Flinging aside the sheets and blankets, he swung his legs over the side of the mattress and stood. Just as quick, he landed back in the four-poster. On his second try, he moved slow and steady. Still wearing his breeches from the previous evening, he staggered into the dressing room and located a robe.
Draped in black satin, he cinched the belt at his waist and ambled from the chamber. In the hall, he gathered his bearings and strolled to the wing in which Daphne had been accommodated. At her door, he considered knocking, but if she slept, he did want to disturb her. So he turned the knob and peeked into the dark quarter.
The sitting room boasted a wide expanse of windows, which shielded the open portal to the inner boudoir. As he neared, he spied Rebecca.
“Dalton, what are you doing here? Dr. Meade gave explicit instructions, and you were not to be about so soon.” His sister-in-law vacated a bedside chair and rushed forward. “Are you all right? You gave us a terrible scare.”
“I am quite well.” He shuffled his feet. “Daresay the worst injury is to my pride. May I have a moment with Daphne?”
“Of course, as she is your wife.” Rebecca patted his cheek. “I will wait in the hall, to give you privacy, but I would caution you not to wake her, as she drifted off just as the sun rose above the horizon. She cried for hours, Dalton.”
“I promise, I will not disturb her.” The fact that he had reduced his new bride to tears tore at his gut. As he gazed upon her still form, with her angelic features sublime in repose, he noted the swelling about her face and her red nose, and he cursed himself. How ironic was it that a provincial virgin had capsized one of the most notorious rakes in London? “Worry not, sweetheart. Everything will work out, in the end, because fate favors the lucky.”
#
Four days later, beneath the shimmering sun on a warm June morning, after her family had announced the governor’s untimely demise from an infectious fever, Daphne stood at graveside in Portsea and let loose the grief, so long locked deep inside, and it flowed as the incoming tide. No, her father had not been a very good man, but he was her sire nonetheless, and so she had ached to honor his memory. Garbed in the somber black attire of mourning, she flung a single rose atop his grave, above which Hicks and Dalton had broken the earth, to give the allusion of a fresh dug resting place. So paradoxical an end it was, that her father would remain at her mother’s side, for all eternity, in death, when in life he had scarcely regarded her.
Owing to a fear of contagion, she had not permitted the governor’s casket to lie in state at Courtenay Hall. The locals commended her, for her customary prudence in such matters, and so they abided and respected her request to gather on a nearby rise, while the immediate relations congregated in the fenced plot, and the hastily sketched ruse played its final act.
How different it was from the original midnight internment, five months ago, in the glow of a full moon, after Hicks and Robert had constructed a modest wooden coffin, with only Richard and Mrs. Jones for company. Now, Daphne leaned on her husband and wept, without shame, as the others had retired to the house, in preparation for an afternoon visitation.
“It is done, darling.” Cradling her head, Dalton hugged her close. “For all intents and purposes, he is safely in the ground. You need carry this burden no more.”
“I can hardly believe it is over.” When he pulled her fully against his chest, she broke.
For a while, he simply held her, as she lamented for her parents. But it was the deplorable deterioration of her fledgling marriage that really hurt. She shifted in his grasp and gazed at her mother’s headstone. Friends had always said she was just like mama, and Daphne had considered such praise a high compliment. Given her fractured union, she rued the similarity.
“Oh, Dalton, I am so sorry.” They had barely spoken in the wake of their disastrous wedding night, and she blamed herself for everything that had gone wrong. “I know not what got into me. Can you ever forgive me?”
“Sweetheart, there is nothing to forgive.” Trailing the curve of her cheek with a finger, he bestowed upon her a sweet kiss and then led her from the Harcourt graveyard. Pausing beneath the thick canopy of an old oak tree, he turned and drew her into his embrace. “I owe you an apology, love. As the more experienced party, I should have recognized the extent of your distress and responded as would a gentleman. Instead, I compounded your anxiety, and I assume full responsibility for the resulting fiasco. I let you down, and you are faultless.”
