The words tumbled to the edge of her lips, words that needed to be spoken, when his soft, bleating snore filled the quiet. Rolling onto her side, Daphne propped her head on her hand and studied him in sleep. The harsh planes of his face bore no hint of the jaded bitterness that he wore as a flawless mask. Stretching out her other palm, she caressed his cheek.
She’d told herself one night with him was all she would need to sustain her through the long, lonely life that awaited her as a spinster working at Mrs. Belden’s. Lying beside him, her body still heated from his touch, she found out too late that she’d only lied to herself.
One night would never be enough with Daniel Winterbourne.
Chapter 17
After making love to Daphne, as he’d slipped from her chambers and sought out his rooms, Daniel had cemented a well-known fact—he was a worthless rake.
Such a truth would have never mattered before. Now, it had him hiding, trying to sort through the tumult of his tired thoughts. Hiding in the billiards room, to be precise, a wholly masculine sanctuary Daphne had no place passing or visiting, as such, a room where he could have some much needed distance from her and her siren-like grip over him.
Daniel arranged the balls on the table and grabbed his cue. He’d never been the manner of gentlemen to bed members of his staff, but Daphne was no mere servant—she was a friend of his youth and, as such, what transpired early that morn, should never have happened for that reason alone. He should be riddled with remorse and regret for it.
He stared blankly at the table. Where the same glass of brandy he’d poured earlier rested, untouched. Alas, he was a blackguard to his core. For he’d have forfeited his worthless life before giving up that time in her arms.
With any other woman, that carnal bliss would have exercised this inexplicable hungering he had of her. What hold do you have over me, Daphne Smith? How many times must he join his body with hers to sate his lust? It will never be enough. The idea held him paralyzed. Because that is all it was. Lust. It could not, nor ever would be more. And if he told himself that enough times, he may even very well come to believe it.
Footsteps sounded in the hall and his heart sped up in anticipation. Disappointment filled him. Tanner appeared, not with the fiery-haired siren who commanded Daniel’s thoughts, but rather a gentleman. “The Marquess of Tennyson.” Or rather, a rake.
Tennyson did an up and down look of him and then chuckled. “Good God, man, you look like hell. Imbibed, too much?”
“Indeed,” Daniel muttered. Imbibed on thoughts of Daphne, and the pleasure of her body, and… He tamped down a groan and tossed his cue over to the other man. Tennyson easily caught it in his fingers. Grateful for the diversion, Daniel fetched another stick from the wall and returned to the table.
“After your proper affair last evening, I rather expected to see you at your clubs this morning,” Tennyson remarked casually, perching his hip on the edge of the table.
With the marquess’ assessing eyes on him, Daniel concentrated his attentions on the table. Not for the first time, irritated with the man’s probing, he took his first shot and the crack of his stick striking the ball echoed in the room.
The marquess snorted and folded his arms at his chest, so the stick rested at his shoulder. “The ton is talking about you.”
“The ton is always talking about me,” Daniel drawled, as he leaned over the table and positioned his cue. Talk which was invariably unfavorable, scathing, and not at all good. He drew his arm back to take his shot.
“Yes,” the marquess conceded. “But now, the gossips are trying to determine whether or not you’ve reformed your rakish ways or whether you’re too busy to attend your old haunts because you’re tupping your sister’s companion.”
Daniel’s stick jammed into the top of the velvet table, sending his shot wide.
Tennyson laughed and availed himself to Daniel’s snifter. Then setting it down, he studied his next move. “I had the same reaction to the outlandish idea that a fellow like you would ever abandon his rakish ways.” Fortunately, he attended the remaining balls scattered about the table, mumbling to himself.
He’d ceased to care about Society’s whisperings of him. But this was different. This was Daphne. Fury pounded away at him.
“Your shot,” Tennyson said, motioning to the table. His words snapped Daniel back into movement.
He lined up his stick with his next shot, when the marquess spoke, halting his movement. “The papers have labeled your sister an Incomparable.”
