This untenable existence Daisy had known through the years, with a stranger responsible for her care, shook him. How wrong he and Wessex had been. The lady’s need for protection defied a mere marital connection. She’d needed saving from her lonely world where the man charged with her care was nothing more than a stranger, the late Roxbury’s only male cousin, who’d slipped into the role of marquess following the older man’s passing. Guilt balled in his throat, nearly choking him. He loathed the idea of her dependent on one such as this for her care. He shifted his attention back to Roxbury, holding his stare. “No, I would not have you reject my suit.” He proceeded to lay out the generous terms of the contract that raised the other man’s eyebrows nearly to his hairline.
The absolute rightness of being here filled Auric. He had little right to her, yet he would care for her and see she didn’t dwell in this uncertain, dark existence she now did. He shoved himself to his feet. “I’ll procure a special license. We’ll be wed within the week.”
That, in itself, should have roused the gentleman’s concern as a guardian. Instead, Roxbury continued to sip away at that damned brandy, as casual as he’d been the whole damned exchange. “Of course,” he said, uttering another one of those damned “of courses”. No concern for Daisy forthcoming. Roxbury set down his glass and stood. “Is there anything else you require?”
Just Daisy. “No. That will be all.” With stiff movements, he started for the door and then stopped at the entrance, as a thought came to him. “Actually, I do require something, Roxbury.” The man listened while Auric spoke, nodding at all the appropriate places. With that, he took his leave of Roxbury. Auric needed to see Daisy.
Daisy sat at the window seat and through the slight gap in the ivory satin curtains, stared down into the London streets. She pulled her knees close to her chest and a little sigh escaped her. He’d asked to wed her. An almost giddy excitement bubbled up in her chest and spilled past her lips. She buried her head into her skirts and laughed. The sound was unrestrained and free and real.
She’d spent the better part of the last few years believing he didn’t see her—not in the way she longed for him to notice her. Yet, his presence at Gipsy Hill not once, not twice, but a third time were not the actions of an uninterested gentleman who failed to register her existence. Nor were they merely the actions of a man with an obligation to her brother, as was evidenced in his proposal. And his kiss. And the heated manner in which he’d studied her through thick-hooded lids. Suddenly, the gypsy’s bauble worn by Lady Stanhope and her sisters no longer mattered. The talisman Daisy had hung her hopes upon, was now unnecessary and unneeded as something proved far greater than magic—the love she carried for Auric.
Daisy furrowed her brow. And whatever it was Auric felt for her. Did he love her? Her mind danced around the truth of that question. Of course he loved her. He’d not have asked to marry her if he did not. Why, Daisy? Aren’t most marriages based on powerful connections and a general fondness between two people and not much more? She thrust aside the niggling of doubt peppering her mind.
She raised her head and inched the curtain back, expanding her view of the activity below. After Auric had handed her into her carriage yesterday morn, he’d not said another word about his offer. He’d not indicated when he would call upon her guardian, father’s second cousin, who’d been charged with her care. She contemplatively chewed her lower lip. Part of her had believed he would arrive first thing that morning to speak with the new marquess and then come immediately after their meeting. She stole a glance across the room at the ormolu clock.
Once again, her own misgivings swirled in her belly. In all the dreams she’d carried of the moment Auric at last realized his love for her, that offer would have looked so very different than that almost hastily spoken question that hadn’t really been a question in the middle of Gipsy Lane. She’d not ever needed anything of the material such as flowers or sonnets from him. There would, however, have been his grand declaration of unwavering love.
In the crystal windowpane, her frowning visage reflected back. “Don’t be silly,” she muttered. In the same way in which life had changed her, Auric too had been changed from smiling, garrulous boy to this oft somber, laconic fellow revered by all, feared by most. He would never be one of those gentlemen to wax poetic, nor did she crave those empty words. Rather, she’d have his heart and the man he’d become with time’s passage.
