A Duchess in the Dark (5 page)

Finally, she stepped back and plopped herself into a brown velvet wing chair. “You’re a cad.”

He sat on the edge of the desk and read the title.
Fanny Hill
, first edition. Astounding. “
Poetry
, is it?”

She glared. “I’d like it back, if you please.” She held her delicate hand out. He ignored it and she let out a sharp breath. “You look perplexed, my lord. Have I managed to shock you?”

He considered her for a moment, leaning against the desk again. “I’m only wondering how such a well-bred lady is acquainted with a book that was banned for its vulgarity some sixty years ago.”

She shrugged. “I suppose you could say it was my introduction to womanhood. On my seventeenth birthday, it appeared on my nightstand. My mother’s way of educating me, I suppose.” A faint smile touched her lips. “Or perhaps it was a warning against the opposite sex. She wasn’t a woman who spoke openly about such matters.”

“What’s it doing in the library?”

“Well, I can’t keep it in my room for a servant to find, now, can I? If it’s in here and someone runs across it, they’ll assume its James’s book. Heaven knows it isn’t the only vulgar book he owns.”

Clever. “And your mother, did she succeed in frightening you off men?”

Another long pause, then, “I’m afraid it merely piqued my curiosity.” She looked up at him. “Do you suppose that’s wrong?”

Suddenly, his cravat felt uncomfortably tight, as though the air or his throat had thickened. She glanced at him in that innocently alluring way, blue eyes sparkling with life, lips pressed into a firm line. What he would do to taste those lips again.

“No, not at all,” he said. “Your curiosity is quite natural.”

He pushed off the desk again and took a step toward her, prepared to alleviate that curiosity with a gentle brush of his lips against hers. Desperation to taste her again flooded him. He wanted to feel her lips beneath his, inhale her fresh, flowery scent.

“My sister will be looking for me.” She took a step back. “Please don’t talk to James about this, not yet.”

He didn’t answer. He wouldn’t make promises he didn’t intend to keep. If she thought he’d step aside, she’d be woefully disappointed. Their tryst had changed everything. No way in hell was he going to step aside for Wallingford.

Last night’s dalliance with Ashton meant nothing, if one looked at the situation rationally. And she certainly had no grounds for feeling the slightest bit guilty. Heavens, no! Strictly speaking, she’d already been with him intimately, so it wasn’t as though she’d committed any great crime—or any
greater
crime, rather. Last night was most innocent in comparison. Until that last bit, which had snatched the very breath from her lungs.

Good God, she was a harlot. One kiss from those perfectly sculpted lips and she’d been lost. More than that, she’d felt a sense of
rightness
in his arms, a sense of
belonging
that frightened her more than she cared to admit.

Daphne lay in the grass beneath the giant willow, listening to the tediously unvarying voice of Miss Katherine Wallingford, Edward’s sister, as she slurred her way through
Hamlet
. Daphne longed to snatch the book out of Katherine’s hands and pitch it into the lake. Instead, she resigned herself to thinking about Edward. Sweet, pliant,
forgiving
Edward.

But when her eyes closed, it was Ashton’s face that drifted into focus—his pale-green eyes and those tempting lips, drawn up into a devilish smile. She could still feel his hands on her, the warmth of his touch, the electricity of his kiss.

More than once she tried to push thoughts of Ashton out of her mind, but the more she tried, the more frequently they appeared.

A bell rang, signaling the guests to lunch. Groggy, she stood and brushed out her skirts, then headed to the white awning tent that had been erected for an al fresco lunch on the lawn.

As she approached, she realized the men had already returned from shooting and were milling about the tent. She spotted Edward immediately. He looked dashing as usual, in a pair of tan breeches, an eggshell waistcoat, and a blue jacket. And he was laughing at something his companion was saying. Her eyes drifted to the man speaking—Ashton!

Oh, good God. What were they discussing? Did Ashton intend to tell Edward about their tryst?

