When Only a Rake Will Do (21 page)

When he was capable of movement once again, Brendon rolled off of her and onto his back, taking her with him and settling her atop his chest, his arms holding her tight as she snuggled into him.

With her cheek resting directly over Brendon’s softly beating heart, Daphne soon fell into a light doze, the lack of sleep she’d suffered over the past two nights finally catching up to her.

Brendon let her sleep, content to simply hold her in his arms as her faint breath blew softly across the breadth of his chest.  And for the first time in weeks he felt truly at peace.

He woke her shortly before dawn, kissing her into wakefulness as his hands leisurely explored the lush contours of her body.

Daphne sighed in joyful exultation as she felt Brendon’s hands move gently across her body, his fingertips leaving a trail of fire burning in their wake as they traveled unhurriedly along the length of her naked back. How foolish it would have been to deny herself this time with him she thought as his masterful touch awakened her fervent desire once again, for surely no pain on earth could be great enough to forgo even a second of the incredible pleasure and absolute joy she experienced in his arms.

Pulling Daphne onto his chest, Brendon positioned her to receive him, their gazes meeting for one seemingly endless moment before he slid once again into her welcoming depths.  And despite the fact that dawn was steadily approaching, they made love slowly this time, savoring each and every caress as they thoroughly reacquainted themselves with each other’s bodies.

As such, the sun was just rising in the morning sky when Daphne rose from the tangled sheets of Brendon’s bed and slipped silently from his bedchamber and back into her own.  Then utterly weary yet blissfully happy, she fell into her bed, her eyelids drifting shut almost as soon as her head hit the pillow, the knowledge that they still had one more glorious night ahead of them ushering her into a peaceful slumber at last.

*****

For Daphne the following day played out much like the day before, with the races occupying most of the morning and afternoon, an impromptu visit to the ruins of Bury St Edmunds Abbey just prior to dusk, and their subsequent return to the house, followed of course by another delicious evening meal.  All in all it had been a wonderful weekend, filled with memories that she would cherish forever. 

But at that very moment, lying in her bed once again, the only thing that occupied her thoughts was the night ahead.  Unfortunately, however, the wait soon became torturous as the hands on the clock seemed to move at a snail’s pace. 

When at last the house grew quiet and still, Daphne rose from her bed and slipped silently from her room and into Brendon’s.  He was there waiting for her, reclining atop the covers, that rakish smile she so adored lighting his face as she moved toward him.  Sitting up when she neared the side of the bed he reached for her, tumbling her onto the mattress as he placed his mouth over hers, kissing her until she was breathless and dizzy with wanting.

“What are you thinking?” Brendon asked later as they lay temporarily sated, wrapped contentedly in each other’s arms.

That I love you with all of my heart.  That I wish this moment would never end. 
“I was just thinking that this weekend turned out to be far more enjoyable than I could have ever anticipated,” she said, injecting a deliberate lightness to her tone.

“I couldn’t agree with you more,” Brendon replied with a light chuckle. “And to think I almost decided not to come.”

“Well I for one am exceedingly glad that you changed your mind.”

“As am I,” he said, absently twining a lock of her hair around his index finger as he gazed up at the ceiling.

“You know we’ve only a short while until sunrise,” Daphne murmured, her eyes focusing upon the narrow opening in the draperies.

“Well then,” Brendon replied in a seductive whisper as he promptly rolled her onto her back, “we should probably put what little time we have left to good use, don’t you think?”

“Most-definitely,” Daphne replied as she gazed upon his beloved face just inches above her own.  Then looping her arms around his neck she pulled him toward her until their lips met, kissing him with an undeniable hunger that set both of their pulses racing once again.

Surprisingly it was Brendon who drifted off to sleep a short time later, his breathing growing steady and even as Daphne lay pressed to his side, his arm wrapped snuggly around her waist.  As dawn was fast approaching she considered waking him, then quickly decided against it, for she wasn’t entirely certain that she could bear to say goodbye.  And so, slipping carefully from under the weight of his arm, she rose quietly from the bed and then silently donned her dressing gown.

