Daisy cast a glance back at him. Her smile dipped and she cocked her head in that inquisitive way he’d come to know through the years. “What?”
He shook his head and jumped out of the carriage. “Nothing at all, Your Grace.” And placing his hand on the small of her back, he guided her to their home where they could together find the peace and happiness they’d both yearned for these years.
Chapter 18
Daisy sat at the edge of the bed. Nay, her bed. Her new bed, she amended once again. Staring as she’d been for the better part of the night at the wood panel of the door. She wasn’t altogether certain about this whole bridal bed business. Her mother hadn’t spoken to her much through the years and she certainly hadn’t spoken of such personal matters. But Daisy rather suspected that on a lady’s wedding night that the bridegroom wouldn’t do something as rude as to keep his lady waiting nervously since she’d retired for the evening.
The moment they’d arrived, a servant had rushed forward to show Daisy abovestairs to her chambers. Auric however had not climbed the grand, sweeping, Italian marble staircase to the living quarters. Instead, he’d stood at the foot of the stairs a moment, with that unnervingly distant expression in his eyes, before he’d quickly spun on his heel and continued down the corridor to…to…wherever it was bridegrooms went on their wedding days.
She folded her arms and a bothersome curl fell over her eye. Daisy blew it back. At the very least, she’d have expected he’d take the evening meal with her. Particularly as a tray had been sent to her chambers. Not that she had much felt like food. Her stomach still churned with nervousness and all the questions she had, questions that would be answered this night.
“Or questions that should be answered this night,” she muttered under her breath. With a growl of annoyance she shoved herself to her feet and began to pace a path upon the cold, hardwood floor. Surely, he intended to…to…well, visit her. By his kiss in the carriage, she’d expected he would, her skin warmed, at the very least be eager to see to the bridegroom business.
Daisy stomped over to the embroidery frame she’d abandoned sometime into hour one of being so forgotten by Auric. She swiped it off the vanity and studied the now tenth attempt on this particular piece. The red threads may as well have been an indecipherable, crimson blob. She’d worked on the dratted thing and she could barely tell what the blasted rendering was.
With another growl, she marched over to the door and yanked it open. She needed to be free of her new chambers for if she stayed here in silent wait for Auric, with only herself for company, she’d go mad. Daisy strode down the eerily silent corridors. The gold sconces upon the walls cast an eerie glow upon the mauve carpet. A shiver stole down her spine and she gave her head a shake. She’d never before feared ghosts and she’d not begin now. Daisy made her way down the stairs, holding the embroidery frame in one hand, trailing the other over the bannister.
How many times had she visited this very townhouse? As a young girl she’d delighted in escaping the not-watchful-enough eye of her nursemaids and sprinting through the long corridors in search of the trio of boys. Eventually, her proper mother had quelled such outward displays of enthusiasm. Daisy had instead taken care to sprint, just not with a watchful mama nearby.
She stopped at the base of the stairs and looked about the soaring foyer to the mural painted at the central part of the ceiling. She’d dreamed of becoming mistress of this grand home for reasons that had nothing to do with the lavish opulence and the revered title of duchess. She’d simply wanted Auric.
Now she had him. Not in this precise moment, necessarily, as she’d quite misplaced her husband. On her wedding night. Her lips pulled in a grimace. Well, misplaced might not be the correct choice. Abandoned. She’d been abandoned on her wedding night.
Daisy resumed walking down the corridor to the library. With the towering shelves and massive collection, it had long been one of her favorite rooms in the Duke and Duchess of Crawford’s home. She paused outside the closed door and a thrill of awareness ran through her. She pressed the handle. The door swung open silently. “Auric?” she called quietly. She blinked several time as her eyes adjusted to the dimly lit space. Empty. A swell of disappointment filled her. Daisy cast a glance over her shoulder, considering seeking him out. Except, she’d not be the bride who hunted for her just-wedded husband in the dead of night. Faced with the alternative of running abovestairs to her infuriatingly quiet chambers, she opted for the still of this room full of cheerful memories.