“Do you really mean that?” Though she suspected otherwise, she would not argue with him, as at last they were conversing. “As I never aimed to cause you injury.”
“Evidence to the contrary. Actually, I am quite impressed, as you are a devil of a shot.” Favoring her with his boyish grin, he chuckled. “In future, I should remember that, whenever we have a row, and ensure there are no hairbrushes within reach.”
“Stop it.” Comforted by his jovial demeanor, Daphne sighed in relief. “And regardless of your indulgence, I am ashamed of my behavior. If you wish to try again, I will not fight you.”
“Darling, so much has happened in so little time, and you have every right to feel rushed.” Framing her face, he rubbed his nose to hers and then touched his lips to hers in a whisper of a buss. “When you are ready, come to me. Until then, I will wait.”
“What?” He sounded so methodical—nothing like the flirty knight who claimed her heart. “Do you not want me?”
“Of course, I want you.” She nestled close and inhaled his signature spicy scent. “But I would not hurry you. Let us take a brief respite, spend a few days in Portsea, and dispense with your father’s final affairs. When we return to London, we are booked for dinner with the family, and I received orders to commence transporting wounded soldiers from the Continent, as soon as the Siren is out of dry dock. Given we are officially in mourning, we may forgo the few remaining engagements of the Season and keep to ourselves. Would that please you?”
“I must confess it is my fondest wish.” Save their residence in the city, which she still viewed as his bachelor lodging, and she abhorred it. How many women had he seduced under that roof, she knew not, yet she had not wanted to join their ranks. She wanted to be the one, not the one of many. “Excepting the Brethren, I care not for London society.”
“I believe I figured that out, love.” Shifting her in his hold, he rested his chin atop the crown of her head. “And is there anything I might do to put you at ease, where we are concerned?”
“Are you asking in earnest?” Oh, she hoped so, as she needed his kindness.
“Indeed.” He caressed the small of her back, and she shivered, as he had that effect on her, despite their unpropitious wedding night. “Given we enjoyed a favorable start, I would recover the precious ground we somehow lost.”
“You truly wish to know what attracted me to you?” she inquired, as she toyed with his black armband. “You want to know why I accepted your proposal?”
“You said you love me.” He exhaled audibly. “I suppose that had something to do with it.”
“It was our conversations that caught my attention. Our first, over dinner at the inn, when you detailed the history of the brooch, reigns supreme as a most cherished memory. And then there was our shopping excursion to fill my community pantry, and the day you accompanied me on my charitable visits.” Daphne inched back, adjusted his cravat, and met his stare. “I like how you talk to me, with deference and directness, as an adult. And you cover a wide variety of topics, which is never dull. That is how you won me.”
For a minute, he gazed into her eyes, with a quizzical expression. Then he sobered. “You are serious.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Yes.” That he had ceased their dialogues had stung, and his withdrawal had rendered her confused and second-guessing every move. “And I dearly miss our chats.”
“I am blessed with many skills, but never had I counted verbal exchange among them.” He scratched the back of his neck and frowned, and it
was clear she had stumped him. Could it have been possible that she knew him better than he knew himself? “So you are telling me I have a talented tongue?”
“In more ways than one, sir, but I believe you know that.” Glancing at the family plot, she vowed never to suffer the same fate as her parents. Her marriage would be a success. “And there is something else you could do to allay my trepidation.”
“Name it, sweetheart,” her true knight proclaimed without hesitation.
“From the onset of our acquaintance, we shared some tender moments when we were alone.” She gulped, and her cheeks burned with embarrassment. “But when we journeyed to London, you terminated such solicitous…attentiveness. Do you understand what I am asking?”
“I think I do, but I want to hear you say it.” Now he had the audacity to wink. “So what is it you want from me?”
“I want you to kiss me.” There. She had proclaimed it, loud and clear, in no unmistakable terms. “Your lips present a powerful diversion, such that I can scarcely think, let alone suffer fear or anxiety, and had you applied yourself with diligence the other night, we would have consummated our nuptials.”
