by Alyssa Drake
“I can work around your injury.”
“Can you?” She regarded him oddly. “You seem quite keen to get me back on a horse… why?”
“To learn another secret.” He already knew the question he wanted to ask.
“Which secret would you like to know?”
“Have you ever kissed a man?”
Her jaw dropped. She blushed, the delightful shade warming her skin. “Mr. Reid, the answer to your question is not a secret.”
“Yet, I do not know it.”
Miss Clemens glanced down, her teeth pressed into her lower lip. “No, I have not kissed any man.”
Reaching out, Thomas tipped her chin. “Neither have I.” He grinned.
She laughed, the musical sound tickling his ears. “That is good to know, but that was not my question for you.”
“What is your question?”
Swallowing, she twisted out of his grasp, her gaze rising to the stars.
“You can ask me anything, don’t be embarrassed,” he said soothingly as though he were speaking to one of the horses.
Miss Clemens turned her light brown eyes to him, her voice a mere whisper. “Would you kiss me?”
Chapter Ten
Daphne flushed, her hands flying to her mouth as soon as the words left it. The shock on Mr. Reid’s face was enough to shred her hopes into tiny pieces. Of all the questions to blurt out… What must he think of her?
“Mr. Reid…”
He placed his finger to her lips, silencing her comment. “Miss Clemens, I must admit, I am surprised by your request. Is there a particular reason you chose me?”
“Because of your reputation.” Her face flamed. Hold your tongue, Daphne!
“And what have you heard about my reputation?” He leaned closer, the heat from his skin rolling over her.
“That no woman has ever left your side unsatisfied.” Was it possible to die from embarrassment? Perhaps a hole would appear in the gazebo floor and swallow her, saving her from this prolonged misery.
Mr. Reid arched an eyebrow, then laughed… loudly. He laughed so hard, tears streamed down his face. “Miss Clemens,” he managed, dragging in a breath, “I am flattered by such a rumor; however, it is just that… a rumor.”
Daphne’s eyes fell as she pulled away, moving until the fire from his body no longer brushed over her skin. That was a very polite way of declining her.
“I didn’t turn you down.” Mr. Reid’s low reply sent a shiver sliding down her spine.
Her head whipped toward him. “Please, don’t feel obligated on my account, I…” She was babbling, she could hear it, yet it was impossible to stop the words flowing over her lips.
“Stop talking.”
Clamping her mouth shut, Miss Clemens watched him warily, her stomach tying itself into knots. Mr. Reid’s hand rose to her face, cupping her cheek, his thumb sliding across her lips. She gasped as tingles rippled through her skin.
“If I agree, you must promise not to breathe a word to anyone, especially Aunt Abigail.” His eyes blazed. “Do you understand?”
She nodded slowly, wondering at his comment. Did he believe she would use this request as a means to trap him into marriage?
Leaning forward, Mr. Reid closed the distance between them, his thumb skating over her lips once more.
“Mr. Reid?” she asked, hesitance in her voice.
He froze. “Have you changed your mind?”
She licked her lips. “I’m not the type of female to trick a man into the bondage of matrimony.”
Mr. Reid’s eyes widened in surprise. “I haven’t accused you of that kind of treachery.”
“I know.” She shrugged. “But if the thought happened to plague your mind, I want to put it at ease.”
“Miss Clemens,” Mr. Reid smiled, “it isn’t your intentions I fear, but those of my mother and aunt. They have been plotting for some time to bring me together with Miss Randall.”
“Oh.” A sharp ache stabbed her chest. Manners ingrained since her birth forced the next sentence from her lips. “Miss Randall is an excellent choice.”
Mr. Reid moved closer, dropping his voice to a whisper. “I have my own reasons for agreeing to your request.”
“Which are?” Misery punctuated Daphne’s question.
“I have already answered your question for tomorrow’s lesson. You will need to wait another day for that answer.”
Before she could reply, Mr. Reid pressed his mouth to hers, his lips softly brushing against hers. She gasped, her mouth parting. Mr. Reid slid his arm around her waist, pulling her against his body, deepening the kiss, his tongue caressing the seam of her lips and diving into her mouth. His tongue tangled with hers, drawing a low moan from her throat, making her head swim.