Daisy stepped inside the room and wandered a path about the perimeter. She trailed her embroidery frame over the volumes of leather books. Perhaps he had business to see to. Important business. All evening. Business that would preclude him from dining with her. His wife. “Bloody unlikely,” she muttered. Daisy turned on a huff and marched over to the leather button sofa then sank into the aged fabric. She eyed the pathetic attempt at a heart upon the stark, white cloth in her hands. The crimson blob served as a taunting reminder of a certain duke’s heart.
She drew the needle through the fabric. No matter how she turned Auric’s actions this past fortnight over in her mind, she could not sort through his conflicting moods. One moment he spoke to her of love and kissed her until she couldn’t so much as remember her name. The next he hid from her with an ease that would have impressed their younger selves all those years ago. She continued to work her needle through the embroidery fabric with a speed borne of the need for distraction. There was a somberness to him and had been for the past seven years. She paused and studied the red distorted heart a moment while reflecting on Marcus’ words at the wedding breakfast. At the time, she’d been insulted that he should suggest she was innocent and naïve of all that had come to pass in Auric’s life—shaping him into that somber man.
She knew better than most how life and its tragedies changed a person. Yet, now in the quiet of the library with no one but her own thoughts for company, she acknowledged the obvious truth—she’d not truly considered how Auric had been forever changed by that dark night. Daisy ran the pad of her thumb over the fabric. Both Auric and Marcus had been with Lionel that last night, and when she’d been a young girl of thirteen, listening outside her father’s office, her ear pressed to the wood panel of the door, she’d heard enough of the muffled words to know they had discovered Lionel’s body. Her heart wrenched. How that would forever shape a person. Is it a wonder that Auric had become the stern, aloof, oft-bitter seeming man seen by Society?
Daisy slowly tugged her needle through the fabric once more. Only, she’d allowed herself to hold onto the glimpses of the teasing, devoted, and caring boy she’d once known. Until Marcus’ words, she’d not realized the immaturity in relegating him to an unchanged man.
Regardless of what life had made of him, she’d love him. He’d always had her heart. And he always would.
Seated at the edge of the leather, winged back chair in his office, Auric glanced across the dimly lit room to the long-case clock. Midnight. He dropped his head into his hands and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes.
She should be sleeping now. She, as in Daisy. His wife and duchess. Not that he preferred her to be sleeping. He didn’t. He preferred her awake. In his arms, under him, beside him. He braced for the familiar rush of terror that such an admission had wrought mere days ago when he’d acknowledged that he’d fallen in love with Daisy. Except, the terror did not come. Nor did the guilt or regret for all the wrongs he’d committed. Oh, in time he suspected the familiar sentiments would slap at his conscience once more. Today, he could only see and feel his love for her.
That, as well as his own damned nervousness. He felt that, as well. It twisted his stomach into vise-like knots and had made movement difficult for the better part of the day. Since the moment he’d spied Daisy across the street in Gipsy Hill, with the wind whipping at her russet curls, he’d ached with a desire to know her in all the ways a man could know a woman.
And he, who’d prided
himself on his unwavering courage and confidence sat alone in his office, on his wedding night, forced to acknowledge the truth to himself—he was bloody terrified to make love to his wife. After he’d been rash in seeking out his pleasures in that notorious hell with his friends as his companions that long ago evening, he’d never taken another woman to his bed. It had been a small sacrifice to make for the sins of his youth. Now, he wished he knew more so that he could be, even in this physical union of him and Daisy, all she deserved.
With a growl of frustration, Auric surged to his feet and began to pace. Yet, even in wishing he could come to her as one of those proficient lovers, part of this felt somehow right—the knowing that, but for a one exchange born of a young man’s lust seven years ago, Daisy would forever be the only woman he’d take to his bed. He paused mid-stride and glanced at the closed door. That is, if he sought out her bed.