A black carriage with the familiar crest of a roaring lion interrupted her musings. She swung her legs over the side of the bench. Her skirts settled around her ankles with a soft rustle. A servant pulled the door open and Auric stepped down. The wind whipped his cloak and it swirled about his thick, well-muscled legs clad in immaculate, black breeches.
Her mouth went dry and with him unaware of her presence above, she studied him, frozen in the streets below. She touched a finger to her lips remembering his kiss. Her first kiss. She burned with a hunger for more of him, wanted to know in his arms, all the intimate secrets shared between a man and woman. Auric gave his head a shake and yanked at his lapels. The tick-tock of the ormolu clock and the sound of her own breath filled her ears as he remained fixed to his spot in the street. Then with a pained expression stamped on his face, he started toward the front door. Her heart started. His was not the look of a man eager to see his betrothed.
“What are you looking at Daisy?”
She gasped and the curtain slipped from her fingers. “Mother,” she greeted, springing to her feet.
Her mother wore her perpetual frown and black bombazine skirts. “It won’t do to be seen gawking out the window.” Ah, this reprimanding, propriety driven lady bore hint to the person she used to be. Some of the blankness to her stare that she’d affected these seven years had lifted, though Daisy suspected part of that great heartache would always remain. Then, how could a woman recover from the loss that her mother had known?
“It is Auric,” Daisy said at last, knowing if anything could dispel her mother’s displeasure or disappointment, it was mention of the duke.
“How lovely! He’s come to visit.” She made to ring for a servant.
Daisy called out, halting her. “I don’t believe he is here on a social call.” She folded her hands together and studied their interlocked digits.
“What are you—?”
She raised her head. “I believe he’s just come from speaking with my guardians.”
“Speaking with your guardians?” her mother parroted. “Whatever about?”
She hesitated. The tension in Auric’s mouth and his wan complexion hadn’t hinted at an eager bridegroom, rushing over after securing the appropriate permission from her guardians. “I…” she hesitated. She thrust aside her misgivings. “He asked that I marry him.” Nothing could compel Auric to do something he didn’t wish. He wanted to marry her. Otherwise, he’d not have asked.
Silence met her pronouncement. Then a cry escaped her mother’s lips and she buried the expression of joy in her fingers. Even in her happiness, ascribing to societal dictates for appropriate behavior. “Oh, Daisy, how could you not have said anything?” She sailed over in a flurry of black skirts and captured her daughter’s hands. There was a gentle reproach in her eyes.
“I—” Hadn’t been completely certain that she’d not dreamed the entire exchange. Nor could she be certain that between their meeting yesterday morn to this moment that he hadn’t regretted his request. “I thought it would be best to wait until he’d spoken to the marquess and Uncle,” she settled for.
Tears filled Mama’s haunting, blue eyes and slipped down her cheeks in a graceful display of quiet happiness. “I always knew he cared for you.”
As had Daisy. She’d merely thought his feelings were those reserved for a younger sister. Where she had loved him with a woman’s heart.
“We shall have a grand ceremony—”
A sound of protest escaped her. “No, Mama, please.” She’d become accustomed to the introvert who avoided any and
all conversations, that she’d not anticipated her mother wanting to put her and Auric on display for all of polite Society. “I would prefer a small, intimate gathering.” There was a faintly pleading tone to her words. She loathed the attention. Through the years she’d been invisible to the ton and, as such, she’d never quite managed to move with the grace and assurance evinced by Auric.
“Bah, of course there is to be a grand ceremony. Why, we must invite Lady Jersey,” Daisy groaned, “and I daresay Prinny himself will come,” her mother continued over her. “After all, it is not every day that a duke weds.”
Daisy buried her head in her hands and shook it back and forth. Mama might not give two jots of whether her daughter was pleased. She would, however, care a good deal of Auric’s wishes. “Auric will not welcome a lavish event, Mama. I’m certain of it.” The man of his youth would have. Whereas Daisy had always been hopelessly gauche and bumbling at the summer parties thrown by her parents, Auric had moved with the same effortless grace he possessed, even to this day.
