Just One Kiss

by Stephanie Sterling

  She had felt so many different things since Edward had returned that it was difficult to keep track of her emotions. Within the space of half an hour she had endured Edward’s anger, his amusement… his desire?

  “I want you to save your first dance for me,” Edward purred into her ear as they entered the front foyer of the Butterworth’s house, which caused Daphne’s cheeks to positively burn, so that she was certain she looked hot and flustered when Mrs. Butterworth accosted them before she even had her cloak off. She must have been lying in wait, Daphne considered bitterly.

  “Lord Coventry!” Mrs. Butterworth boomed. Daphne feared for her eardrums. She also feared that their hostess could be heard from the next room, which was undoubtedly what Mrs. Butterworth was aiming for. “Lord Coventry,” she repeated, while Edward seemed to have to work very hard at maintaining a bland smile. “And Lady Coventry,” she added, sparing a glance for the countess. “I’m so delighted that you could come.”

  “We’re delighted to be here, Mrs. Butterworth,” Edward said graciously. Daphne frowned as their hostess nearly swooned at her husband’s feet, despite being old enough to be his mother.

  “Let me show you into our humble little ballroom, my lord,” Mrs. Butterworth tittered, trying to usher the earl along. Edward was not a man who could be ‘ushered’ anywhere however, he waited very deliberately until his wife was ready and then deigned to follow Mrs. Butterworth. The older woman laughed girlishly. “There are so many people I want to introduce you to, my lord,” she enthused.

  To say that the ballroom fell silent when Edward Everton, Earl of Coventry, walked through the large double doors into the glittering arena, wouldn’t have been quite true, but there was a strange rippling hush. It was as if the people nearest the door caught their breath, and this low gasp radiated outwards, so that, within a couple of minutes, Daphne didn’t imagine a single person hadn’t been nudged and told ‘look there, the Earl of Coventry, yes, you remember, there was that scandal with his wife…’

  Most people had the sense and good manners not to outright stare, but to Daphne’s discomfort, there were quite a few people who didn’t seem able to grasp this basic rule of etiquette.

  “You absolutely must meet the Duke of Berwick,” Mrs. Butterworth was saying, leading them over to a man who stood a scant inch or two shorter than Edward. Daphne wasn’t well acquainted with the Duke, but she watched a flash of recognition light his friendly blue eyes when he caught sight of Edward.

  “Good God, Everton!” he grinned. “Although, I suppose it should be Coventry now,” he corrected himself thoughtfully. “You crept back into the country on the quiet, didn’t you?” the duke chuckled.

  Daphne watched Mrs. Butterworth visibly deflate when she realized that the two men already knew each other. The older woman tried desperately to include herself in the conversation however.

  “Oh-I didn’t realize that the two of you were already acquainted,” she simpered. “How did you meet?” she asked, pumping them for a morsel of gossip.

  “We were at Oxford together,” Edward said simply. Daphne gave a little start when she felt her husband’s hand on her back, urging her to step forwards a little. “I’m afraid I don’t know if you know my wife, Berwick? This is Daphne, Countess of Coventry.”

  The Duke dipped his chin. Daphne noted that his eyes had cooled just a fraction, but his voice was just as warm when he spoke. “I’m sure our paths must have crossed, but I’ve never had the honor of an introduction before, Lady Coventry.”

  “Your grace, it’s an honor,” Daphne bobbed in a low curtsey, and then listened curiously as the men became reacquainted. Mrs. Butterworth listened for a while too, occasionally trying to include herself in the men’s discussion, but ultimately her duties as hostess led her away. Daphne was certain she heard Edward mutter ‘thank God for that’ under his breath when she finally left them.

  It wasn’t really in Daphne’s nature to listen silently without wanting to be a part of what was going on, but Edward looked so relaxed, so much like his old self, as he caught up with the Duke, that she was very happy to simply stand back and watch the animated lines of his face. At least she was, until someone rapped on her arm with a fan.

  Daphne turned to see who it was that wanted her, and then almost groaned audibly. A very pretty redhead was standing in front of her, a very pretty redhead with sparkling green eyes and a little cherry mouth, a lush curvy figure, and the cruelest wit in the ton.

