“The pleasure is mine, Lady Roxbury,” he responded, flawless, proper, and always respectful.
“I gather you’ve quite enjoyed your visits with Daisy?”
She swallowed a groan, her skin prickling with the ghost of a smile on Auric’s lips. The great lout was having a good deal of fun at her expense. “Undoubtedly,” Daisy muttered. “Or, you can surely say, indeed,” she supplied for him. His smile widened and her heart raced all the faster.
Lord Astor chose that precise moment to stride over, coming to a stop before them. The easy camaraderie between her and Auric was gone as he turned once more into the remote, polished duke. The two men eyed each other a long moment, their gazes doing a form of inventory of the other. “Crawford,” the earl said hastily, breaking the silence. They exchanged stiff, polite pleasantries and then Astor turned his attention to Daisy’s mother. “Good evening, my lady.”
A small moue of displeasure formed on the older woman’s lips. “Lord Astor, a pleasure.” Though by the obvious disappointment underscoring her tone, those words sounded anything but. “I trust your mother is well?”
“Indeed well,” he said quickly. He held out his elbow for Daisy.
She stared at his arm for a long moment. The strains of the quadrille filled her mind as she tried to sort out why he had his arm extended. “Our dance,” she blurted. Her skin warmed. “Er, uh, yes, very well,” she said, hastily placing her fingers upon his sleeve.
As the earl guided her onto the dance floor, her neck prickled with the heated intensity of Auric’s stare. Odd, until this moment she’d not given much thought to needing that heart pendant worn by the Lady Stanhope.
Another visit to Gipsy Hill would be in order, and most especially after Auric’s admissions this night.
Chapter 11
The tick tock of the long-case clock filled the quiet, punctuated by the rapidity of Auric’s hand as he frantically wrote on the empty page of his journal.
Dear Lionel,
I have seen your sister as an obligation and nothing more than a sister for the whole of my life. My debt to you is great and for having been the reason you lost your life. I promise to see her wedded.
Those cathartic words continued to fill the pages and he found a sense of freedom in giving this, his apology for having long neglected Daisy, and more, for having desired her as he did.
Auric finished his entry and then set down his pen. He blew upon the page, drying the ink, and then a moment later, closed the book with a firm thud. With a sigh, he sat back in his seat. Since he’d taken his leave of Daisy, he’d been unable to rid himself of thoughts of her, as she’d been, and all those bastards who’d eyed her, seeing the woman transformed. He should feel an overwhelming sense of relief in knowing it wouldn’t be long for some gentleman to be brought up to scratch. He scrubbed his hand over his face.
They had not, however, appreciated her as she’d always been. They’d not seen her smile and bold spirit or infuriating cheekiness—not in the way he had. Except, have you truly seen her? Or had he relegated her to Lady Daisy Laurel Meadows, his unaging girl of the flowers? In that, he was really no different than all those other foolish fops who’d failed to see the complexly unique soul that made up Daisy. With a growl, he shoved back such nonsensical musings not liking that he’d fallen into a category with every last lord. “Do not be ridiculous,” he muttered under his breath. Furthermore, he wasn’t altogether certain why it should matter that the lords in the market for a wife had finally taken note, only that they had.
Auric drummed his fingertips along his journal. It would be more important than ever to pay careful attention to those men courting her and, most importantly, the men she considered as prospective bridegrooms. This responsibility to see Daisy happy and cared for was a debt owed to Lionel. It had nothing, absolutely nothing to do with Daisy Meadows, herself.
Surely it didn’t.
He glanced across the room, his gaze alighting on the case clock. He’d not paid the Marchioness of Roxbury a visit in several days now. How could he have been so remiss? Auric tucked his journal into his top drawer and shoved it closed. Yes, a visit to the lady, and her daughter, just by nature of her position in the household, was certainty in order. Coming to his feet, he started for the door and made his way out of his office.
Why did it feel as though he lied to himself?