Christ. Daniel gritted his teeth so hard, pain radiated along his jawline. He completed his shot and the ball sailed wide. “Have they?” his counter-question emerged tightly. Of course, given his desire to return to his own enjoyments without the care of another person charged him. He should be elated at the words printed of Alice in the paper. But Incomparables were sought after and courted by lecherous and noble lords alike. He swiped a hand over his face. His madness was spreading to every corner of his brain. There was no other accounting for it.
“There is talk a sizeable dowry has been assigned the lady by your uncle,” Tennyson said breezily. Too breezily. And as a rake himself who’d perfected the art of mellow indifference, he easily recognized it in the other man.
“And what of it?” If the marquess had a bloody brain in his head, he’d have detected the lethal edge to Daniel’s tone.
But rakes and rogues were driven so much by their own greed, they oftentimes failed to see anything beyond that avarice—and desperation. Tennyson set his cue down on the edge of the table. “I’m thinking, it would be mutually advantageous to both of us.” He gestured back and forth between them.
Daniel furrowed his brow. What was the other man on about?
The marquess glanced at the open doorway and then dropped his voice to a low whisper. “You are eager to be rid of your sister. I am in need of a bride with a fat purse.” Tennyson lifted his palms. “You know how it is for a rake. Most proper mamas and papas have no interest in penniless lords with our reputations.” It was an ideal solution dangled by the other man that should appeal to a ruthless bastard like Daniel. But being deservedly lumped in any category with this man left him feeling ill. “If I wed her, you’ll be rich with your uncle’s eight thousand pounds. I will be rich with her fat purse.” Lord Tennyson grinned as though he’d conquered the kingdom. “And then, we may each carry on as we always have.”
The man wanted to marry Alice. Nay, Tennyson wanted him to sell her like a whore. A fortnight ago, he’d have possessed not a single compunction about such a ruthless pawn. Alice had been a stranger, more burden than sister, who’d presented a distraction to his carousing.
Now, she was a young woman who saw too much. A woman with a refreshing sense of humor and clever wit. And he was enjoying the budding relationship with his younger sister. Where that truth would have once wrought horror, now he found himself welcoming the prospect of making a difference in someone’s life. He tightened his mouth. He’d sooner see Tennyson dead than wed to her. Alice deserved more. She deserved a happy life and a family, like theirs had once been. A life she’d never known. And if it was Mr. Pratt, the impoverished barrister, then so be it. Suddenly, tired of the marquess’ cynical company, Daniel returned his stick to the rack. “I’ve other plans for Alice.” Ones that included her finding happiness with a gentleman who was not at all like himself or Tennyson or Webb.
The marquess’ wrinkled brow hinted at his befuddlement. “But she’s underfoot,” he blurted.
Annoyed at the tenacity he’d once admired, Daniel clenched his jaw. “I am afraid I have business to attend, Tennyson. If you’ll excuse me?” He’d just conveniently leave off that such matters included joining Daphne and Alice at the museum. Of course, his accompanying them was driven by a need to be rid of Tennyson and his own uncle’s demands. And…
…You are a rotten liar, Daniel… Daphne’s pain-filled words from that long ago day filtered through his memory.
“Of cou
rse.” The marquess sprang into movement and hurried to match his stride to Daniel’s. “Perhaps, I might first secure an introduction to your sister so—”
“The lady is out,” Daniel said curtly. Or she soon would be. “With her companion.” He’d duel the Devil in hell on Sunday before he let Alice near this rake…or any rake, rogue, or scoundrel. Unfortunate for Tennyson, he had discovered the last kernel of honorability left in his soul and, by damned, if he didn’t feel different than the rake he’d been all these years. He walked briskly through the halls, with the long-legged marquess easily keeping up. With each step, fury licked at Daniel’s insides, fueling his movement. Tennyson was the manner of bastard who was not above ruining Alice. However, there would be little reason the two should even meet. The marquess lived for his vices the way he did and spent his days and nights courting sin.
They reached the end of the corridor when Alice’s bell-like laughter filtered from the intersecting hall.
