Once She Was Tempted

by Barton, Anne

  At last, Daphne could focus on Ben. He looked to be sleeping peacefully, and his handsome face showed no sign of the torture he’d suffered minutes before. While she hated to rouse him, she wanted to make sure she could. The housekeeper handed her a blanket, which Daphne folded and tucked under his head. “Ben,” she whispered, “can you hear me?”

  He mumbled something unintelligible but didn’t open his eyes.

  “Here’s some fresh water and a cloth.” Mrs. Parfitt placed the basin and towel beside her. “He’ll be all right. He’s young and strong.”

  Daphne laid a damp cloth on his head, and—when the housekeeper was occupied elsewhere—loosened Ben’s neckcloth.

  His eyelids rose a fraction, and his startling blue gaze sought her out. “Daph?”

  Thank God. “I’m here.”

  “Are you… hurt?”

  “I’m fine. You will be, too. Hallows left.”

  Ben was still and quiet for several moments; then he snorted. “I broke his nose.”

  “Yes.” She smiled. “You were very brave and heroic.”

  “If you overlook the part where I’m flat on my back.”

  “I hadn’t even noticed.”

  “Daph?”

  “Yes?”

  “Can we please get the hell out of here?”

  “Of course.”

  “One more thing.”

  She quirked a brow and shot him a questioning look.

  “I think I’m going to need a poultice. And a drink.”

  The three-mile coach ride back to Biltmore Manor would be an arduous one. Daphne cajoled Ben into letting the farmhands carry him down the stairs on a makeshift stretcher. Once on ground level, however, he insisted upon walking to the coach using just his cane for support. The exertion etched deep lines on either side of his mouth.

  Once they were settled inside the coach, Mrs. Parfitt leaned in and handed Ben a flask. “Something to take the edge off of the pain.”

  “How’d you know?” His grin made her round cheeks turn pink.

  “I wish there were something more we could do.”

  “I’ll take good care of him, Mrs. Parfitt,” Daphne said. “I hope that Lord Charlton continues to improve. I’m going to send over some herbs for him. They’re thought to sharpen memory.”

  “Well, in that case, would you kindly send enough for me, too?”

  Daphne smiled. Although the afternoon had been disastrous, at least the baron had woken and Ben had survived the brutal torture inflicted by Mr. Hallows. He seemed to take great pleasure in inflicting pain—both physical and mental.

  And she would likely be his next victim.

  The coachman made sure they were situated. Ben’s leg was supported by a plank that stretched from one seat to the other. Daphne sat beside him. “I’ll take it nice and slow, my lord.”

  “Just try not to hit every damned rut between here and Biltmore Manor, would you?”

  “As you wish, my lord.” The coachman smirked as he closed the door of the cab.

  The moment they were alone, Daphne threw her arms around Ben. “I’m so glad you’re all right. Can you forgive me? I never should have made you bring me here.”

  He didn’t answer but loosened the ribbon beneath her chin, removed her bonnet, and took her face in his hands. “You helped Charlton.”

  Good Lord, he looked handsome. Dark lashes framed his impossibly blue eyes and the faint stubble on his chin made him look more than a little dangerous. “Not really—you opened the window. And he’s still very ill. But the human spirit is an amazing thing—the baron is fighting his way back. He just needs a little encouragement.”

  Ben squinted as if he didn’t quite believe her.

  “Thank you for defending me,” she said. “You didn’t have to, you know, but it was very gallant of you. You had Hallows against the wall and then he had the gall to kick you in your wounded leg. I felt so angry. Like I wanted to—”

  Ben covered her mouth with his and kissed her. Tenderly, as if to savor each touch of their lips, each mingled breath, each taste of her. By the time he stopped, her heart was pounding and she’d quite forgotten what she’d meant to say.

  He brushed a thumb across her lower lip. “I wish I’d done a better job of defending you and that I’d succeeded in getting the painting. I haven’t given up yet, by the way. But don’t you see that you deserve someone who can take better care of you?”

  Her eyes burned. “You did take care of me.”

