When she did not reply but continued sorting tiles as if he had not spoken, he moved closer to her, close enough that every time she moved her arm, her elbow brushed against him. “I thought you enjoyed your work, Miss Wade,” he murmured. “I thought you were happy here.”
Daphne went still, seized by a sudden doubt. She had been happy, she had enjoyed her work, work that was comfortable and familiar, work in which she took great pride. She was about to leave all that and enter a very different world. With his words, she couldn’t help wondering if she was doing the right thing.
But all that had changed yesterday, her happiness had been spoiled, and she did not want to work for a man who regarded her with so little respect. “There is nothing you could say or do that would convince me to stay here longer than one more month.”
“I will double your wages.”
“No.”
“I will triple them.”
She paused in her task with an exasperated sigh and turned her head to look at him. “Are you simply unable to comprehend the word no?”
“I do have a difficult time with that particular word,” he conceded.
“I’m not surprised,” she answered, resuming her work. “You probably do not hear it very often.”
“Rarely,” he agreed. “I am arrogant, I daresay,” he went on, “and everything else of which you accused me. I admit it freely, Miss Wade. I ask that you overlook my flaws, accept my offer to triple your salary, and stay.”
Daphne was not impressed by his insincere attempts at self-deprecation, and she would not give an inch with him ever again. “When it comes to persistence, your grace, the children selling sham lapis beads in the streets of Cairo could take lessons from you, but my answer is still no.”
“Can you not stay at least through March? I have promised my colleagues that this museum will be open by the fifteenth of that month. I need the best people I can find for this project. You are your father’s daughter, and as you once assured me yourself, you are the best restorer available. I could not possibly find anyone to replace you whose skills are equal to yours.”
She was unmoved by flattery. “That,” she said coolly, “is your problem.”
“True.” He took a step back from her and said nothing more. The silence lengthened, and she hoped he had finally accepted her resignation. But after a moment, he spoke again, and his words made her realize he hadn’t accepted it at all.
“I would like to propose a compromise.”
Chapter 7
The man truly was impossible. Daphne tossed down the tiles in her hand, scattering them across the chipped, cracked surface of the mosaic and turned to face him. “I have no intention of making any compromises with you.”
“Hear me out. If you stay, I will not only triple your salary, I will also pay you a bonus.”
She made a sound of disdain. “That is not a compromise. That’s you thinking you can buy anything you want.”
“I usually can. Another characteristic of dukes, I fear.”
The prudent, practical side of her character was tempted to ask how much of a bonus, but she did not. “You cannot buy me.”
“Proud words, Miss Wade. And what if you do not find your family? If you do not find a husband with whom to have this partnership of mutual love and companionship you seek? What then? You cannot stay with Viola forever.”
“Then I will find employment. I will learn all I can of good society and become a governess.”
“You already have employment, and the work you do here is far more interesting than that of a governess. I assure you that governesses earn far less than I am paying you and they have a very difficult time of it. You would not wish to be a governess. Trust me on that, Miss Wade.”
“I would not trust you on anything, your grace.”
“Because you do not like me?”
“Precisely.”
He did not seem at all put out. “Then, if I wish you to remain, I am forced to make myself more likeable to you and more worthy of your liking and trust.”
“Do not waste your time. I will not stay. If I have no other choice, I will find another excavation on which to work. I am sure your sister knows many wealthy people who have buried Roman ruins on their country estates. I am sure a few of them would like those sites excavated. It seems to be quite the fashion in Britain.”
“And you think any of them will hire you?”
“Why would they not?” she countered smoothly. “You did.”
“This is ridiculous,” he said, impatience with her inflexible resolve creeping into his voice. “Why go off to Chiswick and London when any and all of your goals can be met during the remainder of your time here? You have your Sundays out to make new acquaintances. I am certain Mrs. Bennington would introduce you to the townspeople.”
“How exciting for me. And I suppose in the coming months, you would parade suitable young gentlemen of your acquaintance before me so that I might find a marriage partner?”
He didn’t blink an eye. “If you like.”
“Oh!” she cried, goaded beyond endurance. “You are the most selfish man I have ever known! If you think I would accept such a ridiculous proposition—”
“I will pay you five hundred pounds.”
Daphne blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“Stay until my excavations are finished, and I will pay you a bonus of five hundred pounds.”
Daphne sucked in a deep breath. “You are joking. That is an enormous sum.”
“It is also a dowry. Many peers are stone broke. Your grandfather, even if he should acknowledge you, may not be in the position to provide you with a dowry, so I have done so. Now, I have offered everything you claim you want. Will you reconsider my offer of a compromise and stay?”
Daphne looked down, staring down at the tops of Anthony’s polished black boots. Five hundred pounds was an amount she had never seen in her life before.
What if, despite Viola’s influence, her mother’s family refused to acknowledge her? What if, God forbid, her parents had not been married and she was illegitimate? She did not know Viola well enough to rely on her should either of those possibilities come to pass. What if she once again found herself with nothing and no one?
