“A private parlor, a pot of tea, and perhaps a room where the lady may repair to dry her clothes,” Dalton said without his usual sangfroid.
The innkeeper, however, seemed used to dealing with high-handed aristocrats. “I’m afraid we are filled almost to the rafters, milord. A local family is having a wedding, and we’ve got quite a few guests here.”
Dalton frowned. “What do you have available, then?”
“Only one bedchamber, milord,” said the man, “and it is not the sort of room I would normally offer to someone like yourself. But I’m afraid it’s all we have.”
Just then raucous laughter erupted from the taproom behind him. Clearly the wedding party was spending the storm enjoying whatever spirits the establishment had on hand.
As if to emphasize their situation, a crack of thunder sounded outside.
Without looking to Daphne for assent, Dalton nodded. “Very well, we’ll take it. But I do wish for tea and some food to be brought up as soon as possible.”
With a nod, the man led them toward the stairs, where they passed several gentlemen coming down.
One in particular seemed to pause as he saw Dalton.
“I say, is that you, Maitland? What on earth are you doing in this hellhole?”
The innkeeper seemed to stiffen at the description, but did not object, clearly having learned to let his guests have their way.
Rather than greet his friend with his customary warmth, however, Dalton paused long enough for Daphne to see him close his eyes in frustration. Then almost as if it hadn’t crossed his visage at all, it was gone and replaced with a friendly grin. “Pinky,” he said, nodding to the fellow before indicating to his companions that they should proceed.
But Pinky was not to be ignored. “I should have known I’d see you here, though. Your aunt’s place is just over near Hastings, isn’t it?” He gave a quick but speculative scan of Daphne. “I might have guessed you’d find the best bit of fluff around. Always did have a good eye, eh?”
Daphne’s eyes widened at the insult. She had been subjected to those sorts of glances before, of course, but had never been spoken of so blatantly. And certainly never mistaken for a lightskirt. She opened her mouth to give this Pinky a set down, but was forestalled by Dalton.
“And you always did have a way of mistaking matters, Pinky, old thing,” he said in a drawl that sounded as foreign on him as a French accent would have done. “May I introduce my bride? Darling this is Lord Pinkerton. We were at school together.”
It was difficult to say who was more shocked by this pronouncement, Daphne or the gaping Pinky. The innkeeper looked surprised as well, but kept his mouth shut.
One glance at Dalton showed his eyes boring into hers, heavy with a message she was quite able to read.
“A pleasure,” she said, extending her hand toward Pinky, who bowed low over it.
“The pleasure is mine, your grace,” the fop said with a grin. He seemed not to be in the least embarrassed by his earlier assumption about her. “Leave it to Maitland to find such a diamond.”
“I’m sure you’ll understand if we get upstairs now, Pinky,” Dalton said before Daphne could speak. “We were caught in the storm, and I do not wish her to catch a chill.”
Not waiting for his friend to respond, Dalton indicated to the innkeeper that he should proceed, and they hurried after him.
Once they reached the door to what was, indeed, a most unimpressive chamber, the innkeeper looked abashed. “Your grace,” he said, as if seeing just how bare the little room was, “I can ask one of the other guests to exchange rooms with you. I feel sure once they learn who it is that wishes to use the chamber…”
“This is adequate, Mr.…”
“Woodley, your grace. George Woodley, at your service.” He bowed.
“A pleasure, Mr. Woodley.” Dalton’s easy manner seemed to have returned with their removal from the crowded taproom. “I should like some hot water brought up for my wife, as well as the tea and food. And if you have any clothes that she might change into, that would be appreciated. We were caught unawares in the storm and had not planned to stay over.”
With a promise that he would find something, Woodley left them then, closing the door behind him.
Daphne, who had moved to stand before the fire as soon as they walked in, turned to see Dalton watching her.
His hair was almost brown thanks to the rain, though wisps of gold stood up in places. And his mouth was tight as he watched her.
“You have a remarkable habit of making pronouncements about our relationship, your grace,” she said with some asperity. “I have found myself betrothed, then married to you in the space of a few days. Both times without my recollection of ever having consented to the match.”
“Pinky is one of the worst gossips in the ton,” he said, stepping forward to take her hands in his. Feeling their coldness, he gave a curse and began rubbing them between his own ungloved hands. “I might have attempted to pass you off as my mistress, but the likelihood of him remembering your face if you were to meet later is strong. He never forgets a face, and worse, he never passes up the opportunity to spread tales.”
“Surely he is just as likely to realize once some time has passed that there has been no announcement in the papers.” Daphne tried to keep her mind on the matter at hand but she was very cold. And his hands were quite warm.
He was silent for a spell, and was saved from reply by the arrival of both a maid and a footman, bringing clothes, a pot of tea, and hot water.
Once they were gone, Dalton turned back to Daphne, his eyes never once wavering from her face. “There will be an announcement in the papers, Daphne. There’s no help for it. We might have broken things off in front of your father without any sort of ramifications. But I’m afraid that this is one action that cannot be undone.”
