He paused mid-pour of his second whiskey, blinking slowly. And then, waved her on. “You were speaking about your guinea, Miss Smith.”
Yes, right. Of course. She smoothed one palm along the fabric of her coarse woolen skirts, which only brought Daniel’s attention downward. She bit the inside of her cheek, hating that he should see the threadbare garments and know precisely her state. How different it was for a lord, born with a proverbial spoon inside his mouth only to throw the contents of it at the wall, and a woman who was…well, born with few options other than to marry.
“Miss Smith,” he said impatiently.
“As I was saying, I’ve come for my coin. Which I believe we’ve ascertained you do not have?” She pressed him with her gaze.
“To which I already said yours was a safe assumption.”
“Which means, we have a bit of a problem, then, my lord.”
“Oh?” he asked, his eyes straying to the clock in the corner, a telling indication of just how concerned he was about this very problem. “And why do you not enlighten me as to your problem.”
“Your problem,” she swiftly amended. “You see, you pledged to return it and, yet, you do not have it. As such, I expect some form of payment.”
Generally, those words coming from the lips of lovers portended all manner of wicked deeds and naughty delights.
This stern-faced, pinch-mouthed creature before him was most certainly not a lover. And if she was coming to him for a fortune, treasure, or pence, she sought the wrong lord. “Tell me,” he said, wrapping those two words in a husky whisper. “What form of payment do you seek, Daphne?”
Where he’d demonstrated so many failings in life, he’d become an expert at reading a woman’s body; the soft flush on her naked skin as she climbed toward her release. The whispery sigh that hinted at romantic musings. Or in this case, the slight tremble of too-full lips as they fell slightly agape. Proving that even an angry spinster, once a childhood friend, Daphne Smith was not wholly immune to him. A wave of masculine triumph ran through him.
Then, she whipped her eyebrows into a single, angry line. “Surely you are not attempting to seduce me?”
“Uh…” Or mayhap she was wholly immune. He stared on with an increasing curiosity for the woman who’d shattered his quiet not once, but now twice this week. Daniel angled his body closer, lowering his lips once more to the lobe of her ear. The faint scent of lilac wafted about him; a wholly innocent, feminine scent which he should detest for that innocence and, yet, it flooded his senses, dangerously intoxicating. “Only if you wish me—”
“I assure you, I’ve no desire to be seduced by you, or anyone,” she added, through tight lips.
“A shame,” he whispered, once more, brushing a speck of dust from his sleeve. He narrowed his eyes on that recalcitrant fleck.
Daphne reached out and dusted her long fingers over the fabric. “There. Now, do attend me.”
The women he favored were warm, willing, and always eager. They were certainly not those bossy, ordering creatures. Though, in this moment, with Daphne’s talk of rogues, rakes, and seduction, and unintentionally suggestive words, mayhap he’d been wrong all these years. There was something quite appealing about those ladies, too.
“Daniel,” she snapped.
“Yes, yes. Your pence.”
“It was a guinea,” she gritted out. “You promised to return it. You do not have it and, as such, some payment is necessary. I require references.”
Of all the requests she would have put to him, that was certainly the last or least that would have come to mind. “References,” he parroted.
She nodded.
“What manner of references?”
“Glowing ones.”
His lips pulled at the corners in a rusty smile that strained muscles he only turned up in coolly mocking grins. Until this very moment. Unexpected humor filled him. “And what are these references for, Miss Smith?” he asked, swirling the contents of his glass.
“For?” It would seem it was now her turn to repeat. “I require employment,” she said haltingly. Ah, her visit to Mrs. Belden’s. Or Mrs. Belten’s? “And my prospective employer requires references.” She paused. “From a nobleman.”
So his sister had been correct and Daphne sought work at the finishing school instructing proper young ladies. A slow, niggling of a thought took root in his mind. “And the word of any nobleman will matter? Including a rake, rogue, or scoundrel?”
