Andrea Kane (17 page)

“How he could have what? Bestowed his title, name, and fortune on me? I really don’t think he had a choice.”

“He could have let his title die.”

Pierce smiled bitterly. “Rather than entrust it to a worthless street urchin.”

“Precisely.”

“You’re quite outspoken for a man who has everything to lose.”

Tragmore’s eyes narrowed. “Haven’t you acquired enough money? Markham was one of the wealthiest men in England. Surely you don’t need my meager holdings as well.”

“Ah, so you’re hoping I’ll abandon my plan to own you?” Pierce’s fist sliced through the air, striking the desk with an impact so savage Tragmore flinched. “Think again, you son of a bitch. If anything, I’m more determined than ever to collect. In fact, that’s why I’m here today. The first payment on your notes is due.” Slowly, Pierce held out his palm. “Now.”

“You know damned well I don’t have it.”

“Don’t you? How unfortunate.”

“What are you going to do?” The hatred in Tragmore’s eyes was eclipsed by fear. “Ruin me? Publicly declare me bankrupt?”

“That sounds splendid, but premature. I have yet to finish toying with you.” Pierce averted his head, openly surveying the room. “I’m sure, given a proper tour of your home, I can find one bauble or another to satisfy this week’s payment.” Coming to his feet, Pierce strolled about, lifting an occasional statue, running his fingers appraisingly along the carved trim of the walnut furniture.

“Thorn—Markham, you can’t be serious! Surely you wouldn’t—”

A knock sounded at the door.

“Who is it?” Tragmore snapped.

“Forgive me, my lord,” replied his butler, holding out a sealed missive. “But this message just arrived. It’s marked urgent.”

“Fine. Give it to me.” Tragmore snatched the letter, tore it open and scanned its contents. Scowling, he stuffed the note into his pocket. “I have to go to London at once.”

“A problem?” Pierce inquired smoothly.

“None that concerns you.”

“Perhaps I should be the judge of that.”

“You hold my assets,” Tragmore hissed. “That does not entitle you to invade my privacy. My missives are for my eyes and my eyes only.”

“I could argue that point, but it’s not worth the effort. Should the matter involve your finances, I shall learn about it directly.” Coldly, Pierce regarded his adversary. “I hope for your sake this is not merely an attempt to avoid settling your debt. Because, if it is, rest assured it will prove unsuccessful. I shall return to collect my payment the morning after next. Doubtless you’ll, have returned from London by then. And I’ll be waiting. Do I make myself clear, Tragmore?”

The marquis turned three shades of red before storming by Pierce. “Show the duke out,” he paused to fire at his butler.

“Yes, sir.”

“I can show myself out.” Calmly, Pierce crossed the room and sidestepped the incensed marquis. “Good day, Tragmore,” he continued, never breaking stride. “Have coffee prepared by sunrise. I detest beginning my day without it.”

Hearing the muffled expletives echoing in his wake, Pierce had all he could do to keep from laughing aloud. His plan was working perfectly.

Outside the manor, Pierce climbed into his phaeton and swiftly departed, steering his horses around the drive and through the gates until they’d reached the main road. Abruptly, he urged them to the roadside, maneuvering the phaeton until it was totally concealed by the row of trees he had carefully chosen before entering Tragmore’s grounds. There he waited.

Not five minutes later, the marquis’s carriage rounded the bend, swept by, and disappeared.

Pierce waited a quarter hour to be certain. Then he swerved his phaeton about, and headed back toward the manor.

Grinning, he recalled the dire contents of the note. Wouldn’t the marquis be surprised to learn that the urgency it conveyed was greatly exaggerated? In fact, not only did Hollingsby not truly require Tragmore’s immediate presence, the solicitor had no notion the marquis was en route to London.

He would shortly, of course. Pierce’s other missive would arrive at Hollingsby’s office simultaneously with Hollingsby himself, putting an unaccustomed burden on the solicitor and giving him the first real challenge he’d ever known.

At the same time, giving Pierce time alone with Daphne.

Just outside Tragmore’s gates, Pierce abandoned his phaeton, taking the remaining distance by foot. His reasons were twofold: he was determined to remain undetected by any of Tragmore’s residents, and he instinctively knew that the place in which he was most likely to find Daphne was far more accessible by foot than by vehicle.

The woods.

