The Duke’s Twin

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The Duke’s Twin Page 8

by Lauren Smith


  She finally settled with a soft sigh, her eyes closing. At first, he’d wanted to crow in triumph, but the expression on her face gave him pause. Her full lips tilted down in an open frown and a little wrinkle of worry creased her sleeping brow. A ripple of guilt disturbed him enough that he continued to stare at her for some time.

  When he was convinced she was fast asleep, he reached over and lifted her onto his lap. She tensed. For an instant, he feared he’d woken her, but then she relaxed and burrowed deeper into his arms. His body was taut with arousal, but he suppressed his baser urges and instead focused on her weight and warmth in his arms. She was the daughter of the man who had driven William to suicide, yet here she was, lying in his arms, trusting him not to hurt her, trusting that he would be a good husband.

  Will I?

  The question had an easy answer.

  I would’ve been...before.

  But losing William had broken him and his mother. Their original family of four was now two, and here he was bringing home the child of the man who had brought death to their home. He’d kept the truth of William’s involvement in Westfall’s counterfeiting a secret. As far as his mother knew, William had killed himself but left no reason as to why. Lachlan didn’t want his mother filled with the same vengeance that burned inside of him. If his mother ever discovered Daphne’s true identity, she would cast her out. Therefore, Lachlan could not tell her who Daphne was. The burden of losing a child in such a way was torture enough, and he did not want to add to that misery.

  Plagued by worries, he leaned his head back and tried to sleep, still cradling Daphne in his arms. When sleep came, dreams consumed him, dreams that made his heart bleed and his throat hoarse with silent screams. Yet buried beneath the nightmares of losing his brother lay a warm softness against him that brought comfort.

  “Sleep in the stables?” Daphne whispered to Lachlan, facing away from the frowning innkeeper. They were a day’s ride from Scotland, and there wasn’t another inn for miles. They couldn’t press on because of the storm that had blown in and still raged.

  “’Tis the only space left,” the innkeeper insisted. “The rain, you see. Everyone stopped here. The roads are bad for miles around.”

  Lachlan glanced away and she swallowed hard.

  “Can you tolerate some hay, lass?” he asked, his tone cool.

  She nodded stiffly. They’d woken up in each other’s arms only half an hour before, in a strange and wonderful sort of intimacy that had shocked her. His hold had been protective and gentle, his eyes soft and inviting. Yet here he was, treating her coldly again. What was she supposed to do?

  Lachlan slapped down several fat coins on the counter “Then we’ll take the loft, but I’m not paying full price.” The innkeeper collected them and slipped them into his apron pocket.

  He led them to a muddy courtyard, where icy rain pelted their skin before they reached the protection of the stables. Over a dozen horses were tucked away in stalls. The warm scents of hay and grain were oddly comforting to Daphne as she kept pace with Lachlan.

  “Use this ladder,” the innkeeper said, “and be careful not to roll off the ledge in the night.” The innkeeper retrieved several thick woolen blankets and offered them to Lachlan, who took them under one arm.

  Lachlan turned to Daphne. “You go first. I’ll be here to catch you if you slip.” He gave her a gentle nudge. She approached the wooden ladder, a tad apprehensive. Heights were not something she enjoyed.

  “Go on, lass,” Lachlan growled and gave her bottom a gentle swat.

  “How dare you!” She was torn between mortification and anger, both emotions almost choking her. The innkeeper laughed at her sputter of outrage.

  “Climb, or I’ll do it again,” Lachlan warned with a twinkle in his eyes that she didn’t like. The swat hadn’t hurt, of course, not with the layers she wore, but to strike a lady in such an intimate place, especially when they weren’t alone…

  Daphne clenched her teeth, used one hand to lift her skirts and the other to climb. She had to go slow. When she reached the top, she toppled over into a mountain of fresh hay. There was space for both her and Lachlan to sleep, but not much more than that. She stilled as she realized that she and Lachlan would be sleeping mere inches apart.

