She looked up. “I should get some plasters.”
“Later.” His face was shockingly pale. Even his lips, usually so full and sensual, were thin and gray. He helped her to her feet and led her back to the sofa, where he sat down beside her.
“My uncle married you when you learned you were to have a child?” His voice was flat and calm.
“Yes. It was a marriage in name only, Hugh. We never lived as man and wife.”
He closed his eye briefly and exhaled. “And Hastings didn’t suspect anything?”
“My mother, Rowena, and I were very careful to keep the truth from anyone—even Fowler, my maid.” She bit her lip. “Although my mother was quite ill, she arranged to speak with Thomas before she died.” Her fingers were clasped so tightly her knuckles were white. “I believe what Malcolm did to me hastened her death. Thomas said we must marry immediately—without the usual mourning period. He said our public justification for not waiting would be that it was inappropriate for a girl of seventeen to live with her unwed cousin of twenty-five. Thomas took charge of everything—even bringing me to Lessing Hall before the wedding and ensuring I didn’t have to see Malcolm again. And I didn’t see him—not until the day you returned to Lessing Hall.”
“He was blackmailing you and you attacked him.”
“Yes, but I only attacked him after he tried to—” Hugh’s face darkened and Daphne hurried on. “He told me he would give me time to prepare myself if I demonstrated my intentions with a payment of one thousand pounds. I dithered and dithered like a fool, hoping for some miracle to come along.” Daphne stared up at him. “That is why I delayed telling you for so long. It was so important to me. Don’t you see, Hugh?” She rushed on. “Little did I know the very thing I hoped for—a way to thwart Malcolm permanently—waited for me in London.” She grimaced. “So, I paid him the money.”
He stared through her, as if seeing something or someone else.
“Please, Hugh, do not be angry with me.”
His gaze sharpened and his eyebrows snapped into a straight line. “Angry? With you?”
“Yes, because it is really your money I used.”
His brow wrinkled. “What the devil are you talking about, Daphne?”
“The money I used to pay Malcolm—it belongs to the Earl of Davenport—you.”
“Good Lord, love! What a load of bollocks.”
Daphne didn’t know which shocked her more—his attitude or hearing the word bollocks spoken out loud.
He waved his uninjured hand dismissively. “We shall come back to this in a moment. But first I want to get to the bottom of this business with Hastings. What is this proof you are referring to?”
Daphne told him about her meeting with Sir Marcus and the letters. “Would you like me to fetch them for you?” she asked.
“I can look at them later.” He stared into space, shaking his head. “I guess it was Hastings who tampered with my saddle—or at least had his servant do so. It seems a foolish thing to do, but then he is a fool. I can only suppose he thought it best to secure Lucien’s future just in case I ferreted out the truth, or”—he glanced down at her—“or you finally told me the truth.”
Daphne’s face heated. “I would have, Hugh. I had decided—”
He laid a big finger across her lips. “Shhh, darling. We’ll deal with that in a moment.” He smiled and continued. “He must have decided that if he could remove me from the equation, then he could marry you without worrying about any interference.”
“But he must have known that I would never marry him, no matter what he threatened me with.”
“I think you overestimate his intelligence—or at least his awareness.”
The dry certainty in his voice made her smile. “Even so, I can’t believe he would have been bold enough to attempt murder, and in such an uncertain way.”
Hugh shrugged. “I agree, but if not Malcolm, who else might have done it?”
Daphne stared at his damaged hand, which she was cradling in both of hers. “I was terrified you would think it was me—after all, I am the one who would stand to gain.”
Hugh snorted. “Don’t be daft.”
She hid a smile at his conviction “Maybe the person who did it didn’t want to kill you, but to give you a lesson.”
“A lesson?”
“Is it possible—”
“Yes, is what possible?” he prodded.
Daphne knew it was likely her roiling jealousy rather than any true conviction that provoked her to utter the next words, but she could not stop them. “I have dreaded saying this to you, my lord, but I haven’t been able to miss the fact that William Standish is angry with you. Very angry.” His eyebrows—already raised—went even higher. “You admitted that yourself when you said you thought it was because you sent him back. Is it possible he might be angry for some other reason? Perhaps not on his behalf but his sister’s?” There. She’d said it.
He blinked. “You believe William severed the girth to avenge his sister?”
It sounded utterly mad when spoken out loud. It also sounded like the statement of a jealous woman, which it was. Daphne wanted the floor to open and swallow her.
“My dearest Daphne.” He slipped an arm over her shoulders and caressed the bare skin of her arm with his big, warm hand. “I’ve realized almost from the first that you possess an impressive intellect, but now I see you have a staggering imagination, as well. This is the second time you’ve mentioned my amorous adventures in conjunction with people wishing to kill me. I am gratified you think I inspire such passion. I am also pleased by your opinion of my virility. And I am most fascinated to learn what acts your imagination has me performing to engender such long-lasting desire for vengeance.” He grinned down at her. “But we will speak of such things later.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Right now I will address your suspicions regarding Meg Standish and her brother’s quest for vengeance. I believe I mentioned that Meg and William and I grew up like siblings?”
