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

by Christi Caldwell

  He gave a brusque nod, faint panic in his eyes. What must it be for this man who’d perfected an artificial smile and indifferent mask, to let her inside this way? Daniel looked beyond her shoulder, studiously avoiding her eyes. “I found people like me.”

  Daphne touched his chin and forced his gaze back to hers. “Do you truly believe you are like the Marquess of Tennyson?”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I know I am.”

  She challenged him with her gaze. “Have you seduced a young woman out of her virtue, just so you might add her as a conquest?”

  “No,” the answer emerged sharp. She’d not believed even with his dissolute lifestyle, he’d have descended into that level of sin. There had been good in Daniel Winterbourne. That good didn’t fully die. It just faded and was lost deep inside, waiting for him to acknowledge it. He leapt to his feet and began to pace. “But there have been other conquests,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Women I’ve bedded on wagers. Unhappy wives, sad widows, actresses.” Each methodical accounting of the women who’d come before her, struck like well-placed arrows, serving as a reminder that she could never be enough for him.

  Daphne hugged her arms about her waist, his words merely serving as a reminder of something she already knew. Jaded as he’d become over the years, Daniel could never, would never be the man to give her everything she dreamed of and for—a marriage built on love and trust like the one known by her parents. Or children. There would never be children. Her throat worked. Remaining on in the post with Alice, once an inconvenience, then a joy, now became an impossibility. Her tongue heavy in her mouth, she managed to speak. “I cannot remain here, Daniel.”

  His entire body jerked as though she’d struck him. “I will never see Tennyson again,” he rasped.

  This was about so much more than the Marquess of Tennyson. This was about her. And Alice. And Daniel. Restless, Daphne struggled to stand and limped away, putting distance between them. “If he…” She grimaced. “Reveals my past—”

  Daniel swiftly moved, placing himself in her path. “I’ll not send you away,” he said, his tone harsh. A panicky light glimmered in his eyes and then was gone, so all that remained was the customary hardness that so often dwelled in their depths.

  Daphne fiddled with her cane. “Lord Tennyson—”

  “Tennyson will say nothing,” he snapped impatiently. She eyed him warily. How could he be so confident of that man’s integrity? Or did he merely delude himself? “He requires an heiress. And as such, he’ll not be eager to bandy about his….” Splotches of red appeared in his cheeks.

  Daniel Winterbourne was still capable of blushing. Not a single gossip or member of the peerage would dare believe it.

  “Escapades?” she supplied quietly when he said nothing more.

  “Do not,” he bit out.

  “Not speaking those words doesn’t undo what happened between me and Lord Tennyson,” she reminded him.

  His body coiled tight like a serpent poised to strike. “He will say nothing. I promise you.”

  “But what if he does?” she pressed, refusing to abandon the point. Serving as the voice of reason when he would not. “There is your sister’s reputation. If Lord Tennyson breathed a word about our night, Alice would suffer. There is no room for question with a companion’s honor. I’ll never receive employment at Ladies of Hope, Daniel,” she said, willing him to understand.

  “I could marry you.”

  Daphne and Daniel both went stock-still. For an instant, her heart lifted. Then she registered the panicked horror wreathing his features and that same foolishly hopeful organ crashed to her feet. It was the same sharp pain as when she’d come down wrong on her leg and snapped that bone all those years ago.

  She slowly removed her hand from his person. “Was that an observation or a proposal, Daniel?”

  “It could be either,” he said gruffly. “You could marry me.”

  Having loved him since she was a girl, she selfishly wanted to make those words into the offer she wanted it to be. And loving him as she did, she desperately sought to convince herself that his offer was something more. “Why?”

  He cocked his head at an endearing angle that gave him a boyish look, melting away the jaded edge that he wore so easily.

  “Why would you marry me?”

  Daniel opened and closed his mouth several times. “We are friends,” he said at last. “Which is a good deal more than most marriages are based on. We get on well. I require help with Alice,” he spoke with a military precision. “You’ll be free to carry on whichever ventures you so wish.”

