Andrea Kane (29 page)

Daphne felt his first burst of wet heat inside her—a sensation so profoundly beautiful, so excruciatingly erotic that it pushed her over the edge. Absorbing the enormity of his climax, she surrendered to her own, dissolving around him in hard, gripping contractions that made him shudder anew, pour into her with a second climax more powerful than the first.

He collapsed on top of her, the intimacy of his weight as wondrous as the passion that preceded it.

Joyously content, Daphne trailed her fingers along the hard, damp planes of Pierce’s back, feeling the muscles flex against her fingertips, the tremors of reaction still rippling through him.

“Snow flame,” he managed, his lips in her hair. “It’s never been—”

“I know.” She brushed her open mouth against his shoulder, repeating the declaration she’d given him at the height of their passion. “I love you, Pierce.”

She felt, rather than saw, his reaction; a slight tensing of his body against hers.

“Christ, I need you,” he choked out, reluctant and incredulous all at once. “It scares the hell out of me how much.”

“I know both those things as well,” Daphne acknowledged, rubbing her cheek against his skin. “But Pierce?”

He raised his head, gazed down at her.

“Your fear will subside. My love won’t.” A tremulous smile hovered about her lips. “Snow flames bloom forever.”

P
IERCE LEANED AGAINST THE
door frame of the dining room entranceway, smiling tenderly as his beautiful wife, a whirlwind in lilac, dashed about, first to the sideboard to make certain the brandy decanter was full, next to the table to realign the silverware, then on to the draperies to readjust the amount of moonlight infusing the room. Intermittently, she would snatch a tray from a passing servant, chiding him for carrying too heavy a load, and call out to Mrs. Gates that she was working herself and her staff far too hard.

So this was what it meant to have a home.

Overwhelmed by contentment, Pierce reveled in a new sense of belonging, one he’d been denied for thirty years. Now, after only six weeks of marriage to Daphne, he could actually feel the empty spaces of his heart begin to fill, pervaded by the rare, unspoiled wonder that was his wife.

He was one hell of a lucky gambler.

Slowly, he strolled into the room, coming up behind Daphne and, indifferent to their lack of privacy, wrapping his arms about her waist. “Unfurrow that beautiful brow. Everything looks perfect.”

Daphne started. “Pierce. I didn’t hear you come in.”

He kissed her hair. “Obviously not. You were too busy organizing this grand banquet.”

She disengaged herself with a murmur of protest. “Don’t be irreverent. This is our first official dinner party.”

His grin was indulgent. “Sweetheart, it’s only the vicar, not a swarm of strangers.”

“I know.” Unappeased, Daphne looked worriedly about the room. “Nevertheless, he is our first guest since I became your wife. I want everything to be flawless.”

Pierce felt strangely touched by the sentimentality behind his wife’s apprehension. “It will be, Snow flame. With you at the table, how could it be anything less?”

He was rewarded with a brilliant smile.

“Your Grace?” Mrs. Gates appeared at Daphne’s elbow. “Forgive me for interrupting, but, as your dinner guest is due any moment, may I please be allowed to resume my duties? I’ve idled about as you insisted for a quarter hour. I assure you, I am quite renewed. And I’d like to make certain Cook has things well in hand.”

“Of course.” Daphne nodded cheerfully, wondering why her housekeeper seemed so flustered by a simple suggestion that she rest. “But call me if you or Cook need any help in the kitchen.”

Mrs. Gates’s mouth opened and closed several times. “Yes, Your Grace.” Still gaping, she returned to her domain.

Laughter rumbled from Pierce’s chest.

“Why are you laughing?” Daphne questioned. “And why is Mrs. Gates behaving so oddly?”

“I imagine she’s wondering much the same about you,” Pierce replied, desperately trying to straighten his face.

“I? What did I do that was odd? I merely offered my assistance—an offer she evidently found less than appealing. Am I really
that
dreadful a housekeeper?”

“I don’t believe your skills are the issue, sweet. Tell me, who runs the house, or for that matter, the kitchen at Tragmore?”

“Mrs. Frame runs both.” Daphne smiled fondly as she explained. “She’s been at Tragmore since I was a child, and she’s quite indispensable. Why, the entire female staff reports to her for their duties. And with good reason. Oh Pierce, she’s so wonderful. Not only is she an incomparable cook and housekeeper, she’s also a fine, compassionate woman. Why, without her help—” Abruptly, Daphne halted.

