A Fragile Chain of Daisies: Flowers of the Aristocracy (Untamed Regency Book 4)

by Jackie Williams

  Eying her warily, Pierce poured them both another. But the brandy did taste good. And there was no denying that it warmed one through. Which reminded him that he still stood in his saturated clothes. He struggled out of his own wet jacket at last and hung it over a stool before coming back to pick up his glass again and stand by the fire.

  He picked up a poker and prodded the burning logs only glancing up as Daisy let out a snorting giggle.

  “What now?”

  She pointed at his own damp and now transparent white shirt.

  “You have hair on your chest! Last time I saw you naked, your chest was as smooth as my own.”

  Pierce felt the flush rise in his cheeks at her boldness, though he really should have known. She had never been shy in the past, there was no reason for her to have changed.

  “The last and only time you saw my naked chest was when I was about sixteen, and you were at a distance of more than twenty feet. Upwards, in that damned oak tree. Besides, I wasn’t naked anyway. I clearly recall wearing breeches while Lucas and I wrestled.”

  Daisy giggled again.

  “But you weren’t wearing them when you used to go swimming in the lake.” She gave a superior grin.

  Pierce choked on his brandy and spluttered out his words.

  “Wh... What! By heavens! You spied on us at the lake?” Curiosity be damned! She was too bold by far.

  Daisy laughed loudly at his shocked expression.

  “Of coursh! How elshe, er?” She stopped to cleared her throat and her mind before she began again. “I mean, how else was a girl to know how boys pee’d standing up?” She waved her empty glass about as she emphasised her words with her hands.

  “Good God, woman! Have you no shame?” Pierce poured himself more brandy and had already swallowed it down before another thought suddenly struck him. “Hang on! How did you know that boys pee standing up?”

  Daisy wobbled across the room, grabbed the bottle, and sloshed a good measure of the brandy into her own glass.

  “Felicity told Sophia, Clara and I that her brother Brendon did it. That apparently all men did it that way. Naturally I had to find out if she was telling the truth. So I hid in Lucas’ room to see if he did it too. I cannot tell you how impressed I was, but from the angle of my position beneath the bed, and his in front of his pot, I couldn’t see exactly how he had done it, or of what equipment he used.”

  “EQUIPMENT!” Pierce barked out a laugh. “Never heard it called that before.”

  “Well, whatever...” She waved her hand again. Brandy slopped from her glass. She drank what remained before she continued. “I couldn’t be left in ignorance when the other girls knew, so I took the opportunity to find out when Lucas went swimming. But it was at the time of one of the house parties and you just happened to be at the lake too.”

  Pierce wiped his brow. He had gone from chilled to the bone to burning hot.

  “Ah...” He couldn’t think of another thing to say, but he didn’t need to. Daisy carried on as she poured yet another brandy into her glass.

  “Felicity called Brendon’s a Percy pointer.” She wiggled her finger at him to demonstrate. “And Clara called Bertie’s a Timmy tinkler. I called Lucas’ a Danny dribbler.”

  Pierce burst out laughing.

  “A Danny dribbler!” He couldn’t resist. “And what did you call mine?” He had to know.

  Daisy sniggered into her glass.

  “Well, yours was so different from the rest. Yours didn’t droop like the others. I clearly remember it standing upright as you stood by the side of the lake. The pee went a goodly distance in a huge arc into the water. It sent splashes everywhere. So I called yours a Freddie Fountain.” She lifted her chin proudly.

  Pierce didn’t know whether to be appalled or flattered as he suddenly remembered the incident at the secluded spot on the lake. He and Lucas had been talking about women. Their friend Algernon Barclay had been regaling Lucas and himself with all the lurid, but thoroughly exciting details, of his first encounter with a woman, only the hour before. A dunk in the lake was the only thing that could cool their overheated teenage minds. But even the chill of the water couldn’t cool Pierce’s own over heated body. He recalled how difficult it had been to actually pee, and Lucas laughing fit to burst when his flow had shot high into the air. A Freddie Fountain indeed!