Daphne narrowed her eyes and made straight for Edward and Ashton, who at that moment, parted company to find seats at the table with the rest of the guests. Edward sat at the far end of the table, and as luck would have it, there was an empty chair beside him. With unladylike quickness, she rushed to claim the chair beside him. She slid into it with a triumphant smile, snapped her napkin open, and smoothed it onto her lap. When she looked up, several of the guests were staring at her.

“My favorite chair,” she said by way of explanation. If they harbored suspicions about Daphne and her attachment to Edward, then it would hardly matter in a few days when they announced their engagement. Now he only need ask.

“That was an interesting spectacle,” a deep, resonant voice said from the empty seat beside her. Not quite so empty, after all. Like a stalking leopard, Ashton had somehow managed to slip into the seat unseen and now lounged casually to one side, pinching the stem of his wineglass between his fingers.

“There are several unclaimed chairs. Must you choose the one next to me?”

His lips quirked into a wolfish grin. “It pleases me to be in your company, Miss Hayward. Is there anything wrong with that?”

Yes, plenty. She could name at least three dozen off the top of her head.

“Not a word,” she warned. “I shall speak with you later.”

He dipped his head closer, the subtle scent of his cologne curling around her senses. “Not to worry. I wouldn’t dream of exciting your anger.” His voice was low, a hint of amusement in his tone.

She glared, and those exotic eyes stared back, amused and unflinching. A shiver of awareness trickled down her spine. She quickly turned and smiled at Edward, who’d been watching their exchange with avid interest.

“I hadn’t realized you were so intimately acquainted with His Grace,” he said, looking suspicious.

“I’m not,” she said in a rush. Heat crept into her cheeks and she shook her head. “What I meant to say is that he’s a close friend of my brother-in-law’s, but I wouldn’t say we are
intimately
acquainted. Marginally acquainted, at best.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, she felt a strong hand—Ashton’s—grip her thigh and trail upward. Tingles spread throughout her body, igniting a slow, steady burn low in her belly. She placed a hand on his, attempting to stop its journey upward. It was no use. He was too strong, and he seemed determined to rile her.

“Remarkable.” Edward glanced between her and Ashton, the latter of whom was focused on the guest seated beside him, his hand still clasped firmly on to Daphne’s thigh beneath the table. “You two seem quite at ease in each other’s company.”

“Oh, indeed?” Daphne flashed him a nervous smile. She picked up her wineglass and leaned in, her voice a whisper. “Confidentially, he’s not quite right, if you catch my meaning. A blow to the head or some such. Sad, really. The oddest things come out of his mouth. I wouldn’t put much worth in what he says.”

Edward looked at her skeptically. “He seems perfectly sound to me.”

Daphne set down her wineglass and speared a piece of chicken with her fork. “That’s precisely the danger, my lord. One minute he’s quite coherent and the next he’s spinning fantastical tales about perfectly respectable ladies. Unstable, that one. Mark my words.”

At that precise moment, Ashton pressed his long, deft fingers against her center, stroking her through the fabric of her dress. The shock and pleasure of his touch made her gasp aloud. Her arm jerked back, knocking over her crystal wineglass. Red liquid spread across the white linen tablecloth and directly into Edward’s lap. He pushed back in his chair and stood, but not before the wine drenched his breeches, dribbling down his leg and disappearing into his boot.

“Daphne!” he hissed. “You mindless idiot.”

Daphne stilled, stricken silent by his harsh words. In the two years she’d known him, he’d never uttered anything so hurtful.
Ever.
He’d always been the model gentleman: kind, polite, with a shyness she found endearing.

Tears stung the backs of her eyes, and for several seconds she sat there dumbly, staring as Edward helplessly swatted at the stain. She didn’t notice the entire table had gone silent and Ashton now leaned over the table, placing himself between her and Edward.

“Insult her again, Wallingford, and I’ll call you out. I swear it.” His voice was low, deadly, meant for Edward’s ears alone.

Daphne’s heart leapt at his words. He spoke for her, defended her, when she had no voice for herself. Gratitude and something far more poignant—affection, perhaps—bloomed in her chest.

