“It is a pleasure.” Tennyson’s purr exuded an improper familiarity that made the lady yank free of his grip.
He alternated his gaze between the pair and faint warning bells sounded at the back of his mind. An insidious thought, born of nothing but a stilted exchange. Tennyson’s possession of her name, Daphne’s ashen pallor.
Then, Daphne stumbled a step, burying her fingers in the folds of her skirt and the other hand gripped the cane hard. “M-My lord. If you will excuse me,” she said and, avoiding Daniel’s probing stare, she limped off.
Then, Tennyson said something to Alice, commanding his attention once more.
Oh, God. He is here.
By the introduction, he’d found himself in possession of a new rank and title. He went by a new name but he was the same man he’d been all those years ago.
She had always known the possibility existed that Daniel, being a rake, kept like company as Lord Leopold. Somehow seeing it. Witnessing it. And knowing it made it real in ways that gutted her.
As Daphne lurched down the hallway, putting more and more distance between her and the man who’d betrayed her all those years ago, she pressed her eyes closed tight. And worse…he was friends with Daniel. A tortured moan lodged in her throat and she quickened her stride.
Of course she’d known it possible their paths might cross. Had mentally prepared for what that encounter would be like. But in all her greatest horrors and nightmarish imaginings, Lord Leopold had never, ever been friend to Daniel. Because he was not the manner of man who would dare even speak with a blackguard like Lord Leopold.
Only he was. For Daniel, had shaped himself into that, embraced that rakish existence. Her stomach revolted and she pressed her hand to her mouth. She reached the stairs, damning her useless leg as she made the long, slow climb. Damning the injury that had been the single most formative moment in her life. It had shaped her dreams of who she was. It had shattered her romantic hopes for a happily ever after with a loving husband. Seen her dependent on the mercy of a relative and then seeking employment when that mercy ran out. And it had brought Lord Leopold into her life.
At last, Daphne reached the landing. Increasing her stride, she used her cane to bear her weight as she dragged her leg along. Panting from her exertions, she found her rooms and limped inside. Closing the door, she took several steps.
Her leg, strained from her exertions, gave out, and she crumpled, quickly catching herself. Numb inside, she ambled over to the bed and sank onto the edge.
After she’d left London and returned to Spelthorne, she had lived her life in alternating states of emotion—humiliated shame for the mistake she’d made in trusting Lord Leopold and hatred for a blackguard who’d toyed with her heart. A blackguard, who’d correctly identified her as a weak, pathetic creature. A woman desperate to be loved, he gave her those very words she was searching for.
Having the greatest mistake of her life thrown into her face, roused the oldest, still fresh humiliation.
…I’ve never rutted with a cripple…
She pressed shaking palms over her eyes. “He is friends with him,” she whispered into the silence, needing to breathe the words aloud and give them life. And she wanted it to not matter the company Daniel had kept all these years. Wanted it not to matter that when she left, he’d pick up and carry on as he had for thirteen years. Tears pooled in her eyes, blurring her vision. For it did matter.
Heavy footsteps sounded on the opposite side of the oak door, muffled by the wood paneling. But there could be no doubting those commanding steps that paused outside her door.
Daniel shoved it open and, commandeering the room, closed it behind him. “What is it?” he demanded without preamble.
Daphne ran regretful eyes over him, a person who called Lord Leopold friend. The agony of that truth chipped away at her heart. She gave her head a slight shake. “I cannot stay here.”
Shock cracked the hard, immobile planes of his face. Questions whirred in his eyes and then he took a step toward her. “You know Tennyson.” His was a curt statement, more than anything, but Daphne nodded once. Daniel took another step, his eyes narrowing. “How do you know Tennyson?”
He knows. For the image he’d established amongst the ton, Daniel had been clever and quick-witted, equally capable with words and numbers when Daphne hadn’t.
Tension spilled from Daniel’s frame. “I asked how you know him.”
