Sometimes Edward wondered if Daphne really had been just a foolish girl. She had only been sixteen, after all. High spirited and indulged, Daphne had not learned, as Edward had, the necessities of self-restraint. She was cosseted and spoilt with very few checks on her behavior. Perhaps she failed to understand the risks? Perhaps he too was at fault. Edward dismissed the latter possibility. He refused to accept a share of blame for what had transpired.
Yes, he had flirted with Daphne. He was a man, after all, and she had been dazzling. He could never forget his first glimpse of his erstwhile playmate when he returned from Oxford the very last time.
He had come to ask his brother’s blessing on his choice of bride, Miss Jane Winston. Miss Winston had been introduced at an informal gathering at the home of one of his professors of law. She was not particularly beautiful or aristocratic, but she was very well funded and unattached. He enjoyed her company. All things considered, Edward thought he ought as well to marry her as not.
Happily, William agreed. Miss Winston and her companion were summoned from London to meet the family and announce the engagement. Edward was content to pass the days before her arrival engaged in sport with his old friend Anthony Hargreaves. Then he met Daphne again.
She was standing in the stables. Clad in black, she initially escaped his notice, but as soon as he caught of a glimpse of her shining hair and lush curves his eyes refused to look anywhere else. They skimmed hungrily over her form, trying to make sense of the transformation in the girl that he had known since childhood, when she liked to tag along on outings that he and Anthony made. She was almost six years younger, and he had never thought of her as anything more than a puppy that liked to follow in their wake, but the skinny, grubby little girl who had chased him in the fields had blossomed into a young woman, and an incredibly fetching one at that. Considering the fact that he was practically engaged he hadn’t permitted himself the temptation of speaking more than the barest pleasantries during their brief encounter. Edward had watched her, though, and had been shaken to the core when he discovered that she was watching back.
Daphne didn’t know it, and he planned never to let her know it, but she’d thrown him off kilter from the first time that he’d laid eyes on her again, and his discomfort grew as the days stretched out. Miss Winston lingered in town, attending parties, selecting her trousseau and closing up her house. Edward spent more and more time with Anthony Hargreaves and, consequently, his sister.
Edward didn’t deny that he enjoyed spending time with the girl. She was intelligent and full of life. He was flattered by the hungry way that she hung on his words and laughed at his jokes and he paid attention to her in return. Maybe he had asked her for too many dances or offered his arm for too many strolls in the park, but he had never intentionally led her on. Daphne ought to have known better — but her conduct suggested otherwise. Try as he might, Edward had never been able to block the memories of that fateful morning from his mind.
It began as an ordinary day. Edward awoke a bit later than usual and rang for breakfast in his room. He had not yet summoned his valet and was still sitting in his shirtsleeves, still trying to shake away the after effects of dreams when Daphne burst into his room and closed the door behind her.
Sitting there in his room, half-clad, he half thought he had imagined her or that she was the lingering fragment of one of his dreams. Edward was so stunned by her arrival that he barely heard the words she said. Daphne was rambling on about love and he had made a tongue-tied reply, but then she had kissed him, and he had known that she was real.
Edward had his share of experience with women at college, but when Daphne’s lips brushed his own, he felt as if he’d never been kissed before. He had never felt skin so alive and humming, or lips that molded so perfectly to his own. He had enough presence of mind to keep his hands to himself, but Daphne’s fingers raked up and down his back, leaving ten searing furrows in their wake. Still half asleep and half-believing, it had been tempting to follow her lead.
Fate intervened.
Edward and Anthony planned to meet at Meriden for some shooting that morning, but Edward was running late, and his friend became impatient. Long years of familiarity with the family meant that Hargreaves didn’t wait downstairs in the hall — with disastrous results.
“What the hell are you doing with my sister?”
The seconds that followed that question, angrily bellowed in Anthony Hargreaves’s voice, were the longest of Edward’s life. The pleasure of the embrace evaporated instantly. Suddenly, everything seemed to move in slow motion.
Edward knew how compromising a situation he was in. He was kissing an unmarried girl, in his bedroom, with the door firmly shut and his coat and waistcoat still draped across the bed. If Anthony had held his silence, the consequences might have been avoided, but he did not. His bellow alerted the entire house, and the fury on his face meant he was not going to listen to reason. Hargreaves dragged his sister home, but Edward knew that he’d be back.
Anthony marched back to Packwood House the afternoon of the incident, still breathing fire. He demanded satisfaction for his sister, and Edward had no choice but to submit to his demands. The kiss had been intriguing, true, but not enough to build a marriage upon. Edward had reached an understanding with Miss Winston, their engagement was about to be announced, and he did not wish to be thought of as a man who trifled with young ladies’ hearts. However, in the end, the choice was simple. He did not want to marry Daphne Hargreaves, but he did not want to murder her brother either. It would have come to that; Anthony had arrived with pistols, and Edward could extract himself from the situation in only three ways: married, wanted, or dead.
They might have been content.