“To this woman it will.” By the crispness of that deliverance, the lady was of a contrasting opinion than this illustrious prospective employer. Then, Daphne had always been a clever girl.
“I expect I’ll need to know what to write or what manner of work you wish me to endorse you for.”
“I simply need a testament to my character and capabilities with young ladies.” Hope filled her green eyes and small silver flecks danced to life.
He froze, momentarily transfixed by that emerald hue. Why, with those lively eyes, when she wasn’t frowning and snapping, she was really quite pretty. He coughed and quickly downed another drink, again grabbing for his bottle. “I hardly know any young ladies who’ve benefited from your, uh, assistance,” he said, when he faced her.
And damn if he didn’t mourn the light that those words extinguished from her eyes.
“Given your penchant for carousing, whoring, and bedding other men’s wives, I expect mustering a few glowing words on my behalf would hardly be out of the realm of what is acceptable of your character.”
Of his character. The lady had rightly formed the same ill-opinion of his character and honor. Which, once more, just proved Daphne Smith’s cleverness. Such a truth might have mattered to the boy who’d called her friend. That boy was long, long dead. As dead as his brother, which had left an undeserving Daniel as earl in his stead. “Reading of my pursuits, love?” he asked, stretching an arm out. Her breath caught audibly. But he only reached around her for his bottle, refilling the partially empty glass.
“Witnessing them,” she clarified.
He eyed her over the bottle.
“I had a Season, my lord.”
Daniel looked to her with some surprise and he dug around his mind for memory of Daphne Smith in London. “You had a Season?” A lady of her spirit and honesty had no place in that rotted place. It was reserved for men and women with black souls who’d do anything to survive. Of which she was now a member. Minus the whole black soul part.
A wry and not at all Daphne-like smile formed on her lips. “Yes, even I, a poor cripple, had a Season.”
At her incorrect supposition, Daniel frowned. Is that the light she saw herself in? And he, who’d long ago ceased feeling anything, found himself—annoyed. Thrusting aside the peculiar sentiment, he grunted. “I do not recall seeing you in London.”
“Yes, well, a gentleman so self-absorbed with his own pursuits, dancing attendance on widows and unhappily married ladies, would hardly notice something outside his own pleasures,” she said pragmatically.
Long immune to anyone’s displeasure, her barb somehow struck at a place of caring that he’d long believed dead. Unnatural stuff. He tossed back another drink, welcoming the burn. Yes, he far preferred feeling nothing. “I hardly think insulting me is the best way to attain your glowing references,” he pointed out, arching a single eyebrow.
“I’m not here to mollify or beg, Daniel,” she said tersely. Did the lady realize she’d slipped back into the use of his Christian name? And even more dangerous, how much he preferred hearing it spoken in her husky contralto? “I came for my guinea,” she said, neatly bringing them round to the reason for her visit.
Daniel inclined his head. “Which we determined I’ve, no doubt, lost.”
She nodded. “Which means you must offer me some form of payment.”
He fished around the front of his jacket and his finger connected with the warmth of one coin. He paused and then, instead, extracted another.
Daphne froze, her wide eyes
going to the coin in his hand and then swinging back to his face. She stepped closer eyeing the shiny, new piece. “This is not it.”
No. This piece was certainly not her treasure. He waved the guinea under her nose. “I expect any coin will do.”
She retreated a step, like Red Riding Hood realizing too late that the wolf was at hand. “Oh, indeed not. My guinea was special.”
“Of course,” he said dryly, earning another frown. He stuffed the inferior one back inside his jacket.
“As such, I expect I should determine the proper form of payment. And that payment is references—”
“For a job you’ve never performed,” he cut in. It really was rotten for him to lead her along, particularly when he knew precisely what she required. Even worse, he knew he’d never been the man to offer a favor without acquiring something in return. “I will help you,” he said. She continued to watch him carefully. Then, he’d long been the bounder she’d rightfully accused him of being. “But I do require something from you.” A pretty blush bathed her freckles in red. “Favors which are not sexual in nature,” he said lazily and the color of her cheeks only burned brighter. “Unless,” he dropped his voice to a husky purr. “That is something you wish?”