“But surely, we can simply tell Pinky what happened,” she said, knowing as she said it that it was futile. She’d recognized Pinky from some card party or other in London. He was one of those men who traded on gossip for his own amusement as well as in exchange for invitations. There was no way he’d agree to keep quiet about finding the Duke of Maitland in such a compromising position.
“That wouldn’t stop him from spreading gossip about it.” Dalton sighed, and pulled her against him. “Your reputation would be in shreds.”
As would his. Even so, marriage was not what she had foreseen for herself.
“I do not care overmuch for my reputation,” she said softly. “I could withstand it.”
But even as she said the words she doubted them. She thought of the women she’d seen in town. Who were spoken of in hushed tones, and dared not show their faces in public lest they set off a flurry of whispers. It wasn’t as if she cared for the social rounds. But she’d always taken pride in the fact that despite her father’s insistence she use her skills at the gaming tables, her personal reputation was flawless. She might be the daughter of a scoundrel, but she herself had escaped being marked with the same brand. Was she willing to sacrifice herself just to keep from marrying a man who had thus far proved to be the most trustworthy she’d ever met?
“But I won’t let you,” he said kissing her forehead. “There’s nothing for it, Daphne. We must marry.”
Chapter 12
Dalton waited. Watched as her every thought flashed through her eyes.
He had known, of course, that she saw their hasty betrothal for her father’s sake as a temporary thing. A quickly erected levee to stop the flood of Lord Forsyth’s demands from overwhelming to the point of destruction.
But his offer had been more sincere than he’d let on. Though he would not force her, he had intended to use every persuasive skill at his disposal to convince her that they should make a go of the match. Since she’d first approached him not long after they met with her scandalous proposal, followed by his rejection, Dalton had come to realize that he was unlikely to meet her equal should he live to be a hundred.
She
was lovely, intelligent, determined, and, despite her appearance of arrogance, self-effacing when it came to those things she felt she did not excel at. She just so happened to recognize that she possessed some skills that far outshone the average person. It was perhaps not humble of her to declare the fact, but neither was it sensible for her to pretend to be less than she was.
In that, she reminded him of Aunt Celeste, who had also known her worth and did not pretend to be a simpering ninny for the sake of other (mostly male) sensibilities.
He wondered as he stood there holding her, waiting for her to accept the inevitability of their match, if Celeste had had some hand in this. If she had engineered the lives of her nephews by choosing ladies as her heirs whom she suspected they would find appealing. Though he hadn’t considered it before now, the idea held some appeal. It was comforting somehow to think that Celeste had known just what sort of women he and Kerr needed. That she was still here caring for them long after she was gone.
Even so, Daphne was hardly predictable. And whatever he might wish regarding her decision, he knew she was quite capable of digging in her heels when she wished it. The notion of having her reputation thoroughly ruined was not appealing, he could tell, but if the alternative was something she did not want, she would endure it.
Whether he was willing to endure it was another matter altogether. He had always prided himself on maintaining a spotless reputation—especially when compared to that of his father. He might admit to wanting Daphne for himself, but a part of him wished her to marry him because he did not want to be known as yet another ill-reputed Duke of Maitland. It was selfish perhaps, but he was honest enough to admit it should she ask.
He was about to do so when she raised her eyes to him, dark green in the dim light of the modest chamber. “Not long after we met,” she said softly, “I asked you to take me to bed.”
Dalton blinked. He had not been expecting her to speak of that just now.
Curious about where she was going with this, he said, “I remember.” He had done nothing but remember that moment ever since he turned her down. Any other man would have leapt at the chance to hold such a beautiful woman in his arms. And in the wee hours of the night, for weeks afterward, he’d considered going back to her, to tell her he’d changed his mind.
“It wasn’t for the reasons you think,” she said, lowering her eyes again, as if she could not speak the words while meeting his gaze.
“It doesn’t matter, now.” He stroked a hand over her back in a soothing gesture. “We know each other better now. I need no explanations.”
“But I wish to explain,” she said, pressing on. “You see, I was still unable to get past that … incident with Sommersby. I couldn’t stand the thought of being touched by any man. Even one I wished to be with.”
At the mention of the other blackguard’s name, Dalton wished, not for the first time, that he’d known Daphne at the time. He would have made quite sure Sommersby never approached her again.
“But I was drawn to you from the moment we met,” she continued. “It was the first time I’d found someone appealing since the incident with Sommersby, you see, and I thought perhaps if I asked you to be with me in that way that it would erase the memory of him, make me whole again.”
Dalton was overwhelmed. There were so many things he wanted to say at that moment. He wanted to tell her how flattered, and humbled, he was that she trusted him. To assure her that all men weren’t like the bastard who tried to hurt her. To say he wished he’d known all this when she first approached him.
But sensing that she was the one who needed to speak now, he kept silent.
“I know that I shocked you,” she said, smiling a little. “You were rather like a scandalized maiden aunt.”
“In my defense,” he said, feeling his ears turn pink, “it was the first time an unmarried lady had ever approached me with such an offer. You took me by surprise.”
