The ghost of a smile hovered on Wessex’s lips and then quickly faded.
Balling his hands into tight fists, Auric reclaimed his seat feeling exposed before the other man in ways he did not understand, nor cared to explore just then. Mayhap ever. He reached for his now tepid coffee and took a sip of the horrid stuff. All the while his skin pricked under the viscount’s scrutiny.
Wessex cleared his throat. He set down his glass and then fished around the front of his jacket. “I have one final name,” the viscount murmured. “There is but one gentleman we’ve not considered; a man who is worthy of her.” He placed his list on the table.
Auric downed the remaining contents of his coffee. He placed the cup upon the table and cast an annoyed glance over another one of his friend’s masterful lists. He didn’t want to see another damned name of a potential husband for Daisy. In fact, he wanted to set it to the lit candelabras upon the table. Which only served to remind him of eleven-year-old Daisy and the laughter he’d known with her, before he’d gone and stolen all traces of true happiness from her. He swiped the folded sheet off the table and unfolded it.
The Duke of Crawford.
He stared unblinking down at the lone name marked upon the page. His fingers shook ever so slightly and he jerked his head upright. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded, his tone harsh. Auric waved the page. “Is this some manner of jest? For if it is, I assure you, it is not in the least funny.” His pulse pounded so loudly in his ears, the steady staccato rhythm threatened to drown out Wessex’s response.
The viscount shook his head and when he spoke, did so in solemn tones. “This is no game.” Wessex leaned back in his seat and rested his arms upon the sides of his armchair. “Two evenings ago, after I’d taken my leave of Lady Ellis’ ball, I reflected on Daisy’s magnificent transformation. I spent the better part of that night contemplating who might be worthy of Lionel’s sister. Who would he have trusted with her happiness?” Don’t. “Who would he have trusted with her heart?”
“No,” he rasped.
“Who would care for her in a way that she’d never want for anything and be protected and cherished?” Wessex held his gaze. “It is you,” he said softly. “You are meant to wed her. It is why you cannot accept a name. It is why—”
“Stop,” he barked. The sharp command bounced off the walls and that explosion of emotion only further exposed him to his friend’s potent deduction. “You do not know what you say. This is Daisy.” Lionel’s sister. The girl he’d seen as a sister. Nay, the woman he’d once seen as a sister. Except, from the moment he’d taken her in his arms and explored the lush contours of her plump lips, everything he’d once believed had ceased to be, throwing him into a world he no longer understood.
“Marry her.”
Did those words belong to him? Or were they Wessex’s in his relentlessness?
Auric looked down at the sheet and then raised his eye, uncomprehendingly. “You’re mad.”
A chuckle rumbled up from the other man’s throat. “Yes, there is truth to that.” He tipped his chin toward the note clenched in Auric’s grip. “There is, however, also truth to my words.”
He stared blankly down at his friend’s familiar scrawl. The name carefully etched upon the page. His own. “I can’t.” His voice came as though down a long corridor. His palms dampened, the room spun as it always did when remorse licked at him.
“You can.” Wessex leaned forward and the wooden chair creaked in protest. “And you should.” He held Auric’s gaze. “The lady loves you.”
Auric’s mouth went dry. “Don’t be a fool. She—”
“Loves you,” he repeated.
And God help him for being the worst sort of bastard. He wanted to seize upon Wessex’s suggestion and make Daisy his, for reasons that had nothing to do with honor and loyalty and everything to do with a newfound desire for the spirited vixen. “I…” want her. Even as I have no right to her. Anything between Daisy and me, the man responsible for her brother’s murder, was the kind of tragic tale captured by The Bard himself. Auric studied the list handed him moments ago. “Even if I desired more from the lady, which I do not,” he said when his friend arched an eyebrow. “There is…” Lionel. There would always be Lionel between them. There was a bond sealed by their loss.
“It was not your fault.”
The same bond that prevented any possible union between them. For despite Wessex’s insistence, the truth was, Auric had been to blame.
“Did you hear me?” Wessex persisted with the same temerity shown by a matchmaking mama.