“Decidedly not,” she squeaked.
He quashed another smile. If he weren’t already going to hell for too many sins and crimes to count, then he’d be going there now with his teasing of an innocent Daphne.
Putting aside that repartee, he returned to the matter of business. “Alice is making her debut and she requires a companion.” He waved a hand. “You will serve admirably in that role. The post is yours and then so too will be your glowing references, as soon as my sister makes a proper match.” Of course, with the young woman’s limited options, she’d no choice. The partnership was mutually agreeable to both. Then, he’d only ever dabbled in friendships and relationships that served his interests. “We leave within three hours.” He stalked over to his desk, only registering the absolute silence of the room when he’d claimed a seat. Daniel looked up.
Daphne hovered at the sideboard, unmoving, unblinking with a motionlessness that could have confused her for a statue. “London?”
Did that weak, threadbare whisper belong to the always fiery, fearless Daphne? Surely not. “I take it you did not approve of the place after your failed Season?”
She gave her head a nearly imperceptible shake in the first real hint of movement since he’d handed her his offer.
“In time, you come to appreciate it. Far more thrilling than the countryside,” he said dismissively as he dragged forth a ledger to review his mounting debts.
“I cannot go to London.”
At that strangled admission, he glanced up. All color had drained from her face, leaving her gaunt cheeks a pale hue. Having been born an earl’s second son, he’d often moved between London and the countryside, so much that he’d developed an ease and eventual appreciation for the thrilling city. A young woman like Daphne, however, who’d left but once that she’d shared, would never belong in that land of sin. Nor did he prefer imagining her forever immersed in that abhorrent place. It wasn’t for the handful of Daphne Smiths in the world. He frowned. “Then, I’m afraid I cannot provide you references.” If he were most men, he’d feel a modicum of guilt for forcing her hand this way. But he was not most men. He was the rake she’d accused him of being. A man who’d taken coin to betray his friend and that was only one of the things among his immoralities.
If her skin went any whiter, there’d be no blood left in her being. “You are a bastard, Daniel Winterbourne.”
“Yes,” he easily agreed. “But I am a bastard whose sister requires a companion. Someone to…” He searched his mind for his uncle’s specifics. “Take her to museums and the opera, and…” What did cultured entail? “And other events,” he settled for.
A sound of impatience burst from Daphne’s lips. “I’d make her a rotten companion,” she said on a rush, limping forward with such haste, she stumbled.
“Should I include that in your reference?” he asked, another smile forming.
Daphne quickly caught herself and then straightened, speaking over his humor. “I’m not a lady. I expect you know any number of ladies—”
“Oh, I know ladies.” Her shoulders sagged with relief. “None, however, that my uncle would ever deem appropriate.”
The lady wetted her lips. “I’m a….” She firmed her shoulders and squarely met his gaze. “I am a cripple.”
Daniel passed his eyes over her, lingering on the cane. She’d once been spry and quick. He, mayhap, was somewhat human after all, because he despised the sad glimmer in her eyes. “Daphne Smith, an old injured leg would never stop you from marching on the king’s forces if you so chose. I would favor any wager with you and your limp over a gentleman without.”
Her lips parted and, at the softening in her eyes, a shudder wracked his frame. Egads, he could do without any hint of adoration.
“I do not have a wardrobe,” she said, this time, tentative. “I have no noble connections.”
“If you are attempting to convince me of your unsuitability, you’re doing a splendid job,” he drawled and leaned back in his chair. “Are you suggesting I find another?” Countless years at the gaming tables had made him a master of dissembling. The truth was, he was without options, in terms of coin, and in terms of so much as knowing a single appropriate and, more, respectable, lady to serve as companion.
