The Lucky One (Brethren Of The Coast #6) (31 page)

“Interesting.” That was putting it mildly. Then it dawned on him that his wife often requested warm milk before retiring. Though the prospect seemed not so palatable, he would sacrifice his stomach if it afforded him the chance to persuade her to stay in London. In that instant, Dalton turned to discover Daphne gone.

Marching into her
guest room, Daphne crossed the floor and walked straight to her armoire. After a brief search, she located the reticule in which she had hidden the ominous notes. In the long mirror, she caught sight of her reflection, and she studied her appearance for signs of her distress.

Had Dalton detected her unrest? Had he suspected her of deceit? Given Rebecca’s revelations, and Dirk and Dalton’s reaction to her sin of omission, Daphne had everything to gain by taking a stand. So she had nothing to lose by making her confession, and she had tarried long enough. Once again, she would trust her husband and bare her soul. She would share her secrets, she would withhold nothing, and he would help her. With conviction as a shield, she trudged forth.

But the walk to his apartments seemed never-ending.

Without knocking, she twisted the knob and entered his sanctuary, which she had never visited. In stark contrast to the remainder of his bachelor lodging, Dalton’s private apartment sported his favorite sapphire shade trimmed in mahogany. Absent the excess knickknacks, his personal surroundings boasted only nautical tools, some of which appeared ancient. And, to her abiding delight, the small framed assortment of yellow horned poppy, red valerian, viper’s bugloss, and sea radish, which she had created to commemorate the first time he accompanied her on her morning jaunts, held pride of place on a small stand, atop his bedside table. That sight, alone, girded her resolve.

Voices from the closet snared her attention, and she cleared her throat. “Dalton, are you there?”

“Daphne?” Wearing his breeches, boots, and shirt, which sat open at the throat, Dalton emerged from behind an oriental screen. “What are you doing here?”

“I need to speak with you.” With fists at her side, she vowed to prevail.

“Right now?” Her husband appeared shocked, as he blinked.

“Yes.” Before her confidence faltered, she took two steps, as she would not be denied. “This very instant.”

“Can it not wait until the morning?” With a mighty frown, he folded his arms. “You have my word, as a gentleman, I would honor your request, whatever you require.”

“No.” She advanced further into his domain, as, in the spirit of the Brethren wives, she would not be rebuffed.

“All right.” To her chagrin, he retreated, but her concerns were allayed, when Dalton said, “You are dismissed, Bowling. I shall see to the rest, myself.”

Nervous, Daphne chewed her lip and tapped her foot, until her husband returned. For several seconds, they just stared at each other. In no uncertain terms, she had the floor, but the perfect entreaty failed her.

At last, her knight sighed. “Angel, what are you about?”

Silent, she thrust the bundled letters at him.

“What is this?” He untied the twine and flipped through the envelopes. “But this correspondence is addressed to you. Yet you wish me to read them?”

Fear locked as a vice about her throat, so she nodded her assent and prayed for strength.

Shifting his weight, he unfolded the top note, perused the brief but disturbing content, and snapped to attention. In rapid succession, he digested the remaining three missives and then pierced her with his stare. “Where did you get these?”

“The first two were delivered to Randolph House.” Wringing her fingers, she cursed the urge to weep. “The third was redirected to Courtenay Hall, after our wedding.”

“Which I unwittingly conveyed to you.” Dalton closed his eyes and bowed his head. “Over breakfast, after our stroll among the dunes.”

“Yes,” she said in a small voice. “And the fourth arrived yesterday.”

“Which is why you canceled our dinner, retired early, and cried yourself to sleep.” He tossed the stationary to his bed and paced.

Shocked by his revelation, she gasped. “How did you know?”

“Because I sat with you into the wee hours.” He halted and confronted her. “Why did you not tell me someone had threated my wife? Do you imagine I will stand idly by while an unknown villain assaults you? How dare they.”

As he ranted and raved, Daphne heard nothing but his simple yet compelling admission, over and over, as a sweet refrain.

Because I sat with you into the wee hours
.