  Nerves stormed the inside of her belly and she fought off a little shiver. We’re not married yet.

  Lachlan emerged over the edge of the loft and tossed the blankets to her. She caught them and waited until he knelt beside her amid the mountains of hay.

  “Make yourself a nest and get some rest. I’ll find some dinner.” He tucked the blankets more fully into her lap before he shifted back toward the loft’s edge. She set the bedding aside and stepped toward him.

  “Lachlan—”

  He paused, already halfway off the ledge. “Aye?”

  Suddenly tongue-tied, Daphne blushed. She wasn’t sure what she’d meant to say, only that she’d wanted to say something.

  “Be careful not to fall.”

  He answered her warning with an inscrutable expression before dropping from view.

  Once he left, she arranged the hay to lay more evenly, then spread one blanket as a bottom sheet and the second as a cover. It would have to do.

  She almost laughed. Of course, it would do. It would do very well. This bed was a far better accommodation than she’d had these last two months. There was nothing so dreadful as curling up in the nook of a doorway or huddling beneath bushes in Hyde Park. Those were the places she’d grown accustomed to sleeping. Here she had a roof over her head and warm blankets. By comparison, it would be easy to endure, even if they went hungry tonight. Given the crowds due to the storm, it was possible the inn might run out of food, as well.

  She settled back in the hay, curled into a ball and closed her eyes. She listened to the pattering rain on the stable roof and the rustle and occasion snort of the horses below. There was a gentle cadence to it all that exuded a sense of peace. Since her father’s incarceration, she’d carried the weight of his sins squarely upon her shoulders. Yet now, at this moment, that burden was lessened. Daphne inhaled slowly and let her thoughts turn to the future, to Lachlan.

  He was a Scottish earl, with a vast estate in Scotland, yet he’d agreed to marry an English woman who Sir Heathcoat had made clear was in need of financial support. What sort of man agreed to that? Was he desperate for a wife?

  The ladder to the loft creaked and Daphne squeaked in surprise, clutching the blanket to her chest, even though she remained fully dressed.

  “I dinnae mean to scare you,” Lachlan chuckled as he appeared at the loft edge. He reached up and set down a tray containing covered dishes.

  She stared at the fully laden tray in awe. “How did you carry that?”

  “It wasn’t hard, a wee bit of balance was all.” He joined her in the makeshift bed and they shared the food in a quaint silence. Lachlan was clearly not a talkative man, which Daphne did regret. She had loved to talk to her father and her friends…before everything had gone wrong.

  “Have more travelers arrived?” she asked.

  “Aye. There will be no beds, and likely the stables will fill up, as well. We’ll have to stay in the loft unless that distresses your delicate feminine sensibilities.” The sudden coldness in his tone surprised her.

  “Oh, no, here’s quite fine,” she rushed to assure him. Perhaps his pride had been pricked by having to sleep above animals in a stable.

  “I know you are used to finer things, but let me warn you, sweet bride,” his tone was still cold and she shivered. “There will be no fine clothes or expensive things in Huntley. It is not my way and it won’t be yours.”

  Daphne didn’t miss the way he said this. Each word seemed to have a dreadful importance to it, but she couldn’t see why. She was not foolish enough to ask for an explanation.

  “I’m quite accustomed to going without,” she murmured.

  “Having to borrow a dress or two isn’t going without.” His tone was now
angry and a fierce scowl crossed his face. It might have made her flinch, but she was safe and warm and fed for the first time in days, aside from her night spent in Anthony’s home. She wasn’t going to let Lachlan bully her, even with words.

  “I have gone without,” she said, her tone as hard as steel. “Did your friend not tell you? He found me begging in the streets, my only gown ripped, my belly empty, and my limbs frozen.”