She nodded.
“When Meg learned she was with child, it was to me she turned first. She confessed the father was none other than Blake.” He smiled at her gasp of surprise. “She was afraid Will would kill Blake if he ever found out. I happened to agree with her—Will would have killed Blake and then hanged for it. This all happened not long before Will and I departed on our fateful journey.” His hand, which was still on her shoulder, traced patterns on her skin. “My reputation was already in tatters so I told Meg to claim I was the father.” He chuckled at Daphne’s expression of disbelief. “I see you are thinking I’m some kind of martyr. But I’m not—it cost me nothing to accept the blame and it meant a great deal to her. It is sad but true that a woman giving birth to an aristocrat’s bastard receives far better treatment from her peers than if she gives birth to a butcher’s bastard. She accepted my offer and we both went to speak to Will together. Meg lied to Will and told him she’d become pregnant by a man who’d stayed at the local inn. When I told Will what Meg and I planned to do he was furious, but there was no way he could stop me, so I had my way.” He smiled, no doubt at the memory of getting his way.
“To add weight to the rumors, I had my solicitor draw up a trust for Meg’s child before I left. The purpose of the money was twofold: to take care of her and the boy, and to stoke suspicion that he was my son. It certainly seems to have stoked yours,” he teased, pulling her tighter against his body. Daphne swallowed, both at his story and at the sensations his touch was stirring.
He became serious. “Do you have any other questions for me on this subject?”
Daphne shook her head, too embarrassed to speak.
“Excellent. Then I’d like to address the topic of Euphemia Marlington. First, I apologize for not explaining myself immediately.”
She opened her mouth to tell him she had no right to expect anything from him but, again, he laid a finger across her lips.
“Please allow me to finish?”
She nodded but he did not
immediately remove his finger. Instead, his pupil flared and he began to lean forward, his gaze on her mouth. But then he stopped, took a deep breath, and muttered something unintelligible.
“I understand what it may have looked like, but the night you saw us I was offering Mia nothing but comfort. She was terrified about returning home after almost twenty years. I couldn’t tell you who she was because it wasn’t my secret to tell.” He inhaled and then let it out slowly. “I’ll admit I was no saint when I was young or during the years I spent away, but since my return I have desired only one woman.” He ran his finger lightly up her arm and shoulder before taking her chin in his hand. “You must know who that woman is.” He stroked her jaw, the slight roughness of his skin leaving goose bumps. “Even when I believed you’d been my uncle’s wife”—he grimaced—“truly his wife and the mother of his children, I could not fight my feelings for you. I have never been skilled at denying myself what I want.” He dipped his mouth to brush her lips. “And I want you so very, very much, my love.”
She became hot, and then cold. “You want to be my . . . lover?” It was painful and mortifying to speak so plainly, but she could no longer abide dealing with uncertainties.
“Among other things.”
“Other . . . things?”
“Yes, many other things. Which only seems fair, since I returned because of you.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you.” He smiled at her obvious confusion. “Will sent me two letters in the last year. One informing me my uncle was on his deathbed, and a second that said he’d received two letters threatening you, not long after my uncle’s funeral.”
“Me?” Daphne sounded like Hugh’s parrot, but less articulate.
“Yes, you and the boys.”
Daphne’s brain exploded at his words and she sprang to her feet.
“Steady, love,” Hugh said, gently pulling her back down. “They are upstairs, safe in their beds. Also, Kemal is sleeping in the small room beside the schoolroom.”
“He is?”
“Yes, he is. The letters are why I returned—to make sure you and your sons were safe. I have tried very hard to do so, although I’m not sure there was really any threat.”
Daphne heard the words but could make no sense of them. “You came here for a woman you didn’t even know and for her sons, the eldest of whom had usurped your place?”
Hugh laughed. “For an intelligent woman you can be quite a goose, sometimes. Does it appear to you that I have much interest in what you call my place? A position in society, which I abandoned almost two decades ago? Does it appear I lack for wealth and want what belongs to your son?” He shook his head. “No, Daphne. My place has been anywhere but here for almost twenty years.”
“You are leaving?”
“I won’t leave England until I determine the source of those letters, even though I’m fairly sure they were about Hastings.”
Daphne struggled to marshal her thoughts into some form of order, but all she could manage was, “You are leaving.”
He hesitated, and then appeared to come to a decision. “I cannot stay in England if you will not have me. I cannot. But know this, whether you will have me or not, I will never challenge Lucien’s right to the title—even if such a thing were possible. On the contrary, I would do everything in my power to defend it. On that you have my word.”
Daphne couldn’t speak, or even think.
He stroked her cheek. “I love your treacherous skin, sweetheart—it is one of the few things that kept me hoping you might care for me when your haughty, cool looks made me lose heart. In answer to your question, yes, I want to be your lover, but I am also asking you to be my wife.”
“But . . .”
“The scandal?” He nuzzled her neck.
She nodded.
“It is true,” he said, not pausing his nuzzling. “We would be breaking ecclesiastical law by marrying. Many in the ton would cut us and there is a possibility—albeit slight—that someone might challenge our union.”
