Mrs. McBride gently took Daphne’s hand in hers again. “You need to find those pieces of your heart.”
“Thank you,” Daphne whispered. “You’re like my kindred spirit.”
“Kindred spirits stick together. We’re the only ones who can value the importance of our own thoughts.” With an efficient precision she must have acquired from her years of running Mr. Bertram’s household, she walked to the door. “I’ll have a feast prepared that will rival the Prince Regent’s table tomorrow, my lady. The duke will never want to leave your side.”
After Mrs. McBride took her leave, Daphne sat at her dressing table and stared at the mirror. It wasn’t her own reflection that held her attention. It was Paul.
Every thought, every word, and, thankfully, every touch she’d experienced in his company she memorized. As she replayed the events of the day, Daphne could only surmise one truth. Her friendship with Paul, though not tangible, had turned into something very real and concrete. When he’d shared the horrible treatment he received from his father, she’d kept her temper by the most merger of threads. If the old duke were alive, she’d have given him a piece of her mind.
The old man didn’t deserve such a wonderful son. No wonder Paul was so self-deprecating. The more she saw of him, the more she realized what a remarkable man he was. Building a hospital in remembrance of his brother was a wonderful undertaking. His plans for the endeavor would truly benefit the community. Most of London would much prefer such an endeavor over her own home for unwed mothers.
She pushed such a negative thought aside. Her dream would help and comfort others whom society wanted relegated to the hidden shadows. The best course would be to help Paul find another location. After Christmas, she’d put her efforts toward finding another place, one not too far away from Aubrey’s Place.
If she were honest with herself, she wanted more of him. The idea of marriage was a distant dream, but she wanted love. It was too early in their friendship to determine if she could fall in love with him. Most people believed reformed rakes made the best husbands, but she had her doubts. Could they really shelve their previous dissolute and debauched lives and devote themselves to one woman? Such an event would be as rare as the Thames frozen solid. Possible, but not probable.
Once, she’d considered Paul such a rake. To be fair, she’d really thought of him more charitably—he was a loveable libertine. Although she didn’t believe the rumors about Paul that were rife in the ton, he tried to make her think his behavior was lewd. Yet his attitude and treatment of her were a direct contradiction to such a reputation.
Daphne pulled aside the curtains that surrounded her high four-poster bed. Massive and ornate, it’d been in the family since King William and Queen Mary held the throne. After blowing out the candle on the bedside table, she climbed the three steps and tucked herself in bed. She embraced a pillow and gazed through the window. Stars glittered in the sky like living, breathing organisms.
She allowed her thoughts to return to Paul and the way he’d held her when she found her release. If she had her journal, she’d correct all her tame, flat descriptions of such an event. Discovering pleasure with him could only be described as heaven, the most moving and wonderful experience she’d ever had with another person.
As she drifted to sleep, she only thought of one thing she wanted for Christmas.
She wanted him in her bed.
* * *
“You bought her a present?” Devan scowled as he examined the box in Paul’s hands. “When did you find the time? I thought you were with her until late last evening.”
Tied in a festive red ribbon, the wooden box contained Daphne’s old ermine muff he’d found last night after directing his driver to swing by the park near her house.
Covered in snow, the muff was ruined. There was no other way to describe it. The snow had matted the fur, and the leather had cracked from the cold. The only thing he could do was stop by the furrier on the way home, wake the poor man up from his slumber, and purchase a new one for her. He’d paid twice the asking price as a way to make up for the inconvenience of getting the man out of bed. Though similar to her old muff, the new one was made of an ermine fur slightly darker with a large moonstone pin in the center. It reminded him of her eyes, and he couldn’t resist purchasing it for her. It gave him another reason to call her Moonbeam.
“I thought it a nice gesture since she’s invited us into her home to celebrate.”
Devan leaned back against the leather squab and stared. “Do you seriously believe me so gullible that I’ll accept that explanation? Be honest about your feelings. You’re trying to win her over.” He stuck his nose in the air and sniffed much like a hunting dog that caught the scent of a fox. “I think you’re wooing her.”
