Andrea Kane (18 page)

“And what will I give you in return?”

Pierce leaned forward, reaching around to fasten her buttons. “You,” he said huskily, brushing her lips with his. “Your magnificent spirit, which I have yet to free.”

Daphne’s breath broke on a shiver. “Only my spirit?”

His fingers paused, feathered over her bare shoulder. “No. Not only your spirit. All of you. Your fire, your innocence, your passion.”

A soft moan escaped Daphne’s lips. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“Why not?”

“Because I can’t think clearly when you say such things.”

“You don’t have to think. You have only to say yes.”

“Pierce, my father—”

“Damn your father.”

She stiffened. “Will that be hastened by my marrying you?”

“Will what be hastened?”

“Damning my father.” She drew back, her gaze delving deep into Pierce’s. “Does your sudden urge to make me your wife factor into whatever plans you have for him?”

A muscle flexed in Pierce’s jaw. “The urge isn’t sudden. I’ve been combatting it for days. I want you, Daphne. By my side. In my life. In my bed.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Then perhaps this is. Your father’s damning is a fait accompli whether or not we wed. So, no, my proposal is not linked to his downfall. It is, however, partially spawned by my firsthand knowledge of his cruelty, which makes me eager to wrest you from his contemptible presence. The marquis and I go back many years, more years than even he recalls.” Pierce drew a harsh breath, instantly realizing he’d revealed more than he intended. “I’d prefer you didn’t jog his memory by mentioning our early acquaintanceship. I’ll tell him myself, when I’m ready.” Pausing, Pierce waited, half expecting Daphne to refuse his unsubstantiated request, and unable to blame her if she did. He was asking her to betray her father with silence, while giving her no justification for doing so.

He was prepared for any reaction other than the one he got.

“Thank you,” Daphne murmured, caressing the taut line of his jaw. That simple phrase, together with the consummate faith shining in her eyes, humbled Pierce as nothing else could. And her next words shattered his reserve into fragments of nothingness. “You’ve just offered me the most wondrous gift: the first sign of your trust. I don’t pretend to understand the basis for your request. But in my heart I know your motives are sound. You have my word, Pierce. I’ll guard your secret. When Father hears the truth, whatever that may be, he shall hear it entirely from you.”

With a low groan, Pierce tugged Daphne to his chest, threading his fingers through her hair. “Be patient with me, Snow flame,” he said in a raw tone. “It’s not only trusting I find difficult. It’s more. My past. There are portions of it I buried long ago, portions too painful to discuss.”

Daphne rubbed her cheek against his waistcoat. “I know how difficult it is to share pain,” she whispered. “Especially pain that’s been submerged in your soul for years. You’ll tell me when you’re ready. I can wait.”

Too moved to speak, Pierce lightly caressed Daphne’s nape, focusing his attention on the refastening of her top two buttons. “It is I who thank you,” he said simply, when he’d regained a measure of self-control. “For now, just understand that I need to take you away from Tragmore, out of that bastard’s house, away from his brutality.”

“You mentioned before that you’d summoned—” Daphne broke off, correcting herself with a conspiratorial grin,
“lured
Father to London?”

“Indeed I did. He’ll be there for two days.”

That made Daphne’s chin come up, and she stared at Pierce with those exquisite hazel eyes. “Two days! How on earth did you manage that? Father loathes racing from one excursion to the next, and we only returned from Gantry an hour ago.”

Chuckling, Pierce kissed the inquisitive pucker between her brows. “I told you, I’m resourceful. I merely asked an associate to summon the marquis on a matter of great financial urgency.”

“Would that matter be the insurance money on our stolen jewelry?”

“Excellent,” Pierce commended with a twinkle. “Your intuition constantly astounds me.”

“Coming from so cunning a strategist, I’ll consider that the most splendid of compliments,” Daphne teased, her cheeks flushed with pleasure.

Pierce wondered if she had any idea how beautiful the real Daphne was.

“Pierce?” Lost in a new thought, Daphne caught her lower lip between her teeth. “How much money will Father recover?”

“That depends upon the value of what was taken.”

“I see. Was my pearl necklace worth a great deal?” A practiced warning chord sounded in Pierce’s head, a self-developed signal he’d perfected over the years, triggered whenever the topic commanded he protect his secret life.