“My beautiful wife, the reason I ceased such activity when we ventured to the city was because societal dictates demanded restraint, as we were not wed, and I would not damage your reputation. The provincial Portsea community commanded no similar limitations, and I took liberties, as I could not resist you.” He tipped her chin. “Now we are married, we are free to luxuriate in each other’s company, and the gossipmongers will say we benefit from a felicitous union.”
Before she knew it, Dalton bent his head and set his mouth to hers. Fire ignited from the point of contact, and she delighted in it, as his particular brand of intoxication quelled all distress. Searing heat blazed a path from top to toe, and she relaxed against her husband. In seconds, gone was the cold chill that had pervaded her chest since the disaster at Penhurst, and in its place was only warm contentment.
#
The sun had not yet surpassed the yardarm, when Dalton loitered at the foot of the front entry steps before Courtenay Hall. Checking his pocket watch, he rolled his shoulders, as uncharacteristic and unwelcome nervousness plagued him.
It was only yesterday that he had queried Mrs. Jones and Hicks, regarding his wife’s usual habits, and had learned of her morning walks along the beach. As if on cue, the front door opened, and Daphne emerged. When she spied him, she halted.
“Dalton, what are you doing up and about, at this early hour?” Gowned in a heavy black mourning creation, which still set his blood boiling, she bestowed upon him a glowing smile.
“Good morning, love.” Recalling her sweet confession beneath the oak tree, he charged if only to hold her. With his arms about her waist, he hugged his wife and then claimed her mouth. Had he known of the power his kisses wielded over his backwater bride, he would have engaged in all manner of questionable clinches with his angel, prior to their nuptials.
With unmasked enthusiasm, she moaned, as he suckled her little pink tongue, and his loins went up in flames, despite his crude handiwork, to which he had resorted in the wee hours. Again and again, he nibbled her succulent flesh, as he remained on guard for the minutest amount of fear. When she speared her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, pulse points blazed to life, and every muscle tensed, as never had he desired any woman as he desired Daphne.
“Oh, dear.” Gasping for breath, she nuzzled his chest. “Perhaps I should not have apprised you of your singular appeal, as someone might see us.”
“Relax, darling.” How quickly she reverted to his naïve provincial. “Remember, we are married, so our behavior is state-sanctioned. But my plan was to join you for your customary stroll, not to ravish you, though I am at your service, if you choose otherwise.”
“Well, I cannot complain, as I wedded a rake.” Though she giggled, it was high-pitched, and her subtle flinch betrayed an inner turmoil, so he withdrew before she conked his noggin.
“Former rake.” He arched a brow. “As I belong to you, now.”
“And I am yours.” With a girlish squeal, she jumped and smacked her lips to his. Then she grabbed his wrist and yanked him to the driveway. “Hurry, as June is the perfect month to collect wildflowers on Portsea.”
“I did not know you collected wildflowers.” He marked that for future reference. “What do you do with them?”
“Mama taught me to press and frame them.” Marching forth, as a woman on a mission, Daphne led him to a narrow path amid the tall grass. “I want to find some nice specimens, to make gifts for the Brethren ladies.”
“How very thoughtful of you, my angel.” All of a sudden, she halted, and he almost knocked her to the ground.
“Is that your pet name for me?” Without warning, she whirled about and cast him an expression of hopefulness. “As I have always wanted one.”
“It is, indeed.” Given her parents’ unhappy union, he guessed her query disclosed a real concern in that respect, and he understood her apprehension. “Do you recall our initial meeting, in the study at Courtenay Hall? You wore a pale yellow dress, with your blonde curls fashioned as a crown, of sorts, and when you stood by the window, the sunlight caught your hair, and it appeared as a halo.”
“You recount so much detail.” Emanating unutterable joy, she bared her teeth as she smiled, and he found her enchanting. “Was that instance so special?”
“It was life-changing.” How he loved it when she bounced. “Because that was the first time I set eyes on my future wife.”