It was as though time stopped—no sound, no light—she couldn’t even feel the wood boards of the gazebo beneath her. Mr. Reid’s arm tightened, dragging her closer, overwhelming her senses with his unusual scent.
She was in terrible danger of falling deeply in love with Mr. Reid. Terrible, terrible danger. She couldn’t force herself to push him away, her disobedient arms winding around his shoulders. Her stomach flipped, rolling in circles as she plunged toward heartache. Because that was the only way this could end…
Breaking the kiss, Mr. Reid released his hold on her. Drawing in a large breath, Daphne blushed, twisting away. Mr. Reid turned her head back toward him, his eyes glowing. “I may need to do that again.”
“Did I do it wrong?”
“No.” A smile pulled at his mouth. “I can do it better.”
“You can?” she squeaked. If he kissed her again, she’d become one of those dithering debutants. The rumors about Mr. Reid were extremely underexaggerated.
“Would you like me to try?”
Yes! Please yes!
“If you think you can, Mr. Reid…”
Inching closer, Mr. Reid’s hand slipped around her neck, his fingers entwining themselves in her hair. Just as he was about to touch his lips to hers, a cacophony of sound exploded from the veranda.
“We were invited!” A familiar voice echoed through the night. Why did she recognize the timbre?
“You are drunk. You have been uninvited,” came Lord Westwood’s irritated reply.
“Benjamin.” Mr. Reid sat up, his head craning toward the sound.
“I have no intention of leaving,” the voice slurred. Daphne shuddered, ice rolling down her back.
“It’s Mr. Shirely,” whispered Daphne.
“Either you leave, or we escort you from the property,” Mr. Hastings replied.
Worry crossed Mr. Reid’s face. “Miss Clemens…” He gestured toward the pathway.
“Assist your brother.” She shooed him from the gazebo. He nodded once, rising and running down the steps. Flying down the gravel pathway, he rounded the corner and vanished from sight.
“Mr. Shirely,” Mr. Reid growled the greeting.
“Mr. Reid, a pleasure to see you this evening.” Mr. Shirely’s tone belied his statement. “I have come to visit my betrothed.”
“You have no fiancée who resides here.”
“Miss Clemens lives here.”
“She is not your betrothed.”
The sound of a pistol cocking reverberated across the courtyard. Fear rolled through Daphne. Did Mr. Shirely intend to shoot Mr. Reid?
A strangled cry erupted from Mr. Shirely like that of a wounded animal. The veranda creaked as he collapsed onto the steps. “Uncle Horace is dead… How can he be dead?” he sobbed. “We were supposed to go hunting tomorrow…” Mr. Shirely choked, his misery echoing through the trees.
Daphne’s heart broke. As repugnant as she found him, Mr. Shirely’s suffering pained her. Climbing awkwardly to her feet, she hobbled across the gazebo, intending to comfort him. She had stumbled halfway down the garden path before remembering she was supposed to be in her bedchamber. Her sudden appearance would raise a series of questions, including how she managed to escape the house withou
t notice. Her face scrunched into a frown. With Mr. Reid, Lord Westwood, and who knew how many other guests watching Mr. Shirely crumple into a puddle of tears—with the help of some strong drink, no doubt—she may be able to sneak back into the house through the kitchens.
Clutching her sketchpad to her chest, she turned, limping in the opposite direction. As she neared the rear of the house, a shadow moved to her left. She shrieked, pressing her hand to her mouth. Her eyes darted over the gardens, skipping over rows of bushes, searching the darkness. There was nothing, only the shifting of leaves as the wind caressed the trees’ branches. The sound of shoes crunching the gravel pricked her ears. Someone had heard her scream!
Gathering her skirt in her hand, she stumbled around the corner toward the kitchens. Her teeth dug into her lip each time her left foot touched the ground. She shoved through the kitchen door, nearly knocking over the cook who glared at her, silently reprimanding Daphne for trespassing her domain. Daphne placed her hands together in an apology and ducked her head, limping quickly through the kitchen, heading for the servant’s staircase. Just as her shoe touched the first step, the kitchen door burst open.
“Did someone come in here?” asked Mr. Hastings. Daphne froze, her shoulders tensing.