She thought of that dingy little hotel room in Tangier where she had stayed for eight weeks after her father’s death. Papa had left almost no money when he died. She had sold his books and equipment to support herself as long as she could. When she was down to only enough dirham for another week and the letter had come from her grandfather’s attorney with an answer that gave her no hope, Daphne had never been more frightened in her life. The only belongings she had left were a small trunk of her clothes and two passage billets to England paid by the Duke of Tremore.
It had never occurred to her before those months alone in Tangier just what a frightening place the world could be for a woman who had no family, no money, and no one to whom she could turn for help. She had been only a hair’s breadth away from destitution, and she never wanted to be in such a precarious position again.
Anthony waited, and she could feel his gaze on her as she struggled to make a choice. She resented the complacency with which he had thrown five hundred pounds in her face, certain she would take it. He knew perfectly well that such a sum was a fortune to her and a mere trifle to him.
Perhaps she should accept. It would be far more prudent to throw her injured pride to the wind and take his offer than risk the unknown, uncertain future.
Daphne hardened her resolve, shored up her pride, and decided just how far she would go. She lifted her chin, looked Anthony in the eye, and said, “Let me give you my version of a compromise, your grace. I will stay until December first, three months instead of one. I will repair and restore as many artifacts for your museum as I can at a reasonable pace. In addition, until I leave, I will assist you in finding the most qualified person possible to see your project through to completion. In exchange, you will treble my salary for these three months,
give me a second day off each week—Thursdays will do nicely—and pay me the stipend of five hundred pounds.”
“Only two additional months for triple your wages, five hundred pounds, and another day off in which not to work for it? You must be mad.”
“That amount of money is little enough to you. Mad or not, that is my offer.”
“Are you certain you do not wish to add some other demands to this compromise? Saturday afternoons free to make calls on your friends, perhaps?”
“Since you have asked, I would prefer less sarcasm and a bit more politeness from you. You may be a duke, but I am the granddaughter of a baron, the daughter of a knight, and the friend of a viscountess. I deserve to be treated as a lady, not as a servant.”
He tilted his head to one side, studying her. It was as if he was considering whether or not he would gain ground by further bargaining. He must have concluded that she was firm in her resolve, for he nodded in agreement. “Very well. I accept your terms, and I will make every attempt to be more polite. I also feel compelled to give you fair warning.”
“Warning?”
“Yes. Until December first, not only will I make every effort to remember my manners, I will do everything I can to change your mind and make you stay until the end of my project.”
“I am not your slave. You cannot make me do anything.”
“Persuade you, then, if you like that better. I can be very persuasive when I choose.” Suddenly, he smiled at her, and that smile was as brilliant as the sun coming out from behind a cloud. “I want you to stay.”
Daphne sucked in a deep breath, appreciating the heady power of that smile, appreciating the considerable charm he could wield without a bit of effort, charm that could make any woman want to please him. For the barest moment, she was tempted to soften and agree to stay longer, but she ruthlessly shoved that momentary madness aside. “And I, your grace,” she said without emotion, “can be very, very stubborn.”
“We are both warned then,” he said, still smiling as he bowed to her. Then he turned away and departed.
After he was gone, the potent pleasure his smile had once given her still lingered, along with the sharp, sweet sting of remembrance. He had looked at her in just that same way the first time she had ever met him.
She had been awaiting him in the anteroom off the great hall, awed by the lavish opulence of her surroundings, unable to quite believe anyone actually lived here. Tremore Hall, she’d thought, wasn’t a house. It was a palace.
She remembered how the sound of the immense front doors being thrown back had made her jump. The echo of a man’s bootheels tapping against the marble floors outside the anteroom had reawakened that sickening knot of fear in her stomach, that fear of being alone and poor and desperate. Dozens of questions had gone through her mind in those few endless seconds as his footsteps had drawn him closer and closer to her. What if he turned her down? What if he threw her out? If she could not convince him to hire her without her father, what would she do?
Then he had walked into the anteroom, and he had frozen her in place because he was the handsomest man she had ever seen, with dark, curling hair, thick-lashed hazel eyes, and a sulky mouth. But those glimmers of boyish softness were overpowered by his other features. There was no softness in the lean, harsh planes of his cheekbones, the long aquiline nose and the implacable line of his jaw. In that first brief glimpse, Daphne knew this was a man who was master of all he surveyed. If Tremore was a palace, this was the prince.
Daphne was of average height, and he was nearly a head taller than she. In his black riding boots, buff trousers, blue velvet coat, and immaculate white linen, with his wide shoulders blocking much of the doorway where he had come to a halt, he was like no man she had ever seen before. Daphne, accustomed all her life to desperately thin, ragged Arabs who looked far older than their years, had never seen anything quite like the Duke of Tremore. His powerful build and demeanor exuded strength, vitality, and power.
