Without taking a sip of the foul brew, Paul placed his glass on the table beside him. He turned and rested his arm on the back of the sofa. Unable to resist her soft hair, he gently played with a few silken strands that had come loose when she’d taken off her mask.
“The risks are too great, Daphne.” Tenderly, he stroked her hair.
Daphne settled in the crook of his arm and closed her eyes, enjoying his tender attention. “The risks are too great if I don’t accompany you,” she whispered.
“What might those be, sweetheart?” He wanted her lulled into a sense of comfort and security with him. Whatever she feared, he wanted her to tell him so he could eliminate the threat.
Like waking from a dream, she opened her eyes and turned to face him. When her knees touched his, she didn’t pull away.
The rhythmic clench of her hands in the delicate fabric of her skirts betrayed her turmoil. “My journal contains my private thoughts. You see”—her voice dropped to a low hum, one that required he bend his head closer to hear what she was saying—“there are letters that I wouldn’t want anyone to see. Particularly my mother and brother.”
“What kind of letters?” He traced his finger along the curve of her chin, and she lifted her gaze to his. “Tell me,” he coaxed.
Her lovely gray eyes glistened with tears, and it practically ripped his heart out of his chest. He kept his eyes locked with hers and her delicate chin in his hands. She blinked slowly and swallowed, an effort designed to keep her tears at bay.
“I’ve written scathing letters to my sister in that journal. There’s no denying it’s morbid, but I was livid with Alice after she died.” She looked away from his gaze. “If Alex or my mother see what I’ve written, it would tear open every wound that Alice’s death ever inflicted.”
“Why were you so angry with her?” He took Daphne’s hand in his and squeezed.
She shook her head once. “Please don’t ask, as I won’t answer.”
“Fair enough.” He had to tread lightly, since there was unspeakable grief and pain in her sister’s passing. He had no idea if she was aware that Alice had taken her own life. Paul knew only because Pembrooke, who had been beyond all reason when his sister had died, had spoken of it that miserable day years ago. “Let me share something.”
She nodded.
“I have a small ebony box sitting on my desk. It’s innocuous but serves a very specific purpose. Sometimes when my grief won’t leave me be, I imagine putting it in that box on my desk. I can ride or work without the overwhelming weight. When I’m ready to return to it, it’s safe and waiting for me.”
She drew a deep breath, then regarded him. It wasn’t skepticism in her eyes but hopefulness. “I’ve never thought of that before. If I’m enjoying myself at a party or with friends, I feel guilty for not grieving.”
“I’ve experienced the same. It sounds silly, but if you try that sometime, it might help,” he said. “Whenever you speak of Alice, I can’t help but compare it to my loss of Robbie.”
“In some ways,” she said hesitantly and squeezed his hand in return.
“Different in others, too.” Oddly, the idea of sharing his grief and the truth of his family’s regard for him with Daphne was something he wanted and hoped would be cathartic for her. “When Robbie passed, I thought I’d lost everything. I can honestly say he was the only person in the world who loved me for who I was, even if he wanted me to become a better person. Only someone who loves you takes such an interest. I see you as having the same type of love for Alice as Robbie had for me.”
She rubbed her thumb over his, the repetitive movement soothing. “Didn’t your father love you?”
His chest tightened at the question. To keep from exposing too much, he wanted to look away, but he forced himself to hold her gaze. How many times had he asked himself the same question only to arrive at the same conclusion? “I don’t think so, Daph.”
Her expression clouded. “Oh, Paul”—rancor laced her voice, and her eyes had darkened to a shade that reminded him of a torrential thunderstorm—“what a despicable man.” She shook her head slowly. “My father was distant. He never had much to do with Alice or me, but I never once doubted he loved me. Every child deserves that security growing up.”
The emotion on her face reminded him of something he’d only seen once—Robbie’s fury when he’d discovered Paul had been beaten by his father over the brandy escapade. She was angry for him. Such a look could only be described as “heady,” and it caused the steady beat of his heart to trip. Just like she had been the champion for that magpie years ago, she’d have been his champion against his father. “May I share something with you?”