When he tried to deny such a statement, the words stuck in his throat. He swallowed, and instinctively he tightened his hands around the box. “Where do you come up with these ideas? You should be thinking of why you’re missing the Christmas church service this morning.”
“I attended early morning services, hoping to find out my next assignment.” Devan shook his head. “No luck. Besides, isn’t it obvious? I’m playing chaperone.”
“There’s no need for a chaperone.” At least not today. Yesterday was another story. He’d tossed and turned all night as he’d recalled how lovely and sensual she’d felt in his arms. Never before had he seen such uninhibited passion in a woman.
Regardless of how much he wanted her, he shouldn’t have touched her. She was a well-bred lady, and he’d pleasured her like she was his. He glanced through the window as Daphne’s home came into view. He’d spent half of his childhood with Pembrooke at that residence. Strange that he now considered the familiar house as Daphne’s when he’d always considered it Pembrooke’s home.
It’d been several years since his falling-out with Pembrooke. In all that time, Paul had seen Daphne at various social functions but always kept his distance in fear she’d not have anything to do with him. That was another waste of the years. She’d have welcomed him as a friend.
Both he and Devan alighted from the carriage and strolled to the front door. Before he could grab the brass knocker, Tait swung open the door.
“Happy Christmas, Your Grace.” The under-butler’s joyful enthusiasm was infectious.
“Happy Christmas to you.” Paul turned to Devan. “Mr. Farris, this is Tait, Lord Pembrooke’s under-butler.”
Daphne appeared next to Tait in the doorway. “Your Grace, I’m so honored that you could come. Mr. Farris, it’s a pleasure to see you. Please come in.” She stood aside, and Tait opened the door completely.
The entry had been completely transformed into another world. An enormous silver vase filled with evergreens and red roses sat in the middle of the vestibule table. The staircase to the family private rooms had boughs of evergreens twined around the banisters. The smells of delicious baked goods and mulled spices surrounded them. Though the decorations in the house were lovely, it was the vision before Paul that held his attention and admiration.
Daphne stood before him in a deep, dark red velvet gown that was breathtaking. It set off her black hair and gray eyes perfectly.
“Happy Christmas.” Paul kept his voice purposely intimate, as the greeting was only for her. He pulled her away from Tait and Devan’s discourse on the perfect method of collecting mistletoe. “You are absolutely”—he stepped back and looked his fill—“enchanting.”
“Thank you.” Her dulcet voice reminded him of a first kiss between lovers. A lovely flush of pink colored her chest as it made its way to her cheeks.
“It’s my pleasure.” He presented the box. “This is for you.”
Daphne glanced at Tait and Devan. Their conversation had turned into an argument over which trees harbored the best mistletoe.
Without a word, she grabbed his hand and led him into the salon. When she dropped his hand, he felt almost light-headed without her touch. She rushed to a table beside the fireplace
and picked up a package. “This is for you.”
When their fingers touched, the urge to take Daphne in his arms almost overpowered him. Before he took the present, he caressed her wrist. Her strong pulse sped as he traveled his finger across the soft skin.
“Thank you.” Without letting go, he led her to the sofa. It was inconceivable that excitement bubbled inside of him like an eight-year-old finally allowed to dine at the table with the adults. “Let’s open them together.”
He untied the twine that held the paper around the package. Based upon the shape, he imagined it was a book. Perhaps a book of poetry he could read to Daphne while his head rested in her lap. He had the perfect spot for them—Willow House, the property he’d inherited from his mother. A stately willow stood guard over a clear blue pond. Serene and tranquil, it was one of his favorite places in the world. He wanted to take her there.
He shook his head to clear such fantasies. His wild musings were directly attributed to the restless night he’d experienced.
“You found my muff!” The sparkle in her eyes reminded him of a diamond. She held up the piece of fur that looked like a drowned rat.
“Look deeper inside the box,” he instructed.