  “Hello Sophie,” Daphne said with a forced smile. Sophie was the same age as her, but had been married only two years earlier, to a foolish, but incredibly rich, young man – and already had a reputation for dallying with other wives’ husbands.

  “Daphne,” she said, her voice sugary and sweet. “So this is your mysterious husband is it?” she cooed. Daphne bristled at the way Sophie let her eyes linger on Edward. Her gaze travelled up the full length of his body with an insulting degree of intimacy. “Won’t you introduce us?” she purred, licking her lips like a cat.

  No. Daphne wanted to snarl, but she couldn’t very well do that, so she turned and laid a hand gently on Edward’s arm to gain his attention.

  “Edward, this is Sophie Nelson.” She felt a sharp pang in her chest at the way her husband’s eyes widen a fraction, no doubt in appreciation of the stunning figure of the woman in front of him. “Sophie, this is my husband, the Earl of Coventry,” Daphne ground out, and as Berwick was included in the group, she couldn’t very well leave him out of the introductions, despite not really knowing her himself, so she announced him too.

  “It’s such a pleasure to meet you both,” Sophie said, flashing both men a sparkling smile, indeed, she didn’t seem to know who deserved her attention most. However, since she seemed determined to annoy Daphne, Edward ultimately won. “Lord Coventry, I hear you’ve just returned from the continent?” Sophie gushed, sidling up to him. “Tell me, what’s it like?”

  Edward’s brows furrowed, but before he could answer, Berwick said lazily. “I thought that was where your husband was headed, Mrs. Nelson? Surely you would do better seeking your answers from him?”

  “Wh-what?” Sophie stammered, looking flummoxed.

  “Or, perhaps I heard incorrectly?” the Duke continued mildly. Daphne swallowed a smile, maybe the Duke wasn’t overly fond of her, but he seemed to like Sophie even less.

  “Yes, you must have, Your Grace,” Sophie said sharply. “My,” she opened her fan and flicked her wrist delicately, “isn’t it warm in here? If you’ll excuse me gentlemen, I think I need a glass of lemonade. Lady Coventry,” she caught Daphne by the wrist, “-weren’t you just saying that you wanted a glass?”

  Daphne wasn’t given an opportunity to answer before Sophie pulled her along after her, muttering something under her breath which sounded suspiciously like ‘horrid, odious man, just because my sister refused him…’ Daphne didn’t know what Sophie was talking about, nor did she particularly care to find out, but she was a little confused as to why she was being dragged across the ballroom, and then it became apparent…

  “A friend of mine has been trying to speak to you since you arrived,” Sophie simpered once she’d regained her composure. “With your-” she paused and tittered smugly “-husband.”

  Daphne’s lips pinched into a line tight line, and the frown that she had already been wearing darkened when a man strolled up to them from the side of the ballroom. Harry Beckham. He was tall and fair, conventionally handsome, and thought himself something of a rake. He had been trying to work his way into Daphne’s affections, or more particularly, her bed, for the best part of two years.

  Daphne would have been lying if she said that she’d never been tempted, and perhaps, if Harry had a brain that matched his good looks he might have stood more of a chance. However, Mr Beckham had never coaxed so much as a kiss from Daphne’s lips, not through want of trying however.

  “You are quite the talk of the evening, Lady Coventry,” Harry said smoothly. His brown ey
es darkened with something that looked suspiciously like jealously. “You and your husband that is. Why didn’t you tell anyone he was coming back?”

  “I don’t suppose she knew,” Sophie said cruelly. Harry shot the other woman a look as if to tell her to be quiet, and then, perhaps sensing that they would get no peace with Sophie in tow, Harry asked Daphne to dance.

  “I promised Edward-” Daphne began, nervously casting her eyes around for her husband. However, Harry was totally disregarding her protest. He dragged her onto the dance floor and took her in his arms.

  Edward was watching from the other side of the ballroom as another man stole his dance. The jealously that he’d been doing so well to temper resurged with a vengeance as he watched Daphne’s graceful figure glide around the floor in the arms of another man.