In that moment, he won her heart, once again. As tears streamed her cheeks, she resolved to concede. Whatever he desired, even if he decided to send her away, she would obey. No matter what he asked of her, she vowed to bear it. She would neither shout nor protest. She would relent. She would accept his choice, if only to make him happy. But when Dalton quieted and charged her, she trembled.

“Oh, sweet Daphne.” With his arms about her waist, he lifted her from the floor and held her so tight she could scarcely draw breath. “My cherished backwater bride, I will let no one take you from me. And I will sort this out, I swear.”

“So you are not angry with me?” Nuzzling his neck, she pressed her lips to his warm flesh and drew comfort from his mere presence. “And you will not leave me?”

“What do you mean?” Relaxing his grasp, he let her slide down the front of him, and she discovered him aroused. “Of course, I am not upset with you. But I am livid with those who would cause you harm. And we are married, till death do us part, so I will never surrender you without a fight, my angel. If someone wants you, they must first go through me.”

At his priceless admission, everything inside her flip-flopped and clenched. Daphne gave vent to a half-strangled sob, as a valiant rallying cry, and came at her husband with a force she had not known she possessed, and he stumbled backward but never broke their point of contact. Twining her fingers in his hair, she bit his lip and then besieged his mouth. Like a firestorm, they ignited.

When Dalton settled his palms to her bottom, and pressed her hips to his, she moaned, as delicious heat simmered beneath her skin and quelled the chill of fear that had plagued her for more than a fortnight. As some sort of addictive intoxicant, he bestowed upon her intimate kisses, with his tongue delving deeper than ever before, and she craved more.

A foreign hunger blossomed in the pit of her belly, and she yearned to assuage the heady appetite. Now she understood the temptation of desire, which the Brethren wives had recounted. Without doubt, she wanted her husband, longed to reap the rewards of his expertise, of everything he could teach her, and pleasure him, too. The knowledge worked on her in ways she could not defend against, given her innocence, and her knees buckled.

“Easy, love.” All of a sudden, Dalton bent and swept her into his arms. “Do not be afraid.”

In a flash, he carried her to his bed and eased her to the mattress. Stretched alongside her, he nudged her legs apart, as he wielded gentle caresses in a delicate invasion, and she followed his lead. But when he shifted and flicked up her skirts, she gasped.

“What are you doing?” She tensed, when he placed his hand on her bare thigh.

“Please, sweet Daphne. I will not hurt you.” He nipped her nose. “Permit me to feed you a taste, just a morsel, of the delights we can share.”

“You promise, it will not hurt?” Pining for what she knew not, she clung to him.

“You have my solemn vow.” To her lips, he said, “Please, angel.”

His appeal, captivating in its simplicity, arrested her, and she could not refuse his elementary petition. And she had not wanted to refuse him. Opening to her knight, she told him with her body what she lacked the courage to say with words, and Dalton rewarded her with a lusty growl, as he took the helm and steered her into a mystical realm, where she floated beyond her mortal coil, and sight and sound yielded to touch.

As she sampled his desire, a potent elixir not unlike the brandy that rendered her dizzy, she wallowed in the luxurious heat suffusing her in peaceful euphoria—until Dalton touched her most tender flesh.

“Wait.” The ugly reality of her locale struck her as a cold-water bath. She jerked free and rolled to the opposite side of the bed. “I can’t do this—not here.”

“What did I do, darling?” The sadness investing his boyish features tore at her heart. “Tell me what you want me to do, and I will do it. Just do not turn me away.”

“But I am not rejecting you.” Somehow, she had to make him understand her perspective. Had he not demanded honesty? Had he not claimed he valued the truth? Daphne stiffened her spine and inhaled a fortifying breath. “I hate this house. I detest it and everything that happened here, before we met.”

“I beg your pardon?” Her husband sputtered and stuttered. Then he rubbed the back of his neck and stood. “Pray, explain yourself.”

“I want to be yours. I want to make love to you—I want it all.” Cresting on a tide of conviction, she lifted her chin. “But not here.”

“What is your objection?” He glanced about the room. “What is wrong with my home?”

“That is the point. This is your bachelor lodging, where you have taken any number of women, of whom I am jealous, and it pains me to admit it, but there it is.” There was no going back, so she clenched her fists. “I have no wish to join the ranks of the many. I want to be
the one
.”