She sank her teeth into her lower lip. It was one thing to pardon her foolish actions from eleven years ago. It was, however, an altogether different thing, when that man who’d deceived her was, in fact, friend to the man who’d stolen her heart. Daphne skittered her gaze about, seeking escape. Words. A proper reply.
“Daphne,” he demanded gruffly. The floorboards creaked as he moved.
Just that one word, her name, infused her spine with strength and she picked her head up. She’d not remain in this world, but neither would she make apologies for her past. Their gazes collided and an indefinable flash sparked in his eyes.
“It was him, wasn’t it?”
There was a faint plea in those words. Not pretending to misunderstand, Daphne managed a slight nod.
He froze and then slowly sank to his haunches. Burying his face in his hands, he unleashed a string of black, inventive curses that turned her cheeks warm. “Oh, God.” The air left his lips on a sharp hiss.
She stared at his bent head, strangely hollow. “You are friends with him, then.”
Daniel shot his head up, his brown eyes riddled with frenzied emotion. He surged to his feet and joined her at the edge of the bed, sinking to a knee. “I…” His throat worked. “He… I am a rake.”
A sad smile turned her lips. “Yes.” He’d taken great care to remind her and remind her often. But still, he’d always existed as Daniel and, for his wicked reputation, he would always be the friend who’d carried her across the countryside. Now, he also happened to be the man who kept company with the scoundrel who’d betrayed her.
A pang struck deep inside her chest.
“If I knew,” he began in ragged tones. “I would have never…” The column of his throat worked. At her arched eyebrow, he finished. “I would have beat him within an inch of his life for you.”
Tears sprang to her eyes and she blinked them back. “But these are the people you have chosen, Daniel. You turned your back on me and Alice, and who you once were.” She touched her fingers to his chest, where his heart pounded hard. “In here.” She let her hand fall to her lap. “I have seen good in you, where you cannot see it in yourself. But I cannot remain in your employ.” Or in any part of his life. “If these are the people who fill your world.” No, she could not. Not if she hoped to spare herself the eventual heartache that came in loving Daniel Winterbourne.
Yet, how was there to account for the frenzied, half-mad glimmer in his eyes if he were that dissolute gentleman who was friends with men like Tennyson? He pressed his hands over his face, briefly, and then spoke in more somber tones than she’d ever recalled. “After my mother’s passing, my father reminded me how I destroyed all who I came in contact with. My mother. Alistair.” He paused and his features contorted. “You.” Her. Daphne’s heart hitched. Those hateful words, with her used as leverage against him, would have come when he was just fourteen… at a time when he’d still smiled, and laughed, and been a friend. From then, he’d gradually retreated, until he’d left for university and disappeared from her life.
“That is why you ceased coming around,” she said softly, as at last it became clear. And why he avoided Alice. Her heart wrenched all the more.
He gave a brusque nod, faint panic in his eyes. What must it be for this man who’d perfected an artificial smile and indifferent mask, to let her inside this way? Daniel looked beyond her shoulder, studiously avoiding her eyes. “I found people like me.”
Daphne touched his chin and forced his gaze back to hers. “Do you truly believe you are like the Marquess of Tennyson?”
His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I know I am.”
She challenged him with her gaze. “Have you seduced a young woman out of her virtue, just so you might add her as a conquest?”
“No,” the answer emerged sharp. She’d not believed even with his dissolute lifestyle, he’d have descended into that level of sin. There had been good in Daniel Winterbourne. That good didn’t fully die. It just faded and was lost deep inside, waiting for him to acknowledge it. He leapt to his feet and began to pace. “But there have been other conquests,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Women I’ve bedded on wagers. Unhappy wives, sad widows, actresses.” Each methodical accounting of the women who’d come before her, struck like well-placed arrows, serving as a reminder that she could never be enough for him.
Daphne hugged her arms about her waist, his words merely serving as a reminder of something she already knew. Jaded as he’d become over the years, Daniel could never, would never be the man to give her everything she dreamed of and for—a marriage built on love and trust like the one known by her parents. Or children. There would never be children. Her throat worked. Remaining on in the post with Alice, once an inconvenience, then a joy, now became an impossibility. Her tongue heavy in her mouth, she managed to speak. “I cannot remain here, Daniel.”