She nodded.
He hadn’t felt this close to another human being since Robbie passed. The idea that he would share so much of himself was uncharted territory. But he’d not shy away from this chance to become closer to her.
“That day you saw me at Langham Hall with the duke, I was discussing a new project. I envision starting a hospital to care for people stricken by rheumatic fever. I plan to recruit the most brilliant minds in the field, from every continent in the world. If they are working for the comfort of the patients and making strides in eradicating the disease, then I want to employ them.”
“That’s wonderful.” Her breathtaking eyes flashed with an enthusiasm that was simply intoxicating. “With you and your duchy behind the effort, it’ll be a smashing success.”
Easily, she could keep him mesmerized for days. Months or years would be a closer match, but he wasn’t even certain that would be long enough.
“At some point, I’ll expand the hospital into other buildings, each designed to treat an illness that seems insurmountable. With today’s medicine and the brilliantly trained minds coming out of the top universities, there will be cures for the dreaded diseases that plague us.” Unable to contain his excitement, he stood. “I’m hosting a charity soiree. The invitations were sent out over a month ago. I’ve invited your whole family, but no one has responded.”
His first inclination was to offer a charming grin, but he thought better of it. Instead, he gave her his honesty. “I hope you’ll come.”
“I’d like to come.” The tenderness in her expression took his breath away.
He leaned closer to watch her brilliant eyes turn silver. “The event will provide a way to introduce the endeavor to my peers. With their support and, hopefully, contributions, I’ll be able to start work on renovating the building I bid on.”
“You mean the building I want?” One lovely brow arched so delicately that he had a sudden urge to kiss it.
“Now, Moonbeam, I won’t lose you or your friendship over a building,” he answered.
She shrugged one shoulder in feigned indifference. “Go on. I want to hear the rest of it.”
“That area of London is perfect, as the vacant land is plentiful and perfect for expansion.”
She stood facing him directly, then took his hands in hers. The gentle touch stole any remnants of his reservation at sharing so much of himself this evening. “It’s a marvelous thing to honor your brother like this.”
“Robbie was taken from us too early. There are hundreds of other families facing the same hurdles, and I want to make their path easier. As the heir to the previous Duke of Southart, Robbie had the finest medical care available. But it still wasn’t enough. Imagine what a working-class family must face with this disease.” He walked to the fireplace and stared into the blaze of red and blue flames. “I also want to do it for selfish purposes. I’ve never done anything just for philanthropic reasons,” he drawled.
Again, he used an arrogant and vain tone to hide his true feelings.
“What is your selfish reason?” The dulcet tones in her voice called to him and he could only do one thing—tell her the truth.
He turned to her and dropped his shoulders, immediately lowering his guard. “This event will help me a great deal, both personally and with the added benefit of repair
ing my soiled reputation. If my fellow members of the House of Lords see that I take my responsibilities seriously, perhaps they’ll consider supporting and sponsoring some of my causes in Parliament.”
“All of that is understandable, but why do I sense you’re hesitating?” Her eyes locked with his.
Every inch of him felt exposed. He couldn’t look away even if he wanted to. Her allure was a magnet, and he couldn’t fight the power of her gaze.
When he didn’t speak, a shadow of unease, or perhaps it was doubt, crossed her face.
He spoke quickly, hoping it would restore her faith in him. “I’m hoping that my efforts will prove I’m trying to make amends to your brother and Somerton. They hold a very low opinion of me. No doubt, they still believe I’m a debauched libertine who frequents unsavory gambling clubs and other scandalous endeavors.”
She bit her lips. That was exactly her regard of him, too. She’d even insulted him about his presence at the Reynolds the night he found her there.
“I don’t gamble anymore.” He lowered his voice, hoping she heard the truth in his words. “Nor do I engage in illicit relationships with women. That’s behind me.”
“Then why were you at the Reynolds that day?” she asked.