She bent over the box. “Oh my…” As her voice trailed to nothing, she lifted the new fur muff from the box. Her breath caught at her first sight of the pin. “It’s beautiful.”
“Not as much as you.”
Her eyes flew to his. The joy on her face was simply stunning. “Thank you. It’s exquisite. What is that stone? It’s so unusual.”
He couldn’t look away, nor did he want to. “It’s a moonstone.”
Her eyes widened.
“I couldn’t think of a more appropriate gift after our adventures.”
“I’ll cherish it forever.” She leaned over and pressed her lips to his cheek. Completely oblivious to the effect she had on him, she sat on the edge of the sofa. “Open yours.”
He peeled the paper back slowly. Mildly surprised, he thumbed through the blank pages of a book. Bold and masculine, the black leather journal had an embossed magpie in gold leaf centered on the front. “It’s lovely. Thank you.”
“I was afraid it might be too dull. But after yesterday, I couldn’t wait to give it to you. You can jot down plans for the hospital. Make notes of your meetings with architects, physicians, staff, and, of course, a new location.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Those sorts of things.”
His heart pounded against his chest as if trying to reach her. She believed in him and his plans. He leaned and pressed his lips against her cheek in a like manner as she’d just done to him. Only this time after the kiss, he trailed his lips to the sensitive lobe of her ear. “I adore it. You were thoughtful to think of it. It’s perfect, just like you.”
“You’re such a scoundrel.”
He gently bit the lobe of her ear. “Ah, you’re starting to recognize my strengths.”
She playfully batted at his arm, then stood. “Shall we see where Mr. Farris is? Otherwise, it’ll prove I’m a terrible hostess, since I’ve left him alone too long.”
Reluctantly, he agreed and stood. As they neared the door, he caught sight of a bundle of mistletoe hanging above the door. He stilled and waited for her to precede him. When she entered the doorway, he called out, “Wait.”
In the doorframe, Daphne stopped and faced him with a quizzical look on her face. “Is something wrong?”
Paul shook his head. “Wait for me right there.”
She gifted him with a dazzling smile that made him want to kiss her even more. When he reached her, Paul pointed at the mistletoe, then took her in his arms. Deliberately slow, he lowered his mouth to hers. When skin touched skin, everything within his body slowed except his heart, which pounded harder, encouraging him to make this kiss as special as she was. Daphne moaned slightly and tilted her head to have better access. On a whimper, she opened her mouth, inviting him to deepen the kiss. The soft velvet beneath his fingers emboldened him to caress her as he held her.
“Ahem, Your Grace,” Devan drawled as he pulled out his timepiece. “A little unseemly to be monopolizing the hostess’s attentions at this time of the morning.”
Daphne’s desire-filled eyes darted up to his, and she stepped away. Her passion melted faster than an iceberg in the Mediterranean Sea.
“Your timing lacks any sophistication,” Paul growled.
“I would never dare interfere with your holiday celebrations, Your Grace,” he mocked. “But I’m hungry, and Mrs. McBride is waiting to serve us in the dining room.”
“In a moment.” Paul debated whether to pull Daphne back into his arms for another kiss. “He’s such a spoilsport.”
Daphne looked up and caught his gaze. “Perhaps we should go eat. Mrs. McBride’s worked all morning on our feast.”
He touched his nose to hers. Her small gasp of surprise and gentle laugh were payment enough for the pleasure they both had to forgo because of the interruption. “Whatever my Moonbeam wants.”
She lightheartedly swatted at his chest. Before he could offer his arm, Devan extended his. His friend had sidled up to them without Paul even noticing. Such was the effect of Daphne’s luscious kisses. Every one of his senses seem to be on holiday.
Daphne politely took Devan’s arm as she started a conversation about the history of the house. She exhibited her prowess as a marvelous hostess as she shared various tidbits about relatives of long ago and whispered about ghosts that haunted the halls. Within moments, she had him laughing over some quip.