Edward glared back but said nothing, no doubt aware that the whole table was watching them. At length, he smiled tightly. “It’s nothing, Miss Hayward. Please don’t trouble yourself. My valet will see to the stain.”

Several servants set the table back to rights, and James chimed in as a good host and offered his assistance to Edward, who quickly removed himself to the house to change.

Swallowing back tears, Daphne spent the remainder of the meal hunched over her plate, praying for the moment she could return to her room and weep. This dreadful incident had surely ruined any hope of her happiness. The vision of his face twisted in horror would haunt her for days, weeks,
years
to come.

When the meal ended, she made haste to the house. She was nearly halfway there when she heard footsteps from behind, coming quickly upon her. She walked faster.

“Slow down, Daphne,” Ashton said from behind, closing in with every step. “It was an accident. Pray do not distress yourself.”

She stopped and turned to him, tears falling freely now. “Don’t distress myself? For two seasons I have thrown myself at that man, hoping,
praying
one day he would make me his wife. And now…” Her voice trailed off and she looked Ashton straight in the eyes. “He thinks I’m an
idiot
.”

Ashton shook his head. “He’s a cur, Daphne. He isn’t worth your time. You deserve far better than the likes of him, trust me.”

Daphne blinked up at him, warmth spreading through her at his words. “Thank you for defending me,” she said. “That was kind of you.”

He reached out and cupped her chin in his palm, gently stroking the tears away with the pad of his thumb. She should pull away, but his presence was a comfort she couldn’t deny herself. “He had no right to speak to you that way.”

She swallowed, and glanced away from his penetrating gaze. “Perhaps he didn’t mean it,” she said simply. “I won’t fault him for
one
mistake. How can I ask his forgiveness if I myself cannot forgive?”

He was human, after all, just as she was.

Ashton’s hand was still warm on her cheek. “Perhaps he’s revealed a glimpse of his true colors.”

She hesitated, then shook her head. “He loves me.”

Ashton slid his hand around to cradle her head, and pulled her close, pressing his large body against hers. He lowered his head, his lips dangerously close to hers. “Love does not lash out in anger. Love does not belittle or humiliate. Love is kind, compassionate, and all-consuming.”

She blinked at his seemingly heartfelt words. “How do you claim to know so much about love?”

“I’ve seen it with my own eyes. My parents loved each other deeply.” His gaze dropped to her mouth. “It’s not often a love like that sparks to life. When it does, one must cherish it.”

What was he saying, precisely?

“Ashton.” She pulled against him. “Someone will to catch us this way.”

Several neatly trimmed hedges concealed them from the rest of the park, but with so many people in residence, someone was bound to stroll by and catch them in this rather compromising position.

“I’ll release you under one condition.” The vibration of his voice rumbled through her limbs. “Promise me you’ll cease this nonsense with Wallingford. He doesn’t deserve you.”

“And I suppose
you
do?”

“Well.” His gaze traveled to her mouth, then lower still. “I will dedicate myself to your happiness, to your pleasure…”

Images immediately flooded her mind—his broad, muscled chest, the hairs that dusted the ropes of muscle lining his stomach…She shook her head and pushed the images away.

“I love Edward.” Her voice faltered.

His head dipped lower, intimately close, as though preparing to disarm her with a long, dizzying kiss. “Are you sure about that?”

She swallowed. “Quite sure.”

There was flicker of something in his eyes, steely determination, before he smiled and winked. “We shall see. Good afternoon, Daphne.”

A
ny luck?” James took the empty chair next to Ashton by the fire.

Ashton leaned back in his chair, watching the rest of the gentlemen engage in a lively game of whist.

“That depends on what you consider luck,” Ashton said. “I’ve discovered her, if that’s what you’re asking. She came to me again last night.”

“Oh, did she indeed?” said James, amused.

Ashton settled deeper into his chair, eyeing Wallingford from across the room. He was sitting at the table, facing Ashton, his mind entirely occupied on the game, which allowed for some unseen observation on Ashton’s part. He didn’t find much to take offense with, unfortunately, except for the simple fact that somehow, that foppish man had secured Daphne’s affections.

