by Andrea Kane
“Because you could have fallen, damn it. You don’t stand on chairs when you’re with child.”
Daphne’s lips twitched. “Really? And how many times have you been with child?”
“I’m not amused.”
“No, but you’re terribly heroic.” Daphne reached up, laying her palm on her husband’s jaw. “Fear not. The babe and I are fine. I’m taking excellent care of us both.”
“This from the woman who invaded Benchley, endangered her life and the life of our child, knowing she was pregnant.”
Daphne gave a resigned sigh. “You’re never going to forgive me for that, are you? Even though I’ve told you time and again that, in my heart, I knew no harm could befall me or our child. You wouldn’t allow it.”
Pierce pulled her to him. “Your faith is humbling and frightening. What if—”
“It wouldn’t. You wouldn’t permit it.” Daphne pressed her forehead against the hard wall of Pierce’s chest, warm even through the barrier of his shirt. “At Benchley, you were beside me. The babe and I were safe. ’Tis as simple as that.”
Reflexively, Pierce’s arms tightened about her. “You truly believe that, don’t you?”
“I do.” He swallowed, audibly. “Snow flame, don’t take any more risks, all right? For my sake.”
“Very well.” She kissed his throat. “Although I must say, my reckless husband, that impending fatherhood has rendered you quite boring and stodgy.”
Pierce smiled against her hair. “I heard no complaints last night.”
“True.” Daphne tilted her head back, her eyes alight with laughter. “Perhaps your recently abated sense of adventure will show itself in new and innovative ways.”
“Say the word,” Pierce murmured, his voice husky with sensual promise, “and I’ll keep you abed for a week, demonstrating my ever-thriving inventiveness.”
“We’ve scarcely left our chambers all week.”
“That was a precautionary step.” He brushed her lips with his. “My shoulder needed to heal, so we didn’t have to explain the coincidence between my sudden injury and that of the Tin Cup Bandit who, as the newspapers reported, was shot and wounded upon fleeing Benchley.”
“The staff thinks you were ill.” Daphne shivered as Pierce’s lips found the pulse point in her neck.
“Tell them I had a relapse.”
“Pierce, I can’t.”
“Then tell them nothing.” Releasing his wife, Pierce crossed the room, turning the key in the lock. “Our new schoolroom needs to be initiated.” He pivoted, advancing toward Daphne with a suggestive gleam in his eye. “You choose, Snow flame. The oak desk or the oriental rug.”
Daphne’s eyes widened as she realized what her husband, intended. “Pierce.” She flushed. “You can’t actually mean to—What if someone should—”
“Abated sense of adventure, you said?” Pierce shrugged out of his coat, tossing it to the floor, followed quickly by his shirt and cravat. “Boring? Stodgy?” His arms enveloped Daphne, reaching around to unfasten her buttons in rapid succession. “Am I being innovative enough, my spirited wife?” he breathed just before his mouth closed over hers.
With a soft sound of pleasure, Daphne twined her arms about Pierce’s neck, everything inside her going hot and liquid with longing.
“Choose,” he commanded as her gown and petticoats slid to the floor.
“I—” Daphne couldn’t think, much less choose.
“The rug is softer.” His thumbs caressed her nipples until they strained against her chemise. “But on the desk I can go deeper inside you.”
“Oh God.” Daphne’s knees buckled, and she stepped back, bracing herself against the desk. “Here,” she managed, tugging her chemise over her head.
Pierce’s gaze raked her hungrily. “I applaud your choice, Snow flame.” With undisguised urgency, he dragged off the remainder of his clothing, lifting Daphne onto the edge of the desk. “Let me feel you,” he demanded in an uneven whisper. Still standing, he urged himself between her thighs, leaving her totally open to receive him. “Do you want me, sweetheart?” He took her mouth under his, simultaneously gliding his fingers into her welcoming wetness.
Daphne moaned, clutching him more tightly to her.
“Ah, Daphne.” His lips burned a trail down her neck, her throat. His fingers began an unbearable rhythm that burned through her like a torch. “Yes,” he breathed as her hips undulated in response. “Now lean back on your hands.”