“No, Sir,” replied the cook. “I have not seen one man, save the staff, all evening.”
“Thank you.” Mr. Hastings exited, closing the door behind him.
Daphne, her hand on the banister, waited another minute, then turned back toward the kitchen. She hovered in the doorway, watching the cook curiously as she placed pastry after pastry on small plates.
“What can I do for you, Miss Clemens?” asked the cook without looking up.
“Why did you lie?”
The cook glanced up. “About what?”
“You told Mr. Hastings you did not see me.”
“I told him I did not see one man; you are not a man, Miss Clemens.” She winked.
Smiling, Daphne glided closer. “Thank you, Mrs.…”
“Brown.” She pointed to herself.
“Mrs. Brown.” Daphne curtsied. “It is lovely to meet you.”
“Thank you, child.” Mrs. Brown placed a plate and fork on the table, kicking out a stool with her foot. She jerked her head at the plate as she added a steaming pastry to the plate. “I hope your ankle is not bothering you too much this evening. I heard you retired early.”
Daphne sank onto the stool, laying her sketchbook on the table and picking up the fork. “It was difficult to dance.”
“I can imagine… yet somehow you managed… with Mr. Reid.”
“How did you know that?” Daphne’s jaw dropped.
“My dear, in this house, everyone sees everything.”
“Everything?” squeaked Daphne, the fork still frozen halfway to her mouth.
Mrs. Brown patted Daphne’s hand. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Mr. Reid so happy.”
A strange undercurrent in her statement caused Daphne to pause. She tilted her head. “Which Mr. Reid are we discussing?”
“Ah, you are a smart girl.” Mrs. Brown winked. “To which Mr. Reid do you think I was referring?”
“As neither man has an attachment to me, I cannot say which one you mean.”
Mrs. Brown shook her head and clucked. “Miss Clemens, you see others so well, yet when it comes to yourself, you cannot see what is truly there. Your mother should be ashamed of herself.” She squeezed Daphne’s hand once and released it, returning to her task of ladling pastries. “Take that upstairs; I’ll have one of the maids remove the plate tomorrow.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Brown.” Sliding from the stool, Daphne curtsied, collected the plate, and limped toward the hallway. Peeping her head around the door, she popped into the hallway, crossing it quickly. Voices echoed in the foyer. She pressed her shoulders against the wall, climbing the back staircase, wincing with each step. As she reached the landing, a familiar voice rolled through the kitchen. A shiver raced down her spine.
“Did you save me anything sweet, Mrs. Brown?”
“Certainly, Mr. Reid,” replied Mrs. Brown, her voice bright. “I have something special for you.” A dish clattered on the table. “I heard there was some excitement this evening.”
“One of the guests became a bit inebriated.” Mr. Reid snorted, the tines of his fork scraped over the plate.
“A bit?” Mrs. Brown’s question held a sharp edge.
“I was being kind.”
“You always are.”
Footsteps vibrated in the hallway. Whipping her head around, Daphne waited to be discovered, but the person turned into the kitchen. Exhaling the breath she had been holding, Daphne hobbled to her bedchamber, slipping inside. A giggle escaped. Finally, an adventure that didn’t end in injury.
Scooting across the floor, she sank onto the bench near the window and placed the plate on a small table next to her, leaning her forehead against the cool glass. She exhaled slowly, her breath fogging the glass. Had Mr. Reid returned to the gazebo, searching for her? Her hand brushed across her mouth, her lips tingled. Her first kiss, quite possibly her only one. With a sigh, her eyes rose from the gazebo to the stars above. Reaching her hand out, her fingers felt along the bench. Where was her sketchbook… In the kitchen!
She leapt to her feet, stumbling across the room. Yanking open the door, her eyes flickered down. Resting on the floor awaited her sketchbook. Her head whipped right and left, but no one was visible. Plucking it from the floor, she ducked back into her room, returning to the bench. As she flipped through the pages, a note fluttered out, landing in her lap.
I believe this belongs to you.