That gave her pause. “Does that mean that married ladies have approached you with similar offers?” She looked rather shocked, as if the notion had never occurred to her. For all that she pretended worldliness, she was still innocent about such matters, he surmised.
“We are not speaking about other ladies,” Dalton said, deciding that they perhaps needed to make use of the lumpy settee behind them. He for one did not know if his knees would hold out for much more of this sort of talk.
Pulling her with him, he waited until they were seated, his arm holding her close to his side, before he said, “Go on.”
In this position, she did not have to look into his eyes, which he thought she would prefer, given how difficult it was at times for her to endure eye contact. But once again, Daphne surprised him. Turning to face him, she lifted a hand to his face, as if she needed to see his eyes as she spoke. “I am asking you again, your grace. We may not have another opportunity like this, when we are away from the prying eyes of your sister and cousin and my friends.”
He should have known she was leading up to this. But like before, he found himself caught off guard. If he did marry her, he could envision a lifetime of such surprises. And though he once would have said he longed for a life of calm and content, there was something about the idea of such a life with Daphne that appealed more than he could have imagined.
Taking her hand, he kissed her palm and moved it to rest on his heart, which was beating like mad with anticipation now. “That was not my intention in bringing you here, Daphne. I truly did just mean to wait out the storm for a bit before returning to Beauchamp House.”
She smiled. “I know that. You are the most honorable man I have ever known aside from the elder Mr. Sommersby.”
Knowing how much she admired her tutor, he felt humbled by the comparison.
“But, I need to know if this is something I can do—endure your touch, any man,” she said, looking down again. “I need to know that I will be able to give you what you need if we do marry. Because if not, then I won’t force you into a marriage with someone who is broken. Your title requires an heir—and more children to carry on the family name. It is an antiquated system, but I am well aware of how much it means to a man to know that his name will carry on.”
Likely she knew this at her father’s knee. He was not the sort who would refrain from chastising his daughter for not being born the son he wished for. Yet another reason to despise Forsyth. Especially since his own reputation was the probable reason he had not married again.
“It is true that my title does mean that I would like an heir,” he said to her, knowing that he must choose his words carefully if he didn’t wish to bungle things, “but I have a cousin, who is not a bad fellow, who will inherit if I should die without issue. He is more than capable of taking the reins of the dukedom. And even if that were not the case, I have given you my word. Honor dictates that even if it were not my choice—and I assure you it is—I would still be required to keep it.”
“Such an honorable man,” she said, without irony. “That is why I must make sure that I do not trap you.”
“And what if I don’t see it as a trap?” he asked, the possible consequences of her experiment’s failure sending a jolt of fear through him. “What if I promise to marry you regardless of your ability to give me an heir. After all, there are any number of marriages that do not produce sons. Or produce no children at all. Why can we not leave it to fate to decide?”
“Because I need to know,” she said firmly. “Either you make love to me here, now, or I must have your word that you will release me from this match.”
He pulled away, needing to get away from her for a moment. To think without the nearness of her clouding his judgment.
“You must agree it’s the only sensible way,” she said, her tone brisk. Just as if she were trying to persuade him of some mathematical principle rather than a decision that could keep them apart forever. “If I am able to be a proper wife to you, then we will wed. If I am not, then we will agree to part ways.”
“And w
hat of finding the cipher?” he asked, knowing it was unfair, but grasping at the thing she wanted more than any other in an effort to persuade her. “What of finding Sommersby’s killer?”
“Of course we will continue to search for both.” She frowned, as if the notion they would no longer search for both was absurd.
At her expression, he couldn’t help himself. He laughed. “Daphne, you are the most maddening woman!” He shook his head in amazement. Only she would consider a broken engagement as something to be brushed aside while they worked closely together to search for a murderer.
She didn’t reply, only sat patiently watching him. Seeing that he would never be able to persuade her to change her mind, he sighed.
“Very well. We will perform this experiment as you call it. And if for whatever reason you are uncomfortable, we will stop.”
Daphne beamed. “I knew you would see things my way. You are a reasonable man, after all.”
But he wasn’t finished. “However, I demand that you give me another chance to … er … convince you, if this attempt doesn’t work.”
He couldn’t believe he was speaking about such a delicate matter as if it were some sort of laboratory exercise. Given the amount of pressure he now felt himself under, he was even beginning to doubt his ability to perform. Which had never been an issue for him in the past.
Perhaps sensing his hesitation, she stood and placed her hands on his chest. Leaning forward, she kissed him softly on the lips.
And that decided it. Unable to resist her any longer, he pulled her against him and kissed her back.
* * *
Daphne had known from the moment she met him that Maitland had the potential to hurt her. It had been there in his golden good looks and charming manner. In his easy way with everyone—so different from her own often fraught interactions with friends as well as foes.
Even so, she’d wanted him.
And all these months later, with a storm raging around their cozy room, she gave herself over to the need she’d felt deep within her that day.
Duke with Benefits Page 15