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A ray of shimmering sunlight peeked through the heavy drapes, as Daphne rubbed her eyes and sat upright. Clutching the sheet to her chest, she glanced at the left side of the four-poster and discovered her husband gone. Naked, she shimmied to the floor and winced, as she ached in places she had never known she could ache. Then she walked to the washstand.
After scrubbing her face and cleaning her teeth, she strolled to the window and peered at the world beyond the glass. The sky boasted a brilliant cerulean backdrop dotted with puffy white clouds. And then memories and bits of time flashed in her brain. Bodies bumped and ground, hands caressed, lips met, and tongues tasted, accompanied by a heady concert of Dalton’s husky grunts and groans and her feminine pants and sighs. Revisiting cherished memories of all her husband had done to her, all he had given her, she hugged herself and smiled.
“Good morning, my gorgeous wife.” She started and whirled about, just as her husband, bare-footed and wearing only his breeches and a navy silk robe, rolled a trolley into the room. “And it is a very good morning, indeed. Hungry?”
“Starving.” Prior to last night, she would have been distressed, to say the least, by her state of utter nudity, but her knight had made it clear he preferred her sans clothing. And the heat of his stare, even now, galvanized her courage, and she thrilled to the power she wielded over him. “What is for breakfast?”
“You mean lunch?” He lifted the silver domed covers, to reveal slices of ham, gooseberry cheese, Bath buns, black butter, and white grapes. “It is almost two, my sleeping beauty.”
“What?” She returned to the bed, as he prepared a tray with two plates. “I have never slept so late. Then again, we were awake for the better portion of the night, engaging in your favorite activity.”
“And I intend to lock you in here, today, as I have yet to sate my senses with you.” He poured a cup of tea, served her, and then sketched a bow. “So eat your fill, as you need to replenish your strength.”
“You are shameless.” Her pronouncement might have been convincing had she managed to stifle her grin.
“That is not what you said last night.” Dalton swaggered to his side of the bed, stripped from his robe and breeches, and joined her. With a quick swipe, he nabbed a plump grape, bit it in half, and offered the juicy morsel to her with his lips. Of course, the simple gesture soon spiraled out of control, as he kissed her—and kept kissing her. And then her belly grumbled. “Bloody hell, it sounds as if you swallowed a monster.”
“I did, in the wee hours, with your precipitate tutelage.” And in the heat of the moment, she had forgot Sabrina’s instruction, using a rather large banana, and had scraped his stout pirate with her teeth. That had brought their close action to an abrupt halt, but he had compensated admirably, with a rapidly deployed diversion. Despite efforts to the contrary, Daphne giggled. “I hope I did not cause permanent damage.”
“Not at all, as I am rock-solid whenever you are within reach.” He tempted her with a bite of ham. “And to show you I hold no grudge, we can attempt another lesson, after we eat.”
She cooed. “How magnanimous you are, my handsome husband.”
“Sweetheart, you have no idea. And I intend to be generous with my knowledge and expertise, well into the evening.” Waggling his brows, he smeared strawberry jam over her nipple and proceeded to lick her clean. “While I am loathe to spoil our wonderful meal, I must apprise you of the arrangements I have made on our behalf.”
“Oh?” She returned her cup to the saucer. “What manner of naughty business have you been about?”
Dalton opened and then closed his mouth. “My saucy wife, I like the way you think. But I am in earnest, as I would keep you safe from harm, and we have yet to identify the blackguard threatening you.”
“I am so sorry.” The ugly reality of her predicament intruded on their sanctuary, and her appetite waned in an instant. “Would you think me silly if I said I wished we could stay here, in your private apartment, forever?”
“On the contrary, I find you unutterably alluring and winsome.” He fed her a nibble of bread. “And it is all I can do to grant you a brief respite, as making love to you is my new favorite pastime. With the goal of increasing my proficiency in said hobby, I directed my solicitor to sell the townhouse, and I engaged a broker to help you select our next residence, as I will purchase nothing that makes you unhappy.”