“Oh, Dalton.” When she came at him, he could have cried. Framing his face, she offered her rosy lips, and he took what she gave—but no more, as he would not frighten her. But, God, she was delicious, and he was hungry.
As the situation spiraled out of control, and Daphne’s maidenhead hung in a fragile balance, Dalton broke their kiss and set her at arm’s length. “Easy, angel, else you will lift your ankles for me right here.”
“Did I do something wrong?” She snuggled to his side, and he marveled at her innocence.
“No, love.” Oh, she had done everything right, the marauder below his belly button poised for attack, and Dalton would have to deploy four fingers and a thumb upon return to the estate house. At that rate, he would develop calluses. “But let us continue on your search, as I see a cluster of blooms near the bend.”
“That is a perfect yellow horned poppy.” How fast she shifted directions, as she ran down the verge. “I will need several more, but this is an excellent start.”
“What about the pink thatch by the large rocks?” He pointed to the west. “Over there.”
“Upon my word, but you have a keen eye.” After making her selection, which she spread atop her handkerchief, she jumped to her feet and sprinted to the next target. “This is red valerian, and it is my favorite.”
“I should make note and present it to you, often.” And then something occurred to him, and he asked, “Did you save any of the roses I gave you?”
“Every one of them.” With her back to him, she had missed his shudder of shock. “And I would prefer you pick the wildflowers, as they are far more colorful than the hothouse varieties.”
“Wait a minute.” He stretched upright. “You kept all of them?”
“Why would I not?” She shrugged. “In fact, the two dozen that decorated the table for our dinner at the inn is now framed, and the complete set graces a wall in my bedchamber.” To his surprise, she turned and glanced at him, and her welling tears gave him pause for reflection. “When I pressed the buds, I had thought, at some point, they would be all that remained of you in my life, and I dreaded that day.”
“Daphne.” He spread wide his arms and exhaled in relief, when she came straight to him. “You humble me, angel. I had no idea how much my simple display of affection meant to you, but I will never forget.”
“May I make a confession?” She sniffed. “My greatest cause for concern is that I might suffer my
mother’s ill fortune. To my knowledge, her father negotiated her marriage contract, including a healthy dowry, to give her social standing, as my sire was destined to assume the governorship. Love never entered the equation. And were it not for my engaged affection, I would have rejected your proposal.”
“In good faith, I should admit your concern was no secret.” But her spontaneous admission inspired the strange but not unpleasant response he had come to expect. Looking inward, he searched his soul. What he discovered remained shrouded amid a nebulous haze of indecision, so he let it go for the moment. “Fret not, angel. Despite our dubious beginning, we will sort it out, as all Brethren marry for love.”
“Do you know—yet?” she asked in a small voice.
“No.” But it physically hurt him to acknowledge it.
“Then let us continue our walk.” With that, she pushed free, retrieved her handkerchief with the floral booty, and resumed her search.
For the ensuing hour, Dalton escorted his bride along the dunes, until they neared the coastline, when she shed her slippers and hosiery to stroll at water’s edge. After numerous pleas, which he pretended to disregard, because he adored her entreaties, she persuaded him to doff his boots, and they frolicked in the ebb and flow of the ocean.
When a rather loud grumble announced her hunger in less than graceful fashion, he could not help but laugh. “My angel, let us return to Courtenay Hall, as we have yet to break our fast, and it sounds as if you require sustenance.”
“Might I prevail upon you to forgo the dining room and partake of your meal in my sitting room?” With their clothes righted, they climbed the dune, and she took his hand. “I have so relished your company that I am loathe to share you with anyone.”
“What a wonderful idea, and I like the way you think.” In play as his mood was light, he patted her bottom, and she favored him with a coquettish giggle. “I shall make you a bargain. You tend your bounty, I will order our repast, and we can meet in your quarters in forty-five minutes.”
“My one true knight, I shall await your arrival with baited breath.” In the courtyard, she hiked her skirts and broke into a run. As she skipped up the entrance stairs, he caught a glimpse of her shapely calves and salivated.
Brethren of the Coast Box Set 2 Page 81