  But at least he wasn’t a Danny Dribbler. He chuckled as he tipped the last of the bottle into his glass.

  “Good Lord, woman. Finishing school wasn’t nearly enough for you. It’s a wonder that your father didn’t lock you up!”

  Daisy frowned at the empty bottle and bent to look in the cupboard for the other, but her head suddenly felt too heavy. She rested it on the top of the cupboard and turned to look sideways at Pierce.

  “I was so jealous. To be able to aim with some amount of accuracy. Without having to manage so many layers of petticoats and skirts. It’s so convenient. I wanted to pee with such nonchalance. A quick adjustment to ones trousers and you are done.” She tried to lift her head but her cheek appeared to have become stuck to the furniture. She gave up the effort, yawned, and closed her eyes.

  “And you want to sleep standing up too?” He put his glass on the table, and walked towards her.

  “Didn’t sleep last night. Kept dreaming...” Her voice faded as her feet shifted. She braced her knees, but they sagged again quickly.

  Pierce caught her about the waist as her legs buckled.

  “Dreaming of what?”

  She opened one eye and blearily looked him up and down.

  “Tight jackets, especially yours,” she mumbled.

  Pierce chuckled.

  “Really? I think the brandy has gone straight to your head.” He could believe it. With the lack of any breakfast and the warmth of the now glowing fire, his own head felt more than a little fuzzy. He picked her up and staggered towards the bed.

  Daisy’s head lolled against his shoulder, her eyes wide as she looked up at him.

  “I, I never had it before.”

  He laughed gently at her.

  “What? A tight jacket?”

  Her head rolled about.

  “No, silly! Brandy.”

  Pierce stared at her.

  “What? Never? Surely you jest.” He glanced back at the empty bottle. How much had she drunk? Clearly far too much.

  Her head rolled about again.

  “No. I don’t drink at all. Not schlince my coming out. Terrible headache. Felt ill for d...d...days.” She yawned and sighed loudly.

  Pierce sat down with her on his lap and cursed under his breath. What had he been thinking giving it to her? And why had she drunk so much if her experience of alcohol was so limited.

  “You should have told me. Brandy is a lot stronger than wine.”

  She grinned and snuggled against him.

  “It tastes snice. And it makes my insides warm. Like you do.”

  “Like I do?” His heart began to race. “I make you warm?”

  She looked as though she might nod, but her head suddenly wobbled and fell back over the crook of his arm. Her eyes closed again.

  “So tired. Just need to schleep for a while.” She avoided his question and let out a snore.

  Pierce stared down at her and gave her a gentle shake. The snoring stopped for a breath before becoming more regular again. Good grief! Had she just passed out? He swivelled around to the side, lay her on the old blankets, and stared at her. She snored again. Definitely out for a while. He looked down her body and eyed her wet boots. A damp patch began to spread across the blankets. They had to come off. He tugged them from her feet and dropped them on the floor before looking at her again. Her fine linen shirt had begun to dry in the heat from the fire, but her thicker breeches remained more than a little soggy. She should take them off too or she would dampen the bed and take a chill.

  “Daisy?” He gave her another gentle shake. She grunted and then snored some more. “Daisy! Your clothes are soaked.” He spoke more l
oudly but her eyes remained closed. There was no waking her.

  Making the decision for her own good, he pulled a blanket across her for modesty’s sake, then he reached beneath and fumbled with her trouser fastenings before peeling the wet fabric from her slender legs. His fingertips brushed over silky skin, but he resisted the surge of desire that hit him, and steeled what little resolve he had left. She was drunk. She didn’t know what she had said. Didn’t know what she did to him. She wasn’t aware that her velvet skin tormented him, that her flushed cheeks begged his caress.

  He stood up quickly and hung her breeches over the end of the table before chucking another log on the fire. The wood crackled in the hearth and sparks shot up the chimney before settling again. Pierce listened to the sounds around him. Though the thunder and lightning appeared to have passed, the heavy rain still splattered on the roof. Daisy continued to snore softly.