  “No. I tried. And I failed miserably.”

  “It was his blood that was spilled on the floor.”

  “I’d gladly exchange it for my own to get the painting back.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. My reputation isn’t worth that sort of sacrifice.”

  “You’re worth it, Daphne. You’re worth everything.”

  She’d longed to hear him say something so heartfelt—so romantic—but now the words chilled her… because he’d spoken them like a good-bye.

  “When we get back to Biltmore Manor, I’m going to make you a poultice, which I’ll give to the housekeeper. Maybe I can sneak into your room this evening and check on you. Massage the muscles a bit. Tomorrow’s likely to be worse than to—”

  “Daphne.”

  “What?”

  “You cannot risk coming to my room.”

  “But I’m leaving tomorrow.”

  “I know. I’ll return to London just as soon as I can”—he grimaced at his leg—“and then I’ll figure out how Hallows plans to sell the portrait.”

  Didn’t he understand? “I’m not nearly as concerned with the portrait as I am about… us.”

  “I’m sorry if I misled you, Daph. But there’s no future for us.”

  Her throat constricted and convulsed. She opened her mouth but no sound came out.

  “I was wrong the other night,” he said, “when I told you that life is messy and hard and painful. It doesn’t have to be, but if you were to spend it with me… well, it would be all those things. I can’t give you all you deserve—”

  “I don’t care,” she sputtered.

  “—and even if you think you don’t care, I do. I couldn’t bear it if you grew to resent me. I can’t take that chance.”

  “But the scene back there, in Lord Charlton’s bedchamber—it proved that you care about me.”

  “I won’t deny it.”

  “And now you would walk away from me… because you’re afraid that one day I won’t love you anymore.” She hadn’t exactly meant for it to slip out in such a way, but it was true, and it might be her last shot. “I do love you, Ben. And if I can’t have you, I don’t want anyone.”

  “Give it a few months. Hell, a few weeks might do it. You’ll find someone who will give you a perfect life. Perfect children.”

  How dare he say such things? She wanted to grab him and shake him. “And what’s to become of you?”

  He shrugged. “I’ll muddle through life the same way I did before I knew you. Alone.”

  “So, then this is… good-bye?”

  He pressed his lips into a thin line and nodded. “I will follow through on my promise to recover the painting—or die trying.”

  “Please. Don’t even joke about such a thing. The painting is… a trifling matter.”

  “What about your reputation? Your family’s good name?”

  “What about it?”

  “Are you ready to give up?”

  She sighed. “I don’t know. But I certainly don’t want anything to happen to you. Even if you don’t feel the same way that I do.”

  “Daphne, I—”

  “I can’t make you love me, but I can make sure that you never forget me.” She swiveled around on her bottom and leaned across his chest. “After I’m gone,” she whispered, “I want you to remember this.” With the tip of her tongue, she traced his lower lip, then sucked it gently.

  When she pulled back slightly, he said, “I’ll remember.”

  “That’s not all. You must also r
emember this.” She kissed the side of his neck, tracing a path from just above his collar to his nape. Meanwhile, she let her hands roam over the hard contours of his chest and the flat plane of his abdomen. Boldly, she crossed the line over his waistband and caressed the front of his trousers. When she touched the length of him, he moaned.

  Encouraged, she continued to kiss and stroke him; he kissed and stroked back.

  Though they were fully clothed and he was partially immobile, her heartbeat raced and desire coursed through her. He mumbled her name against her lips as though it were a prayer. He cupped her breasts and made small circles around her nipples, driving her mad with wanting. But after a few minutes—or perhaps it had been several—Ben sat back and smoothed her hair away from her face.

  “We’re almost at Biltmore Manor.”

  Daphne blinked and glanced out the window, dismayed to see they were already in the front drive. “But I wasn’t done.”

  He picked her bonnet off the seat beside him and carefully placed it atop her head, guiding the smooth ribbons behind her ears. “I promise you, I’ll remember and treasure this little coach ride for the rest of my godforsaken life. Possibly even for eternity, if you believe in such things.”