“But what of you?” Given the significance of his gift, her heart sang. “Have you no requirements? And where shall we stay, in the meantime, as it could take weeks to find a new home.”
“I have but one demand, my angel.” Grasping her wrist, he drew her hand beneath the covers, whereupon she found him hot and hard. “We will share a master suite. However, if your choice does not meet my stipulation, we will hire a contractor to make the necessary renovations, if you approve. And Dirk and Rebecca have invited us to remain at Randolph House until we locate a suitable property.”
“Then everything is settled.” Daphne pulled free, pushed back the counterpane, lifted the tray, and conveyed it to the trolley. Then she paused, glanced at her gallant knight, and retrieved the porcelain jam pot. Driven by boldness learned in his ardent embrace, she returned to the bed and scooted next to her husband.
“What have you there?” Dalton narrowed his stare, and she lowered her chin and smiled.
Without a word, she shoved aside the sheet, exposing his most elementally male aspect, which no longer frightened her, as she craved the pleasure he brought her. After scooping the thick strawberry compote with a finger, she set the bowl on the side table. Leaning forward, she kissed her man with all she had and for all she was worth. Spreading the tart preserve to his prized protuberance, she whispered against his lips, “Now about that lesson…”
THE LUCKY ONE
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The sun had risen above the yardarm, when Dalton heeled his bay and raced along the sandy track in the park, as excitement surged in his veins. Sweet reflections, spectacular reveries flashed in his mind as a siren’s serenade, and Daphne’s creamy flesh, supple thighs, and luscious lips called to him. But he owed her a respite, however brief, as she had earned it, so he sought distraction. Wild and reckless, he jumped a low-lying hedge and veered toward a copse of oaks. When he spotted a familiar figure, he drew rein, eased his mount to a canter, and steered for the verge.
“Good morning, brother.” He saluted.
“Finally found your way out of your bed, I see.” Dirk shifted in his saddle and clucked his tongue. “Is it safe to presume an annulment is now out of the question?”
“That is putting it mildly.” He snorted. “By God, but Daphne is wondrous, and it is just as you said. The anatomy is the same, yet nothing is as I expected. Somehow, some way, everything is different. What I thought I knew seems altogether foreign, as if I am learning the feminine terrain all over again.”
“As a virgin?” Inclining his head, Dirk snickered. “You are in love.”
“How do you know?” How calm his brother appeared, whereas the prospect bloody well scared Dalton to death. “How can you be certain?”
“How does anyone know anything? I just know.” Dirk shrugged, and it dawned on Dalton that he had said the same thing to Daphne, two nights ago. “Do you doubt it?”
“I am unsure.” And the proposition had kept him awake, long after Daphne had drifted into dreamland. “But she captivates me, brother. She holds my attention, unreservedly, and I find the sensation rather discomposing.”
“You will get used to it—welcome it, even. And where is your fetching bride?” Dirk inquired, arching his brow. “If I may ask?”
“Sleeping the sleep of the sated.” Envisioning her as he had left her, with her hair splayed across her pillow, and her cheek resting to her hand, after he rode her hard and fast, he growled. “And Rebecca?”
“Same, and she is nightmare-free, I am happy to report.” Dirk thrust his chin. “Ah, it is good to be married, is it not?”
“It is more fulfilling than I had imagined, now that I have charted my wife’s pristine waters.” His horse sidled up to Dirk’s stallion, and Dalton stretched his back. “And I am grateful for your advice, because I followed your directives, and you were correct. Whatever I teach her, Daphne accepts it as natural, insofar as I tutor her with unimpaired aplomb, though such lascivious training seems a tad manipulative, given her innocence.”
“But I would argue you do nothing wrong, brother.” With a ghost of a grin, Dirk averted his gaze. “Regardless of who initiates and imparts the instruction, anything you indulge with your mate, in the privacy of your home, is state-sanctioned. You have a license to prove it.”