Immediately, Daphne complied, her eyes closing with pleasure as she gave Pierce free access to her body.
He welcomed the gift, lowering his head to her breast, drawing the aching tip into his mouth, relinquishing it only when Daphne cried out, and then, only to lavish her other breast with the same attention.
“Christ, you’re so beautiful,” he muttered, his lips moving restlessly down her body. He paused, laying his palm on her abdomen. “My child is growing inside you. Can you imagine what that knowledge does to me?”
Wetting her lips, Daphne attempted to answer.
Her answer never emerged.
Pierce’s tongue sank inside her, his fingers drifting up the sensitive skin of her inner thighs as they pressed them wide apart to allow him greater freedom.
Daphne was unable to stifle her cry, arching until she felt the cool wood against her back, her elbows totally giving out beneath Pierce’s relentless onslaught. The pleasure was acute and unendurable, converging instantly into a blinding pinpoint of sensation that exploded in seconds, spasms of excruciating ecstasy radiating out from her very core.
“Pierce!” She sobbed his name, reaching for him even in the throes of her release.
She was still shuddering when he entered her, taking her in one deep, inexorable thrust.
“Wrap your legs around me, Snow flame,” he rasped, clamping his hands on her hips, holding her while he withdrew, drove forward again.
Daphne whimpered, her spasms intensifying as she raised her legs, gripping Pierce inside and out, reveling in his groan of pleasure.
“Unbelievable,” he ground out. “Christ, I want to prolong it, but—” He threw his head back, giving in to the inevitable, thrusting into his wife again and again until the world erupted, his seed pouring into her in great, endless bursts.
Still embedded in her clinging softness, Pierce stood, lifting Daphne in his arms and turning until he was seated on the desk, his wife cradled to his chest. “It just keeps getting better,” he said in a husky whisper, his hand shaking as he stroked her hair.
A faint sigh was his only reply, sparking a new worry.
“Daphne. The babe—I tried not to give you my full weight.”
“Your heir and I both feel wonderful, Your Grace.” Daphne kissed his damp throat. “And we retract the undeserved comments we made about your sense of adventure being lacking.”
Laughter rumbled from Pierce’s chest. “I’m glad I redeemed myself.” His grin turned wicked. “We’ll soon see who is truly the bold one, you or I. Any second you’re going to realize what we just did; and where.”
Even as he spoke, reality struck full force. “Lord, Pierce, we just made love on the—in the—”
“On the desk in our new schoolroom,” Pierce supplied helpfully. “The question is, will you be able to walk in here when Sarah is seated at this desk instructing the children, and not succumb to blushes?”
“Never. Every time I come in, I’ll remember.” Daphne tilted her head back, gave Pierce an incredulous look. “You won’t be at all embarrassed, will you?”
“Not even a bit.” Pierce kissed the furrow between her brows. “But I’ll enjoy watching you. You’re enchanting when you blush.” Gently, he set her on her feet. “Speaking of which, we should get dressed. I distinctly recall your mentioning that the chalk and slates are soon to be delivered, and I don’t think even your newfound abandon could withstand being discovered in our current state.”
He chuckled as Daphne turned a bright shade of crimson, practica
lly flying about the room in her haste to don her clothes.
Ten minutes later Pierce unlocked the door. “Safe,” he teased, glancing up and down the empty hallway. “And undiscovered.” Turning back, he met Daphne’s sober expression. “Snow flame? What is it?”
“Would you mind closing the door? I’d like to talk.”
“Of course.” Pierce did as she’d asked, his brows drawn in query.
“We haven’t talked, truly talked, since the robbery,” Daphne began. “The emotions were too raw, the revelations too new. But now, especially after what we just shared, I need to know. Are you still angry with me? Not only for assisting you at Benchley in my current condition, but for keeping from you that I was with child?”
A shadow of emotion crossed Pierce’s face. Steeling himself, he forced out the gnawing question that had hovered between them, unasked, all week. “How long have you known?”