“No,” she said quickly. Daphne searched around the room and then turned resigned eyes back on him. “Very well. I will, come with you.” She spoke with all the enthusiasm and excitement of a woman agreeing to march to the gallows to face her executioner. “At the end of my tenure, I expect references and one hundred pounds,” she demanded and then added on a rush, “and one replacement guinea, of course.”
Poor Daphne, she’d always been rot at wagering. He’d have offered her five hundred of those eight thousand coming to him. He inclined his head. “We’re agreed, then.”
She came to the edge of his desk and stretched her hand out.
He furrowed his brow, taking in her long, graceful fingers. Fingers that conjured all manner of wicked thoughts of that hand wrapped around his length, stroking him—
“You are supposed to close your hand around it, my lord.” At the mental imagery she conjured, a surge of wholly inappropriate thoughts for this woman burst forth. Lust blazed to that uncircumspect organ.
“Uh, yes. Right.” Daniel placed his fingers in hers and heat burned his palm. Slightly callused and tanned from the sun, that skin was nothing like the smooth, white palms of the ladies who warmed his bed. Yet, there was strength to hers. A strength he was hard-pressed to not admire.
“We are done here, then,” Daphne concluded. With a nod and demonstrating a remarkable, if infuriating, calm to his touch, she drew her hand back. She started for the door.
“Daphne,” he called out, halting her in her tracks. She glanced back over her shoulder. “See that Haply has a carriage readied to deliver you home, first.” Her eyes registered her shock. Then she nodded. With a word of thanks, she took her leave.
Yes, the lady was wise to also be surprised by any show of goodness in him. For in truth, there was none. All good had died long, long ago. Forcing his onetime friend to enter a world she so hated, was proof of it.
Chapter 5
When Daphne Smith had left Polite Society ten years ago, she’d vowed the only way she’d ever reenter their midst was if her life depended on it. Even then, if she could strike a deal with the Devil to retain her hold on living, then that was a deal she’d happily take.
In the end, she’d made a deal with an altogether different devil and ironically one that would thrust her back amongst the ton. A devil who’d also politely refused the use of his mount to claim the seat opposite her.
“You’re not riding Satan?” Lady Alice puzzled aloud, echoing Daphne’s very wondering.
Satan?
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Daniel rolled his shoulders. “How could I be so rude as to forego the delightful company here?”
His sister rolled her eyes to the ceiling.
“You named your horse Satan?” Daphne snorted. “I would suggest striving for being less obvious in conveying the depth of your wickedness.”
Alice widened her eyes and burst into laughter.
Through the mirth echoing off the walls, Daniel winged an arrogant eyebrow up. “It occurs to me you have been attending stories of my wickedness, Miss Smith.”
Daphne promptly closed her mouth and redirected her attention out the window, staring out at the passing countryside, deliberately ignoring him and the intense gaze he trained on her. How empty were the lives of noblemen that they would find enjoyment in needling and baiting a lady. And in this case, a lady who’d once been a friend.
Daniel shifted his weight on the bench and that subtle movement brought their knees into contact. An unwanted heat burned through her fabric. She gritted her teeth and inched closer to the side of the carriage.
Seven hours. That was how long she’d be forced to endure the jolting, miserable carriage ride with Daniel across from her. And she only knew the precise amount because she’d counted the minutes with excitement as a girl of eighteen when she’d first gone to London. Then she had lamented the infernally slow passage of time on the return from that miserable hell.
Alice broke the tense impasse. “Have you been to London, Miss Smith?”
“Once,” she murmured. “Ten years ago.” Unease formed a pit in her belly. It was not that she’d despised London. She had enjoyed the thrill of the city. But rather, it was a certain gentleman that she despised. Lord Leopold Dunlop’s face flashed behind her mind’s eye. She’d never meant anything to that rogue. As such, he’d hardly remember the cripple he bedded against a wall, like a cheap dockside doxy.
Alice surged forward in her seat, her brown eyes radiating an excitement Daphne herself had been filled with years earlier. “Is it as wicked as all the gossip columns claim?”
To Redeem a Rake (The Heart of a Duke Book 11) Page 6