As he had walked toward her, Daphne had willed herself not to move. “Well now,” he had said in a voice deceptively soft, “Sir Henry’s daughter, are you? Where is your father, Miss Wade?”
Daphne had somehow managed to explain what had happened, why she was there without Papa, and why his grace should hire her anyway. Even now, she did not know how she had managed it, for his hazel eyes had narrowed on her so haughtily during her speech that she’d felt as if she were about to be tossed over the palace ramparts.
He had subjected her to a long, hard stare, clearly wondering if her claim had any speck of validity, his skepticism of her abilities a palpable force between them. Who could blame him? She was trying to convince him she was an expert in antiquities and restoration, and a better one than any man he could find. The duke had a right to be skeptical.
In the end, he had not tossed her over the ramparts.
“You are hired, Miss Wade,” he had said, holding out his hand to her. She had taken it, so relieved that she had employment and grateful for the opportunity to prove herself and her abilities.
She had looked into his face and had watched him smile at her. That smile, warm as the sun, had transformed him from disdainful prince to charming man. It had rendered her speechless, that smile. It had threatened to buckle her knees, and had sent her heart tumbling in her breast with a chaotic mix of every emotion she had ever felt, every emotion except the fear that had been tormenting her for months.
Her fear had vanished. With this man, she’d thought, there was nothing to be afraid of. She was safe. She had a place in the world again. That was the moment she had fallen in love with the Duke of Tremore.
But she was wiser now than she had been five months ago, and the echo of infatuation, gratitude, and admiration was gone, like a candle lit, burned for a brief time, and blown out. How foolish she had been.
Daphne returned her attention to her work and told herself that it did not matter how persuasive he tried to be, she was still leaving. He could no longer melt her into a puddle with a smile. The only power he’d ever had over her was his hold on her heart, and that was gone now. There was nothing he could do to make her stay past the first day of December. Nothing on earth.
Anthony liked his days to run smoothly. When in residence at Tremore Hall, it was his custom to keep country hours and a precise schedule. In the mornings, he usually toured various sections of the estate with his land steward, Mr. Cox. He then met with his house steward, his secretary, his landscape architect, and other members of his staff, conducting any business that his ducal responsibilities required. He was usually able to spend a few hours working on the excavation before dinner. He dined at six and was in bed by ten.
But during the week that followed Miss Wade’s resignation, Anthony found every task he undertook had the irritating tendency to remind him of his predicament with one of the most valuable members of his staff and how to persuade her to remain.
He was reminded of her when Mr. Cox explained to him the engineering problems with the new aqueducts and suggested that perhaps Miss Wade might have a suggestion or two about how to fix them, since she knew so much about Roman aqueducts.
He was reminded of her by the post, which contained many letters regarding the museum, including one from Lord Westholme, another member of the Antiquarian Society and one of his partners on the project. Westholme had reminded him of how much everyone in the Society was looking forward to the opening in March.
During his call at the vicarage, the vicar had proven quite tiresome. He would insist on quoting from the story about the rich man and the ewe lamb through their entire visit. Anthony politely declined an invitation to dine at the vicarage.
Miss Wade expected him to be able to find someone to replace her by December 1, but even if he could, he did not want to.
The museum and the reconstruction of the villa here in Hampshire were of immense importance, not only to scholars and historians, but also to show that an appreciation of history should not be limited to the u
pper classes, but should instead be the right of all British people.
He was determined to buy enough time to keep Miss Wade here until March at the very least, and preferably longer. If he had his way, she would stay until the entire villa was done, until the last mosaic pavement was repaired and the last fresco restored, until the last pearl crotalia and the last clay amphora were out of the ground, sketched, cataloged, and on display in his museum in London.
Anthony snapped the reins of his horse, urging Defiance into a gallop on the road home from the village as he once again contemplated the various means he could use to keep her in Hampshire for the next four or five years.
You cannot make me stay.
Oh, yes, by God, he could, though Miss Wade might be naive enough to assume otherwise. He had several options from which to choose.
Money would not do the trick. He had tried that, and had soon realized that additional money alone would not be enough to tempt her.
With all the power and influence at his disposal, he could force her to remain by any number of devilish means, but he was not tempted to such a course. He was an honorable gentleman, after all, not the horrid fellow she painted him to be.
No, Viola was right. Keeping Miss Wade in Hampshire would require tactics much smoother than force. By the time he had returned to Tremore Hall, he knew exactly what he was going to do.
Chapter 8
It was dark by the time Anthony reached the house. He gave orders to Haverstall, the house steward, to have the cook prepare a fresh meal for him and to have Richardson draw him a hot bath. He then inquired as to Miss Wade’s whereabouts and was informed that she was in the library.
She was sitting at the far end of the long room, curled up in one of the two big leather chairs by the windows, a book in her hands, her feet tucked beneath her, and a pair of flat-heeled slippers on the floor beside her chair. A candelabra on a nearby table washed a soft glow over her corner of the room.
Guilty Series Page 7