  Despite her splintering heart, she laughed and stepped into his arms. He immediately folded her in an embrace. “Oh, Daniel,” she said, layering her cheek against his jacket and inhaling the sandalwood scent that clung to him.

  He’d not immediately gone to the eight thousand pounds awaiting him, or his need for an heir or companion for his sister, but rather…their lifelong friendship. And even as her heart convulsed with regret for what it wasn’t, it rejoiced for what it was—him, doing the honorable thing, when he believed himself incapable of it. “What manner of friend would I be if I let you do that?”

  He tipped her chin up and the passion blazing from within his eyes scorched her, leaving her breathless. “Do you believe all I feel for you is friendship?” He lowered his mouth to hers. She turned her head and his kiss grazed her cheek.

  “No,” she said softly. “I believe you desire me.” She paused. “As you desire many women. That is not anything to base a marriage on.” She forced herself out of his arms.

  “You are rejecting my offer, then?” Daniel demanded with a shocked arrogance only a man of his rakish reputation could manage.

  Daphne laughed and amusement mingled with the pain of regret. “Only you could present a statement as a proposal and find yourself offended at my rejection. Yes,” she confirmed, her smile dying. “Though I am grateful,” she added. That Daniel would abandon his bachelorhood for a woman who offered him no dowry and no connections, made her love him all the more and spoke to who he truly was. “What manner of friend would I be if I allowed you to give up your future for me?”

  A tick pulsed at the corner of his mouth. “It is my decision,” he squeezed out through tight lips.

  She sighed. Did that resolve come from his lofty station? “No, Daniel. It is both of ours.” Daphne slid her gaze over to her small valise tucked in the corner. “I’ll not marry where there is not love. And you are not capable of giving me that emotion. I wish to leave, Daniel. I require references. I ask, as you are my friend, to please give them to me.”

  For a moment, she thought he would resist, force her to remain on in her post, and suffer through the pain of loving him and the torture of this Season. Daniel nodded; the motion jarring and jerky. “Of course,” he said, his voice flat. “I…” Her heart sped up with a fragile hope. “I would ask you to remain on in your post until a suitable replacement is found.”

  “Of course,” she parroted, nodding quickly. “I’d not abandon Alice.” She held her palms up.

  A heavy silence descended and their gazes were locked. Daniel cleared his throat. “I will leave you, madam.” With his effortless strides, he turned on his heel and marched for the door. Then he paused to look back. “If you should change your mind and accept my offer, it remains, Daphne.”

  Pain flooded her chest and she forced a smile that pained her cheek muscles. “Thank you, Daniel.”

  With that, he left.

  Chapter 18

  Daniel nudged his mount through the crowded London streets at a risky clip that earned shouts and furious looks from passersby. He, Daniel Winterbourne, 5th Earl of Montfort, notorious rake, reprobate, and scoundrel had offered to marry Daphne. Well, an almost offer.

  …Only you could present a statement as a proposal and find yourself offended at my rejection…

  And given that and the lady’s ultimate, if wise, rejection of that offer, his mind remained in tumult
from all she’d revealed—Tennyson.

  He tightened his hold on his reins and urged Satan on, faster. Tennyson had been the blackguard who’d robbed Daphne of her virginity. The man who’d identified a hopeful romantic and punished that innocence by taking her against a wall like a whore on the streets. Should he be truly shocked, given his own dark deeds and wicked soul? And yet, as he dismounted outside White’s and stalked up the steps, he could not see past the thick haze of rage threatening to blind him.

  He fixed on that hatred and fury. Far easier than thinking of his impulsive offer, which hadn’t really been an offer, to marry Daphne Smith.

  Ignoring the greetings called out to him, Daniel strode through the club. As he walked, he earned glares and glowers from men he’d made cuckolds of.

  …But these are the people you have chosen, Daniel. You turned your back on me and Alice, and who you once were…

  Who he once was. He was a man who’d cut, first, Alice from his life. And then Daphne. A friend who he hadn’t bothered to look after her when she’d made her Come Out. Even as he knew what perils awaited a young girl from the country and the rakes who would be lying in wait. A tortured groan lodged in his throat. He yanked out one of the chairs at his table and sinking into the hard contours, motioned for a servant. For it, she’d given her virginity to a man who’d never had a right to that gift.