Christ. Daniel cursed as his sister and Daphne all but collided with them and the ladies gasped in unison.
“Forgive me,” Tennyson murmured, reaching a hand out to steady Alice.
Daniel narrowed his gaze on the other man’s grip.
“Montfort, will you not perform…” The marquess’ words trailed off as he looked to Daphne. Surprise stamped his features and then his coldly mocking eyes lingered on her cane.
Bloodlust pumped through him at the unspoken condemnation. Struggling to rein in his volatile emotion, he performed the necessary introductions. “Tennyson, allow me to introduce my sister, Lady Alice Winterbourne. Alice, the Marquess of Tennyson.”
Alice dropped a curtsy. “My lord.” She spoke with an inherent boredom in that unimpressed greeting and pride stirred in his chest. Clever girl.
With the ghost of a smile, Daniel completed introductions, eager to be rid of the other man. “Tennyson, may I also present my sister’s companion—”
“Miss Smith,” Tennyson neatly interjected, reaching for Daphne’s fingers. “How do you do?”
Miss Smith? Daniel searched his mind. Had he mentioned Daphne to the marquess?
Her hand still clasped in Tennyson’s, Daphne stood frozen like the ornate statues outside his townhouse steps. Her freckles stood out as vivid marks in her ashen cheeks, raising a frown from him.
“It is a pleasure.” Tennyson’s purr exuded an improper familiarity that made the lady yank free of his grip.
He alternated his gaze between the pair and faint warning bells sounded at the back of his mind. An insidious thought, born of nothing but a stilted exchange. Tennyson’s possession of her name, Daphne’s ashen pallor.
Then, Daphne stumbled a step, burying her fingers in the folds of her skirt and the other hand gripped the cane hard. “M-My lord. If you will excuse me,” she said and, avoiding Daniel’s probing stare, she limped off.
Then, Tennyson said something to Alice, commanding his attention once more.
Oh, God. He is here.
By the introduction, he’d found himself in possession of a new rank and title. He went by a new name but he was the same man he’d been all those years ago.
She had always known the possibility existed that Daniel, being a rake, kept like company as Lord Leopold. Somehow seeing it. Witnessing it. And knowing it made it real in ways that gutted her.
As Daphne lurched down the hallway, putting more and more distance between her and the man who’d betrayed her all those years ago, she pressed her eyes closed tight. And worse…he was friends with Daniel. A tortured moan lodged in her throat and she quickened her stride.
Of course she’d known it possible their paths might cross. Had mentally prepared for what that encounter would be like. But in all her greatest horrors and nightmarish imaginings, Lord Leopold had never, ever been friend to Daniel. Because he was not the manner of man who would dare even speak with a blackguard like Lord Leopold.
Only he was. For Daniel, had shaped himself into that, embraced that rakish existence. Her stomach revolted and she pressed her hand to her mouth. She reached the stairs, damning her useless leg as she made the long, slow climb. Damning the injury that had been the single most formative moment in her life. It had shaped her dreams of who she was. It had shattered her romantic hopes for a happily ever after with a loving husband. Seen her dependent on the mercy of a relative and then seeking employment when that mercy ran out. And it had brought Lord Leopold into her life.
At last, Daphne reached the landing. Increasing her stride, she used her cane to bear her weight as she dragged her leg along. Panting from her exertions, she found her rooms and limped inside. Closing the door, she took several steps.
Her leg, strained from her exertions, gave out, and she crumpled, quickly catching herself. Numb inside, she ambled over to the bed and sank onto the edge.
After she’d left London and returned to Spelthorne, she had lived her life in alternating states of emotion—humiliated shame for the mistake she’d made in trusting Lord Leopold and hatred for a blackguard who’d toyed with her heart. A blackguard, who’d correctly identified her as a weak, pathetic creature. A woman desperate to be loved, he gave her those very words she was searching for.
Having the greatest mistake of her life thrown into her face, roused the oldest, still fresh humiliation.