“True.” But he would wager his elder sibling would think otherwise, were he privy to Dalton’s escapade, in the wee hours. In a flash, he pictured Daphne on her knees, bent over, with her ample derriere in the air, and hugging the cushioned footstool in his sitting room, as he knelt behind her and sailed her back channel for the first time. Anticipating a hailstorm of protestations, he had braced for her reaction as he explained the controversial act, which polite society had deemed anything but polite, yet his provincial bride had assumed the position, sans complaint or question. Her surrender, without hesitation and unutterably arresting, had moved him more than he was willing to admit. With tenderness of which he had not thought himself capable, he had taken her bottom. “And she trusts me, because she loves me.”
In that fraction of a second, he shuddered, as the full import of that statement, haphazardly spoken, hit him in a tidal wave of emotion mixed with conviction, and he gasped for breath. It had not occurred to him what she meant, when she declared herself, as he took her on face value. But the undeniable fact was he owned his wife’s heart, and he vowed, then and there, to gift his, in kind.
“Good morning, gentleman.” Admiral Douglas drew nigh and tipped his hat. To Dalton, the admiral said, “I was on my way to see you, after receiving your summons. My boy, I am more sorry than I can say for your troubles, and I am at your service.”
“Perhaps we should repair to my study.” Dirk checked his pocket watch. “Sir Ross should arrive on the hour.”
“Then let us make haste.” Dalton heeled the flanks of his mount and steered for Randolph House, with Dirk and the admiral in his wake.
“Sir Ross Logan awaits you, in the drawing room, your lordship.” Hughes hurried to collect the outerwear.
“Thank you, Hughes.” Dirk dusted off his lapels and adjusted his cravat. “Will you send for her ladyship and Mrs. Randolph to join us?”
“Right away, your lordship.” Hughes bowed.
“You intend to involve Rebecca in our predicament?” Dalton asked.
“Do you honestly think we can keep it from her?” Venting a snicker of pure skepticism, Dirk rolled his eyes. “You have enough trouble on your hands without angering my viscountess, and despite her departure from espionage, she remains sharp as a tack, and I would make use of her instincts, which is a damn sight smarter than offending her.”
“I beg your pardon, Sir Dalton.” Holding a now familiar envelope, Hughes frowned. The staff had been apprised of the threats to Daphne and, as such, was on full alert. “Your man delivered this message while you were in the park. It was found on your doorstep, early this morning.”
“Bloody everlasting hell.” The addressee and accompanying inscription seemed to mock him, and he snatched the offending letter. “I swear when I discover who is behind this vile business, I will rip the bastard’s throat out with my teeth.”
“Let us confer with the expert, brother.” Dirk chucked Dalton’s shoulder. “And we shall remand the villain to the proper authorities, that your lady might enjoy a measure of justice.”
“I would dispense my own justice.” Rage, compelling and pure, simmered beneath his gentleman’s attire, and he ached to hurt to unknown scoundrel. But when Daphne descended the stairs, gowned in grey silk, with her saffron locks piled in loose curls atop her head, as an angel on high, the emotions wreaking havoc within him pooled in his chest. And an altogether different sensation burned bright as the sun, bathing him in soothing but nonetheless riveting sentiment.
It was at that precise moment that he realized he had spoken the truth to his wife. He loved her. He did not know how he knew it, but no one could convince him otherwise. And at the first opportunity, he would make sure she knew it, too.
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Gathered in the drawing room, with Admiral Douglas, Sir Ross Logan, Dirk, Rebecca, and Dalton, Daphne sat beside her husband on the sofa, as the mysterious head of the Counterintelligence Corps, and Elaine’s secret beau, opened the latest peculiar letter. After unfolding the parchment, which matched the others in her puzzling collection, he scanned the contents, and she held her breath.
“Well, at least now we know what the villain wants, in exchange for not revealing the truth behind your father’s death.” Sir Ross passed the note to Dalton. “Who is aware of the actual circumstances surrounding Governor Harcourt’s demise?”
“At first, only myself, my brothers Robert and Richard, Hicks, and Mrs. Jones.” Daphne searched her memory. “Later, I confessed the sum of the facts to my husband and Dirk.” She peered at the note and gasped in horror. “Five thousand pounds? Where am I to get such funds?”