Lionel’s’ death may as well have been upon Auric’s hands as though he himself had gutted him in the belly that night. “I heard you,” he said, his tone deliberately wooden. That one transformative moment of his life had shaped the whole course he’d chart from then on. It also served as the reason he could not do as his friend suggested and take Daisy as his wife. She could never forgive his role in Lionel’s death, nor did he deserve her forgiveness.
Even though I want her… He thrust aside the thought. She was still Daisy, the girl he’d taught to bait her fishing rod. Only now, she possessed luscious lips and a generously curved figure that had haunted his waking and sleeping moments for days.
“Marry her,” Wessex urged once more.
He couldn’t. Auric pressed his fingers against his temples and jammed them into the sensitive flesh, in a desperate bid to thrust aside this slow, dawning realization. I want her. And this was not the sentiment of a man who merely hungered for her body. He wanted all of Daisy—her smile and her sauciness and her spirit.
With a slow, knowing grin, Wessex confirmed, “At last you realize it.”
“I can’t.” Even as he wished to know her in every way. There would always be Lionel between them.
Whatever his friend intended to say was interrupted by the appearance of Auric’s butler. The servant carried a silver tray bearing a missive. Auric took it, recognizing a certain butler’s scrawl. He frowned and ignored Wessex’s curious stare, instead directing his attention to the note. Even as he unfolded the ivory vellum, he knew what those damn words would say.
The lady has returned to Gipsy Hill.
Your Faithful servant
With a curse, he crumpled the ivory velum in his hands and jumped to his feet. His heart climbed into his throat, threatening to choke him with his own fear. The fool. The bloody fool. He started for the door.
“What is it?” Wessex called out.
“I’ve a matter of importance to see to,” he returned, not breaking his stride to deliver those words. He shouted for his horse.
By God, the lady was vexing and infuriating and with each reckless action placed herself in danger. As he moved with long, purposeful strides through the corridors, his heart climbed into his throat and threatened to choke him. Daisy required a husband and for all the reasons a union between them was wrong, he could name the singular, most important reason it was right. It was not the truth that he wanted her—which he did.
She required protection. His protection. His pulse loud in his ears, he all but sprinted into the foyer, nearly colliding with his butler. “My hor—?”
“The horse has been readied, Your Grace.”
A footman rushed forward with his hat and cloak. Auric shrugged into it and then slammed his hat atop his head. He bounded down the handful of steps and, ignoring the stares teeming with curiosity turned on him by passing lords and ladies, he raced to collect Valiant’s reins.
He climbed astride and then quickly nudged the horse into motion. With a single-minded purpose, he guided Valiant down the fashionable end of the Mayfair District to the less popular, seedier parts of London. A mind-numbing panic clutched at his throat. Even with the loss of Lionel, Daisy had retained her innocence. She didn’t understand the depths of man’s depravity and vileness. Yet, she’d take herself to the outskirts of London, jeopardizing her safety.
Auric tightened his grip on the reins. If anything were
to happen to her, he’d not forgive himself. This wrong would be the manner of which would destroy him. He pressed his eyes closed as the familiar terror crept in. She, just as so many of the fashionable lords and ladies of London, craved the romantic excitement to be found outside the glittering world of the ton. Auric knew because there had been a time when he’d exulted in the freedom and hint of danger in stepping away from the rights and responsibilities and into something more raw.
He concentrated on the slow rise and fall of his chest otherwise he’d drown under the weight of remorse. In one night, every illusion he’d carried had been shattered at the expense of Lionel’s life. Never more did he truly see the accuracy in Wessex’s words—Daisy was in desperate need of a husband, for then she’d not take it upon her fool head to…to…he growled. Do whatever it is she was doing at Gipsy Hill.
And if it was a man she met, Astor, Danport, or anyone else, by God he’d meet him by pistols at dawn and end the man for daring to encroach on that which belonged to him.
Chapter 13
Daisy’s carriage rocked to a stop in the bustling streets of Gipsy Hill. The coachman pulled the door open. She gave him a smile and allowed him to hand her down. Daisy paused and turned her face up to the sky. She savored the splash of the sun’s rays bathing her face in warmth. “It is a sign.”
