To Redeem a Rake (The Heart of a Duke Book 11)

by Christi Caldwell

  …You are so beautiful, love… I want to know you in every way…

  Daphne jerked as Lord Leopold’s whispered lies filtered into the moment. She bolted upright and the suddenness of her movement sent Daniel spilling onto the floor.

  He grunted as he landed hard. “Bloody hell,” he muttered.

  She gasped and leaned over the edge of the sofa to where he lay sprawled. “I…I…” Daphne fell backward and slapped her hands over her face. What have I done? Her chest heaved with the force of her desires and a rapidly growing horror. By God, she was wicked and wanton and the same fool she’d been all those years ago, lured by pretty words. Nay, this, this was far worse. This was a heady, breathless desire that had consumed her like a conflagration.

  Daniel’s quiet, wholly unaffected voice cut across her spiraling panic. “Daphne.”

  She dropped her hands to her sides and quickly sat up. “We should not have done that.” He opened his mouth. “I should not have done that. We cannot do that. Ever again.” Even if it has been the single most erotic moment of my eight and twenty years. “I—”

  “Daphne,” he interrupted firmly, coming up and perching himself on the edge of her seat. “It was a kiss. Nothing more.” He may as well have spoken as casually as he would about his preference for tea or the unseasonably warm spring they’d been enjoying.

  Nothing more? It had been so much more than a mere kiss. It had been the Vauxhall fireworks she’d watched shoot high above the London sky all those years ago, only tiny, colorful explosions inside.

  Or, to her, it had.

  Staring at him, his face an emotionless mask, reality intruded. This was Daniel, renowned rake. An embrace could never, would never be more to him. Regret stabbed at her chest, but was swiftly replaced by relief. “Of course,” she said in steadying tones. “It cannot happen again, Daniel. I have my reputation and you…” Her words trailed off. For he was a rake and a nobleman rolled into one, and through that, he was permitted liberties that would mean the ruin of a lady.

  He reached his left hand out and she stiffened as he trailed the pad of his thumb along her lower lip. “It could though.” Her lashes fluttered wildly. He is going to kiss me, again. And for my weak protestations, I want it and all it entails… “If you wish it, Daphne.”

  If she wished it. His words brought her eyes open with a soberness that dulled all desire. This exchange, this fleeting passion, though toe-curling and magical to her, was no different than any other embrace he’d shared with countless women.

  He might have scruples to not dally with an innocent, but neither would he ever be a gentleman to give his heart and his loyalty to only one woman. She would do well to remember it. Remember what came in trusting a rake. Even if it was a rake she’d swum naked with as a girl, as he’d pointed out earlier. “When I came to London all those years ago,” she started slowly. “I was filled with excitement. How grand it all was. The gowns, the glittering balls, the unending nights.” She paused and glanced past his shoulder, as memories intruded. “The promise and hope of a wild, thrilling love.”

  How very naïve she’d been. “You asked what I wished for. Do you know what I wish for now?”

  He brushed a loose red curl back behind her ear. “Tell me,” he commanded, touching his lips to her temple. She cursed the wild fluttering in her belly.

  “I wish for stability,” She spoke with a quiet solemnity that froze his movements. “I wish to have a respectable position where I have security and do not have to worry about funds or where I shall live.” With tremulous fingers, Daphne reached inside her pocket and fished out her page. She handed it over to him. Daniel took the sheet and their fingers brushed, sending heated warmth shooting up her arm. “That is what I want,” she murmured as he read the cut-out.

  A lock fell over his brow and she ached to brush it back. He looked at her questioningly. “It is a place where young women, regardless of their disabilities or disfigurements, are welcomed and instructed.” She jabbed the page. “I wish to go there.” She paused. “As an instructor,” she added and braced for his mockery, expecting it. Even wanting it, so he was not the insistent gentleman from moments ago who’d spoken of her strength and spirit.

  “That is why you wish to work at Mrs. Belden’s,” he murmured quietly, as though he’d at last solved a complex riddle. “For experience.”