A short while later, Auric stood at the front of the Marchioness of Roxbury’s townhouse. He rapped once and waited. And continued to wait. With a frown, he peered out at the busy street. His presence had ceased to attract notice some years ago. Society had long known the close familial connection between his late parents and the Marchioness of Roxbury and her now departed husband. He impatiently beat his hand against his thigh. Yet in all his years knowing the butler, he’d never known him to keep a visitor waiting.
Auric raised his hand to knock, just as a slightly winded Frederick pulled the door open. “Frederick, how—?” The congenial greeting died on his lips at the beleaguered white-haired servant and Baron Winterhaven, in all his cool arrogance. The other man started.
The baron remembered himself first. “Crawford,” he greeted, sketching a bow.
He must appear the lackwit with his mouth agape. Auric snapped his lips shut. “Winterhaven,” he returned the greeting.
“Good day.” The other man settled his hat upon his head and then slipped by Auric.
He stared after the man a moment, and then stepped inside the familiar doors. Winterhaven? Had he truly put the man’s name down as a suitable suitor for Daisy? Surely not. The man was too damned aloof and laconic for the garrulous Daisy. He looked to the old servant. “What is the meaning of that?” he asked, shrugging out of his cloak.
The other man’s lips twitched. “I daresay I do not know what you refer to you, Your Grace,” he remarked, accepting the cloak and passing it off to a waiting footman.
Auric remembered himself and fell silently into step beside the faithful servant, walking the familiar corridors to the Blue Parlor. As the Duke of Crawford, he held himself to certain standards and expectations. It was one thing putting inquiries to the servant about Daisy’s well-being. It was quite another to boldly inquire as to the unexpected appearance of a bounder who had no business with the two ladies here. He scoffed. Had he truly considered Winterhaven bookish and boring? No, the man was likely a rogue, wholly undeserving of Daisy. Auric furrowed his brow. Surely he recalled some mention of Winterhaven in the gossip columns. Not that Auric put much stock in the gossip sheets— They stopped outside the parlor. A husky laugh spilled from the open door and into the hall, the sound of Daisy’s unrestrained mirth so vibrant it momentarily froze him to the floor. Desire coursed through him. How had he failed to note the captivating quality of her laugh? He registered Frederick’s curious stare. What manner of madness had she weaved upon him these past days? He gave a tug of his lapels.
Auric stepped into the room and found Daisy with his gaze seated on the robin’s egg blue sofa—with a gentleman entirely too close. He narrowed his eyes. Daisy and the Earl of Danport sat engrossed in conversation. By God, he’d known he’d been correct to silently ink the man’s name from that blasted list. With his knee pressed against her skirts, Danport ogled Daisy’s generous bosom as though she were a ripe berry he’d like to pluck. A primitive growl rumbled in Auric’s chest and the couple looked as one to where he stood framed in the doorway. Did he imagine the guilty flush on Daisy’s cheeks?
“His Grace, the Duke of Crawford,” Frederick belatedly announced and then wisely took his leave.
A pall of silence fell over the room. Annoyance burned in his chest. Where was Daisy’s earlier laughter or unfettered smile? Instead, she studied him with a pensive expression.
Auric shifted his gaze and it landed on a bouquet of daisies in a crystal vase. He narrowed his eyes.
Sensing his focus, Daisy cleared her throat. “Aren’t they lovely? The earl,” she motioned to Danport, “brought them.” T
he other man had brought her flowers. He swung his attention back to the earl who slowly came to his feet, and in Auric’s estimation dropped an insolent bow. “Crawford,” the too charming by half gentleman drawled.
Urbane, possessed of all the right words, and a carefree attitude, the earl was everything that Auric had never been. Nor had he minded it. “Danport,” he said stiffly. Until now. Then turning his attention to Daisy, he instantly dismissed the other man.
She fiddled with her pale pink skirts, fisting the fabric in a way he’d come to recognize as nervousness. He narrowed his eyes. Nervous? Around him? Annoyance rolled through him and he strode over, stopping before her. The silence stretched on and he gave her an expectant look.
“A seat,” she blurted. He quirked an eyebrow. “That is, would you care to sit?” Her cheeks pinked.