The Earl could think of any number of couples who had not precisely been in love on the event of their nuptials, but who had grown easy in each other’s company over time. Looking back over the years, Edward couldn’t remember precisely what it was which had made him so determined to see Daphne punished for what she had done. After all, she was only a silly girl. She had been impossibly young, and perhaps entitled to be foolish. Still, he could not find a way to forgive her the carelessness with which she had treated his life.
“I love you,” she had said that morning. The memory still made his lips twist into a bitter smirk. She supposedly loved him, and yet she had no concern for his own feelings before she thrust herself into his life. She hadn’t inquired about his interests or his plans for life.
It was, perhaps, attributable to a defect in his character, but the loss of Miss Winston did not sting nearly as deeply as the loss of his independence, or of his dreams of going abroad to see the world. He had nurtured a small fantasy of using his wife’s money to purchase land in the West Indies for sugar, or a farm in one of the other colonies, but Daphne had seen those hopes dashed. She was not as well provisioned as his intended fiancé. He would have to content himself with law.
Only, he didn’t.
Edward Everton had never been intentionally perverse. He rarely acted badly and when he did it was meant to impart a lesson, and not for vicious satisfaction or cruelty’s sake. But on the evening of their wedding, he had been pushed beyond his bounds.
Daphne had been so deliriously happy at the ceremony. It was clear to anyone who saw her face that she was positively giddy with joy at the union that was taking place. Oblivious to the arch glances passed between her guests, she floated down the aisle of the church to his side and seemed fit to explode with joy when she placed her hand in his. She had achieved her goal, netted her fish, and was satisfied with her result. He could almost hate her for it. By the time the vicar pronounced them husband and wife, he wanted nothing so much as to wipe the smile from her impossibly pretty face.
Edward endured cake and toasts at his brother’s house for an hour, and then quietly skulked away.
“Are you tired, darling?”
Edward hadn’t noticed Daphne following in his wake, but he ought not to have
been surprised. She had been glued to his side since they left the church, chattering happily about her plans for their house and her trousseau and the babies they would have, as if completely oblivious to his displeasure. She took his hand, smiling shyly in a manner which he supposed must pass for a sixteen-year-old’s attempt at seduction. “Shall we retire for the evening?”
He met her eyes, nervous but bright. He was struck again by how lovely she was, how warm and full of life. He remembered how nice it had felt to kiss her-and that was when something inside of him hardened. He would not love her! He would not reward her for what she had done.
“I’ll be along later,” he said in a surprisingly gentle tone, “There’s something I have to take care of in town.”
Daphne frowned. “Is it a surprise?” she asked hopefully.
“Yes,” he nodded his head and eased her toward the staircase. “It’s a surprise.”
“You’re coming back?” Finally, her certainty faded.
Edward didn’t permit himself to look at her soft, grey eyes, or the tantalising pout of her lip, or the delicate slope of her shoulders displayed by her yellow silk dress. “I’m coming back,” he promised.
As it turned out, the words were not a lie.
Here he was, six years later, finally coming back to his wife.
Chapter 3
A sharp gust of wind alerted Edward to the fact that he was still standing on the porch staring at his own front door.
“This is ridiculous,” he growled under his breath, and then jerked the door open and strode into the hall.
A butler scurried into the passage, looking as anxious as his stereotypically blank façade would permit. He gave Edward an appraising glance. The look was so studied that Lord Coventry could almost read his mind: A stranger; and therefore a threat; too well dressed to be a burglar, and certainly not in broad daylight in the middle of Grosvenor Square.
“May I help you, sir?” The servant inquired at last, his tone respectful, but his body subtly barring him from going upstairs.
“I’m here to see Daphne,” Edward answered gruffly. “She’s expecting me.”
“The Countess of Coventry,” The butler clarified in a tone that was subtly chiding. “I shall see if my Lady is at home for you, Mr…”
“She’s at home for me,” Edward snapped, too annoyed to deal with the little man. He tried to go around, but was thwarted. The butler valiantly stood his ground, placing a hand on the banister to block the intruder’s path.
“If you would be so kind as to wait, Mr…?”
“Lord Coventry,” came the curt reply. “The Earl of Devonshire — and you will kindly let me pass in my own house!”
If the tone and temper of the words had not been enough to move the manservant, their content certainly was; in shocked silence, he stood aside, apparently remembering himself at that last moment and trailing Edward up the stairs calling, “Sir, I will announce you?”
Edward didn’t listen. He had spent enough time brooding over this visit. He would prefer that it was over quickly — one clean stroke of an axe, rather than a lingering pain. “Where is Lady Coventry?” he barked.
“In her parlor, sir,” the butler said. “I could fetch-“
“Where is it?”
“This way.”
Edward felt a twinge of pity for the older man. He was obviously quite loyal to his mistress, and wasn’t yet certain whether to assist Edward or not. He was trying, and failing, to walk a middle line.
Edward walked in the direction that the other man had indicated, pausing again in front of a closed door. His hand hovered over the handle, and he took a breath. Then, he stepped inside.