Moments later, standing at the side of the bed, she allowed her gaze to travel once more across the planes of his face, her gaze lingering for a moment upon his mouth, his lips parted ever so slightly as he slept.  And though she longed to bend down and press her lips to his one last time, she held back.  “I love you, Brendon,” she whispered instead, and then turned and walked away.

Blinking his eyes open a short while later, Brendon realized that he must have dozed off, though clearly he hadn’t been asleep for long as the room was still bathed in shadowy darkness.  Rolling onto his side he reached for Daphne, but the space next to him was empty.  Sitting up he quickly scanned the room, but his sweeping gaze confirmed that she was gone.  Frowning, he dropped back onto the mattress, noting as he did a splash of yellow from the corner of his eye.  Turning his head, he saw that it was a narrow satin ribbon lying amidst the tangle of white sheets that had caught his attention, the very one that he’d pulled from Daphne’s hair just hours earlier.  Reaching out he picked it up, rubbing the smooth satin gently between his fingers for several long seconds before clasping it tightly within his hand.

And in that moment he knew exactly what he wanted, the truth he could no longer deny.  Then again, he mused, perhaps he’d known it all along.

Brendon had been back in London for less than twenty-four hours when his coach drew to a stop outside the office of Mr. Stanley Watson, the private investigator whose services he and his brother had made use of in the past.  Alighting from the vehicle he stepped up onto the sidewalk and then quickly made his way toward the small Fleet Street office.

“My Lord, it’s a pleasure to see you again,” Mr. Watson greeted a short while later, as he led Brendon from the small reception area and into his office at the rear of the building. 

“And you, Mr. Watson,” Brendon replied with sincerity, for the older man was a likeable sort and extremely skilled at his chosen profession.

“So, what is it that I can do for you?” he asked, once they were comfortably seated. 

“It has come to my attention that a gentleman of my acquaintance, Thomas Hewitt, Viscount Huxley, has incurred significant financial losses at the gaming tables in recent months,” Brendon began.  “I wish to know exactly how much he owes, and to which establishments.” 

“I see,” Mr. Watson said with a nod.  “And you prefer not to ask Lord Huxley directly?”

“That is correct.  Nor do I wish for him or anyone else with whom you come in contact to know that I am the one responsible for the inquiries.”

Mr. Watson nodded.  “While that sort of information is generally kept confidential by the proprietors of the more reputable gaming establishments, I shouldn’t imagine that it will be too difficult to acquire.”  He paused, pushing his spectacles higher up upon his nose before continuing.  “Is it safe to assume that he has incurred substantial losses at some of the less-reputable establishments as well?”

“It is.”

“In either case, a few well-placed monetary inducements should get you the information you seek.  However, if the gentleman has incurred losses off the books, private wagers with specific individuals for instance, that is another matter entirely.”

“Of course.  For now you need only focus on what he owes to the gaming establishments here in London.”

“Understood.”

“How soon can you get me the figure?”

“If money isn’t a concern-”

“It isn’t.”

“In that case, I should be able to obtain the amount within a day or two at most.” 

“Excellent,” Brendon said, rising from his chair and extending his hand.  “I shall expect to hear from you soon.”

Leaving Mr. Watson’s office a few moments later, Brendon felt a tremendous sense of relief, for he had set the wheels in motion, now he need only be patient until he had the information he needed.

Meanwhile, he needed something to occupy his thoughts as well as his time.  “Take me to the wharf,” he instructed his driver.  Two of his ships were presently in port and he needed to speak with their respective captains before they loaded their cargo and set sail once again.

The following afternoon Brendon was seated at his desk looking over a handful of shipping manifests when his butler appeared at the door.  “What is it?” he asked, looking up from the document he was presently reviewing.

“Excuse me, my lord, but there is a Mr. Stanley Watson here to see you,” he announced.