“Worry not, my angel.” Dalton draped an arm about her shoulders and pulled her close. “It is but a drop in a very large bucket, but it will not come to that, as I will protect you.”
“What of my brothers?” At the mere thought of someone hurting her younger siblings, her gut clenched. “And the only other persons involved are my husband’s family. Surely, you don’t suspect them?”
“I suspect no one and everyone, Mrs. Randolph.” Rubbing his chin, Sir Ross averted his stare, and something in his manner troubled her. “But I think it safe to rule out the relations, which leaves—”
“No.” With clenched fists, she leaped to her feet, and Dalton followed suit and enfolded her in his embrace.
“Daphne, we must leave no stone unturned,” Dalton stated with grim finality.
“And people behave altogether strangely, when money is involved.” With a sigh, Sir Ross frowned. “How long have you known Hicks and Mrs. Jones?”
“All my life.” Given the prospects, something inside her shattered, and tears welled. But her every instinct told her the venerable spy was wrong. “And I refuse to believe either of them would betray me. They could have left us, after my father died, as I could not pay their salaries, but they stayed, even though food was scarce. Does that sound like the blackguard you describe?”
“Darling, I know it hurts.” Dalton kissed her forehead and dried her cheeks with his handkerchief. “But we have no one else, and we must consider all avenues.”
“But what of Lord Sheldon or Lady Moreton?” She sniffed and rested against his chest. “Why can it not be one of them, as they certainly do not wish me well? Why must you accuse Hicks and Mrs. Jones, who are as family to me?”
“Because Sheldon and Almira have no direct knowledge of your situation on Portsea.” As she wept, he squeezed her, and she gleaned strength from her true knight. “How would they have discovered the facts?”
“It must be someone with intimate information regarding your private affairs,” Sir Ross implied, as though imparting a critique of the weather. “Thus far, my investigation has revealed no concrete evidence pointing to any one person. Indeed, the franking suggests the perpetrator has gone to great lengths to confuse us, as each dispatch was posted using a different packet service, so it is impossible to trace the sender to any single location.”
“What I find interesting is the absence of conveyance details.” Admiral Douglas scanned the note. “How does our villain expect to gain his very unjust reward, when he designates no courier?”
“That is interesting.” Hugging her round belly, Rebecca cast an expression of sympathy. “It is as if the rogue expects you to go to him, as if such commands a
re unnecessary.”
“Which suggests the criminal anticipates Daphne’s return to Courtenay Hall, wherein he shall strike.” Sir Ross flipped through the bundled communiqués and grimaced. “And that may be his mistake, as the smaller population on the island could work to our advantage.”
“Were you planning to return to Portsea?” Admiral Douglas asked.
“No, at least, not yet.” Dalton met her gaze. “I had thought to take Daphne home, before I sail on my next mission, presuming there is a next mission, given the peace in the wake of Napoleon’s exile. Otherwise, we had contemplated a journey, once the renovations are complete.”
“How soon might that be?” At that instant, Sir Ross pulled a small square of paper and a pencil from his coat pocket and jotted a list.
“I had an update from Mr. Benson, and the remodel should be finished within a fortnight,” Dalton replied, and she wondered if that timeline included her additional changes to the master suite. “What do you suggest, Sir Ross?”
“That you take your wife to her childhood home for an impromptu holiday.” Then Sir Ross pinned Dalton with an unflinching glare. “And you take your new valet with you.”
“His new valet?” Daphne blinked.
“Of course.” Rebecca snapped her fingers. “What a stroke of brilliance, though I have a hard time envisioning you acting as Dalton’s manservant. How are you with babies?”
“Very funny.” The handsome man grinned, revealing a single dimple, and Daphne understood his appeal, which Elaine had lauded. “Given my relative obscurity in the backwater, we should have none the wiser, when we spring our trap.”
For the next half hour, the group strategized and plotted, until the course was set. And each had their part to play, save the admiral, who declared his intent to depart for Kent with Lady Amanda, given her delicate condition. But when Rebecca proclaimed a desire to assist Dalton and Daphne, Dirk protested.
Brethren of the Coast Box Set 2 Page 85