James swatted Ashton on the shoulder with a section of rolled-up newspaper. “Wake up, man.” Another swat, this one more forceful. “Who’s the saucy chit? What’s her name?”

Ashton turned to face James. “Daphne.”

James laughed. “Do be serious. Who is she?” Ashton arched a brow, not the least bit amused. James’s smile faded. “By God, you
are
serious.”

“Quite.”

Ashton braced himself for indignant anger. James and Daphne were only related by marriage, but James was quite protective of her.

“She came to
your
bed?” James said, as though he was trying to wrap his feeble mind around the idea. “I don’t believe it.”

“She thought I was Wallingford,” Ashton said, hating the words.

Silence. Finally, “And you intend to wed her?”

“I do,” Ashton said. “And you can hang if you don’t approve.”

James pulled two Spanish cigars from a tortoiseshell box on the table next to him. He handed one to Ashton. “Good, then I won’t have to kill you.”

“You approve, then?”

James shrugged lightly, lighting his cigar on a nearby candle flame. “I’m not entirely oblivious, my man. I’ve seen the way you look at her, as though you’d love nothing more than to worship at her feet. I can’t say I’ve ever seen you quite so besotted.” He tilted his head toward Wallingford. “But I have a feeling that one won’t step aside so easily.”

“He’s had two years to propose and hasn’t. The man’s a damn fool, if you ask me.”

“Yes, well, he might be closer to proposing now that she has a ten-thousand-pound dowry.”

Ashton stared at him blankly. “Ten thousand pounds?”

James lifted his hands in surrender. “I was trying to draw out potential suitors, someone
other
than Wallingford. He may play the saint, but he has penchants toward gambling and women that are quite troublesome. She deserves far better.” He took a long draw from his cigar and released it in a billow of smoke. “Unfortunately, the news of her dowry only seemed to arouse his competitive spirit. He’s been uncommonly attentive these last few days. The man is working up to a proposal, mark my words.”

Ashton shook his head. “He’s had her affection for two years, and he was fool enough to cast it aside.” What Ashton would give for just a taste of Daphne’s affection. He’d give his whole damn fortune, if that’s what it took. To him, she was worth so much more than ten thousand pounds. “Tell him he can’t have her. It’s as simple as that.”

James smirked. “So easy, is it? I told him as much a fortnight past, at the Carlyle ball. Lo and behold, Daphne ends up in your bed in the dead of night, searching for Wallingford. A coincidence? I think not.”

Ashton released a sharp breath. She’d clearly intended to give herself to Wallingford that night to force James’s hand. If she were ruined, there would be no question about marrying Wallingford. Fortunately for Ashton, she’d slipped into the wrong bed. Now all he had to do was win her heart—a seemingly monumental task.

“How did you convince Margaret to marry you?” His gaze strayed to Wallingford again. He was winning, apparently. Could the man lose at nothing?

With a long-suffering sigh, James settled back into his chair, cigar resting firmly between his clenched teeth. “Women, the marrying types, love nothing more than humiliating declarations of affection.” He reached out and slapped Ashton on the shoulder. “They want you to make a fool of yourself. Only then are they happy.”

Good Lord, he knew there was a reason why he’d always avoided marriage. He was a duke, for God’s sake—a well-respected member of Parliament, a man with considerable wealth and connections. He was a fool for no one, and most certainly not for a woman. But Daphne…Lord, she was different. He’d sacrifice anything, even his foolish pride, to posses her.

Thirty minutes later, the gentlemen had rejoined the ladies in the salon. Ashton watched idly—and with growing irritation—as Wallingford leaned toward Daphne and imparted something amusing. She tipped her head back and laughed, heartily and without reservation. No delicate smiles or false bubbling laughter. She was real and genuine and gave all of herself—something quite rare in a woman of Daphne’s education and breeding. Somehow, against all odds, she remained untainted by the stale politeness of society.

Ashton’s attention was drawn away when James called him over to the pianoforte to sing a duet with Miss Wallingford. He obliged grudgingly, not wanting to offend her.