“Indeed,” he replied in the indolent, ducal tone he’d practiced as a child.
Her full lips formed a small moue of displeasure and he’d wager all his landholdings that if Danport wasn’t present, she’d have given him quite the dressing down for his highhandedness. As it was, she reclaimed her seat.
He and Danport followed suit. Auric rapped his fingertips on the arm of the narrow shell chair he occupied.
Daisy cleared her throat. “Would you care for—?”
“No.”
“But I didn’t even finish my—”
“You intended to ask whether I required refreshments?”
Danport looked back and forth between them with a deepening frown. He slowly came to his feet. Daisy shifted her attention to the tall, too charming gentleman. “If you’ll excuse me,” he offered, pointedly giving Auric his shoulder. “I have matters to see to.” The coward would run. Yes, Daisy deserved far more than this one. “I shall leave you and His Grace to your visit.”
Daisy hopped to her feet, with Auric reluctantly following suit. “Thank you for the daisies,” she said softly and God, if Auric didn’t want to kiss her into silence and be gone with Danport so he might have her to himself.
She gave him a pointed look. Auric remembered the years of politeness ingrained into him by too many tutors and sketched a bow. “Danport, a pleasure as usual,” he lied.
“Crawford.” The other man’s narrowed eyes indicated he detected that untruth, but with a curt bow, took his leave.
After the earl had gone, Auric glared at the crystal vase. “Daisies?” He knew he was being boorish and rude and surly. But daisies?
Daisy spun to face him. “Yes. What is wrong with that?”
He clenched his teeth to keep from listing all number of things wrong with the earl’s gift. The unoriginal bastard had given her daisies. “Furthermore—”
“You didn’t provide a reason, Auric.”
“Didn’t I?” He shifted as some of the jealous fury left him, leaving in its wake a healthy dose of embarrassment.
“No. You didn’t.” Daisy propped her hands on her hips. “What was that about?” she charged.
He blinked several times. “What was what about?” Though he knew very well the precise that she referred to.
They’d always possessed an uncanny ability to know what the other was thinking. “Oh, you know precisely what that I refer to.” Deuced bothersome, it was.
In several steps, he closed the distance between them. He lowered his head close to hers, detecting the slight audible intake of her breath. “What if I say it is because I despise Danport?” he whispered.
She tipped her head back to meet his eyes; emotion filled the piercing brown irises. “Why?” she demanded.
He gave her the only answer he had—the truth. “I do not know,” he said quietly. Auric cupped her cheek in his hand. “All I know is the sight of Danport near you, beside you, or with you in anyway, eats at me like a poison.” These were not the sentiments of a man who saw in her a mere sister.
She widened her eyes until they formed round moons in her face.
“He doesn’t deserve you, Daisy.”
She trailed her tongue over her lips, wetting them. “And who does?” she asked, unabashedly bold in her questioning.
Her words drew him up short. Certainly not him. He dropped his hand to his side. With something akin to horror Auric took a quick step backward and another. His mind raced out of control like a speeding phaeton. His legs knocked into the rose-inlaid, mahogany table, rattling the tea service from her previous guest’s visit.
“What is it?” she asked, extending a palm toward him.
Auric stood stock still as with dawning horror, he confronted the truth of his emotions. He wanted her.
During one of her parents’ annual summer parties, Daisy, had come upon Auric, alone at the edge of her father’s lake. The victim of a plate of rancid kippers, his face had been gray, a sheen of perspiration had dotted his brow. In this moment, he bore a strong likeness to that young man of long ago.
“Are you all right?” she asked tentatively.
He gave a jerky nod but remained silent.
Daisy took a few steps closer, expecting him to retreat as he had moments ago, but his gaze remained locked on a point beyond her shoulder. For the span of a heartbeat, when he’d cupped her cheek and studied her through his thick, chestnut lashes, she’d dared to believe he was here because he’d looked inside his own heart and found his love for her.