“Hmm.” Her mother tapped a finger against her lips. “Do you believe so?”
“Oh, I’m certain of it.”
“We shall, of course, defer to the duke’s desires in the matter.” She threw her arms around Daisy.
“Oomph!” She staggered under the weight of her mother’s unexpected frame and she stiffened as Mama ran her palm up and down her back the way she had when Daisy had been a small girl who’d stumbled or fallen. Daisy held her body taut with the unfamiliarity of this embrace. Too many years had passed where her mother hadn’t managed to look at her surviving child, let alone hold her.
“I am so very happy,” her mother said, her voice clogged with emotion.
Daisy closed her eyes and accepted her mother’s affection. The same way she’d missed Auric’s teasing, smiling presence was the same way she’d longed to return to the simpler times when Mama had been stern and disapproving and Papa jovial, and Lionel—just being Lionel. There had been a void and Auric had been the one to fill it, and in so doing had healed some part of her shattered mother.
The marchioness seemed to remember herself. She released Daisy and stepped back. “Well,” she said, smoothing her palms along the front of her skirts. A pink blush stained her cheeks. “If you’ll excuse me?” With that, her mother turned on her heel and left Daisy—alone.
Her lips curved upward in an unrestrained smile. Now, she’d never be alone again. Daisy reclaimed her seat and picked up her embroidery frame once more, periodically shifting her attention from the scrap of fabric to the ormolu clock, ticking away on the mantel. A little frown played on her lips. Where in blazes was he? He’d stepped down from the carriage…and she stole a glance at the clock, several minutes ago. Perhaps he wished to speak to her mama first?
She stilled, feeling his presence. Then, they’d always shared a unique connection, one that defied Lionel’s passing. Frederick appeared at the entrance of the room.
“His Grace, the Duke of Crawford,” he boomed and then backed out, allowing them their privacy.
Quiet echoed in the still of the Blue Parlor and Daisy climbed to her feet. “Hullo,” she offered belatedly.
“Daisy,” he murmured. Thick lashes that no gentleman had a right to possess swept low as he peered at her.
When he’d arrived a short while ago, she’d detected a flash of panic and horror on his face, and he’d then disappeared inside, so that she was left to wonder if she’d imagined his inexplicable reaction. With the manner in which his hot gaze lingered upon the swell of her décolletage, all her misgivings lifted when presented instead with his masculine appreciation. She fiddled with the embroidery frame, grateful for its comforting presence in her hands. “Hullo,” she said. Again. Twice now. Or perhaps she hadn’t? “Mayhap I’d only thought it in my head?” Which would, of course, be the preferable, less humiliating— A half grin pulled at his lips as he strode over, coming to a stop just several feet away. “No, you did indeed greet me twice.”
Daisy bit the inside of her cheek. “Oh.” Bothersome habit to have. “Would you care to sit?” she asked, motioning to the collection of seats about the room.
Wordlessly, he inclined his head and waited until she’d reclaimed her spot, perched upon the edge of the sofa. Auric took the seat beside her. His broad, powerful frame filled the King Louis XIV mahogany chair. She rested her embroidery on her lap.
“I spoke with your g…” Auric dropped a contemplative gaze to her lap.
She held it up for his perusal.
“A teardrop?”
Daisy shook her head. “Why ever would I want to capture a teardrop upon a handkerchief?”
Auric grinned. “You are correct.” He leaned over and in a very un-dukelike manner, plucked it from her fingers.
“Well?” she prodded.
With the tip of his index finger, he trailed it over the crimson red threads, outlined in gold. His creased brow spoke to his concentration, which was undoubtedly never a promising sign of one’s embroidering prowess, or rather lack therefore of. She sighed and took it from his fingers. “Oh, do give me that.”
“Do you know what it is?” he teased.
Daisy pointed her eyes to the ceiling. “Of course I do.” She kicked at his foot with the tip of her slippers. “Do hush.” Yet, secretly at his teasing, she trilled with happiness; the kind of uncomplicated joy she’d never thought to know and most certainly never again from him, the stoic, somber Duke of Crawford. She proceeded to pull her threaded needle through the fabric with deliberate care.
