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.” The 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 high-handedness. 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 interference,” 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.
A protest sprang to her lips, but she swallowed it down and followed his movements as he strode from the room. Reluctantly, Daisy returned her attention to the gentleman who, by his visits, gave every indication that he’d have her for his wife. She waited for her heart to race, or for a thrill of excitement at the prospect of it.
Yet, as she slid into the seat across from the handsome, young earl, she acknowledged just how much she longed for another man, who but for that one unexpected kiss would never see her as anything more than the girl he once knew. With a forced smile, Daisy shoved aside thoughts of Auric and entertained her suitor.
Chapter 12
The following morning, seated in his breakfast room, Auric’s plate of cold ham and biscuits sat before him untouched. He scanned the pages of The Times, and he, a man who’d never before relied on gossips, read the scandal sheets. This is what he’d been reduced to. Rather, this is what she’d reduced him to. He passed the other on-dits about lords and ladies who meant nothing to him, instead focusing on one particularly lady.
The Lady DM has quite taken the ton by storm…being courted by the Earl of D.
With a curse he threw aside the page and reached for his black coffee. He blew upon the steaming hot mug and then took a tentative sip, grimacing at the bitterness of the brew, his mind in tumult over his meeting with Daisy. For some time, he’d relegated Daisy to the role of unaging child, seeing her as nothing more than the same girl he and Lionel had teased and defended with equal intensity. No more. The girl had been replaced by a tempting siren. Still, for the absence of golden ringlets and blue eyes, Daisy Laurel Meadows, his girl of the flowers, was captivating, and now every damned dandy knew as much, too.
Auric ran through all the gentlemen who’d looked upon Daisy. Astor and Danport, even Rutland at that blasted ball two nights ago. Every one of those men had lust in their eyes. Auric tightened his grip reflexively upon his cup, nearly shattering the porcelain.
Footsteps sounded in the hall and he glanced up as his butler presented Wessex. The other man’s face was set in a serious mask. “Crawford,” he greeted, his gaze taking in the scandal sheets littered about the table. When he returned his attention to Auric, there was shrewdness in his far too perceptive eyes.
A dull flush climbed up Auric’s neck. He motioned the other man over.
Wessex bypassed the sideboard. “I see you’ve taken to reading the gossip columns,” he said with more than a hint of knowing as he slid into the chair on Auric’s right.
“Go to hell,” he gritted out, taking another sip of his coffee.
A footman rushed over with a steaming cup for the young viscount who accepted it with a word of thanks, before returning his focus to Auric. “She must wed,” he said without preamble.
The muscles of Auric’s chest tightened painfully. “I know that.” Only, now he thought of the woman Daisy with some undeserving cad like Rutland, and the man learning each lush contour of her body, something dark and primal roared to life inside his breast until he wanted to toss his head back and howl
like a primitive beast. Nor was there anything remotely brother-like in this desire to crush all those unworthy men who dared to look upon her.
When it became apparent he didn’t intend to speak, Wessex set his cup down and leaned forward in his seat. “We, together, have come up with twenty,” seventeen, “names of prospective suitors.”
“None of the gentlemen would make her an adequate match,” he said, annoyance making his tone sharp. “I’ve no names,” he said when the viscount continued to look upon him in a recriminating silence.
“We owe it to Lionel to see her wed.” Wessex was tireless. He propped his elbows upon the table. “If it had been one of us…” He swallowed loudly. “If it had been one of us,” he repeated, “who’d left behind a younger sister to care for, he undoubtedly would have seen at least one decent gentleman was brought up to scratch.” With each of the words tumbling from Wessex’s lips, his guilt doubled.
For Lionel had been that sort of devoted, loyal person. Always more adult than child, he’d had a unique ability to laugh while studying the world through a lens belonging to a much older, mature soul.
Auric set his coffee down hard and surged to his feet. “He would not however have seen Daisy wed to just anyone.” And certainly he’d not have approved of the roguish Danport or the Earl of Astor.
Wessex sank back in his seat. The lines of his face settled into an angry mask. “I’d hardly say I’ve tried to wed her to merely anyone. What fault do you find with Astor?”
Astor, who’d caressed her waist and guided her about the steps of the waltz. “There is everything wrong with him.” The protestation exploded from him. He began to pace. “He…and…” With a black curse, he increased his frantic back and forth movement. Bloody hell he detested when he was in the wrong, and yet… Auric came to an abrupt stop. “He stomped all over her feet two nights ago.” Even as the flimsy excuse slipped from his lips, he recognized how pathetic that sounded.
A Heart of a Duke Collection: Volume 1-A Regency Bundle Page 98