He exhaled. She deserved an explanation. “My father found an interesting way of entertaining himself beyond the grave. He has his solicitor deliver old debts that I accrued but missed paying when I was gambling like a rakehell. I receive one every week or so. Yesterday, I was trying to pay one from the Reynolds that he’d left me.” He stepped closer to her. “That is when I saw you arguing with the majordomo.”
She clasped her hands together and nodded. He’d never seen her so tentative or unsure. But his Moonbeam was stalwart in the face of a challenge.
My Moonbeam. Where did such an idea come from?
“I ran after Garland and planned to follow him into the Reynolds, but when I saw you there, I hesitated. I didn’t want to have to explain myself. I went around the building and found my way inside.”
“Lucky for me, I found you. I wouldn’t have changed anything about that night except finding the journal. But, Daphne, please listen. I’m serious about reforming my reputation and proving I’m worthy of your brother’s friendship once again.” Her sharp gaze split him in two, and he’d do anything to make himself whole and deserving of her regard. “I want to prove myself to you.”
She continued to stare at him. He stiffened, ready for whatever judgment she might pass on him.
“You’re not saying anything,” he said.
“No. I didn’t realize how much Alex’s friendship meant to you.” She hesitated briefly. “Or mine.”
“It does. But after the way I behaved toward you tonight, I’m sure you have your doubts about my ability to change.” He clasped his hands behind his back, then stole a glance at the fireplace. “I shouldn’t have touched you. As a newly reformed rake and hopefully trainable duke in the fine art of being a true gentleman, I apologize for my earlier behavior. I’d like to ask for your forgiveness.”
“Paul, stop. If anyone should apologize, it should be me for taking advantage of you. I was the one who instigated our slip of proper decorum.” Her cheeks heated to a marvelous shade of red.
For once in his life, he’d act like a gentleman. “Perhaps we should consider marriage?”
“Please don’t.” She held up her hand as if to prevent the words from reaching her. She swallowed, and the movement emphasized her long neck, one of her most elegant physical qualities. “For both of our peace of minds, let’s not jeopardize our friendship with words that we both might regret. If you don’t ask for my hand, then nothing changes.”
“You shouldn’t think you’ve compromised my honor when it was entirely the other way around. Truthfully, I’d do it all over again.” The words, thick and unsteady, betrayed his unease with the whole conversation. To add injury to insult, his heart clashed with his brain over the wisdom of her suggestion. For that singular moment, the idea of marrying her caused a lightness he hadn’t felt in years. But he pushed it aside. There was no way she could want him. She couldn’t marry him and risk alienating her family. “You’re correct as usual, Moonbeam. Thank you for saving us.” He kept his tone light in hopes of restoring their earlier intimacy. “Perhaps it would be best if we spoke of this tomorrow.”
“Speaking of tomorrow, would you care to break your fast with me?” she asked.
The husky timbre of her voice made him want to gather her in his arms. Perhaps he should and convince her to marry him. Instead, he clasped his hands behind his back and regarded her. “What about Pembrooke?”
She waved her hand in the air, dismissing any worry about Alex. “The earliest he’ll return is late in the evening. Besides, if I want to invite a friend to join me for a meal, why would he care?”
“It’s obvious why he would care. If you were my sister, you’d better believe I’d damn well care.”
“What? If I invite a gentleman over? It’s a good thing you’re not my brother then.” She smiled, and it completely disarmed him. “Or a gentleman.”
Good lord, she was flirting with him.
And he loved every word she uttered.
He couldn’t recall the last time he’d been so caught up in conversation with a woman. He closed the distance between them and matched her captivating smile with one of his own. Unable to resist, he smoothed a mutinous strand of hair behind the delicate skin of her ear.
“You make my own wickedness pale in comparison to you, Moonbeam,” he murmured. Suddenly, he remembered Devan. “I invited my friend, Mr. Devan Farris, to spend the day with me. May I bring him along?”
“The more the merrier, as they say,” she quipped.
He lifted one brow in question. “Are you sure?”