His entire body jerked as though she’d struck him. “I will never see Tennyson again,” he rasped.
This was about so much more than the Marquess of Tennyson. This was about her. And Alice. And Daniel. Restless, Daphne struggled to stand and limped away, putting distance between them. “If he…” She grimaced. “Reveals my past—”
Daniel swiftly moved, placing himself in her path. “I’ll not send you away,” he said, his tone harsh. A panicky light glimmered in his eyes and then was gone, so all that remained was the customary hardness that so often dwelled in their depths.
Daphne fiddled with her cane. “Lord Tennyson—”
“Tennyson will say nothing,” he snapped impatiently. She eyed him warily. How could he be so confident of that man’s integrity? Or did he merely delude himself? “He requires an heiress. And as such, he’ll not be eager to bandy about his….” Splotches of red appeared in his cheeks.
Daniel Winterbourne was still capable of blushing. Not a single gossip or member of the peerage would dare believe it.
“Escapades?” she supplied quietly when he said nothing more.
“Do not,” he bit out.
“Not speaking those words doesn’t undo what happened between me and Lord Tennyson,” she reminded him.
His body coiled tight like a serpent poised to strike. “He will say nothing. I promise you.”
“But what if he does?” she pressed, refusing to abandon the point. Serving as the voice of reason when he would not. “There is your sister’s reputation. If Lord Tennyson breathed a word about our night, Alice would suffer. There is no room for question with a companion’s honor. I’ll never receive employment at Ladies of Hope, Daniel,” she said, willing him to understand.
“I could marry you.”
Daphne and Daniel both went stock-still. For an instant, her heart lifted. Then she registered the panicked horror wreathing his features and that same foolishly hopeful organ crashed to her feet. It was the same sharp pain as when she’d come down wrong on her leg and snapped that bone all those years ago.
She slowly removed her hand from his person. “Was that an observation or a proposal, Daniel?”
“It could be either,” he said gruffly. “You could marry me.”
Having loved him since she was a girl, she selfishly wanted to make those words into the offer she wanted it to be. And loving him as she did, she desperately sought to convince herself that his offer was something more. “Why?”
He cocked his head at an endearing angle that gave him a boyish look, melting away the jaded edge that he wore so easily.
“Why would you marry me?”
Daniel opened and closed his mouth several times. “We are friends,” he said at last. “Which is a good deal more than most marriages are based on. We get on well. I require help with Alice,” he spoke with a military precision. “You’ll be free to carry on whichever ventures you so wish.”
Despite her splintering heart, she laughed and stepped into his arms. He immediately folded her in an embrace. “Oh, Daniel,” she said, layering her cheek against his jacket and inhaling the sandalwood scent that clung to him.
He’d not immediately gone to the eight thousand pounds awaiting him, or his need for an heir or companion for his sister, but rather…their lifelong friendship. And even as her heart convulsed with regret for what it wasn’t, it rejoiced for what it was—him, doing the honorable thing, when he believed himself incapable of it. “What manner of friend would I be if I let you do that?”
He tipped her chin up and the passion blazing from within his eyes scorched her, leaving her breathless. “Do you believe all I feel for you is friendship?” He lowered his mouth to hers. She turned her head and his kiss grazed her cheek.
“No,” she said softly. “I believe you desire me.” She paused. “As you desire many women. That is not anything to base a marriage on.” She forced herself out of his arms.
“You are rejecting my offer, then?” Daniel demanded with a shocked arrogance only a man of his rakish reputation could manage.
Daphne laughed and amusement mingled with the pain of regret. “Only you could present a statement as a proposal and find yourself offended at my rejection. Yes,” she confirmed, her smile dying. “Though I am grateful,” she added. That Daniel would abandon his bachelorhood for a woman who offered him no dowry and no connections, made her love him all the more and spoke to who he truly was. “What manner of friend would I be if I allowed you to give up your future for me?”