  The coach stopped, and the driver rattled the cab as he climbed down from his perch.

  “If you change your mind—”

  He shook his head regretfully. “I won’t.”

  “I’ll miss you.” And then, because she knew without a doubt that she’d burst into tears if she stayed with him for one more minute, she unlatched the door, jumped to the ground, and fled straight to her room. After locking her door, she flung herself onto her bed and sobbed into her pillow. When the tears would no longer come, she rolled over and stared at the ceiling. For a very long time.

  A week later, Daphne was still raw and hurting. The upside of being home was that she got to see Anabelle again; the downside was that even though her sister could sense something was wrong, Daphne couldn’t tell her anything—not about the portrait or Ben or any of the heartache she felt. She declined invitations to balls and soirees. The idea of putting on a beautiful gown and pretending to be happy was too daunting. Some mornings, just getting out of bed proved a trial. She went for walks with Mama, assured her everything was fine, and fibbed that she was just having trouble adjusting to the social whirl. Mama knew her too well to believe it but didn’t attempt to pry. She’d simply said that she would be there should Daphne ever want to confide in her.

  Daphne was tempted. She’d always shared her joys, fears, and heartaches with Mama and Belle. At first she’d kept the portraits a secret because she’d known they’d disapprove of any scheme that could tarnish her reputation. Now, however, she was prevented from confiding about the paintings because they were inextricably tangled up in her relationship with Ben.

  And that was too private, too precious, to share just yet. One day, perhaps, she’d reveal the devastating truth—that Ben had chosen a cold, empty life over her. No matter what his reasons, the reality was that he didn’t love her enough to give up his self-indulgent bitterness.

  Ironically, she desperately missed all his self-indulgent bitterness.

  Today, however, she’d decided the moping must stop—at least temporarily. A visit with Caro and the other girls at the orphanage would improve her mood. When she announced her plans to Mama, Anabelle, Olivia, and Rose at breakfast that morning, their delight—or perhaps it was relief—was palpable.

  “An outing is just the thing, darling,” Mama cried.

  “Oh, yes. Just the thing,” Olivia echoed.

  Daphne arched a brow. “Just the thing for what?”

  “Well, for improving one’s spirits.” Olivia waved her fork like a fairy’s wand. “Have you picked out a gown?”

  Daphne gazed down at her perfectly suitable, if plain, muslin dress. “I have.”

  “What a shame that your mother and I have an appointment at the mantua maker’s. I should have liked to join you. We could have stopped at Gunter’s afterward.”

  Gunter’s was not exactly near the orphanage, and besides, the mere mention of it brought to mind the rainy day when she and Ben had sat in his coach outside the shop. It was the first time she’d seen beyond his crusty exterior to the vulnerability that lay beneath. “I shall be happy just to see the girls. Caro’s probably grown an inch since my last visit.” She idly pushed the ham around her plate.

  At the end of the table, Anabelle eyed her shrewdly. “Caro may not recognize you if you don’t start eating a bit more heartily. Soon I shall have to take in all your dresses—a task I would rather not undertake since I am currently in the process of letting out all of mine.” She punctuated this announcement by popping a large bite of egg into her mouth. “Thank goodness the nausea has passed.”

  Daphne smiled. “I’m so glad. You are radiant.”

  “Do not think to change the subject, Daph. Need I remind you that I have also been working quite industriously on your ball gown? I am putting the finishing touches on it, and if you don’t wear it soon, it shall no longer be in the first stare of fashion. Would you like to try it on today?” Her gray eyes shined hopefully.

  “Perhaps.” She really didn’t want to—what was the point?—but Belle had worked so hard on it.

  “Excellent. I want to add a bit of beading to the sleeves, and then I think it will be perfect.”

  “I’m sure it will,” Rose said encouragingly. “Daphne, may I join you on your outing today? I found a few books I thought the girls might enjoy.”

  “Of course. I’d love your company, and the girls are sorely in need of new reading material. Caro confessed that she finds Shakespeare dreadfully boring.”