“Send him in,” he replied, setting the slip of paper onto his desk.

Moments later Mr. Watson entered the room, a genial expression upon his face.

“Please close the door,” Brendon instructed the butler, as he rose to greet his guest.  “Good morning, Mr. Watson,” he said, stepping forward to shake the man’s hand. 

“Good morning, my lord.”

“Please, have a seat,” he said, motioning to one of the high-backed chairs positioned in front of his desk, before returning to his own chair.

“I made the inquiries you requested,” Mr. Watson began as Brendon regarded him from behind the desk, “and I believe the information that I have acquired may surprise you.”

“How so?”

“Lord Huxley
has
no outstanding debts.”

Brendon’s brows drew together in confusion.  “No outstanding debts?”

“No, my lord.  He
had
amassed a significant debt, accruing markers at numerous establishments in excess of ninety-thousand pounds, but they have all been paid in full.”

Ninety-thousand pounds. 
Good lord, Thomas was in even deeper than he’d thought.
 
“Paid by whom?”

“An anonymous benefactor, or so I was told initially,” Mr. Watson stated.  “At each establishment the payment of Lord Huxley’s debt was arranged by an independent third-party.”

Interesting, Brendon mused.  So whoever had arranged to pay off Thomas’ debts hadn’t wanted his identity made known.  “I see.”  He leaned forward in his chair, regarding Mr. Watson intently.  “And were you able to discover the identity of this
anonymous
benefactor?”

“It took a bit of doing, but yes, as a matter of fact I was,” Mr. Watson replied with a nod and a small, self-satisfied smile.

“And?”

“The debts were paid by Edward Duntton, the Earl of Blackburn.”

“Blackburn,” he uttered in surprise, recalling Daphne’s words the night of Ashleigh’s dinner party.  “
I have agreed to marry a man I despise, a man old enough to be my grandfather.”
  Good lord, it all was all beginning to make sense now, for there could only be one reason the earl would have purchased Thomas’ markers, the miserable bastard wanted Daphne and he’d used Thomas’ debt to force her into accepting his proposal.  Christ, no wonder she was so opposed to the match, he thought in disgust, cursing Blackburn’s detestable soul. 

“Thank you, Mr. Watson,” he said then, struggling to control his mounting anger as he turned his attention back to the investigator.  “Your efforts are much appreciated, as always.”

“I’m glad I could be of service,” the older man responded graciously.  “Is there anything else you might require of me at this time?”

“Yes,” Brendon said after a moment, “as a matter of fact I believe there is.”  And over the course of the next several minutes, he outlined exactly what that was.

*****

“Like this?” Charlotte asked, holding up her small embroidery hoop for Daphne’s inspection.

Examining the stitches her sister had just completed, Daphne nodded approvingly.  “Yes, that’s perfect.  You’re doing a beautiful job.”

Charlotte beamed at the compliment and then promptly returned the hoop to her lap to begin the next set of stitches on the handkerchief she was embroidering for her art instructor, Miss Felton’s upcoming birthday.

“Excuse me, my lady.”

Daphne looked up to see Ned, one of their young footmen, standing in the door of the salon.  “Yes, Ned?”

“Forgive me for interrupting,” he said, glancing toward Charlotte, “but Lord Huxley is requesting your presence in his study.”

Daphne tensed, for whenever Thomas summoned her to his study it was rarely to discuss something pleasant.  “Is he alone?”

“No, my lady.  The Earl of Blackburn is with him.”

“I see,” she replied.  “Thank you, Ned.  I’ll be along momentarily.” 

She turned to Charlotte then, smiling reassuringly as she set her own embroidery hoop aside.  “Keep working on the flower, dearest, I’ll return shortly.”

Rising to her feet, she left the salon and headed in the direction of her brother’s study.  Having returned from Newmarket just three days earlier, she’d been existing in a state of suspended bliss, relishing the lingering afterglow of her time with Brendon.  But now, as she made her way down the hall, she feared that her temporary escape from reality had finally come to an end.