Treading lightly, Pierce made his way among the thick brush, keeping his head up, his ears tuned to any noise that might reveal Daphne’s presence.

She was easier, to find than he’d expected.

The soft inflection of her voice drifted to him in brief, indistinguishable phrases. She was talking to someone, he mused, although thus far there had been no reply.

He soon found out why.

“Russet, what is it? What do you see?”

A flash of copper and a rustle of fabric accompanied Daphne’s questions, and Pierce emerged from the trees to see a bushy tail disappear from view and Daphne struggling to her feet.

“I’m afraid I’m the cause of your friend’s flight,” he chuckled.

“Pierce!”

Breathless, with a smudge of dirt on her nose and tawny hair tousled about her shoulders, Daphne looked as innocent as a child and as captivating as a wood nymph.

And delectably happy to see him.

“I startled you. Forgive me.” Pierce drew nearer, halting only when he could gaze into those mesmerizing hazel eyes. “And forgive me for frightening off your friend.”

Daphne glanced back over her shoulder at the now-deserted foxhole entry. “Russet is wary of all people, since most have treated him with abysmal cruelty.”

“I caught a glimpse of orange. Russet, I presume, is a fox?”

She nodded. “And a very loyal friend.”

“I see.” Pierce’s fingers brushed lightly over the fading welts on Daphne’s cheek. “And, when I arrived, what were you confiding in your very loyal friend? Were you telling him of the ugly bout with your father? Or were you speaking of the ball’s more exhilarating encounter?”

Pierce could actually feel the tiny shiver his words elicited.

“Both.” She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. “Pierce, if my father finds you here—”

“He’s gone.”

Her eyes widened. “Gone? Gone where?”

A cocky grin. “Let’s just say I’m extremely resourceful when I choose to be.”

“You summoned him from Tragmore?”

“I lured him.”

“Is there a difference?”

“A vast one. If I’d summoned him, I’d have to receive him. Since I lured him, I used bait other than myself, and as a result can remain detached and anonymous. Consequently, he’s on his way to London and I’m here.”

“But—”

“I needed to be alone with you,” Pierce murmured, threading his fingers through Daphne’s hair. “Moreover, I had no intention of allowing the blackguard time to finish the beating he began at Gantry. I am in time, aren’t I?”

Quietly, Daphne nodded, ingesting Pierce’s words. “So you came here to rescue me?”

“You sound surprised.”

“No, not surprised. It’s only that I hadn’t expected to see you again so soon after—” She blushed.

“So soon?” Pierce shook his head in amazement. “Since those moments in the garden, I’ve thought of nothing but the feel of you in my arms. Had I not gone home that same night, I would have sought you out at dawn. As it was, I left immediately after the ball. I had to arrange for my move to Markham.”

“You’ve moved already?”

“Yesterday.”

“Are you settled in then?”

Pierce frowned, absently rubbing a sunlit tress. “My belongings have been transferred. Settled in? I don’t think I’ll ever be that.” He blinked, startled by the natural candor of his own response.

Evidently, Daphne wasn’t. “You’re wrong, Pierce. Just give yourself time. And remember, there are all varieties of dukes. You will merely enhance that number by one.”

Acting on gut emotion, Pierce pulled Daphne into his arms. “Must I ask permission?”

“No,” she whispered, twining her arms about his neck. “You know what my answer would be.”

This time the magic was abrupt, shattering, exploding the instant it began. Pierce took Daphne’s mouth fiercely, kissing her with bone-melting thoroughness and heartrending need. His tongue swept inside to mate with hers, his hands trembled as they dragged her closer, fitted her more totally against him.

Daphne’s response nearly brought him to his knees. As urgent as he, she met his tongue, stroke for stroke, leaning into him until he could feel the very pounding of her heart.

“Daphne.”

Whose raw, aching voice was that? Pierce wondered dazedly. Who was this unknown stranger whose control was as diaphanous as the finest silk?

Evidently it was he.

As if from afar, Pierce watched himself ease Daphne to the grass. Never breaking the kiss, he lay on his side, clasping her to him with all the desperation of a drowning man seeking shelter. With a will of their own, his fingers unfastened the tiny row of buttons down the back of her gown, tugging at the sleeves until he’d bared the upper slope of her breasts.

Tearing his mouth from hers, Pierce kissed her neck, her throat, moving slowly down to the warm skin he’d exposed. He felt Daphne shiver, heard the small, inarticulate sound of pleasure she made as his lips caressed her.