  He smiled as she lay there, still damp hair all of a tumble across the pillow. Wild, abandoned. He knew he should go and bring a carriage, find someone to help, but everyone probably knew where she would make for if caught out in such a storm. They would either wait for her to return of her own accord, or come with a carriage when the storm had abated. Besides, it was probably best if she stayed here a while. He couldn’t let anyone see her drunk. And he couldn’t leave her alone in case the fire went out and she became cold again. There was nothing for it but to remain there with her.

  He yawned in the glow of warmth from the fire and grabbed a second bottle of brandy from the cupboard before settling on the edge of the bed. She had curled away from him, taking the blanket with her. Her hand clutched the covers to her chest, but her back remained exposed. The shirt had ridden up with her movements, leaving her delightfully round bottom revealed.

  Pierce rolled his eyes and groaned. Couldn’t she have worn undergarments? Probably not given the tightness of her riding attire. He tugged the shirt down and dragged the blanket back over her while forcing himself to think of her dead husband and the baby she carried.

  Sick with despondency, he cracked open the second brandy bottle and poured another good measure. Blast it all!” Why was he given a second chance now, when it was all but impossible? Lord knew that he had allowed himself to hope as he lay in his stable bed the previous night. But in the harsh light of day he could see the truth for what it was. Even if she wanted him, not that she had given him any encouragement to pledge his suite, it would be impossible. Either the murder charge, or her mother in law would see to that.

  He glanced out of the window. The rain still poured. His head thumped and he felt bone weary with it all. He simply needed to concentrate on clearing his name, nothing more. Finishing his drink, he sighed and, recalling what had happened the last time he drank too much, he put the stopper back in the bottle. Enough was enough. He had learned that lesson before.

  He stood to put the bottle back in the cupboard. His feet squelched in his boots. The leather would be ruined if he couldn’t dry them. Sitting back on the side of the bed, he dragged them and his sodden socks from his feet. He gazed at the fire and wriggled his toes in the heat as he yawned widely. The room was warming nicely. And he was so very tired.

  Chapter Twelve

  Confession and Convention

  Wild curls tickled his nose. They smelled of orange blossom and morning dew on a sunny spring day. He wanted to bathe in the scent, wanted to run his fingers through that wonderful hair. Any second now she would turn to him, her luscious breasts brushing against his chest. His hands would slide down her back, past the tantalizing dip in her spine, gliding over the flare of her hips and full globes of her bottom. Huge blue eyes would blink up at him, her lips would part on a sigh of desire. And he would devour her, ravish her, make her his until she screamed out his name and he could give her no more. And then, while their heated breaths slowed and their hearts beat as one, she would smile with contentment, snuggle closer and whisper in his ear...

  “Pierce, I am going to be sick.”

  No! She wouldn’t say that, his manly ego protested. She would say...

  “If you don’t move right now I am going to vomit in the bed.”

  No! That was all wrong too. She would whisper...

  “For goodness sake!”

  What? A small palm touched his chest before soft thighs straddled him.

  “Mmmm!” This was more like it! And then disappointment filled him, for they were suddenly gone.

  The sound of retching woke him. He stared up at the ceiling, wondering where on earth he was before he suddenly remembered the storm, the lightning, the cottage.

  And Daisy lying beside him in the bed.

  He turned his head. The pillow was empty. No wild curls tickled his nose. No warm, sated woman lay curled next to him. There was just a cold, empty bed. Which was probably just as well given the sounds he could hear.

  He sat up and looked around, and for a moment Pierce thought he might still be dreaming. All he could see were yards of long, slender, and very naked legs. The curve of her bottom peeped out from below the white shirt sending his blood racing south. Until the frightful sound came again.

  All thoughts of his own desires forgotten, he swung his legs out of the bed and padded towards her. The cottage window was flung open and Daisy hung her head outside as her stomach heaved. Pierce caught hold of her hair just in time and wound it into a braid.

  “Better?” He asked, when she came up for air. He opened his arms, thinking that she would fall gratefully into them. But Daisy had never been one to do the expected.