Approaching the closed door of the study just a few minutes later, Daphne felt her stomach muscles tighten in apprehension.  Knocking softly, she waited until Thomas called out for her to enter and then turned the handle and stepped inside.  

Both Thomas and the earl rose to their feet as she entered the room.  “Good afternoon, my lord,” she said to the earl, before turning her gaze to Thomas.  “You wished to see me?”

Thomas nodded.  “Close the door and take a seat, Daphne,” he directed, motioning toward the leather sofa.

She glanced briefly toward the earl, a sense of impending doom gripping her as she noted his rather smug expression.  Silently she moved to the sofa and sat down while Thomas resumed his seat behind the desk.  The earl then joined her on the sofa, taking the seat next to her.

“As I just informed your brother, I have decided that it is time our engagement was officially announced,” Blackburn stated, eyeing Daphne with a self-satisfied smile.

She felt her stomach drop.  “I see.”

“The banns will be posted in next week’s paper and the wedding held in two months’ time.”

“Two months?” Daphne repeated in surprise.  “My lord, I’m not sure that I-”

“My cousin, Ophelia, Lady Saxton will be arriving from Bristol later this week to help you with the wedding plans,” he interrupted.  “As she has seen three daughters successfully wed, I have every confidence that the two of you can have all of the necessary arrangements made within the time allotted,” he continued, his unyielding tone brooking no argument.

As such, Daphne could do naught but agree.  “Yes, well then, I’m sure that we can manage.”

“In addition, and in lieu of the imminent announcement of our engagement, you and I shall be making at least two public appearances together in the days ahead.  To start with, we shall be attending the opera together tomorrow night and the theater on Monday evening.  If you have made any prior engagements, I suggest you send your regrets.”

“As you wish, my lord.”

“Excellent.  It’s settled then.”  Rising to his feet, Blackburn extended his hand to her.

Taking it, Daphne stood up, silently praying that her legs didn’t give way beneath her.

“I’ll be by to collect you tomorrow night at eight o’clock sharp.”  Raising her hand, he lifted it to his mouth, placing a moist kiss upon the backs of her fingers. “Until then, my dear.”

Her stomach roiled.  “Until then.”

Releasing her hand, he turned to Thomas.  “Good day, Huxley,” he said with a brief nod. 

Thomas immediately rose to his feet.

“No need to see me out,” Blackburn stated.  “I shall see myself to the door.” 

Daphne stood motionless as the earl exited the room, listening as the sound of his heels tapping against the marble floor grew ever fainter as he made his way to the front door.  When she could hear them no more, she turned to her brother.  He regarded her in silence, his expression devoid of emotion.  It hardly mattered, she supposed, for truth be told there was nothing left to say.  “If you’ll excuse me, Charlotte is awaiting my return.”

“Is everything alright?” Charlotte asked when Daphne reentered the salon a few minutes later.

“Yes, dearest, everything’s fine,” she said as she resumed her seat and took up her embroidery hoop once again.  Sadly she knew that she would soon have to tell her sister about her upcoming marriage to the earl, but now wasn’t the time.  Besides, she still needed to decide what to do about Charlotte once she was officially wed.  Would her sister remain with Thomas after she married Blackburn or would Charlotte come to live with her and the earl?  Would the earl even allow it?  Then again, she wasn’t entirely certain that she wanted Charlotte residing under the same roof as Blackburn.  Regardless, it was something that she needed to figure out, and sooner rather than later.

“I finished the first rose while you were gone,” Charlotte said proudly, holding the linen handkerchief aloft for Daphne to see.

“It’s lovely.”

“Shall I begin working on the second one now?”

Daphne nodded.  “At this rate you shall have the entire bouquet finished in no time.”

Charlotte grinned as she returned the linen square to her lap and then promptly began working on the outline of the second rose.

With her sister’s attention diverted, Daphne leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes, silently willing herself the strength she needed to let go of the past, accept the future and all that it entailed.