. He looked at her questioningly. “It is a place where young women, regardless of their disabilities or disfigurements, are welcomed and instructed.” She jabbed the page. “I wish to go there.” She paused. “As an instructor,” she added and braced for his mockery, expecting it. Even wanting it, so he was not the insistent gentleman from moments ago who’d spoken of her strength and spirit.

  “That is why you wish to work at Mrs. Belden’s,” he murmured quietly, as though he’d at last solved a complex riddle. “For experience.”

  “I want to present myself before the marchioness with experiences and references that I’ve earned, honorably.”

  He handed over her sheet and she quickly pocketed it. “And my references are inferior to Mrs. Belden’s?”

  Perhaps those jaded souls he interacted with now would have failed to hear the faint hurt underscoring that wry question, but she had known this man since they were children and she heard it. “You misunderstand,” she said shaking her head emphatically. “References from you are merely an endorsement from one peer to the next.” She lifted her palms. “You cannot speak to my ability to instruct or lead a classroom of ladies.”

  Daniel stared at her for a long while through thickly hooded lashes. “There is not another woman like you, Daphne Smith.”

  Not knowing what to make of that quiet utterance, spoken more to himself, she leaned over the arm of the sofa and gathered her cane.

  He surged to his feet while she placed her weight on the walking stick, pushing herself upright. He slid an arm around her waist and bent down to scoop her up.

  “What are you doing?” she squeaked.

  He straightened. “Carrying you.”

  Warmth suffused her heart. Yes, to the ton he might always be an unscrupulous rake, but he would forever be the heroic friend she remembered. “You are always carryin
g me about.” Through hills and uneven roads.

  “Bah, I carried you but once. This will be the second time.”

  Once. But it had also been the darkest, most agonizing moment of her young life. The day that forever changed the course of her whole future. She smiled at him. “You are not carrying me, Daniel,” she said with gentle insistence.

  A dark scowl marred his features. “You always were too proud for your own good, Daphne Smith,” he muttered.

  With the aid of her cane, she shifted to face him, wanting him to understand. Nay, needing him to. “I’m not letting you because I am a cripple,” he growled low in his throat, “but I am still, more than a cripple.” Or she was determined to be. “And just as I’ve done for almost eighteen years, I’ll walk every step and stair before I allow someone to carry me. Though I thank you for your gallantry.”

  He gave his head a bemused shake. “That is the first time I’ve ever been called gallant.” A half-grin formed on his lips, dimpling his cheek. This was the real smile, the one that met his brown eyes.

  …I am not putting you down… “Mayhap it was the first time you heard it, but it doesn’t mean it was the first gallant act you’ve performed.” Daphne began her slow, forward path, limping through the library with its near-empty shelves. She stopped at the door and he reached around her to push it open. “Thank you, Daniel,” she said softly.

  “For my offer to assist you?” He gave her one of his wolfish grins. “Or my kiss?”

  He startled a laugh from her. “Goodnight, Daniel.” She started down the corridor and then frowned. She glanced at him with his hands clasped at his back, matching her slow footsteps. “What are you doing?”

  “Not carrying you.”

  Her lips pulled. “I see that. I meant—”

  “I am walking with you.” He stole a sideways glance at her. “And if you tell me I do not have to, I’m going to carry you.”

  A man, who by his own words lived for his own pleasures, why should he do that? His features remained a set mask revealing nothing, painting him as he’d professed himself to be—coolly unfeeling. And yet, with his offer to walk beside her, he threw that statement into contradiction. “Very well,” she acquiesced. “But you must do something.”