“What is a sign, my lady?” her maid asked, as she came to a stop beside her.
Daisy started. She gave the young woman a smile. “Why, the weather, of course.”
Agnes wrinkled her brow and stole a glance up at the clear, blue sky as though seeking some literal sign within the passing white clouds.
Not allowing the young woman’s skepticism to dampen her spirits, Daisy started down the street toward the colorful tents and caravans lining the road.
“My lady, please you mustn’t go off…” Agnes called out, all but sprinting after her.
Daisy paused and faced the woman. “Agnes, the sun is shining, we are out at Gipsy Hill. Enjoy the day.”
The young woman looked about. “But, my lady, His Grace was quite clear in your last meeting—”
“Agnes?”
“Yes?”
She spoke to her as though speaking to a fractious mare. “I’ve only come in search of a heart pendant sold by an old gypsy woman.” The maid set her jaw at a mutinous angle but Daisy launched into the most convincing argument she might put to the maid. “The sooner we find the necklace, the sooner we may leave and never return.” Agnes seemed to consider the words. “You begin there.” Daisy pointed to a crimson red tent with a gypsy peddling his wares. “And I shall be just over there.” She pointed to the sapphire covered wagon.
“Very well, my lady,” the maid said on a beleaguered sigh. She set out to do her mistress’ bidding.
A smidgeon of guilt filled her at distressing her maid by forcing her to abandon her post as companion, and yet… She took in the bustling street activity. The aromatic scent of mace lingered in the air. It blended with the smell of the salop being sold by an old gypsy. Exhilaration coursed through Daisy, an excitement at being here and taking part in mundane activities that most took for granted.
With energy in her steps, she eagerly picked her way along the cobbled streets, bypassing those vendors she recognized from her previous two visits to Gipsy Hill. As she made her way along the street to the sapphire tent, she reflected on how these stolen outings served as a reminder of life. Daisy paused beside a large wagon and touched her hands to the edge of the coarse, wooden frame. She closed her eyes and lost herself in the sounds and scents that came from simply being alive.
A powerful hand shot around her wrist. “Are you out of your bloody mind?”
Daisy shrieked and drew her fist back. She punched the tall, commanding figure square in his aquiline nose. Auric released her and for a second time, yanked out his embroidered handkerchief and held it to his nose. He applied slight pressure to stem the blood flow. From over the edge of that fabric, he glowered at her.
She clamped her fingers over her mouth. “Auric. I didn’t realize it was you.” Oh, dear. She’d whacked him. Again. Well, that would never win her the duke’s heart.
The deep blue of his eyes were lost to the ever-narrowing slit through which he gazed at her.
Daisy let her arms fall to her side. “You startled me.” She supposed faintly accusatory was hardly the tone to take when he was in one of his ducal tempers.
“I startled you,” he whispered, taking a step toward her.
She retreated and stole a glance about. Alas, passersby moved about their daily business, flitting from vendor to vendor, unaware that she’d unleashed a powerful beast.
“Are you afraid, Daisy?” Even through the noise of the mundane streets sounds, his hard whisper reached her ears.
“D-don’t be silly” she scoffed. “Afraid of you.” Her words ended on a gasp as he wrapped his fingers loosely about her wrist. Her skin warmed with the heat of his touch and she alternated her gaze between his gloved hand upon her person and his snapping eyes. She moistened her lips, seeking to calm the wild fluttering in her belly.
“You should be afraid, madam.” Auric lowered his head. His breath fanned her ear. “Very afraid.”
Daisy tugged her hand free. She’d not been cowed by him as a girl and she’d not allow him to intimidate her in all his snarling fury now. Sometime between his damned list of suitors and this high-handed showing, she’d tired of this brotherly-like position he’d assumed. “I’m not a child in need of protection.” She jutted her chin out. “I am a woman, Auric.” A woman who’d wanted him for longer than she could remember. “And I needn’t answer to you.”