“The possibility flitted through my mind the night the vicar came to dinner, when I suffered that uncustomary fainting spell. At first, I gave it no credence. But the next morning, I began feeling queasy, mainly at mealtimes. During our brief stay at Benchley, I kept experiencing that same lightheadedness, and the odd sensation of being out of sorts. As I was dressing for the ball, it suddenly occurred to me I haven’t bled since our wedding. That’s when I knew.” Daphne crossed the room, grasped Pierce’s forearms. “ ’Twas only two days. And my reasons for remaining silent were sound. Please don’t be angry.”
“I wasn’t angry,” he responded, shaking his head. “Bewildered. Hurt. Even a bit betrayed, if I’m to be honest.” He cupped her face. “Honesty. Where was it, Daphne? We’ve always had that between us, right from the start.”
“To a degree, yes,” she clarified. “But, if you recall, there were several things, such as your identity, that you refrained from telling me.”
“Only to protect you.”
“Precisely.” Daphne lay her own hands over his. “That was my motive as well.”
Pierce’s gaze delved deep inside her. “How would denying me the joy of knowing about our babe protect me? Surely you guessed what a child, our child, would mean to me. The only reason you could possibly have for not telling me is—”
“Is?” she prompted.
“That a small part of you is uncertain about the depth of my commitment. That you wonder if perhaps I’d want you to bear my child only to satisfy the terms of my father’s will.”
“Oh, Pierce.” Daphne wrapped her arms about his waist. “Is that what you assumed? For a brilliant man, you’re a bloody fool. I’ve never doubted your feelings. Lord knows, I perceived them long before you spoke them aloud. Nor have I given that absurd codicil a second thought since you told me of its existence. Doubt had nothing to do with my decision.”
“Then why?”
“You were in torment,” she said in a broken whisper. “The choice you were contemplating was tearing you apart. If I told you about the babe, you would have abandoned the bandit’s cause posthaste, whether or not you truly chose to. I couldn’t live with myself if you did that. So I waited, hoping you would share your secret with me, praying you’d make a decision that would grant you peace.” A tremulous smile hovered about her lips. “The instant you did, I sang out my news, not only for your sake, but for my own.” She leaned up, brushed her lips to his. “I know exactly how much you want this child—and why. I want it just as much.” Her voice faltered. “I love you so.”
“Without you,” he shuddered, enfolding her in his arms, “I have nothing.”
“You have me. Always. As I have you.” Tears shimmered in Daphne’s eyes. “We’ll surrender our hearts—and our secrets.”
“Have you others I don’t know of?”
The wariness of his tone made her laugh. “None.” She inclined her head. “Have you?”
Surprisingly, he hesitated. “Not a secret,” he replied at length. “A suspicion. And an issue I have yet to discuss with you.”
Daphne’s teasing vanished. “What is it?”
“First I want you to sit down. Not because the subject will upset you,” he added hastily, “but because I want you to rest.” He traced the pale contours of her cheeks. “Between the intensity of our talk and, prior to that, our unexpected, exhilarating liaison on the desk,” his eyes twinkled when she blushed, “I’ve overtaxed your strength.”
“Very well.” Daphne pulled back a chair and sat. “Now tell me what this is about.”
He regarded her thoughtfully. “Has your mother ever made reference to her past? Before she married your father, that is.”
Whatever Daphne had expected, it wasn’t this. “My mother? I don’t understand.”
“Did she ever mention that there had been another man in her life? Someone she cared for? Someone important?”
Memory struck Daphne with the impact of a blow. “As a matter of fact, yes. Not directly, but in a roundabout manner. “I was the morning I told her of your proposal. She urged me to follow my heart. Her implication was that she hadn’t, but wished she had. Why do you ask?”
“Because I believe I know to whom her heart belonged—still belongs,” Pierce amended. “You would, too, were you not so close to the situation.”
“Who?”
“Mr. Chambers.” Seeing Daphne’s eyes widen, Pierce pressed on. “Think about it, Snow flame. The caring that exists between them; the terribly protective way he looks out for her, hurts for her pain. And the ring.” He gestured toward Daphne’s hand. “When he wed us, he mentioned how significant that particular ring was to him.”