The blade of guilt twisted all the deeper. He’d little doubt that the ever inquisitive, always bold Daisy would have waited for him and, with each passing moment, had surely had questions for her largely inexperienced, in matters of the bedroom, husband. If he knew Daisy, even now she’d be filled with a burning annoyance that he’d not come for her.
Auric drew in a slow, deep breath. He wanted her and all the questions and confusion and uncertainty could be sorted out later. With a determined step, he started for the door. He pulled it open and then strode down the thin-carpeted corridor. His bootsteps fell quietly in the hum of midnight silence. He moved past the closed parlor doors and the formal drawing room and then paused beside one slightly ajar wood panel.
“Bloody unlikely…” The muttered words drifted from inside the library, out into the corridor. His lips twitched and he readjusted his earlier intentions of seeking a certain lady’s chambers and wandered over to that partially opened door. He peered through the slight gap and squinted into the dark space. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust and when they did, he easily found her.
From her seat upon the leather sofa, Daisy squinted down at the fine muslin. With little regard for the dark, she jabbed her needle viciously into the expensive fabric. He winced, feeling a sense of guilt for that particular inanimate object that was likely bearing the lady’s displeasure with her new bridegroom. She worked her long fingers in a quick, jerky rhythm. Not for the first time he wondered when she’d taken up the ladylike pastime.
Regardless of when, how, or why, there really was only one certainty at this moment—Daisy had no place spending her wedding night alone in the darkened library, brutalizing the stark, white fabric. Shoving aside the self-doubt and anxiety he’d carried from the moment they’d arrived that afternoon as newly wedded man and wife, he pushed the door open and stepped inside. “You’re not sleeping.”
Daisy shrieked and leaped to her feet. The wood frame tumbled to the floor with a soft thump. “Auric,” she breathed. She pressed a hand to her heart. “You startled me.”
The moon’s soft, white light splashed through the floor-length windows and bathed her in an ethereal glow. “Forgive me,” he apologized. He stepped deeper into the room. Her modest, white, night wrapper drew him like a moth to the flame.
She wet her lips. “Should I be sleeping?”
He arched a single eyebrow. Surely, she didn’t mean what he believed she…
“Of course I should be sleeping at this hour,” she said on a rush. “After all, I cannot imagine a single thing we should be doing other than sleeping.” Then she widened her eyes and she clamped her lips into a firm line. If her cheeks became any redder, the lady’s face would catch fire.
He would very gladly now show her the alternative to the question on her lips. Auric stopped beside her. “Oh?” he drawled. He bent and retrieved her forgotten frame, studying it a moment. The object in gold and red stitch was still indefinable and he was at a loss for just what his wife sought to capture with those same threads.
“Indeed,” she said with a toss of her dark brown curls and then her eyes flew wide. “We,” she blurted.
A smile tugged at his lips.
“That is, what I’d intended to say is I cannot imagine a single thing I should be doing other than sleeping. Not sleeping with you,” she added, prattling on.
He bit down hard on the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing, knowing she’d believe he was laughing at her.
Alas, Daisy had often known him better than he knew himself. She narrowed her eyes. “Are you laughing at me?”
Auric schooled his features and spread out his hands. “I know you well enough never to do something as outrageous,” he said neatly.
Daisy plucked the frame from his fingers. “Something outrageous?” She settled one hand upon her hip. “Such as, avoid one’s wife. On your wedding night, no less?” Then, a very determined, angry glint flickered in her eyes and sent warning bells clamoring.
Only Daisy would be so bold as to speak so candidly about his lack of attentions this evening. And once again, he wished he was one of those charming rogues with a million words on the ready. “I take it you are angry with me?” he asked, in a placating tone.
That merely served to lower his wife’s eyebrows altogether. “Do you know, Auric?” Oh, Christ, the placating tone had never been the one to adopt with her. “I am rather angry with you.” She took a furious step toward him and he retreated. “I’ve been alone. In my chambers. By myself.” Yes, that rather was the meaning of the word alone. It would not however do to point such a thing out. More precisely, not at this particular moment.