As always, Pierce’s gaze probed deep inside his wife, touching a place only he could reach. “Without her, you couldn’t have brought food to the village children,” he finished, noting the flicker of surprise that crossed his wife’s face. “I watched you at the schoolhouse that day. I saw you share yourself with the children. It wasn’t difficult to put the pieces together and guess what you’ve been doing. Besides, I know you, Snow flame. Not only your beautiful body, but your even more beautiful soul. I thought by now you understood that.” Tenderly, he cupped Daphne’s face, his thumbs stroking her cheeks. “Mrs. Frame sounds like a remarkable person. Almost as remarkable as the enchanting young woman she aided.” His fingers paused. “Never be afraid to tell me anything, least of all about your gifts to others. The days of being punished for your kindness are over. I’m so bloody proud of you. Your selflessness, especially with those children, means more to me than I can explain.”

“You needn’t explain,” Daphne whispered, reaching up to kiss her husband’s chin. “Because, you see, just as you know me, I know you, as well.”

“So you do.”

An instant of silence hung between them.

“Why did you ask about Mrs. Frame?” Daphne inquired, studying her husband’s veiled expression as if trying to assess its cause. “And what has she to do with Mrs. Gates’s strange behavior?”

Pierce’s brooding look vanished; his grin returned. “I suspect the late Duke and Duchess of Markham conducted themselves in a most conventional manner. Therefore, Mrs. Gates is as unaccustomed as the rest of the servants to our, shall we say informal, overseeing of the staff.”

“Oh.” Daphne ingested that possibility. “You’re saying my offer to help out in the kitchen was improper?”

“I’m saying that the offer was totally improper and equally wonderful. Never change, Daphne. Your decency and lack of arrogance are humbling. Even to me.” Pierce’s eyes twinkled. “Moreover, if Mrs. Gates is unsettled by
your
actions, imagine what Langley and Bedrick are saying about mine. Why, poor Langley still clasps his gloved hands behind his back the instant he sees me approaching, terrified that I might repeat my original attempt to shake his hand in greeting. And Bedrick continues to appear dutifully in my bedchamber each morning, desperately hoping I’ll reconsider and allow him to dress and shave me, although I repeatedly tell him to give it up. I doubt if either of them will ever be quite the same again.”

Daphne laughed, smoothing the ends of Pierce’s cravat. “We are a bit disconcerting, now that you call it to my attention.”

Seeing the glow in his wife’s eyes, feeling her small, delicate hands on his chest, Pierce was seized by a surge of lust, coupled with another, more complex emotion so powerful it nearly brought him to his knees.

“What is it?” Daphne reacted to the tensing of her husband’s muscles.

Pierce stared down at her, feeling off balance in a way he’d never experienced and vulnerable in his inability to conquer it. Fiercely, he caught Daphne’s fingers in his, brought her palms to his mouth, searching for words to explain what he himself couldn’t fathom. “Your touch,” he said hoarsely, responding to the only uncomplicated part of this madness—his lust. “The moment you put your hands on me, I’m on fire. It’s as simple as that.” He kissed the fluttering pulse at her wrist, traced the delicate veins with his tongue. “If the vicar weren’t due here this minute, I’d lock that damned door, lower you to the carpet, and make love to you until you begged me to stop.”

Daphne made a soft sound of pleasure, rising up on tiptoes to brush Pierce’s lips with her own. “If my begging you to stop is the prerequisite to our receiving visitors, then I fear Markham will be sadly lacking in guests.”

With a rough sound, Pierce dragged her into his arms. “You tempt me beyond reason.”

“That’s not temptation,” Daphne demurred, her expression as heated as his. “ ’Tis merely gambling where I’m certain I’ll win.”

“Damn.” Pierce’s hands slid down to her bottom, lifting her purposefully against the rigid contours of his lower body. “Is the vicar ever late?”

“Never.” Daphne pressed closer, her face flushed. “He’ll be here any second.”

“The way I feel now, I won’t require much more than that.” Hungrily, Pierce covered her mouth with his.

“Mr. Chambers.”

Langley’s proper announcement rang out, a deluge of ice water on Daphne and Pierce’s intensifying embrace. Hastily, they broke apart, snapping about to face their mortified butler and distinguished dinner guest.

“F-forgive me, Your Grace,” Langley attempted. “You told me to escort the vicar directly into the dining room.”

“It’s all right, Langley.” As always, Pierce recovered his composure posthaste. “Thank you for showing the vicar in. You may leave us now.”