He ran his gaze over her face. “Do you believe I do not know you are a woman?” There was a husky quality to his tone that wrapped about those words and sucked the breath from her lungs. For this man, who stood tall, his eyes veiled, his mouth hardened, bore no hint of the proper, polite Auric, Duke of Crawford. This figure was that of a man who desired a woman. “My girl of the flowers has bloomed into something quite splendid and captivating.”
And the hope that she’d kicked ash upon long ago, the hope that he would someday see her, stirred to life once more. For with his words, he’d revealed that he saw her as more than just Lionel’s sister. He saw her.
There amidst the bustling street sounds, with gypsies peddling their wares, uncaring who watched, she tipped her head back her lids fluttering closed, craving his kiss. Needing it.
His low, mellifluous baritone brought her eyes open. “What brings you here?” He doffed his hat and gestured to the busy cobbled roads. A gentle breeze tugged at his hair, tumbling a chestnut strand over his eye giving him an almost boy-like look, when there had been nothing boy-like of the austere, aloof duke since that tragic day. Auric didn’t wait for her answer, instead perused the area with a black frown on his lips as though searching for someone.
“The heart of a duke,” she whispered.
He snapped his attention back to her.
She curled her feet into the soles of her slippers in abject mortification.
“Beg pardon?” Auric asked, standing there immobile.
“That is to say, the heart necklace, duke,” she amended feigning a nonchalance she did not feel.
“You’ve never addressed me as duke.”
Must he be so astute as to catch even those humiliating, inadvertent words from her lips? “Er, when you’re highhanded I do.” Which wasn’t true. If that were the case, she’d be “duking” him until the end of eternity. She waved a hand about in a breezy manner. “And it is quite highhanded of you to come here and forbid me from going out—”
“Where is your chaperone?” he asked between gritted teeth.
“With my maid as a chaperone,” she continued over him. “Now, if you’ll pardon me.” Then with braveness she didn’t feel, she marched off, leaving him standing there.
Auric’s long strides immediately ate up the distance between them.
She stole a sideways glance up at him and swallowed hard. The muscle ticking at the corner of his right eye and the tenseness of his mouth indicated his displeasure. He really was quite an imposing figure when mad. “What are you doing?” Had she not known him since she’d been in leading strings, she supposed she’d be terrified by the glowering duke.
“Accompanying you.”
Which, by his aggrieved tone, was not something he sounded altogether thrilled with. The lout. As they moved through the throngs of shoppers, he angled his body close to hers in an almost protective manner.
An old gypsy woman called out. “Would you care to have your fortune read, my lady?”
Daisy stopped beside a colorful wagon belonging to the aged woman with graying, thick hair. Some inexplicable energy radiated throughout her person, a sense of familiarity. Of course she did not know the woman. She’d been to Gipsy Hill but three times before this. “Have we met?” she blurted, Auric momentarily forgotten.
The woman’s mysterious grin widened. She beckoned her over. “Come, I shall tell you your future. A beautiful lady such as you surely dreams of love? Do you not wonder if the man whose heart you wish for will be yours?” Every day. Daisy was saved from replying. The gypsy’s gaze shifted, to the gentleman who’d positioned himself at Daisy’s side, eyeing him curiously. The old woman widened her eyes. “Ah, forgive me. I was mistaken. You already have love.”
Daisy and Auric exclaimed in unison. “No!”
Daisy’s cheeks burned at Auric’s volatile response. She cleared her throat. “You are mistaken.” I want love. His love.
The woman gave her a knowing look. “I’ve just the thing for you, my lady.” She hurried around to the other side of her massive wagon and sifted through the goods she had laid out, muttering to herself, periodically glancing up at Daisy, looking to Auric with a frown, and then returning her attention to her colorful collection of items.
“Your being here is madness, Daisy.”
“Perhaps.” Only, she’d spent the past years not truly living or being seen, that stolen moments such as these served to remind her that she lived. “But tell me there is not something invigorating in seeing places you don’t normally see and exploring a side of the world you’d not otherwise know.”
A Heart of a Duke Collection: Volume 1-A Regency Bundle Page 99