  Rose laughed. “Ah. Then the book of fairy tales may be more to her liking.”

  When Daphne and Rose arrived at the foundling home a few hours later, the girls were finishing up their lessons. Daphne and Rose had tea in Mrs. Middleton’s office.

  “The books are wonderful,” the director said. “Thanks to you and”—she paused before continuing—“another generous donor, we have a rather impressive collection.”

  “Why, that’s remarkable.” The last time Daphne visited, the bookshelves had held little more than dust.

  “It’s four o’clock—the girls should be heading outside just about now.” A burst of animated chattering and shuffling from the hallway confirmed her prediction. “Come, I’ll show you,” the director offered.

  She led the way, her skirts swishing over the floor with brisk efficiency. Daphne and Rose had to lengthen their strides in order to keep pace with her. At the doorway to the classroom, she waved them in with a flourish.

  Daphne’s gaze was immediately drawn to the bookshelves. There had to be one hundred books there—all of them new. Not quite believing her eyes, she walked across the room and trailed a finger along the colorful spines. Books on history, mythology, and science. Volumes of poetry and verse. Atlases and, yes, more Shakespeare.

  She turned to face the director. “This collection must have cost a small fortune.” Her eyes brimmed. Someone else in the world obviously agreed with her that the girls were worth that small fortune.

  “Indeed. The donor provided additional monies for improvements to the dormitory. New mattresses, blankets, and curtains.”

  “Who?”

  Mrs. Middleton blushed slightly. “I’m not at liberty to say, as he wishes to remain anonymous.”

  Interesting. The director’s lips might be tightly sealed, but Daphne knew another potential source of information. She was considerably shorter, with red hair and a riot of freckles on her cheeks.

  “Whoever the mysterious gentleman might be, I’m delighted to know that the girls have such a generous and thoughtful benefactor. May Rose and I join them in the courtyard?”

  “Of course. You must know your visits are the high point of their week.”

  Daphne doubted that. In fact, she was almost certain that Caro had mentioned tea cakes were t
he high point of their week. However, second place to tea cakes was not a bad place to be.

  The moment she and Rose walked into the courtyard, a ring of ragamuffins surrounded them.

  “Will you braid my hair?”

  “I tore the sash on my best dress.”

  “Watch me do a cartwheel!”

  Daphne sighed. Here, at least, she was needed. Between Rose and her, they were able to handle most of the girls’ pleas for attention. Eventually, they dispersed and returned to games of hopscotch and blind man’s bluff. Only Caro remained on the bench beside Daphne, keeping her company as she mended the sash one of the girls had brought her.

  “How is your knee?” Daphne asked.

  “Hmm? Oh, it’s fine.” Caro idly swung her legs, scissors-style, her toes dangling inches above the ground.

  “Have you been getting on well with the other girls?”

  She bobbed her head quickly and gave her a wide-eyed, innocent look. Daphne chuckled to herself. Caro leaned forward and addressed Rose. “You have the same color hair as me.”

  “I believe you’re quite right, Miss Caroline. Except yours has more fire, like a beautiful sunset.”

  Pleased with the compliment, Caro smoothed a short lock behind her ear. To Daphne she said, “Where is your other friend? Lord Fox-something?”

  Daphne attempted a serene smile. “Lord Foxburn. I’m afraid I don’t know.”

  “He was here a few days ago. I saw him in Mrs. Middleton’s office.”

  “Is that so?”

  “He didn’t stay long, though. And he didn’t visit with me.” She pouted prettily. “He probably doesn’t even remember me.”

  Daphne put a finger beneath Caro’s pointy chin and looked into her pale blue eyes. “You are not the sort of person one could easily forget.”

  Caro’s wistful smile said she didn’t quite believe it. “I think he brought the books.”

  Daphne’s heart squeezed in her chest. Ben cared. “What a kind thing to do.”

  “I suppose. But visits are better than books.” She leaned her head against Daphne’s shoulder, and Daphne hugged her tightly.

  Visits were better than books, she thought.