  Hypocrite. A voice in his head hissed. It wasn’t as though he’d saved himself for Daphne. The first couple of years after his marriage he had been with more women than he would ever willingly admit. All in a desperate attempt to chase Daphne, and the memory of her innocent kiss, from his thoughts.

  It hadn’t worked of course, and Edward ended up merely feeling disgusted with his behavior.

  Edward turned his attention back to the dance, smoldering with jealously as he observed the sight of another man’s hands on his wife’s body. He had to have her. He had to mark her as his own. Edward had never felt like this before, never known such a desperate, clawing need to possess a woman. It was almost frightening. Especially because it was her.

  The second the dance ended he wanted to storm across the room and rip Daphne away from the blond haired gentleman who still had his hand on her arm. However, Edward swore to himself that he would not make a scene, but that promise grew ever more difficult to keep as Daphne continued to converse with the man! She kept casting her eyes around the room though-was she looking for him, or looking to see that he didn’t find her?

  Finally reaching the end of his patience, Edward made to cross the ballroom towards his wife. He was stopped on several occasions, by several people who wanted to welcome him back to their midst, but he eventually reached Daphne’s side. He couldn’t fail to notice that she looked flushed and guilty.

  “Daphne,” he drawled coolly. “Won’t you introduce me to your-” he paused and took in the full appearance of the other man “-friend?”

  “Yes, of-of course,” Daphne gulped uneasily. “Edward, this is Mr Harry Beckham. Mr Beckham, this is my husband Edward, the Earl of Coventry,” she said, in a quiet little voice, as her eyes darted between the two men. Edward glared at Harry, and Harry scowled right back.

  Here was a threat, and if Daphne couldn’t see that Beckham’s intentions were less than honorable then she was a fool. Somewhat unsettlingly, Edward had reached the conclusion that his wife was no fool…

  “It’s a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Lord Coventry,” Beckham said, not sounding as if he found it a pleasure at all. He offered his hand and Edward shook it, hard. If this man had stolen so much as a kiss from Daphne then Edward would call him out. “I’m sure your wife is most gratified by your return,” Beckham continued.

  Was there any possible way that he could punch him here? Edward mused, breaking the handshake before he broke Beckham’s fingers.

  “Is she?” Edward drawled, turning his face to Daphne, who was looking somewhat pale. “But I fear I’m a terrible negligent husband,” he said, his voice soft and dangerous. “I haven’t even asked for a single dance this evening,” he added, pleased when Daphne bit her lip at this lie. “Would you care to dance, my lady?” he asked smoothly, not giving Daphne a chance to accept, and certainly not bothering to offer his excuses to Beckham.

  “Edward?” Daphne’s voice trembled. She sounded afraid.

  Good, Edward thought, because she should be afraid.

  “Edward, what’s wrong?” she gasped, as he husband took her in his arms as a waltz started up.

  “I’ll break you both if he’s had you,” he growled into her ear, which caused Daphne to gasp and miss a step. “I swear it Daphne, if he’s-”

  “Edward!” she hissed, trying to shout in a whisper. “We are in the middle of Mrs. Butterworth’s ballroom!” she choked.

  Edward blinked, and frowned, all too aware that Daphne hadn’t denied that she’d had an affair with the bumbling Beckham idiot. He had been prepared for the jealously, but the pain was unexpected. If Daphne had turned to another man to fulfill her unsatisfied desires then who did he have to blame apart from himself?

  He pulled her close, much closer than society allowed, and was rewarded for his audacity with a delightful hitch in Daphne’s breath.

  “I’m going to make you mine tonight,” Edward promised, his voice low, his words whispered like a threat. He felt the shiver that ran the length of Daphne’s slim body.

  “People are staring,” she whimpered.

  “Good,” he growled, “maybe then people will realize that you belong to me.”

  Some of the fear and uncertainty began to drain away from Daphne’s face. Her eyes flashed at him dangerously. “You never wanted me to belong to you!” she spat, as quietly as she could manage. “You ran half way across the world to get away from me!”