“At which point Mama began to cry,” Daphne mused aloud, realization dawning in her eyes. “Yes, it makes sense. He’s known Mama since childhood, worries incessantly about my father’s inexcusable brutality—toward me, yes, but most especially toward Mama. And the way they looked at each other in the church. I thought at the time it was merely friendship, but it was more.” She gazed wonderingly up at Pierce. “What made you guess?”
“As I said, I’m more objective than you. Snatches of phrases, chance innuendos.” A corner of his mouth lifted. “And those infallible instincts of mine.”
Daphne didn’t return the smile. Lost in thought, she rubbed pleats of her gown between her fingers. “This is dreadful. Not only were they denied their love once, lord only knows why, but they can still never be together, not even now that we’ve wrested Mama from Father’s brutality.”
“You’re wrong.”
“Wrong?” She started. “Mama is Father’s chattel, you know that, Pierce. How on earth can she extricate herself from that? Not to mention that she’s far too moral to carry on an illicit affair. As is the vicar, who’s the most honorable of men.”
“That’s where the issue I mentioned comes in.”
“I’m totally at sea.”
Pierce folded his arms across his chest. “I’m working with Hollingsby and a barrister who I’m told is an expert in matters such as these. I intend to help your mother secure a legal divorce.”
“A divorce.” Daphne repeated the words as if they were foreign. “Does Mama know you’re doing this?”
“Of course. I have her full cooperation, and the vicar’s as well.”
Slowly, Daphne rose to her feet. “You’ve certainly been busy. A divorce.” She turned questioning eyes to her husband. “But won’t that prohibit Mama from remarrying?”
“Not if the divorce is issued by Parliament, no. And I mean to ensure that it is.”
“How?”
Another grin. “I’m the Duke of Markham, remember? Wealthy beyond our wildest comprehension, influential beyond our grandest imaginings. Combine that with cunning, skill, and instinct, and success is guaranteed.”
“Will it take long?”
“Some time, yes. Why?”
“Because I hate the thought of Mama and Mr. Chambers being apart any longer than necessary.” Daphne chewed her lip. “The question is, what can we do to bring them together?” Her face lit up. “I know! I’
ll send Mama a missive telling her I’m with child, that I’m not feeling well and require her assistance. She’ll leave for Markham immediately.” Just as quickly, Daphne’s face fell. “But how can I summon the vicar? What excuse can I give for needing him at Markham?”
“You need no excuse. We’ll simply send him a message informing him that Elizabeth is leaving Rutland for Markham. We’ll express our concern for her safety, given that Tragmore obviously knows her whereabouts, and request that the vicar chaperon her here. He’ll be on his way just as swiftly as she.”
A brilliant smile lit Daphne’s face. “Have I told you how wonderful you are?”
“I believe so.” Pierce tugged her close. “However, now that we’ve resolved the plights of the world, and all our secrets are out, I feel we should adjourn to my bedchamber where I can truly show you how wonderful—”
A purposeful knock interrupted Pierce’s suggestion.
“The arrival of the chalk, probably,” Daphne laughed.
“And the slates,” Pierce added mournfully. “Very well. I’ll curtail my enthusiasm. But later tonight—”
Another knock, accompanied by a “Your Grace?”
“Yes Langley.” Reluctantly, Pierce released Daphne. “Come in.”
The door opened, and Langley cast a tentative glance into the room. “Forgive me, sir, but Mr. Hollingsby is here to see you.”
“Ah. Thank you, Langley. Show him in.”
Hollingsby strode into the schoolroom, hand extended. “Hello, Thornton. I hope I’m not coming at an inopportune time?”
“No, of course not.” Pierce kept his expression carefully nondescript, despite Daphne’s revealing blush. “Sweetheart, you know Mr. Hollingsby, don’t you?”
“Certainly. We’ve met at Tragmore. How are you, sir?”
“Quite well, thank you.” Hollingsby bowed. “Congratulations on your marriage, Your Gra—Mrs—” He broke off, a puzzled expression on his face.
“Proudly, it’s Mrs. Thornton,” Daphne supplied. “But neither formality is necessary. Daphne will suffice.”
Hollingsby cocked a brow. “A woman as irreverent as you, Thornton.”
“Proudly, yes.” Pierce grinned. “What can I offer you?”