Daphne was as shaken as the rapidly retreating butler. Blushing furiously, she went forward to greet her friend. “Vicar, I don’t know what to say. I can imagine what you’re thinking. I must have looked a total wanton.”

“Shall I tell you how you looked, Snowdrop?” The clergyman smiled, reaching out to draw Daphne to him. With a gentle forefinger he raised her chin, beholding the miraculous transformation six weeks had wrought. “You looked happy. Happy and unconstrained by the past. And I was thinking how wonderful it is, at last, to feel your joy and to see your eyes alight with love.”

Misty eyed, Daphne hugged her lifelong friend. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“As am I.”

“Let me pour you a brandy before I make a total fool of myself.” Dashing away her tears, Daphne crossed the room to the sideboard.

With an expression of profound satisfaction, the vicar turned to Pierce. “Thank you for inviting me.”

Pierce shook his head. “You nurtured my wife for twenty years, offered her solace when she had none, and wed us without question or censure, despite the upheaval that precipitated our less-than-traditional ceremony. It is I who should be thanking you.”

“You love Daphne,” the vicar replied quietly, with uncanny insight. “ ’Tis all the thanks I need.”

With that simple proclamation he went to get his brandy, leaving Pierce feeling as if he’d been punched. He was still reeling from his earlier emotional onslaught with Daphne, unnerved by the intensity of his feelings. That, combined with the vicar’s declaration, was too much.

Inhaling slowly, Pierce fought for control and comprehension. It wasn’t that the vicar’s conclusion was erroneous, nor that it was so extraordinary a revelation. Pierce had known he cared deeply about his wife for weeks, maybe months. But to hear those irrevocable words spoken aloud, not by Daphne, when she shuddered in his arms or curled close to his side, but by a stranger—a stranger who referred, not to Daphne’s feelings for him, but to his for her. Lord, the impact was staggering.

“Pierce? Would you like a brandy?”

Daphne’s quizzical tone indicated that this was not the first time she’d asked.

“Yes, brandy would be excellent right about now.” Veering toward the sideboard, Pierce took the proffered glass, drained it, then poured himself another.

“Are you all right?” Daphne asked.

“Never better.” He tossed off the second drink, refilling the glass yet again.

“I think your husband is just nervous,” Chambers put in, visibly amused. “Perhaps my visit is proving to be more taxing than he expected.”

“Indeed.” Pierce stared broodingly into his drink.

“What on earth are the two of you talking about?” Daphne demanded. “Nothing unnerves Pierce, so why should a dinner gathering?”

“Perhaps that was true once, but no longer.” The vicar sipped at his drink. “Not since you became his wife, Snowdrop. Now, anything that affects you affects your husband. Which is as it should be. You’ll be cared for and safe.”

Pierce’s head came up, like a wolf scenting danger. “Safe? Has Tragmore—?”

“No, nothing like that.” Chambers negated Pierce’s fears with an emphatic shake of his head. “I was just speaking generally. I haven’t seen Harwick since the two of you signed your agreement. I didn’t mean to alarm you.”

“You’re certain you haven’t seen him? Not even at Rutland?”

“Not either of the times I visited, no.”

Daphne stared from one man to the other. “You’ve been at Rutland?” she asked the vicar at last.

“I wanted to verify that your mother was well.” He smiled. “Which, as you know, she is.”

“We visited Mama last week.” Daphne inclined her head in Pierce’s direction. “You knew of the vicar’s visits?”

“My guards advised me, yes.”

“You said nothing.” Daphne’s brows drew together. “Neither, for that matter, did Mama.”

A corner of Pierce’s mouth lifted. “Despite my unorthodox upbringing, I do believe it is the mother who oversees her children, not the other way around.”

“I suppose so. Still, I would think she’d say something.”

“Not to mention how abbreviated our visit was.” Pierce’s eyes twinkled wickedly. “The two of you had scarcely begun chatting when our carriage was on its way back to Markham. There was hardly time for tea, much less conversation. It appears you and I have become surprisingly attached to this estate. One venture from its grounds and we can scarcely wait to return. An interesting twist of fate.”

“Let me refill your drink, Vicar,” Daphne urged hastily, her charming blush telling Pierce she’d grasped the implication of his words.

“I haven’t finished this one.” The vicar looked suspiciously close to laughter. “But I am quite famished,” he added, graciously providing Daphne with the diversion she sought. “And whatever your cook has prepared smells superb.”