A tick pulsed at the corner of his mouth. “It is my decision,” he squeezed out through tight lips.
She sighed. Did that resolve come from his lofty station? “No, Daniel. It is both of ours.” Daphne slid her gaze over to her small valise tucked in the corner. “I’ll not marry where there is not love. And you are not capable of giving me that emotion. I wish to leave, Daniel. I require references. I ask, as you are my friend, to please give them to me.”
For a moment, she thought he would resist, force her to remain on in her post, and suffer through the pain of loving him and the torture of this Season. Daniel nodded; the motion jarring and jerky. “Of course,” he said, his voice flat. “I…” Her heart sped up with a fragile hope. “I would ask you to remain on in your post until a suitable replacement is found.”
“Of course,” she parroted, nodding quickly. “I’d not abandon Alice.” She held her palms up.
A heavy silence descended and their gazes were locked. Daniel cleared his throat. “I will leave you, madam.” With his effortless strides, he turned on his heel and marched for the door. Then he paused to look back. “If you should change your mind and accept my offer, it remains, Daphne.”
Pain flooded her chest and she forced a smile that pained her cheek muscles. “Thank you, Daniel.”
With that, he left.
Chapter 18
Daniel nudged his mount through the crowded London streets at a risky clip that earned shouts and furious looks from passersby. He, Daniel Winterbourne, 5th Earl of Montfort, notorious rake, reprobate, and scoundrel had offered to marry Daphne. Well, an almost offer.
…Only you could present a statement as a proposal and find yourself offended at my rejection…
And given that and the lady’s ultimate, if wise, rejection of that offer, his mind remained in tumult from all she’d revealed—Tennyson.
He tightened his hold on his reins and urged Satan on, faster. Tennyson had been the blackguard who’d robbed Daphne of her virginity. The man who’d identified a hopeful romantic and punished that innocence by taking her against a wall like a whore on the streets. Should he be truly shocked, given his own dark deeds and wicked soul? And yet, as he dismounted outside White
’s and stalked up the steps, he could not see past the thick haze of rage threatening to blind him.
He fixed on that hatred and fury. Far easier than thinking of his impulsive offer, which hadn’t really been an offer, to marry Daphne Smith.
Ignoring the greetings called out to him, Daniel strode through the club. As he walked, he earned glares and glowers from men he’d made cuckolds of.
…But these are the people you have chosen, Daniel. You turned your back on me and Alice, and who you once were…
Who he once was. He was a man who’d cut, first, Alice from his life. And then Daphne. A friend who he hadn’t bothered to look after her when she’d made her Come Out. Even as he knew what perils awaited a young girl from the country and the rakes who would be lying in wait. A tortured groan lodged in his throat. He yanked out one of the chairs at his table and sinking into the hard contours, motioned for a servant. For it, she’d given her virginity to a man who’d never had a right to that gift.
Agony sluiced away at his insides, blended with a blinding rage. Rage that Tennyson had known her as only he should have. That she had loved the other man, if even the thought of him. That Daniel had kept company with the blackguard. Oh, God. He’d had him as a guest in his home and in the country. They’d shared women and drinks.
I’m going to be ill…
Yanking the stopper from his bottle, Daniel poured a tall glass of brandy, paused, and then filled it to the rim. He raised it to his mouth and took a long swallow, welcoming the fiery trail it blazed down the back of his throat. This was his penance. For his sins and the reckless life he’d lived. Now he would live with the knowing that he’d failed the one person who’d been constant in his life. He’d failed her. In every way.
The lady preferred employment at a miserable finishing school, to life as his countess. Why should she wish to marry a bastard like him? Not that he truly wished to marry Daphne or anyone. He’d no desire to bring about another person’s pain and suffering. Still, her rejection chafed. For it reminded him of his failings.
To Redeem a Rake (The Heart of a Duke Book 11) Page 23