And, despite the fact that Daphne was anything but the enemy, Pierce mentally segregated his one-time glimpse of her pearls from the more extensive examinations made by the Tin Cup Bandit. “Your pearl necklace?”

“Yes, you remember, the one you admired at Newmarket. Was it valuable?”

Without realizing it, she’d provided him with the perfect course of evasion.

He seized it. “Did I? I don’t recall. I was too busy looking at you.”

Daphne quirked a brow. “You said it was my necklace you were admiring.”

“I lied.”

Her spontaneous burst of laughter obliterated Pierce’s tension, brought his mind back to the subject at hand—making Daphne his bride.

“Have I gifted my trust to a scoundrel then?” Daphne’s eyes danced with amusement.

“I fear you have, my lady.” Tenderly, Pierce stroked loose strands of hair from her forehead. “But bear in mind that this scoundrel has honorable intentions.”

“I shan’t forget.” She was suddenly utterly solemn.

“Take these two days,” Pierce murmured huskily, nudging her lips apart and circling them with his own. “Your father is away, so you’re safe. Stroll through the village, visit your vicar, do whatever makes you happy. But at night, alone in your bed, think of me, of us, of what happens when we’re together. Think of all I can give you, all we can give each other. Think of the real Daphne, the one who shows herself only to me. Think of what happens when she’s in my arms, when she lets the fire inside her rage free. Think of exploring every exhilarating nuance of passion life has to offer—and I don’t mean only those we’ll experience in bed. Although, God knows, I can’t wait much longer to have you under me. Ponder all that, my breathtaking snow flame. Then say you’ll be my wife.” Pierce kissed her deeply, hungrily, with all the possessiveness of a man who knew the woman he held belonged to him. “I’ll be back in two days for your answer.
Then
I shall deal with your father.”

D
APHNE DOUBTED SHE’D EVER
sleep again.

Rolling onto her back, she stared at the thin stream of light filtering through her bedroom window, wondering whether it was daylight’s first rays or moonlight’s final vestiges she was witnessing. She prayed for the former, as it seemed an eternity since she’d extinguished her candle and begun her unsuccessful attempt at slumber.

Tonight’s sleeplessness was totally unexpected, though not inexplicable.

Normally her fitful nights were rooted in the relentless dread that any moment her father would burst in, and begin another painful session of “teaching Daphne compliance.”

But there was no threat of a beating tonight. Her father was away from Tragmore, which customarily assured Daphne of a tranquil and undisturbed rest.

Neither of which was forthcoming.

In fact, rather than reveling in her temporary reprieve, Daphne’s emotions were encased in turmoil.

Pierce.

He dominated her so thoroughly it was overwhelming. Her mind was consumed with the mystery of his secrets, her heart was haunted by the torment of his pain, her spirit clamored for the freedom he’d promised.

And her body burned for something only he could provide.

How could one man have such extraordinary control over her?

Contemplating the particular man involved, Daphne dismissed the question.

Her next question, however, was not so easy to dismiss.

Why did Pierce want to marry her?

Not some of his reasons, but all.

Oh, she didn’t doubt that what he’d told her had been the truth, or, to be more precise, a part thereof. He did want to protect her, did, somehow, know her father well enough to deduce his propensity for violence. And yes, there was that emotional pull between them, one that had been there from the start. Not to mention the physical pull. Daphne had never dreamt that one man could make her feel thus, as if everything inside her were pooling into a white-hot liquid knot of need.

But there was more. She knew it, just as surely as she knew there were dark caches of Pierce’s past that would test her, again and again, until he could put them to rest.

What had motivated the timing of his proposal? He was too practiced in self-control to blurt out such a life-altering question without forethought, too hardened by life to allow sympathy and desire to propel him.

He was enacting some plan, a plan that would destroy not only her father but, based upon Pierce’s hatred for the
ton,
countless other noblemen as well.

He was a nobleman himself now, a duke. That provided him with assets until now unheld, assets and obligations. Did the acquisition of a title impel him to seek a wife?