  “I want to present myself before the marchioness with experiences and references that I’ve earned, honorably.”

  He handed over her sheet and she quickly pocketed it. “And my references are inferior to Mrs. Belden’s?”

  Perhaps those jaded souls he interacted with now would have failed to hear the faint hurt underscoring that wry question, but she had known this man since they were children and she heard it. “You misunderstand,” she said shaking her head emphatically. “References from you are merely an endorsement from one peer to the next.” She lifted her palms. “You cannot speak to my ability to instruct or lead a classroom of ladies.”

  Daniel stared at her for a long while through thickly hooded lashes. “There is not another woman like you, Daphne Smith.”

  Not knowing what to make of that quiet utterance, spoken more to himself, she leaned over the arm of the sofa and gathered her cane.

  He surged to his feet while she placed her weight on the walking stick, pushing herself upright. He slid an arm around her waist and bent down to scoop her up.

  “What are you doing?” she squeaked.

  He straightened. “Carrying you.”

  Warmth suffused her heart. Yes, to the ton he might always be an unscrupulous rake, but he would forever be the heroic friend she remembered. “You are always carrying me about.” Through hills and uneven roads.

  “Bah, I carried you but once. This will be the second time.”

  Once. But it had also been the darkest, most agonizing moment of her young life. The day that forever changed the course of her whole future. She smiled at him. “You are not carrying me, Daniel,” she said with gentle insistence.

  A dark scowl marred his features. “You always were too proud for your own good, Daphne Smith,” he muttered.

  With the aid of her cane, she shifted to face him, wanting him to understand. Nay, needing him to. “I’m not letting you because I am a cripple,” he growled low in his throat, “but I am still, more than a cripple.” Or she was determined to be. “And just as I’ve done for almost eighteen years, I’ll walk every step and stair before I allow someone to carry me. Though I thank you for your gallantry.”

  He gave his head a bemused shake. “That is the first time I’ve ever been called gallant.” A half-grin formed on his lips, dimpling his cheek. This was the real smile, the one that met his brown eyes.

  …I am not putting you down… “Mayhap it was the first time you heard it, but it doesn’t mean it was the first gallant act you’ve performed.” Daphne began her slow, forward path, limping through the library with its near-empty shelves. She stopped at the door and he reached around her to push it open. “Thank you, Daniel,” she said softly.

  “For my offer to assist you?” He gave her one of his wolfish grins. “Or my kiss?”

  He startled a laugh from her. “Goodnight, Daniel.” She started down the corridor and then frowned. She glanced at him with his hands clasped at his back, matching her slow footsteps. “What are you doing?”

  “Not carrying you.”

  Her lips pulled. “I see that. I meant—”

  “I am walking with you.” He stole a sideways glance at her. “And if you tell me I do not have to, I’m going to carry you.”

  A man, who by his own words lived for his own pleasures, why should he do that? His features remained a set mask revealing nothing, painting him as he’d professed himself to be—coolly unfeeling. And yet, with his offer to walk beside her, he threw that statement into contradiction. “Very well,” she acquiesced. “But you must do something.”

  He eyed her warily. “Go on.”

  “I’ll
accept your company, if you pledge to curtail your drinking.” He emitted a strangled, choking sound. “You drink too much, Daniel.” Daphne lifted her walking stick slightly. “You use it as a greater crutch than the cane I use for walking.” What demons did he seek to bury in those bottles and flasks?

  She braced for his immediate rejection, for him to send her to the Devil for daring to suggest he limit his liquor consumption.

  “Curtail,” he said slowly, repeating that one word back. “As in cut off.”

  “As in reduce the amount, Daniel,” she corrected. “There is nothing wrong with having a glass of brandy.” She held a finger up. “There is something wrong with finishing off a decanter.” With his dependency on spirits, he could bury away all thought and feeling. And never truly live. Not the way he once had.

  He folded his arms at his chest. “And how will you know if I simply tell you what you wish to hear?” he challenged, as tenacious as the day he’d debated her use of his family’s lake almost twenty-three years earlier.