“Do you like that?” he rasped.

“Yes. Oh, yes.” Daphne’s arms slid up to cradle his head, her breath breaking as he kissed the hollow between her breasts.

“Tell me you want more.” His fingertips grazed her nipples, felt them tighten beneath the confines of her gown and chemise.

“Pierce.” Her reverently whispered word was all the reply he needed.

In one sharp tug, her bodice and chemise slid lower, freeing her breasts to his greedy gaze.

“Christ, you’re beautiful.” Pierce was shuddering so violently he could scarcely speak. Moreover, there were no words vivid enough to describe what he was feeling. He had to show her.

Arching Daphne closer, Pierce captured her nipple between his lips, surrounding it in liquid heat. She cried out, and he deepened the contact, alternately tugging the hardened peak, then soothing it with gentle sweeps of his tongue.

“Pierce. Stop,” she gasped, shaking her head from side to side.

Instantly, Pierce raised his head, met Daphne’s smoky gaze. “Am I hurting you?”

“No.”

“Frightening you?”

“No.”

A muscle worked in his jaw as he combatted desire, attempted comprehension. “Tell me it’s not shame. Tell me you know how right this is between us.”

“What?” Daphne’s eyes were heavy lidded with passion.

“Is this a matter of honor? Of virtue?”

With a breathy sigh, she sifted her fingers through his hair. “Neither. It’s a matter of torment.”

Now it was Pierce’s turn to look baffled. “Torment?”

“When you—” she blushed, “caressed me like that, it was unbearable. Not painful, just unbearable.” She inclined her head in quizzical apology. “What I really wanted was to beg you to stop—and, at the same time, never to stop. Does that make any sense?”

Pierce wanted her so much at that moment he thought he’d die. Closing his eyes, he fought for the iron control that disintegrated more with each heartbeat.

“Please,” she murmured, “don’t be angry. I’ve just never—”

The rest of Daphne’s apology was swallowed by Pierce’s kiss. Fervently, he devoured her, his mouth ravaging hers, his hands molding her breasts in shuddering, relentless possession.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he demanded, rolling her to her back. “Do you, my innocent snow flame?”

“I know what you do to me,” she answered with that artless naiveté that tore at his heart. “Is it the same?”

Pierce stared down at her, taking in the soft flush of her cheeks, the perfect contour of her naked breasts bared for his eyes alone. “Somewhat,” he managed, tangling his fingers in her disheveled tawny mane. “Only I know where this can lead. You don’t.”

Her smile was wise and thoroughly female. “I know exactly where this can lead.”

Despite the painful throbbing in his loins, Pierce had to grin at the conviction of her tone. “Really? Where?”

“That depends on who you ask. Mama would say ‘to a woman’s performance of her duty in the marriage bed.’ Given the circumstances, the vicar would say ‘to sin.’ ”

Pierce chuckled. “And what would you say?”

The trust in Daphne’s eyes was the most potent aphrodisiac Pierce had ever known. “With you? To heaven.”

Sucking in his breath, Pierce went rigid, fighting to calm the screaming urgency of his need. “Keep talking like that, looking at me like that, and we’ll experience heaven far sooner than I’d planned.”

“What’s just happened is already a miracle to me,” Daphne said, her tone laced with wonder. “It’s the first time I’ve been touched with gentleness and joy, rather than with brutality.”

“Marry me, Daphne.”

The words were out before Pierce realized he’d uttered them, yet he wouldn’t have called them back if he could.

“What did you say?” Her eyes were as wide as saucers.

“I asked you to marry me.” Tenderly, he eased her bodice back into place, stating without words that his proposal was not spawned by the ardor of the past few moments.

“Marry you,” she repeated softly, tasting each word as she voiced it. Myriad emotions flashed across her face in rapid succession: surprise, quizzical uncertainty, veiled speculation, a touch of confusion, a flicker of hope. “Why?” she whispered at last.

“Many reasons.”

“But are they the right ones?” Daphne struggled to sit up, simultaneously brushing leaves from her hair. “We’ve know each other less than a fortnight.”

“We’ve
known
each other from the instant we met,” Pierce countered. “As for the rightness of my reasons, is it right that I want to keep you safe? To see you smile? To give you things you can never have at Tragmore, wrench you from things you can otherwise never escape?”