  She turned on him, eyes glaring, finger pointing accusingly, but she didn’t get out a single word before her face paled again and she spun back to the still open window. Another bout of heaving ensued and Pierce stood patiently waiting for her to be done.

  “Never again!” She cried out at last as she pressed her hands to the side of her head. “I swear to God I will never drink a drop of alcohol again.”

  Pierce laughed as he led her back to the bed.

  “Everyone says that. Until the next time, though I confess that making brandy your tipple of choice might not have been the wisest idea.”

  Daisy fell back onto the pillows and covered her eyes with her forearm.

  “Everything hurts! This is so your fault!” She accused.

  He sat down beside her and held up his hands in self defence.

  “Oh no! You are not blaming me for this. I clearly remember advising restraint. It was you who demanded I give you another. As an adult you have to take responsibility for your own actions.”

  “And so you will! The pair of you.” A shocked voice came from the doorway as a pale Lady Caruthers stepped over the threshold, followed by the Dowager Duchess, Mary, Andrews, and Armstrong.

  Pierce shot up from the bed and flung the blankets over Daisy’s bare legs. He stared back at the five pairs of accusing eyes.

  “This is not what you think. We were caught in the storm.” He might as well have been talking to the wall.

  “You were caught, all right!” Jane Benedict swept into the room and glared at Daisy. “How could you! My son is barely cold in the ground and you are discovered in flagranté. With the footman, no less!

  Daisy groaned and pulled a pillow over her head.

  “Will everyone go away and let me die in peace.”

  Pierce ushered the gawping servants back out of the cottage and closed the door behind them as Lady Caruthers gasped and hurried past the Dowager Duchess.

  “You are dying? Daisy? What happened? Did you fall from your horse?” Her questions came quickly as she sat on the bed and leaned over her daughter, pulling the pillow away from Daisy’s face.

  Daisy groaned again and squeezed her eyes shut.

  “No mother. Not actually dying. Though I feel that would be the lesser of the evils right now. We were simply drinking brandy to try and warm up.”

  The Dowager gasped.

  “Drinking! And fornicating! Is there no end to your deprav
ity? And in your condition!”

  Daisy would have rolled her eyes, but she hurt too much for even that miniscule movement. Instead, her head flopped to the side and she glared at the woman.

  “What condition! There is no bloody condition. I’m not pregnant. There is no possible heir.”

  Pierce felt the blood drain from his face.

  “There isn’t?”

  Daisy shook her head and regretted it and her ill thought words instantly.

  “Argh! No. Definitely not.” Oh God! What had she said? She couldn’t think clearly.

  “But everyone said that you were.” Pierce recalled the servants in London and here on the estate. He had even heard the Dowager demanding a son. “And you have been tired. And you felt sick! Don’t deny it. She said that she was about to be sick after she fainted in my arms yesterday morning. Isn’t that all proof of pregnancy?” He demanded of both the older women in the room who immediately nodded.

  “Indeed.” The Dowager agreed. “Though what she was doing fainting in your arms, I have no idea.”

  “But they are symptoms of pregnancy, are they not?” Pierce asked while deliberately ignoring her other comments.

  The woman sighed deeply.

  “When I was in the first months of pregnancy, I was violently sick until I broke my fast. And then I could barely lift a finger all day,” she reminisced before frowning down at the lumpy shape in the bed. “You are clearly suffering the same symptoms, Daisy.” Her chins wobbled as she nodded as if agreeing with herself.

  “And I fainted several times. With both Lucas and Daisy.” Lady Caruthers added. “Daisy’s father was forever picking me up from the floor.”

  Daisy groaned again. Would they please stop talking! Her mind wasn’t functioning properly, but it was already too late, she couldn’t take the confession back.

  “I don’t care if I have been tired or feeling sick, or faint, though that was only the one time, and you had just given me the shock of my life.” She accused as she pointed a finger at Pierce. “I’ve been through hell these last few weeks, but I can say with absolute confidence that I am not carrying a child.”