“I spoke to your guardians.”
She paused, not taking her gaze from the indecipherable heart she worked on. “Did you?” Her heart thumped wildly in her chest.
“I asked for your hand.”
Daisy jammed the tip of her needle into the pad of her thumb. Reflexively, her fingers opened and the frame slipped from her fingers.
Auric tugged off his gloves and tossed them on the rose-inlaid, mahogany table, all the while watching her with an inscrutable expression.
He’d not changed his mind. “D-did you?” A giddy sensation replaced the tension in her chest.
He shot a hand out and laid claim to her fingers, his gaze holding hers. “I did,” he confessed. The vital strength of his olive-hued fingers burned her skin. “Did you believe I would change my mind?” Then with a wickedly delicious slowness, he ran the pad of his thumb over the palm of her hand.
Well, the idea had entered her thoughts. She swallowed hard, a warm sensation fluttered in her belly. “No,” she managed, her voice breathy as Auric’s expert touch sent all manner of delicious shivers spiraling through her being. The fear that he’d recognized the folly in wedding plump, freckled Daisy Meadows hadn’t entered her thoughts—until, he’d paused on the cobbled streets a short while ago, his expression pained. Since then, she’d been consumed by a niggling fear that with the morn he’d come to his senses and recall that he could have any glorious, golden creature, which he surely favored, as evidenced by his courtship of the Lady Anne Stanhope.
Her lashes drifted closed as he dragged the tip of his index finger over the intersecting lines of her palm. How was it possible for a mere touch to affect her so? Daisy dropped her gaze and studied that seductively innocent caress. All the while her heart danced a funny rhythm in her chest. “You’re quiet. I never remember you to be quiet.”
She couldn’t very well admit that the hard, heavy assurance of his hand robbed her of coherent thought, made it nigh impossible to string words together. “I’m not the same woman I was.” Except, with those words, inadvertently she’d roused the ghost that would always be between them and part of their lives. She’d not shatter this moment with the ugliness that would forever unite them.
His gaze grew shuttered and his finger resumed its slow, explorative movement. “Yes, you’ve said as much, haven’t you?” He now ran his thumb up her palm and back and forth over her wrist.
Her mouth went dry and all thoughts
fled as he slowly brought her hand to his mouth. His lips caressed the spot where her heartbeat pulsed madly for him. Only him. It had only ever been him. Her lids fluttered closed as he continued to worship the skin with his kiss.
“I’ll be obtaining a special license so we may wed within the week.” His pronouncement penetrated the thick haze of desire roused by his touch.
Warmth fanned her heart once more. “A special license?” The speed with which he’d wed her hinted at his eagerness to take her as his bride and it would spare Daisy from her mother’s grand plans for the blessed day.
Auric raised her other hand to his mouth and dropped a kiss on her knuckles. “Will you regret not having a proper ceremony and—?”
“No.” She drew in a shuddery breath. “None of that matters to me, Auric.” It never had. “I’ve never longed for an elaborate affair before a sea of lords and ladies who do not matter.”
He released her hands and she mourned the loss of that simple, yet enticing, caress. “What do you desire?” There was an earnestness to his tone. As though should she call for the stars, he’d capture her the moon. “What do you want, Daisy?”
When was the last time anyone had wondered as to her wishes or desires?
She stood, her gaze fixed on the blood-red, distorted heart she attempted to capture on the fabric in her embroidery frame. She picked it up and ran her finger absently over the gold thread stitched crookedly onto the fabric. “I want a family, Auric.” Something she’d once had, but lost. Daisy looked at him once more. “I want to love and be loved.” Did his cheeks go waxen? The frissons of unease worked down her spine. Not once has he spoken to you of love, Daisy, a dark voice niggled. But then, neither had she. “That is all,” she finished lamely.
Chapter 15
Heart of a Duke 04 - Loved By a Duke Page 19