  Agony sluiced away at his insides, blended with a blinding rage. Rage that Tennyson had known her as only he should have. That she had loved the other man, if even the thought of him. That Daniel had kept company with the blackguard. Oh, God. He’d had him as a guest in his home and in the country. They’d shared women and drinks.

  I’m going to be ill…

  Yanking the stopper from his bottle, Daniel poured a tall glass of brandy, paused, and then filled it to the rim. He raised it to his mouth and took a long swallow, welcoming the fiery trail it blazed down the back of his throat. This was his penance. For his sins and the reckless life he’d lived. Now he would live with the knowing that he’d failed the one person who’d been constant in his life. He’d failed her. In every way.

  The lady preferred employment at a miserable finishing school, to life as his countess. Why should she wish to marry a bastard like him? Not that he truly wished to marry Daphne or anyone. He’d no desire to bring about another person’s pain and suffering. Still, her rejection chafed. For it reminded him of his failings.

  And what I threw away…

  If his life had followed a different trajectory, he would have been the young man waiting for her in London, courting her, and ultimately wedding her. By the time, she’d arrived in Town, however, Daniel had been beyond the point of no return, firmly entrenched in his dissolute lifestyle, long past respectability, and even further past deserving a woman like Daphne Smith.

  “I see the important business called you away.” That hated voice, the devil’s baritone cut into his turbulent musings. And with fury pumping through his veins, Daniel looked up. “You should have let me know and I would have joined you.” Lord Tennyson didn’t bother to await an invite. He drew out a seat and, motioning for a glass, availed himself to Daniel’s bottle.

  With each casual movement made by the bastard across from him, Daniel’s muscles went taut.

  …You should be honored, Miss Smith. I’ve never rutted with a cripple…

  His glass splintered under the weight of his grip and he set it down. As Tennyson looked through bored eyes out at the guests about the floor, Daniel studied him. Smug. Self-assured. Ruthless. Arrogant. And in Tennyson, God help him, he saw himself. Saw each crime and sin laid out. All the men whose wives he’d bedded and the shameful events where he’d poured the remaining wealth left by his father. By God, he had even betrayed St. Albans. A man who’d been loyal and confided his greatest fears about marriage and siring a child. Daniel, with a ruthless disregard, had turned those secrets over to the other man’s father.

  It was a rather humbling moment, to look at himself, truly look at himself, and find he didn’t much like what he saw. That he didn’t like himself at all. His stomach muscles clenched.

  For her faith in him all these years, Daphne was wrong. There was no good in him. “You bastard,” he said quietly, the words reserved for both him and the man seated across from him.

  Tennyson slowly returned his attention forward. “What—?”

  “I know what you did,” Daniel cut in.

  Then a slow understanding dawned in the other man’s eyes. “Oh, you must mean Miss Smith.” He flicked a hand. “Yes, yes. Bad form bedding your sister’s companion. It was a long time ago and I couldn’t know she’d become her companion.” He waggled his eyebrows. “In truth, it would not have stopped me from tupping her.” Tennyson laughed uproariously, his shoulders shaking from his mirth.

  Gripped by rage, Daniel propelled forward. He shot an arm out knocking the glass from the marquess’ hands. “Montfort,” the other man’s cry ended on a squeak as Daniel curled his hand around his neck.

  “You bloody bastard,” he seethed, fire pumped through him, scorching him with hatred. “I could kill you.” I want to kill him for having broken Daphne’s heart and for having known her body and… The buzz of whispers ricocheted about the club, dimly penetrating his fury. With alacrity, he released Tennyson suddenly and the blackguard collapsed in his seat, sucking in great, gasping breaths.