Pain knifed through her. She’d never have his love. “Have you had a plate of kippers?” But she’d always have his friendship. Had she ever truly believed that would be enough? She wanted all of him, in every way and any way a woman could truly possess a man.
“Have I…?” His words trailed off, and then a slow, half-grin turned his lips upward. Ah God, how she wanted more of him. “No, I’ve not had kippers in ten years.”
Nine years. It would be ten this summer. To point out the specifics of the date however would only humble her before him, as the pathetic creature who’d longed for him on the sidelines of life since she’d been just a girl. “Why are you here, Auric?” she asked with a boldness borne of their lifelong connection.
A muscle leapt at the corner of his eye, but still he said nothing.
“You come here day in and day out—”
“Hardly day in and day out,” he said curtly. Yes, he was indeed correct.
“Very well, then, you come here every week.” Every Wednesday to be precise, as had been the case for nearly seven years now. But for the days in which he’d courted Lady Anne, he’d become a fixture in this household. She’d tired of it. “Agnes,” she called to the maid at the back corner of the parlor.
The young woman knew Daisy so well that she sprang to her feet then dashed out of the room, partially closing the door behind her. Not even the servants feared the two of them being alone. The obvious truth only fueled her rapidly increasing annoyance.
“You shouldn’t send away your maid.”
She widened her eyes. He’d chide her? “I hardly believe my reputation is at risk around you,” she said. His eyes darkened. “You speak of finding me a suitor.” His lips compressed into a hard line. “You bring Astor and then hurry him out.” She motioned to the door. “You run off Lord Danport—”
“He is a rogue.”
Daisy pointed her eyes to the ceiling. “He is not a rogue.” Quite respected by the lords and ladies, Lord Danport had hardly earned the black reputations as some of the more scandalous, outrageous rakes and scoundrels. For reasons likely connected to a familial obligation, Auric had taken it upon himself to find her suitors and judge their worthiness. All these years she’d spent loving him, and he’d devote his energies to finding her a husband. Her patience snapped. She jabbed her finger in his chest. “I do not need you to find me a husband.” Not when she’d already found one, but the stubborn lout was too blind to see her—truly see her.
He eyed her hand as though she’d jabbed him in the heart with a dull blade.
She stuck her finger into his chest once again. “I do not need,” another brother. “Your interfe
rence,” she substituted.
With an effortless grace, he captured her hand in his broad, strong hand. “Is that what I am?” he asked. “An interference?” He drew her wrist close to his mouth, and her breath caught, as for one infinitesimal beat of a heart, she believed he intended to put his lips to the sensitive skin there.
Daisy struggled to call forth words, wishing she had some flippant response that would give little indication to how desperately she longed for more of him and from him.
He ran his gaze over her face and then he fixed his unreadable stare upon her lips. In the flecks of emotion sparking in his blue eyes, she detected the same hint of desire from the moment he’d first kissed her. She tipped her head back, closing the distance between their lips, wanting his kiss, needing him in every way. Auric dipped his head lower.
Footsteps sounded in the hall and he rushed to place the sofa between them.
Frederick reappeared with another caller. “The Earl of Astor,” he announced.
Her heart dropped somewhere to the vicinity of her toes as disappointment filled her. She dropped a curtsy, aware of the young earl’s suspicious stare alternating between her and Auric. “My lady,” he greeted. “Crawford,” he said, the grudging words emerged as more of an afterthought.
“My lord,” she murmured.
Auric remained coolly silent, peering down the length of his aquiline nose at the earl—the gentleman he’d first brought by four days prior.
Lord Astor shifted, as though unnerved by the commanding duke. He did a quick survey of the room, clearly noting the absent maid.
Daisy’s skin heated as the suspicion in his gaze grew. She gave silent thanks as Agnes rushed into the room bearing a tray of tea. Or rather, another tray of tea.
“As you requested, my lady,” Agnes assured, setting her burden down on the table between Daisy and Auric. She stole a peek upward and gave a conspiratorial wink.
Auric sketched a stiff, polite bow. “I shall leave you two to your visit,” he said, his voice flat of emotion.
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