  “I’ll know,” she said softly. “Because when you drink you aren’t really present. You are a ghost. Ghosts cannot feel pain. They cannot be touched. And they are not alive. Not really.” She’d have him remember how much he loved simply being alive.

  Something veiled dulled all hint of emotion from his eyes. “I do not need liquor,” he said tightly. “I do not need anything or anyone.” Yes, she suspected he believed as much.

  They remained locked in a silent battle.

  Of course, he’d reject her appeal. What grounds did he have to say yes? It would require him to put aside his own pleasures for—

  A long sigh escaped him and then he held an arm out. Her heart jumped a beat. He’d agreed?

  “Well?” he drawled in his usual charming tones when she continued to stare at him.

  More than half-fearing he’d alter his mind and renege on that agreement struck, Daphne placed her left hand on his sleeve.

  She sucked in a preparative breath and resumed the long trek. What had been interminable earlier became bearable with him at her side. Daphne concentrated on keeping one foot in front of the other. With each jarring movement, pain radiated up her leg and she fixed on that sharp tingling for it prevented her from focusing on forbidden kisses. A nearly impossible feat, given the tall, gloriously handsome gentleman at her side. She reached the end of the hall and paused. Moisture dotted her brow and she paused to dust away those droplets. “I expect you have any number of events to attend at this hour.”

  “I should,” he muttered under his breath.

  At the annoyance edging those two words, she lifted her gaze. “You may go, Daniel. I don’t—”

  “You misunderstand,” he interrupted as they trailed down the hall past portraits of his distinguished relatives. “I am to be on my very best behavior.”

  Her skin burned with the heated memory of his touch. Did he even know what that meant?

  “My uncle would have me rein in my rakish ways until my sister is properly wed.” He chuckled. “I’m to avoid scandal and improprieties and at the Season’s end, will be richly rewarded for my efforts.”

  Daphne stared quizzically at him.

  “If I remain free of scandal, he will turn over eight thousand pounds entrusted to him by my mother,” he clarified. “Those funds which require I find a proper companion for Alice.” He grinned. “As you can see, your earlier worries were for naught. With the exception of my sister, you’re the only proper lady of my acquaintance.”

  His words knocked into her with the force of a runaway phaeton. Daphne tripped and he shot an arm out, catching her to him.

  “Staggering amount, isn’t it?” he drawled, wholly misinterpreting the reason for her stumble. With his spare hand, he gestured to the places on the wall where paintings had once hung, those glaring reminders of his declining wealth. “Enough that even I can behave for.” Eight thousand pounds? It was a fortune. The kind of funds that would see a family cared for and then their ancestors, long into the future. And yet, it was not those monies that would one day be Daniel’s that robbed her of speech and breath.

  …those funds require I find a proper companion for Alice… They reached the base of the stairs and she stared blankly at the bottom one. Ultimately, Daniel had drawn the same erroneous conclusion everyone had; a conclusion she’d been wholly content with the world keeping—that she was a proper, virginal miss. And why should they not see that? What gentleman would dally with or care to dally with a cripple?

  Only, the life she’d lived was a lie far more fragile than she’d ever credited. Daniel’s funds were dependent upon her good reputation and moral standing for his sister. And there was nothing good or decent about her. Her earlier wanton response to Daniel’s touch and kiss in the library were proof of that.

  “Daphne?” his gruff question slashed into her musings.

  Blinking slowly, she looked up at him. “I do not require any further assistance,” she said tightly. “I thank you for your company. If you’ll excuse me?” Unable to meet his eyes, she started the long, slow ascent. Her neck burned with the intensity of Daniel’s stare at her back.

  And as she climbed his thirty-three stairs, she wished life had traveled along differently, and that she’d never fallen, and he’d never been a rake, and she’d never learned the perils in loving a rake, by throwing away her virginity to that man. Because then, mayhap things might have been very different and life would have matched those silly childhood dreams she’d once carried.

  Now what?

  Chapter 12

  After an evening in his arms, of knowing his touch and embrace, women invariably vied for, or pleaded for a return engagement. They did not studiously avoid or ignore him.