“Of course.” She wrinkled her nose as if he were talking nonsense. “It’s Christmas tomorrow. We’re friends celebrating the day together.”
“Marvelous idea, my beautiful Moonbeam. My very own holiday present.” He took her cheeks in his hands and pressed the softest kiss against her lips, one that he hoped spoke of friendship and true regard.
Her eyes fluttered closed, and she leaned against him.
With infinite regret, Paul pulled away, but not before kissing her perfect nose. “Speaking of tomorrow, it’s growing late. I still have a few errands left this evening. Until tomorrow, Lady Moonbeam.” He took her hand and pressed his lips against it.
“You are such a rogue.” Her breathless response caused him to smile.
“A friendly rogue, my lovely Daphne.” His voice turned low and seductive. “Shall I bring the mistletoe?”
Chapter Thirteen
After Paul took his leave, Daphne navigated or, a more apt description, floated her way to the kitchen where both Tait and his mother, Mrs. McBride, were surrounded by a forest of cut evergreens, holly branches, ivy vines, and the most essential greenery of them all, mistletoe. The clear scent of pine and cedar hung heavy in the air.
She informed them of her plans for the morrow. Mrs. McBride’s eyes widened at the news, but she brought her own enthusiasm to the festivities as she made suggestions for entertaining Daphne’s guests. Singlehandedly, Tait took on the task of decorating the entry hall, small dining room, and salon in preparation for tomorrow’s breakfast.
As Daphne made her way to her bedroom, her contentment grew. Tomorrow would be perfect, and a memory that would always bring her joy. Mrs. McBride joined her shortly and helped her undress. A bath had been prepared, and the steaming water was an invitation she couldn’t resist. Daphne washed her hair, then dallied as long as she could in the water until it grew cold. Mrs. McBride insisted upon brushing Daphne’s hair by the fire until the long length was dry.
“My lady … I don’t know how to ask this,” Mrs. McBride said.
“What is it?” Daphne looked in the mirror and caught the older woman’s gaze.
The lovely gray of her hair shimmered, a perfect contras
t to her brown eyes that matched Tait’s. Though somewhat plump, she moved with the efficient ease of a woman who was accustomed to making decisions and managing busy households. She was handsome, and her eyes contained the most delightful twinkle that indicated a kind spirit who enjoyed her holidays.
“Well, I’ve never been shy.” She took another sweep of the brush through Daphne’s hair. “But I must ask why are you entertaining the duke and his friend tomorrow? Aren’t you worried about your reputation?”
If only Mrs. McBride knew how worried she was. She turned in her chair so that she and Tait’s mother could look at each other face-to-face. The woman standing before her could be a strong ally. Daphne made the only possible decision. She would trust Mrs. McBride.
“I had my journal in my reticule when a boy stole it.” Daphne tightened her lips as she gathered the strength to share more. “I’ve written personal things in that journal, Mrs. McBride.” She forced herself to hold the woman’s gaze as she confessed more. “Things that were from my heart. Things that could hurt the ones I love.”
Mrs. McBride grasped Daphne’s hand in hers, the warmth comforting.
“I need the duke. He’s helping me find the boy and, hopefully, my journal. He’s sent some of his staff to wait at the butcher shop where the boy is supposed to work tomorrow. He instructed his footmen to bring the boy to him as soon as they found him. I wanted to be close to His Grace during the day.” Heat flooded her face. “And … I didn’t want to be alone tomorrow.”
“My lady, say no more.” She smiled and gently patted Daphne’s shoulder. “I kept a journal when I was your age and have ever since,” she whispered. “I know the things that are contained within such a book. Every time you pick up a quill to pen a note or jot a thought, you entrust a small piece of your heart, the ones that belong to you and only you, in between the covers for safekeeping. It’s how you find yourself when you’re lost.”
“I’d never considered it that way, but yes.” Instead of being stunned at Mrs. McBride’s revelation, Daphne experienced a rush of confidence, a certainty that she was pursuing the right path in life.
The Good, the Bad, and the Duke Page 14