  “By God, Montfort, you’ve gone mad,” the marquess, rasped, rubbing his neck. “Is this because you wanted to have her first? I know there is an appeal to bedding a virgin and a cripple.” He grabbed Daniel’s decanter and took a drink. “But trust me, the lady was rubbish.” A buzzing filled his ears as the marquess’ words came as though down a long corridor. “You should thank me for properly breaking her—”

  With a roar, Daniel launched himself across the table, taking Tennyson down. The other man cried out as Daniel buried his fist in his nose. His fingers slippery from the other man’s blood, he continued to pummel Tennyson, punching him over and over. In his mind’s eye, he saw Daphne with this man rutting between her legs. Touching her. Mocking her. He drew back his arm, when someone caught it hard and yanked Daniel away. Driven by bloodlust, he wrestled against the hold.

  “You’re going to kill the man, Montfort,” Lord Guilford’s cool tones cut across the momentary haze of madness.

  Then Daniel registered the absolute silence. All the patrons stared with their faces wreathed in shock and horror. Breathing heavily, he shrugged free of Guilford. He stepped over the prone body of a moaning Tennyson and stalked through the club. Whispers followed in his wake.

  He jerked to a stop beside the famed betting book. Glancing down, he immediately found his name. An entire page’s worth of wagers, all including Daphne’s name.

  Nausea roiled in his belly and, in one swift movement, he ripped the piece from the book. The rending loud in the near quiet of the club. Then, the whispers took on a frenzied tenor as Daniel stalked over to a nearby sconce and touched the edge of the page to the candle. The orange flame licked at the corners, curling it back, and then the fire consumed it.

  Daniel dropped it to the carpeted floor and stalked away.

  As he reached the door, frantic shouts went up and he stepped outside.

  There was no escaping Daphne, anywhere.

  There never had been.

  Four months.

  Daphne was seated on the sidelines of Lord and Lady Waverly’s ballroom. Four months were all Daphne calculated as the absolute greatest amount of time she had for the glittering world of Polite Society.

  She skimmed her gaze over the ballroom to where her charge stood, surrounded by a swarm of gentlemen. Daniel hovered close; a stony-eyed gaze fixed on those men. A wistful smile pulled at her lips. How very much he’d changed in these nearly three weeks. He’d gone from a brother who didn’t wish to be bothered with a sister underfoot to a scowling, protective father-like figure.

  Her smile withered. Given the endless barrage of
suitors and the steady stream of lemonade fetched, Daphne had even less time for London.

  …You could marry me…

  That offer Daniel had made; an offer that was not really an offer, flitted through her thoughts.

  After she’d left London, she’d never wanted to set foot amongst Polite Society gatherings. Not because she despised Town. For she didn’t. A girl who’d never left Spelthorne, but for those three months, she’d reveled in a world outside.

  Rather, she’d not wanted to come back because it was easier to hide away than be presented with a daily reminder of her greatest mistake. Her idiocy. With the passage of time, she’d challenged the limitations imposed on women such as her. Believed that, even though marriage might not exist for imperfect women with crippled bodies, there were honorable pursuits and ventures that gave one purpose.

  Daniel, however, had shown her she was more than that one night with Lord Tennyson. He had proven that, despite Tennyson’s words to the contrary, she was, in fact, a woman capable of passion; a woman defined by more than the bend of her leg.

  The orchestra plucked the strands of the next set and Mr. Pratt escorted Alice onto the dance floor. As they took their places, Daniel remained fixed to his spot; shoulder propped against a pillar, a flute of champagne dangled between his fingers.

  Impossibly cool. Elegantly attired in his midnight jacket and black fitted breeches. It was that primitive beauty that commanded the legions of women. From over the heads of the dancers, their gazes collided. Her breath lodged painfully in her chest. He lifted his head in an imperceptible greeting and she forced her eyes away. To acknowledge even that slight movement would rouse whispers and rumors about a woman in Daniel Winterbourne’s employ.

  “Dreadful affair, isn’t it?”

  At the too-loud question, Daphne started. She glanced to the woman seated two seats over. The Marchioness of Guilford sat, patiently smiling. She gasped. “My lady.” She grabbed her cane and made to rise.

  “Please do not stand,” the lady quickly interrupted. “Not because I believe you incapable of that movement, but because it’s a rather silly bit of pomp and circumstance that presents one as more important than another.”