  “I came back,” Edward breathed darkly.

  “And I was just meant to wait?”

  “Are you saying that you didn’t?”

  “I’m saying that I shouldn’t have, my lord!” Daphne cried, breaking away from him as the dance finished.

  “Daphne!” Edward snarled.

  He reached for her, but she had slipped beyond his grasp. People were staring at them curiously and whispering, but Edward ignored them all as he marched after his wife. He didn’t know where she planned to go to escape him. Lord knows he was this close to tossing her over his shoulder and dragging her home if she tried anything.

  Edward rounded the corner that he had just watched Daphne turn, and almost bumped into her. She had stopped. Obviously. And was standing face to face with Mrs. Butterworth.

  “My goodness!” exclaimed their hostess. “Is something the matter?” Mrs. Butterworth demanded. Her beady little eyes darted all over the couple, undoubtedly taking in Daphne’s distressed face and Edward’s enraged one.

  “My wife is feeling a little under the weather,” Edward lied evenly. “I think it best if I take her home.”

  Oh but-!” Mrs. Butterworth’s face crumpled for an instant, no doubt mourning the imminent loss of her most esteemed guest.

  However, she brightened a second later, thinking this time, undoubtedly, about the fact that she could be the one to inform everyone that Lord and Lady Coventry had been forced to leave early because… well, she probably hadn’t exactly decided the details yet.

  “What seems to be the matter, Daphne?” Mrs. Butterworth probed.

  “Nothing that won’t be cured by a few days in bed I’m sure,” Edward said calmly.

  He couldn’t help the flare of satisfaction he felt when Mrs. Butterworth’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. He’d see how Daphne felt about Beckham when that piece of gossip got around the ton! He also seemed to have achieved what few before him had managed – silencing Mrs. Butterworth. It took only a few minutes for them to say their goodbyes and give their thanks, and then they were stepping outside into the brisk night air, walking down to the waiting carriage.

  Chapter 12

  Breathe. Just breathe. Daphne instructed herself firmly. You’re going to be all right. You’re going to be fine.

  She didn’t feel fine! And she didn’t seem to be able to put one foot in front of the other as Edward led her towards their carriage. She stumbled twice on the steps, so that her husband finally slowed his pace and shot her an irritated glare. Perhaps she shouldn’t have provoked him, but he’d been so unfair! And now… now he was going to punish her.

  Daphne was bundled into the carriage, where she sat staring at her lap, waiting for Edward to make his next move. It just wasn’t fair! All of th
e moves were his!

  “God Daphne,” Edward swore, which only made her jumpy and even more nervous. “You don’t have to look quite so terrified.”

  “I’m not terrified!” she hissed, but her voice was shaking and it belied her. She started when Edward’s fingers curled under her chin and forced her head up, making her look him in the eye.

  “You’re not a very good liar you know,” he snorted, his lips curving into a mirthless smile.

  “Well then you should be able to tell that I’m telling the truth when I say that I’ve never touched Mr Beckham!” she railed. Edward recoiled.

  “It’s bloody obvious what he wants from you,” he growled jealously.

  “That doesn’t mean I’ve given it to him!” Daphne cried. He needed to believe her! “Just because you’ve never wanted me doesn’t mean that no man could!” she sobbed.

  “Silly girl,” Edward breathed softly. His voice was now a rumbling purr, and he was suddenly too close, too male, and Daphne couldn’t breathe. “Is that what you think?” he murmured enfolding her in his arms. “That I don’t want you?”

  “Y-you went away,” she whimpered, and then gasped as she was eased down onto the carriage seat.

  He laid her on her back, and then moved to cover her body with his own. She felt so small, so vulnerable pinned beneath the weight of his large frame, but there was something else, something darkly thrilling about being so completely at his mercy.

  “You were a child, Daphne,” Edward breathed roughly, grimacing at the memory. “And I didn’t trust myself to be with you.” Daphne stared back up into his face, her mouth parted in a little, tempting ‘O’ of confusion and surprise, and maybe just a touch of indignation. “Let me give you back the wedding night I stole?” he panted, dipping his lips.