Once the song was over, his gaze darted around the room. Daphne and Wallingford were gone. Only her lace shawl remained, draped over the back of her chair, forgotten. He swept his gaze around the room. Somehow they’d managed to escape. Abruptly, he excused himself from Miss Wallingford, snatched up Daphne’s shawl, and cut through the crowd, straight for the French doors that led out into the garden.

The air was warm with a crisp edge to it, the grounds remarkably well lit. Hundreds of lanterns dangled from the trees, glowing in the darkness. Several couples strolled leisurely down the pebbled garden paths, enjoying the warm, fragrant air.

And there she was. Sitting on a stone bench with that bastard beside her. They were deep in conversation. A sense of dread washed over him. Wallingford had her hand in his and he was making some sort of declaration.

With each step he drew closer, his dread increased tenfold. As he approached, still some distance away, he caught the two horrid words, “my wife.”

He was proposing and, damn her, she wasn’t pulling way. It felt like a punch to the gut. After everything they’d shared, he was losing her…Hell if he was going to let that happen.

She replied, her tone too low for him to make out her words.

“Miss Hayward, there you are,” Ashton said. Her eyes snapped to his face and her cheeks flushed.

“Your Grace.” She stood abruptly, like a child caught doing something mischievous. “We were just—”

“Talking,” Wallingford finished, standing as well.

“I see.” Ashton turned a sharp gaze on Daphne. “May I speak with you privately for a moment?”

“Well, I…” She cut Edward a nervous glance. “I…”

“My apologies, Miss Hayward; I’ve been monopolizing your evening.” He kissed her hand—far too languidly—then straightened. “Of course you may speak with her, Your Grace. Excuse me.”

With a bow, he turned and headed back to the house. As soon as he was out of earshot, she glanced at Ashton, one eyebrow quirked. “Well?”

He draped the shawl over her shoulders, grabbed her elbow, and hauled her to a partially concealed spot in the garden—not concealed enough to arouse suspicion, but far enough off the path to afford some degree of privacy.

“Tell me you didn’t accept his offer.”

She pulled the shawl tight around her shoulders and looked down at her slippers. “I said I would consider it.”

A degree of relief washed over him at her words. She hadn’t said yes. Still, she was considering it, and that thought made his gut clench painfully.

“And he was forgiving of your indiscretions, I imagine.” He severely doubted that was the case. Men like Wallingford didn’t forgive such transgressions easily.

She shifted on her feet and looked away. Ah, there it was. “Not exactly,” she said quietly. “I haven’t told him yet, but I
will
, if it comes to that.”

Ashton raked a hand through his hair. He needed another cigar. “Has it occurred to you, Daphne, that you could be carrying
my
child?” His heart swelled with pride at the thought, but if he had any hope of giving the child
his
name, he’d have to shake some sense into her.

Her gaze darted over his shoulder nervously. “For God’s sake, Ashton, lower your voice. Someone will hear you.”

“What will you do then?” he continued. “Pawn the child off as his?”

That seemed to strike some sense into her. “Of course not!” she said. “
If
I say yes, then I plan to prolong the engagement until…” She let out a breath. “Until I’m sure that I’m not…that there isn’t…”

“And if there is?”

God, he prayed there was. The image of her round with his child made his heart ache. He realized then that he
wanted
a child—a child with her wide blue eyes and beautiful smile. A child they could love and nurture together.

He imagined his large, rambling estate filled with love, joy, children…Summers by the lake, winters huddled up by the fire. He wanted that with her: a life and a future.

She swallowed and smoothed a hand down her flat stomach. “I’ll worry about that when the time comes.”

“Don’t marry him.” Ashton felt desperate for the first time in his life. For once, he was in a situation he couldn’t control and it was acutely unsettling. He wanted a woman who didn’t want him back. Quite honestly, he’d never encountered such a frustrating dilemma.

She parted her lips, her gaze fixed on his mouth, as though contemplating another one of those passionate kisses. “Edward is safe. He won’t desert me or seek out another woman. He’s loyal and he loves me.”

Ashton shook his head. “You only see the visage he presents to society. Will he challenge you, laugh with you, defend you, even at the cost of his own honor?”