  She paused. Her body practically shook with fury. How dare he assume she was some spoiled child who’d never faced hardship? “For the last two months, I would’ve given anything to have a roof and a dry place to lay my head. I was on the verge of…” She choked on the words, but his silent stare dared her to continue. “I was going that very night to a brothel, my last hope for food and a warm bed.” She drank the last of her wine in a long gulp and stared at him hard. “But Anthony found me. He rescued me before I made that mistake. Do not ever lecture me on going without, Lord Huntley. I have been ripped from my home. My life was destroyed because my father was careless and cavalier when it came to the law. I am paying for his sins. I only hope you, my future husband, will not judge me for them.”

  She kept her composure as she turned her back and lay down on the bed she’d made. That tiny distance was the only barrier she could make between them and she hoped he would respect it.

  Only then did the tears she’d held back begin to flow. She heard him mutter something that sounded like a curse before he lay down beside her and curled one arm around her waist. He pulled her back a few inches to nestle her into the curve of his body. Of course, he wouldn’t leave her alone. Even now, after all she had said, he wanted to remind her that he owned her. That she was bought and paid for. She tensed and tried to pull away from him, but she was tired and cold.

  “I’m sorry, lass.”

  The words surprised her, but only half as much as the kiss he placed upon her cheek. The tenderness of it startled her enough that she shifted onto her back to stare at him.

  “Why must you be so cruel, Lord Huntley?”

  His blue eyes filled with shadows. “I… I am angry. Very angry at someone and it keeps my temper short.” His cryptic response was apologetic, but it was clear he would speak no more on the matter.

  “You shouldn’t hold on to anger, my lord. It doesn’t help.” She too had held onto anger for a long time. Anger at her father. But all too soon she realized anger didn’t provide shelter, get her friends back, and didn’t fill her belly.

  “When a man’s heart is broken, sometimes anger is all he has left.” Lachlan’s words were hoarse with emotion. Was he speaking of the brother he’d lost? Or was there more? Had he loved a woman and lost her?

  “Go to sleep.” His tone was even now. “We’ve a long journey ahead of us.”

  Daphne was certain there was no way she could sleep, not with the frantic pulse of her thoughts, but somewhere close to dawn, sleep did claim her.

  Nothing was going according to plan.

  Lachlan scowled in the darkness of the loft as he held Daphne close for warmth. They had no proper room to share and neither of them had been able to bathe or change into nightclothes. They slept with animals. He’d wanted to be in control of her misery, to exact revenge on his terms, but the opportunities failed to appear.

  Of course, after what she’d just told him, he couldn’t shake the guilt of wanting his revenge. The need to avenge William was as strong as ever, but now there was a compulsion to protect Daphne, to care for her, which warred with his need for vengeance.

  How can I protect her from me? He should send her back to London and let Anthony find one of those other love-struck lads who bid on her and give her to one of them. But the thought of giving her away now? He couldn’t. She would be his wife.

  The anger which had been a part of him since William’s death usually burned like wildfire, snapping and snarling as it devoured his soul in its greedy flames. But at this moment, that rage had become a single candle flame.

  He nuzzled the nape of Daphne’s neck, inhaling her sweet scent and feeling the silken tresses of her hair slide against his cheek. She let out a soft sigh and scooted back against him. One of her hands touched his where he’d wrapped it around her waist, and she laced her fingers through his. She wasn’t awake, or she would not have done that, yet he almost smiled at the thought that she trusted him, at least in sleep.

  “Have I made a mistake, lass?” he whispered, knowing she wouldn’t hear. “Because I want to keep you?” He wanted to keep her, yes, but for the wrong reasons.

  Daphne slowly turned, still asleep, and wrapped herself around him, her face pressed to his chest, her leg slipping between his as she clung to him. A sharp pain burst close to his heart as he held her. How could he hurt this woman? She was not the spoiled brat he had hoped to torture by denying her material possessions. No, Daphne was a fighter, a survivor, like him.

  Had she been anyone else’s daughter, he would have fallen in love with her then and there, but he couldn’t. She was the reminder of everything he’d lost. It would be an insult to William’s memory if Lachlan abandoned his revenge and fell in love with Westfall’s daughter.

  So, I am damned either way...

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