Daphne nodded. She, too, had researched the subject. She felt his lips curve into a smile against the thin skin of her neck.
“But I am richer than Croesus and have a lifetime of experience protecting myself and my own. I do not fear such threats. It is more the social cuts—the death by a thousand cuts as they call it in China—that I fear. Especially for you. You must consider that, Daphne. Is that something you could endure? Something you would wish to endure? And what about Lucien and Richard? Could you do this to them—to their future?”
He continued to kiss and confuse her while disturbing words poured from his mouth. The things he said were true, but he said nothing of himself and how he would be affected. Did he truly not care about casting himself beyond the pale? Did she?
He took her earlobe into his mouth and sucked, and her thoughts shattered like glass. She shook her head, as if to clear away the shards.
“I cannot fault you for such a decision,” he said, mistaking her gesture as one of rejection. “Your sons should always come first.” His voice was hollow and brittle.
Daphne let out a soft huff and leaned against his chest, amazed he could be so foolish. “How can such an intelligent man be such a goose?” she teased. “I’ve spent my life on the fringes—even when I was married to Thomas. People stared and whispered about the coal miner’s granddaughter who had taken advantage of a doddering earl.” She shrugged. “And before then—when I lived with Sir Walter and Malcolm? Well, I was an outcast of a different kind, isolated and alone with only my mother and my books to keep me company.” She pressed herself against his tense, waiting body. “You realize, don’t you, that the boys will be relentless when they learn about us. You will have no peace ever again.”
Hugh gripped her shoulders and held her at arm’s length, his expression one she’d not seen before: amazement tinged with anxiety. “This is unlike you, Daphne. It is your way to contemplate matters carefully before making a decision—especially one of this magnitude. Are you certain? Entirely certain? Scandal aside, you’ve had very little exposure to the world—to men. Don’t you wish to sample the pleasures life has to offer before committing yourself? Especially before committing yourself to a life of certain censure?” His jaw hardened. “I will give you time to consider my offer—as much time as you need.”
She took his hand. “My hasty decision is not hasty at all. Do you think you are the only one who has wondered about us and what might be? I have struggled and struggled to look beyond your amiable, teasing manner, to discern whether you held me in any special esteem. And then—” She bit her lip.
“And then there was Mia.”
She nodded. “Yes, that was . . . difficult.”
He chuckled and pulled her close. “I daresay you wanted to kill me.”
“No, only maim you. A little.” She pulled away with some difficulty. “I have no need to contemplate any further. I believe any shame my boys and I might face will be far outweighed by the benefit of having you beside us. I would have no other man.” Her face was so hot by the end of her forward speech, it was a wonder she didn’t faint.
Hugh threw back his head and gave a triumphant howl of laughter before crushing her against his chest.
“I lied when I said I would give you time to consider.” He spoke into the top of her head, his words rumbling like rolling boulders. “And I would thrash any man who so much as looked at you. You see what a domineering scoundrel you are agreeing to take to husband? If you hadn’t agreed, I was going to carry you to my ship and have my way with you until you complied.”
Daphne burrowed into his embrace, inhaling the intoxicating scent of him into her lungs and holding it before reluctantly releasing her breath.
“You could still do that,” she mumbled into the hard warmth of his chest.
“Daphne!” he chortled. “How wicked you are—and how much I approve.” But he disentangled himself and moved away.“We are not yet finished, I think. You have voiced concerns about m
y . . . amorous nature more than once.” His beautiful lips curved into a smile as he kissed her hand. “You must ask me what you need to know. I would have no secrets between us, at least nothing that would cause you to regret your decision later. Now is your opportunity, my lady. Once you are mine, there will be no going back.”
All the moisture left her mouth as she met his possessive stare. She willed herself to be calm—to ask the many questions that had tormented her almost since his arrival.
“You mentioned leaving.”
His smile faltered and she sensed a struggle inside him. “Yes, I will need to do so from time to time.”
It was not what she’d been hoping to hear. “Would you be gone long?”
He hesitated. “I would try not to be.”
“You would always return?”
“I would always return.”
“Would you go . . . often?”
He stroked her arm. “I hope not.”
The answers were less than she wanted, but she could not ask him to entirely give up his way of life, could she? She would not want to give up hers. It was something they could discuss—at length, later. For now—
“What else?” he murmured.
“You have had many lovers.” Her voice broke on the last word and she gritted her teeth, wishing she could take back the bald statement.
“Yes, that is true.”
Her reaction was primal: a fierce, violent surge of jealousy stronger than anything she’d ever experienced—anything except the love she felt for her sons, and now Hugh. She swallowed. Yes, love. Not infatuation, not lust—well, partly lust—but love. She loved him and knew she should leave this painful subject untouched. But the part of her mind that dealt only in reason needed more.
“How can you know I will be enough for you, Hugh? I am not an exciting woman. I like books, not balls.”
He squeezed her hands hard enough to hurt. “It is because I’ve experienced so much that I know what I want.” There wasn’t a trace of humor on his face. “I have known other women—many other women—but I have never wanted to spend the rest of my life with one, or raise children with one. Not until now.”
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