She really deserved an explanation. His neck heated with embarrassment. “Daisy,” he began. He fumbled for words but came up empty with the embarrassing truth. For all the women she imagined he’d taken to his bed, but for one nameless woman in his youth, there had never been another.
“Yes?” she whispered.
Nor would there ever be another, but her. He tugged at his lapels. “I…” Certainly couldn’t say “oh, you see I’ve only been with one other woman in my life and she’d been a lightskirt, and not you, the woman who captured my heart between one unchaperoned venture to Gipsy Hill and an afternoon visit in that Blue Parlor.”
“That is not all, husband.” That word wrapped around him, enveloping him with the absolute rightness of it. She slapped her embroidery frame into his chest. “Are you listening to me?”
He grunted. No. “Yes,” he lied.
“We should not simply be sleeping either, Auric.” He stilled. What did she know about what they should be doing? “Did you hear me?” Daisy jabbed him again with the wood frame. The needle dangling from the fabric speared the fabric of his jacket. “I don’t know all the details,” she said the way a Bow Street Runner might in discussing the terms of a case. “But I certainly have gleaned enough.”
“The details,” he echoed back. Which only conjured all manner of details that ended with Daisy upon her back on the leather button sofa with her skirts rucked up about her waist. A groan rumbled up from his chest.
“Yes.” She gave a flounce of her curls. “The details.”
He shouldn’t ask. He really shouldn’t. The years in knowing her had taught him as much. “And just…uh, where did you come by these details?”
A becoming blush stained her cheeks. “It really matters naught,” she said quickly. Too quickly. In a way that suggested the lessons and details imparted had come by no proper mama, as they should have.
By God, he’d kill the bounder who’d filled her ears with words of seduction and dared put his hands upon that which belonged to him. She’d always belonged to him, even as he’d denied it to himself. “Daisy,” he gritted out. He counted silently to five for patience.
She lifted her shoulders in a little shrug. “Oh, very well. Mr. Fenerson’s Lessons of Livestock and Procreation.”
Surely, she hadn’t said…? Oh, God, to laugh would be the greatest folly. He fixed on the crown of her dark curls to keep from looking at her with her face scrunched up in deep seriousness and concentrate
d on his breathing. “Mr. Fenerson’s—”
“Lessons of Livestock and Procreations,” she interrupted, her head bobbing up and down with a quick nod. “Yes. And it was very enlightening.”
It would likely prove perfectly enlightening for sheep and cows and horses. “Was it?” he asked, unable to squelch the drollness of his tone. It would assuredly not prove helpful on matters of lovemaking between creatures of the two-legged sort.
“Oh, undoubtedly,” she said with another little nod. A dark strand of hair tumbled over her brow. She blew it back.
She really needn’t expand. They’d both be a good deal better if she…
Expanded. “It explained about the necessary instruments—”
“Instruments?” his voice emerged garbled from pained laughter.
She widened her eyes. “Auric Kinsley Richards, you are laughing at me.” Not at her per se, but he suspected that slight distinction wouldn’t make much of a difference to his fiery wife. By the fury snapping in the brown irises, the lady quite took offense at his lack of protestations.
“Not at all,” he said, belatedly and entirely too late.
“Humph,” Daisy marched around him, her miserable embroidery work in her hand.
Auric closed the space between them in two long strides. He folded his hand gently about her forearm, staying her forward movement. Through widened eyes, she looked to his fingers wrapped about her person with a frown, then the little indication of her displeasure lifted as her lips parted ever so slightly. With nothing but silence about them, the rapid intake of her breath echoed in the stillness.
He tossed aside her embroidery frame then cupped his other hand about her neck. “I was not laughing,” he purred, placing a kiss against the side of her mouth. Her lids fluttered wildly. “Well, perhaps I was laughing.” He moved his lips to the opposite corner of her mouth. “But not at you.” Their mouths met in a probing, explorative kiss. “Never at you, Daisy.”
A Heart of a Duke Collection: Volume 1-A Regency Bundle Page 104