She pressed her lips together and looked away. There was a long, deafening silence, then, “I should get back.”

But the moment she moved away, he caught her hand. She drew in a breath and her eyes met his. For a brief, solitary moment, there was nothing else in the world but the sound of her breathing, her sweet scent curling around his senses, the feel of her skin.

“Think about what I said.”

She nodded slightly—almost imperceptibly—then dropped her hand, breaking the connection. “Walk me back, will you? They’ll think we’ve quarreled if you don’t.”

Daphne took Ashton’s arm and they headed slowly back toward the house. Contentment settled over her as they walked in silence, his boots crunching on the gravel path, his arm strong and firm beneath her hand. She felt safe, protected, in his presence.

And then there was Edward. She thought she’d feel differently when Edward finally proposed—giddy, proud,
truly
happy. Instead, she felt anxious, doubt gnawing at her from the inside. Edward was pleasant, quiet, but in that brief moment at lunch, he’d revealed a side of himself she’d never known existed. But then, she’d never seen him angry before today. Over the last two years, she’d only ever spoken to him at balls or other gatherings—never in as intimate a setting as a house party.

She glanced up at Ashton. He’d swooped in and saved her, defended her honor when Edward had humiliated her. And he’d never
once
admonished her for slipping into his bed that night—he’d questioned her motives, as any sane man would, but he hadn’t been angry, though he’d had plenty of cause.

She bit her bottom lip. Perhaps he wasn’t quite the rake she’d assumed he was. And perhaps Edward wasn’t quite the saint she’d assumed he was either.

The moment they were back inside the parlor, Edward gripped her elbow, pulling her away from Ashton, and led her to the pianoforte. Holding up his wineglass, he tapped the side with a spoon. “Attention, everyone,” he said smoothly. “I have an announcement to make.” Of a sudden, all eyes were trained on her and Edward. “It’s my great honor to announce that Miss Hayward has made me the happiest of men and consented to be my wife.” He smiled at her. “We shall marry immediately.”

Shock poured over her, freezing her in place. She hadn’t said yes. Why would he announce an engagement she hadn’t agreed to? But she already knew. He’d done it to force James’s approval. If the engagement was announced, there was little James could do without humiliating her.

Daphne fought off a wave of nausea.
Two years
of making
her
wait, and he couldn’t wait five minutes for a proper answer? Nausea and shock slowly bled into anger.

Several guests gathered around them, gushing congratulations, asking for details about the wedding. Daphne smiled tightly and turned to Edward. “May I have a quick word with you?”

“Yes, of course.” He smiled and made excuses to the other guests, then led her to down the hall to a small parlor for privacy. His brows drew together in concern. “What is it?”

“What gives you the right to announce our engagement? I never said yes.”

He chuckled and threaded his arm around her waist. The intimate contact made her jerk back. “You want to say yes, Daphne. You’ve been trailing after me like a lovesick puppy for two years.”

A lovesick puppy!

Her anger ignited and she balled her hands into fists at her sides. “You’re mistaken, Lord Wallingford. I don’t wish to marry you. It was wrong of me to allow you to believe otherwise.” She forced herself to remain calm. “You must tell everyone this was all a horrid mistake.”

His eyes darkened. “It’s far too late for all that. The announcement has been made. To withdraw it now would invite scandal.”

Daphne pressed her lips together. Exactly his plan, she gathered. Marry him or live with the scandal of refusing his hand. “Why are you doing this?”

He smirked. “Come, Daphne, surely you must know. A woman like you couldn’t possibly ensnare a man of my station without the lure of ten thousand pounds.”

Mortification, anger, and heartbreak all swept over her at once. What she’d mistaken for love had actually been affection for her fortune, nothing more. His marked attention had come around the time James had not-so-discreetly leaked news of her dowry into high society. She’d always thought it was the idea of losing her to another man that had spurred Edward’s attentions, or perhaps that’s what she
wanted
to believe. But Ashton was right: if Edward loved her, he would have claimed her long ago. With the same determination Ashton had to claim her now.