A vision of Daphne tilting that gorgeous head of hers as she charmed his guests through Southart Hall popped into his thoughts like an unsinkable cork on a calm lake. She was politically astute; she’d developed friendships with the most benevolent and magnanimous members of the ton through her charity efforts; and, more important, he enjoyed her company immensely.
The thought of her warming his bed brought forth a welcomed heat. Perhaps he should seriously consider an offer of marriage. After all, he was the Duke of Southart and needed an heir.
Such musings weren’t surprising. She was perfection. She didn’t allow him to escape his true feelings. She listened to him. When they were together, everything slipped away—the outside world, all sounds, thoughts, time—everything except the two of them.
Devan twisted slightly and caught Paul’s gaze. “Your Grace, thank you for allowing me to escort our delightful hostess to the dining room. She’s already granted me a boon of a mistletoe kiss after breakfast.”
Paul’s stomach twisted into a hundred knots.
Devan had the audacity to smile as if delivering an uplifting sermon, then winked. “Rest assured, I won’t be so boorish as to do it in front of everyone.”
Paul grunted in response.
Repairing his friendships with Pembrooke was not only a good idea but also one that needed to be made as quickly as possible.
He didn’t want to lose her to another.
* * *
Daphne swept her gaze down the table. Mrs. McBride had outdone herself on the preparations. Fruitcakes, Christmas puddings, eggs, rashers of crisp bacon, sausage, sliced oranges, and a variety of dried fruit and nuts decorated the table.
Daphne had planned the meal and offered to help, but Mrs. McBride had assured her that she could manage everything. Yet Daphne had insisted and enjoyed the tasks immensely. They’d even made her favorite apple tarts with cinnamon. It was something she’d never done before and now looked forward to doing in her own home.
This proved that she could be happy. She’d tried Paul’s suggestion and locked her grief over missing Alice in a special mahogany box. It currently sat on the north windowsill of her apartments upstairs. For this morning, she’d allow her guilt and grief to rest as she celebrated with her friends.
Mrs. McBride currently stood at the buffet refilling a plate with freshly baked tarts. The scent of apples sweetened the fragrance of the evergreens that decorated the table.
“Lady Daphne, would you care for another cup of tea?” Sitting to the left of her, the vicar held the pot in the air.
“No thank you. Perhaps His Grace would care for more?” she offered.
“I’m finished as well.” Paul sat to her right with a relaxed stance, but he still reminded her of a lion. With his long fingers, he played with the handle of his cup. “That’s the third time you’ve asked if she wanted more tea. She’s declined the previous two times. Perhaps you should take the hint she doesn’t want any more.”
“I’ve always been an optimist, Your Grace.” Mr. Farris waggled his chestnut-colored eyebrows. “Third time charmed.”
Before she could answer, Tait entered the room with Claire’s cousin by his side. The under-butler’s eyes had widened to the size of saucers. “My lady, Lord William Cavensham,” he announced.
Though she tried to keep her face nonplussed, her heart shuttered when she caught William’s gaze. Lord William Cavensham, the Duke of Langham’s youngest son and Claire’s cousin, stood with one brow raised. Earlier Daphne had asked Tait to turn away any visitors, since she didn’t want anyone to know she was entertaining two gentlemen by herself. She forced herself to remain calm. This was William—he was practically family. However, he was close to Claire, more like a brother than a cousin. Which meant he’d tell Claire or Alex that she’d entertained Paul and Mr. Farris on Christmas Day.
With a sigh, she tried to relax. Her next conversation with Alex had just became more complicated with William’s appearance. It couldn’t be avoided. She’d already planned to tell her brother that Paul had called upon her out of concern. But now she’d have to explain her reasons for inviting him to dine with her. If Alex became angry, then so be it. She wanted Paul’s company.
“Thank you, Tait.” She stood and made her way to William.
He took her hand and bowed over it. “Merry Christmas, Daphne. I didn’t know you were home … or entertaining.” He held up a portfolio. “I have some documents that Pembrooke needs.”
The Good, the Bad, and the Duke Page 15