…I’ve never rutted with a cripple…
She pressed shaking palms over her eyes. “He is friends with him,” she whispered into the silence, needing to breathe the words aloud and give them life. And she wanted it to not matter the company Daniel had kept all these years. Wanted it not to matter that when she left, he’d pick up and carry on as he had for thirteen years. Tears pooled in her eyes, blurring her vision. For it did matter.
Heavy footsteps sounded on the opposite side of the oak door, muffled by the wood paneling. But there could be no doubting those commanding steps that paused outside her door.
Daniel shoved it open and, commandeering the room, closed it behind him. “What is it?” he demanded without preamble.
Daphne ran regretful eyes over him, a person who called Lord Leopold friend. The agony of that truth chipped away at her heart. She gave her head a slight shake. “I cannot stay here.”
Shock cracked the hard, immobile planes of his face. Questions whirred in his eyes and then he took a step toward her. “You know Tennyson.” His was a curt statement, more than anything, but Daphne nodded once. Daniel took another step, his eyes narrowing. “How do you know Tennyson?”
He knows. For the image he’d established amongst the ton, Daniel had been clever and quick-witted, equally capable with words and numbers when Daphne hadn’t.
Tension spilled from Daniel’s frame. “I asked how you know him.”
She sank her teeth into her lower lip. It was one thing to pardon her foolish actions from eleven years ago. It was, however, an altogether different thing, when that man who’d deceived her was, in fact, friend to the man who’d stolen her heart. Daphne skittered her gaze about, seeking escape. Words. A proper reply.
“Daphne,” he demanded gruffly. The floorboards creaked as he moved.
Just that one word, her name, infused her spine with strength and she picked her head up. She’d not remain in this world, but neither would she make apologies for her past. Their gazes collided and an indefinable flash sparked in his eyes.
“It was him, wasn’t it?”
There was a faint plea in those words. Not pretending to misunderstand, Daphne managed a slight nod.
He froze and then slowly sank to his haunches. Burying his face in his hands, he unleashed a string of black, inventive curses that turned her cheeks warm. “Oh, God.” The air left his lips on a sharp hiss.
She stared at his bent head, strangely hollow. “You are friends with him, then.”
Daniel shot his head up, his brown eyes riddled with frenzied emotion. He surged to his feet and joined her at the edge of the bed, sinking to a knee. “I…” His throat worked. “He… I am a rake.
”
A sad smile turned her lips. “Yes.” He’d taken great care to remind her and remind her often. But still, he’d always existed as Daniel and, for his wicked reputation, he would always be the friend who’d carried her across the countryside. Now, he also happened to be the man who kept company with the scoundrel who’d betrayed her.
A pang struck deep inside her chest.
“If I knew,” he began in ragged tones. “I would have never…” The column of his throat worked. At her arched eyebrow, he finished. “I would have beat him within an inch of his life for you.”
Tears sprang to her eyes and she blinked them back. “But these are the people you have chosen, Daniel. You turned your back on me and Alice, and who you once were.” She touched her fingers to his chest, where his heart pounded hard. “In here.” She let her hand fall to her lap. “I have seen good in you, where you cannot see it in yourself. But I cannot remain in your employ.” Or in any part of his life. “If these are the people who fill your world.” No, she could not. Not if she hoped to spare herself the eventual heartache that came in loving Daniel Winterbourne.
Yet, how was there to account for the frenzied, half-mad glimmer in his eyes if he were that dissolute gentleman who was friends with men like Tennyson? He pressed his hands over his face, briefly, and then spoke in more somber tones than she’d ever recalled. “After my mother’s passing, my father reminded me how I destroyed all who I came in contact with. My mother. Alistair.” He paused and his features contorted. “You.” Her. Daphne’s heart hitched. Those hateful words, with her used as leverage against him, would have come when he was just fourteen… at a time when he’d still smiled, and laughed, and been a friend. From then, he’d gradually retreated, until he’d left for university and disappeared from her life.
“That is why you ceased coming around,” she said softly, as at last it became clear. And why he avoided Alice. Her heart wrenched all the more.
A Heart of a Duke Regency Collection : Volume 2--A Regency Bundle Page 96