  Except Daphne. She, however, did.

  At first, the morning after their explosive embrace in the library, he’d credited her averted eyes and laconic silence to shyness. He hadn’t a jot of an idea about innocent ladies, but he suspected Daphne’s responses to him well fit with how any proper miss would be after such an exchange.

  Nearly a week following their exchange in the library, the lady still would not fully meet his gaze. She was quick to leave a room whenever he entered, which given his deliberate entrance into the rooms where she happened to be, was really quite often.

  Not that he should care either way how Daphne was in his presence. She’d a role within his household, as companion for Alice, and her devotion to his sister was truly all that should matter. It should.

  And mayhap it would, if the lady didn’t all but plaster herself to Alice’s side when he was near.

  “…Ahem…”

  Blinking slowly, Daniel glanced up. His man-of-affairs seated in the chair opposite him, coughed into his hand. Furthermore, given the precarious state of his finances, he really had matters of far greater import than Daphne Smith. He thrust aside thoughts of the lady and attended Begum, the man he’d hired as soon as his father had passed and Daniel was made earl. That same greying figure now poured over the books laid out on the edge of his desk.

  “As I was saying, my lord,” Begum explained, his head bent over the books. “By these numbers here, in my estimation, the whole of Her Ladyship’s Season will cost near one hundred pounds.” The man scrunched his mouth, fixed on several inked lines in the ledger.

  The clock ticked noisily in the background. Daniel reached for the decanter at the edge of his desk. …You drink too much, Daniel… You use it as a greater crutch than the cane I use for walking… Curtail. She’d merely said curtail. Bloody hell. “Yes?” he asked impatiently, shoving aside the bottle.

  Begum scratched at his always tousled, steel grey hair. “There are additional expenditures, my lord.”

  Payment to Madame Thoureaux’s for five satin gowns and other…

  His man-of-affairs pointed to the line.

  “Is there a question?” Daniel prodded wryly.

  With a frown, Begum removed his spectacles and sat back in his chair. “May I spe
ak frankly, my lord?”

  “Don’t you always?” he countered. The unflinching honesty, when most servants, lords and ladies would prevaricate on matters of the weather, Begum had proven direct. He didn’t tiptoe around his questions or statements and for that, he was worth his weight in gold as a servant.

  “Your finances are as dire now as they were at the end of last Season, my lord.”

  Yes, the nearly depleted bookshelves and missing baubles were all testament to that.

  “Mayhap more,” Begum added, when Daniel still showed no outward reaction. “Between the cost of your wardrobe, and Her Ladyship’s, as well as the upkeep of this residence, your coin is being stretched quite thin.”

  “There is plenty more to liquidate,” he noted. And then there would be eight thousand pounds from which there would never stem another financial worry—until he squandered it all away again at the gaming tables.

  “You’ve membership to Brook’s, White’s, the Devil’s Den, Forbidden Pleasures, and the Hell and Sin Club, all payments nearly due. For a total payment of,” Begum tapped his pen on each respective column. “Two hundred pounds, my lord,” he said, looking up.

  Well, this was bloody sobering stuff, indeed. Going through life for his own pleasures; the inventive mistresses and actresses he took to his bed, paid in coin and baubles. His clubs and the wicked parties he hosted, where vices were celebrated…all of those mindless pursuits allowed him to forget, at least, when he lived within those moments.

  And then there was Begum. “Maintain membership at White’s and Forbidden Pleasures,” he muttered. Sad day, indeed, when a chap had to cut membership to his clubs. Damned Uncle Percival and his pinched purse. No doubt, the miserable bastard was bracing for his failure, anticipating it, and gleefully relishing the prospect of cutting him off from those desperately needed funds.

  Begum set his pen down perpendicular on the middle of Daniel’s ledger. With slow, methodical movements, he removed his spectacles, closed them, and set them alongside the pen. “As I have permission to speak frankly,” he began, sitting back in his chair. “You can barely afford funds for Lady Alice’s Season let alone a wardrobe and fineries for a mistress, my lord.”