Daphne was facing toward the window. She didn’t stir as he stepped inside, so he was granted a moment simply to observe her from the door.
His light eyes drank in her shape. From behind, he could discern little difference in her figure. She was still fine boned, but her hips had flared slightly, softening the boyishness that her figure had held before. Her auburn hair had deepened to brown, leaving only glints of fire that peeked out from beneath her lacy cap. The rest was still a mystery.
“Edward?”
He started when he heard his name. From her posture, he assumed that Daphne hadn’t noticed his presence. Of course, she was looking out the window. She was expecting him. She had probably heard the latch.
It was strange how simply hearing her speak his name affected him. A cold shiver ran through his body as the vowels and consonants rolled off her tongue, her familiar voice hushed and oddly intimate considering that they had been strangers these six years.
While the word was familiar, the tone itself was unreadable — not warm, not angry, not nervous, but hollow. It was as if the moniker had lost its meaning.
He felt an odd surge of tenderness, but he quickly stomped it down. He was here only out of necessity. He reminded himself of that. Resolve strengthened, Edward answered sternly. “Lady Coventry. I see you are looking well.”
She turned slowly, a quizzical half-smile perched on her full, lush lips. He realized at once that his compliment had been an understatement. She did not look well. She looked ravishing.
“As do you, Lord Coventry,” she replied, placing an annoyed emphasis on his title, subtly rebuking him for his aloof manner.
They stared at each other for a moment.
Finally, Daphne broke the silence. “What brings you to town?”
Yes, that was the Daphne he remembered, Edward thought, a frown furrowing his brow. Never one to linger on pleasantries or to practice self-restraint, she jumped right to the obvious question, but he was not yet ready to reply.
“Business,” he murmured dismissively.
“Business that you have with me?” Daphne asked softly.
Edward recognized, too late, that he never should have warned her that he had something particular to discuss. They would have arrived at the discussion eventually. As it was, she eyed him nervously.
“Yes,” he said coldly, and that was all he intended to say for the moment. Edward sank into a chair without being invited. “I suppose this house is stocked with tea.”
“Of course,” Daphne said, springing back into action. She rang a bell and a maid appeared. “Tea please,” she murmured, and then sank down into one of the seats. “Well, my lord,” she said in an overly polite tone. “I understand you’ve been abroad.”
“Yes.”
“You travelled to Africa, I understand?” Daphne continued in a slightly more strained tone. “And the Continent, I believe?”
“Yes.”
“And the Americas?”
“Yes.”
Daphne sighed in agitated annoyance and turned away. “If you don’t desire my presence, I’d be happy to retire to my room. If you wish for me to remain, however, you must at least try to carry on the conversation. Surely that’s not so hard a thing to do? Whatever else we may be, we are also old friends and-”
“Friends?” Edward snapped. He surged out of the chair and paced toward the window. He looked almost wistfully at a carriage driving past, wishing that he could escape again. “I am not your friend,” he said in a low, dangerous tone.
“What are you then?”
Edward had to admire her grit. She sounded chastened but not cowed. He leaned forward against the window while he composed a reply. “Your husband, Daphne — just as you designed.” He listened for her to say something. When she didn’t, he kept going, riding a sudden burst of courage. “Which is why I am in town. As you know, I had not expected to gain a title. I am Lord Coventry now, and with that office come certain responsibilities. I must oversee the estates, perform my duties to the government, and to my family as well.”
“Family?” This time it was Daphne whose voice sounded bitter. “You don’t have a family.”
“Precisely,” Edward said, turning to face her at last. “That’s why I’m in London. I need to have a son.”
Daphne was certain that she must have mish
eard. She started wordlessly at Edward, until he said as if to clarify, as if she was a simpleton who needed it to be spelled out to her a little plainer, ”An heir.”
“With me?” Daphne choked. “You — you go off and leave me for six years and then you waltz back into my life and expect-!”
She stopped dead in the middle of her little tirade when she caught a glance at Edward’s face. His expression was black. There was a muscle twitching in his clenched jaw, and his eyes, eyes which had once struck Daphne as warm and gentle, looked positively lethal.
“Yes,” he said, his voice cold and clipped. “I do expect that from you, Daphne. You are my wife, after all. I think it’s the least that you can do, don’t you?” he sneered.
Daphne drew a sharp breath and tried to harden herself against these vicious barbs. Had she really loved this man? How had she been so misled as to his true character? Or… maybe it was just her who brought out this side of Edward?
And he did have a point, even if Daphne was loath to admit it, as his wife, she did have a duty to provide him with a suitable male heir. She was a little afraid, and rather appalled by the way that Edward had thundered back into her world and made his blunt demands, but she could not deny that she was also, just a tiny bit, curious.
Perhaps fortunately, before either of them could speak again, a maid arrived with the tea tray. The girl cast Lord Coventry a curious glance as she set things down and asked if there was anything else she could do. Daphne dismissed the servant quickly, although she didn’t quite understand why, and began to pour out two cups of tea.
Just One Kiss Page 2