Dalton opened his mouth and then closed it. “Am I to understand you have no quarrel with me, and your issue is with our current location?”

“Yes.” Rounding the footboard, she smiled. “I long to be yours, but it will never happen in this place. And I do not want to live here. I would have something that reflects our combined tastes, as a couple. I would have what is ours.”

“Is that your sole complaint?” He sauntered to the bell pull and tugged hard. “Have you any other grievances?”

“No,” she replied without hesitation.

“Well, then.” To her confusion, her husband returned to his closet. When someone knocked at the door, Dalton reappeared, wearing a tan waistcoat and shrugging into a dark green coat. “Come.”

Merton peered around the edge of the oak panel. “You rang, sir?”

“Have the carriage readied, as Mrs. Randolph and I depart in twenty minutes.” Her knight seemed so calm, and she was anything but, as he tied his cravat.

“Yes, sir.” The butler rushed to convey the directive, and Daphne gulped.

“Where are we going?” She scrutinized her dress and slippers. “Should I change my gown?”

“No, angel.” His answering smirk gave her delicious shivers. “And where we go, you will need no clothes.”

Before she could respond, he clutched her wrist and led her into the hall, down the stairs, and into the study. At the side table, he lifted the brandy decanter and poured a glass of the stiff drink. Mid-air, she grabbed the balloon, drew a healthy draft, and choked as the intoxicant burned her throat.

“Easy, sweetheart.” Dalton chuckled. “I want you fully alert when we consummate our vows.”

At his casual statement, she almost swallowed her tongue. “Are we to take a room in a hotel?”

“Sir Dalton, the coach is here.” Merton bowed.

In the foyer, Dalton draped her shawl over her shoulders, and she tugged on her gloves. Then he steered her out the door and into their equipage. After a few brief comments to the coachman, her one true knight plopped into the squabs and hauled her into his lap.

“Angel, do not worry.” He kissed her temple. “I will protect you, and in my absence, our family will guard you. No one will harm you. And tomorrow I will summon assistance in the matter. We will uncover the villain threatening you and bring them to justice.”

“Dalton.” She framed his face. “I love you.”

“I know you do, sweetheart.” He tickled her jawline with the tip of his nose. “And I truly believe I love you, too.”

“Yet, I hear uncertainty.” And she was more than a little deflated. Daphne knew, without doubt, that her husband loved her, but she needed him to know it. “So you will tell me when you are positive?”

“Can anyone be assured of anything?” He sighed. “I care for you, of that I am satisfied. Why is that not good enough for you?”

“Because I want more, and I will have it.” The streets of Mayfair passed in a blur, until familiar surroundings struck her. When the coach came to a halt, her question had been answered. “We are to spend tonight at Randolph House?”

“Indeed.” Without waiting for the footman, Dalton leaped to the sidewalk and then handed her down. “It meets your requirements, as never have I brought any woman to my ancestral home. And you shall be the only lady to grace the sheets of my bed.”

#

Dalton had lingered in Dirk’s study long enough for Hughes to light the fireplaces and inspect the accommodations. Once Dalton had Daphne alone in his apartments, he gave her the bedchamber to prepare herself, while he untied his cravat, tossed the yard-length of linen to a chair, doffed his coat and waistcoat, and sat to pull off his boots, in the sitting room.

To his amazement and mortification, he was as nervous as a giddy green lad with his first woman. On the tallboy, the brandy decanter called to him, as a sultry summons, but he opted to forgo the liquid courage, as he required all his faculties and what remained of his tattered self-control, to survive the deflowering he had planned. And he wanted nothing to dull his senses when he docked in her honey harbor.

“Hello, my one true knight.” His wife loomed in the open entrance to the inner sanctum, and once again she stunned him.

Barefooted, wearing nothing but her sheer chemise, with her blonde curls draped about her shoulders, she could have been mistaken for a practiced seraph, if not for the telltale wringing of her hands. And never had he known a lady could blush from top to toe, but his provincial bride colored beetroot red, and he could not help but laugh.

“You are beautiful, my angel.” When he eased to the edge of the
chaise
, she halted him with an upraised palm.