No. Not Pierce. He was too irreverent. He wouldn’t give a damn what was proper. Duke or not, if he chose to remain unmarried—why, if he chose to transport a half dozen courtesans to Markham to pleasure him on the front lawn for all to see—he would.

Then what piece of the puzzle was missing?

Daphne glanced at the clock on her mantle. Six a.m. That did it.

She flung back the covers and climbed out of bed. Unlike her father, Pierce was continually urging her to be herself, to be an active participant, not a victim. Very well. It was time she sought answers, not the ones Pierce was yet unwilling to supply, but those that were within her grasp, those that would determine her future. She would go to the one person who’d never failed to help her, who, in his infinite wisdom, had comforted and guided her all her life.

Slices of morning sunlight illuminated the church when Daphne entered its modest walls. “Vicar? Are you here?”

“Good morning, Snowdrop. What a delightful surprise.” Chambers came to greet her, hands extended.

His smile vanished the moment he saw the fading welts on her cheek. “Why has Harwick struck you?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It most certainly does!” Instinctively, the vicar gripped her shoulders, as if to steady her with his support. “Are you all right? Are you suffering any ill effects from Harwick’s assault?”

Daphne shook her head. “None. Truly. The reason for my visit has nothing to do with Father. In fact, he’s in London until tomorrow, so I’m free to spend as much time with you as I like. I tried to collect Russet so he might join us in a jaunt to the school, but he wanted no part of me once he realized my plans involved abandoning the woods. Perhaps tomorrow I’ll try again. I so want to return to the children. I promised them another visit, this time with my fox cub. I’m hoping Mother will receive a delivery while Father is away, so I can bring the boots and woolen shawls at the same time, and—”

“Daphne,” the vicar interrupted quietly. “Why did your father strike you? Is it because of your visits to the church? Did he learn of them and retaliate?”

A pause.

Then, “Yes.”

Chambers inhaled sharply. “I want you to go home. Now.”

“You didn’t you hear what I said?” Daphne asked, clutching his arms. “Father is away until tomorrow.”

“But not all his associates are with him. If one of Harwick’s colleagues should see you here, he will doubtless report back to your father. I shudder to think how Harwick will react to your committing
another
offense, especially in light of this recent beating.”

“I’ve withstood Father’s wrath for twenty years,” Daphne replied. Touching her fingers to her cheek, she wondered for the umpteenth time how the vicar would react if he knew the true extent of her father’s brutality, the lashing wounds he purposely confined to places none could see. “I’ll continue to withstand what I must. I cannot stop seeing my friends, or helping those in need.” A soft smile touched her lips. “Then again, this whole discussion might be unnecessary.”

“Unnecessary? Why?”

“That’s the reason for my visit. I have something very important to share with you. In truth, I’ve wanted to tell you since it first began. Please. I know you’re busy, but may we talk for a few moments?”

“You have my ear for as long as you need it. You know that, Snowdrop.” Chambers gestured for Daphne to sit.

“Thank you.” Daphne lowered herself to the pew, turning brilliant eyes toward the vicar. “I don’t know where to begin. So much has happened. So much has changed.
I’ve
changed.”

He studied her intently. “Does this involve the gentleman we discussed last week? Pierce Thornton?”

She started. “Yes. How did you know?”

“One needn’t be a prophet to discern human emotion,” the vicar chuckled. “Your eyes glowed when you spoke of Mr. Thornton and your day at Newmarket. They’re glowing the same way now.” He sat beside her, took her hand between both of his. “Do you care for him, child?”

“Oh, yes,” Daphne breathed. “I care for him. He’s kind and gentle and—” She broke off, blushing.

“I think I understand.” The vicar cleared his throat. “Tell me, Daphne, what is your father’s reaction? I recall your mentioning there was some discomfort between Mr. Thornton and the marquis.”

“They despise each other.”

“Then…?”

“Father has no notion I’ve been seeing Pierce. If he did, he’d kill me. Especially now.” She took a deep breath. “Vicar, Pierce attended the Gantry ball three nights past. He had a rather extraordinary announcement to make. He’s just discovered he’s now the Duke of Markham.”

Chambers blinked. “Goodness! That’s quite a discovery.”

“Evidently, the late duke was Pierce’s father.”

“And he never contacted his son to tell him so?”