A flash of white in the garden caught her attention. She glanced down, hoping to see Mr. Reid. Instead, she saw Lord Westwood and Mr. Hastings, each man with an arm looped through Mr. Shirely’s. They half-dragged, half-carried him toward the Shirely property, while Miss Shirely trailed behind, wringing her hands—her typical sneer replaced by a look of honest concern. Her head whipped right and left as though she were searching for something… or someone. It was the first time Daphne had ever seen a look of kindness on Miss Shirely’s face.
Poor Mr. Shirely, the death of Mr. Pierce had affected him in a way Daphne thought impossible. Had she misjudged Mr. Shirely as well? She waited at the window, hoping to see Mr. Reid as well. However, he did not accompany his brother to return Mr. Shirely to his home. After an hour of waiting, Daphne abandoned her post.
Sleeping restlessly, Daphne woke several times through the night. Each time, she rose, drifting over to the window and peering out. The moonlight kissed the top of the gazebo, brushing over the gardens and highlighting them with magic. What did she expect to see?
The minutes crawled by slowly. By the time the sun broke the horizon, Daphne was dressed and vibrating with nervous energy. She flew from her room, sailing down the staircase and out the front door, not giving one thought to the constant throbbing of her ankle. Her head turned toward the sunrise, relishing the warmth as it touched her shoulders.
Hobbling toward the stables, Daphne’s stomach twisted, churning in circles. Would he kiss her again? She blushed. That was one activity she would not mind learning from Mr. Reid, especially if last night was any indication of his capability.
Soft whinnies greeted her as she pushed open the stable door, the smell of hay tickling her nose. Sliding into the barn, she walked along the stalls, searching for Shadow. The horse poked its head over a gate and neighed at her. With a smile, Daphne approached, stroking her hand over the horse’s silky muzzle. The barn door opened. Daphne spun around, a large smile splitting her face. “Mr. Reid.”
The man shook his head. “Wrong brother.”
“Lord Westwood.” Daphne greeted him with a curtsy, a blush exploding through her face. “What are you doing here?”
“I should ask you the same question, Miss Clemens. It is quite early in the day. I am surprised to find you in the stables.”
“Mr. Reid promised me a rid
ing lesson this morning.”
Lord Westwood tilted his head. “Thomas is not here.”
“Oh.” Daphne’s eyes fell. Where could he have gone? Surely, he wouldn’t break a promise to her so easily. Had he forgotten their lesson? Her chest constricted. “Do you expect him to return anytime soon?”
“Miss Randall and he left to call on the Shirelys at daybreak. After what occurred last evening, Miss Randall felt it necessary to visit Mr. Shirely to ascertain his mental condition.”
“What happened last evening?” asked Daphne, forcing her voice to remain light. She pulled several hay stalks from a nearby bale, feeding them to Shadow.
“We showed them the note which Morris sent Miss Randall.”
“What note?” Daphne’s forehead wrinkled. How much had she missed last night?
Lord Westwood stared at her a moment. “Were you present when Miss Randall received the missive?”
“No, but I am easily missed, Lord Westwood.”
A strange look flittered across his face as if he wanted to argue her statement but changed his mind last minute. “In the missive, Mr. Morris stated he had killed Miss Randall’s uncle, that he would kill her aunt, but he had no interest in harming her yet.”
Daphne’s hands flew to her mouth. “She must be distraught!”
Nodding, Lord Westwood forced a tight smile. “Morris also threatened the Shirely family; we felt it necessary to inform them of the danger.”
“That was why Mr. Shirely was intoxicated.”
“It has been my experience that kind of man does not need an excuse to drink; however, yes, in the case of last night, his inebriation is explainable.” Lord Westwood paused, stroking his chin. “How do you know Mr. Shirely was incapacitated last evening?”
“I saw you and Mr. Hastings escort him home… through my window.” She gestured vaguely toward the house.
“Ah.” Understanding passed through his face. “I suspect Thomas will be gone awhile this morning. Perhaps it is best you return to the safety of the house, and I ask that you do not wander off by yourself while Mr. Morris is lurking about.”
“Yes, Lord Westwood,” replied Daphne, pulling her hands from Shadow’s face. She curtsied again and hobbled through the barn doors as the first tear slid down her cheek. No matter how many times she reminded herself of the gravity of the situation, her heart refused to believe Mr. Reid’s absence was due to anything but his attraction to Miss Randall.
