“I take mine-”
“White with sugar,” Daphne supplied instantly. The look that blossomed on Edward’s face might have been comical if the circumstances weren’t so dire.
“How did you-” he began, as Daphne handed him a dainty cup and saucer.
“As you said, I’m your wife, I understand my duties,” she said crisply, which was a mistake she knew, but one that she simply couldn’t resist making; as expected, Edward’s eyes flashed in her direction. They really had grown so intense— stormy and dangerous where they had once been sunny. It was enough to make Daphne fumble with the sugar tongs.
“Meaning that I do not, my lady?” Edward snarled.
“I would have thought that the answer to that was obvious, my lord,” Daphne simpered airily.
“Damn it, Daphne,” Edward growled. His wife caught her breath at the un-gentlemanly language. Something in Edward’s fierce demeanour seemed to slip. The anger turned to pain. “If I hadn’t left you I’m afraid to think what I might have done,” he rasped, which sent a shiver trembling down Daphne’s spine. “Don’t forget that it was you who wanted this marriage.”
“As if I ever could forget that,” Daphne whispered bleakly.
Edward opened his mouth, to say what, Daphne would never know, for there was a sharp rap on the door and the butler reappeared. The small, disapproving glance that the older man shot in Edward’s direction did not go unnoticed by Daphne, who found it a trifle comforting.
“My lady, Mrs. Butterworth is here to see you.”
“Oh-” Daphne squeaked, she actually heard herself squeak. Two dots of color flushed her perfect porcelain skin as Edward stared suspiciously in her direction.
“Should I tell Mrs. Butterworth that you are unavailable to receive visitors at present, my lady?”
“No!” Daphne gasped, in a manner that was hardly befitting of a lady, but if she sent Mrs. Butterworth — the biggest busybody known to the ton — away without a valid excuse… she could only imagine the stories that the other lady would concoct. Of course, if she came up and saw Edward… the color drained out of Daphne’s face… but it couldn’t be avoided. “Show her up, Wilkins,” she croaked.
Daphne became aware of Edward’s disapproving glare only after the butler left the room. He didn’t have time to say anything. Sooner than Daphne thought possible the sound of footsteps could be heard in the passage outside. The door swung open and Wilkins presented a middle-aged lady, with quick black eyes and a choker of obscenely large pearls about her neck.
“Daphne my dear, now then, I’ve come to take you to task-!” Mrs. Butterworth stopped dead when her gaze alighted on Edward. Her beady eyes nearly popped out of her head at the sight of the gentleman. Daphne could practically hear the other woman’s mind turning over. What would she suppose him? A friend, a lover, a-?
Edward had risen to his feet, and Daphne found herself staring almost as hard as Mrs. Butterworth. Had Edward always been so tall? He had to stand at over six feet, and yet, his height alone wasn’t quite what was so striking. It was the breadth of his shoulders, the width of his chest that made his physical presence so imposing. Perhaps she had been too shocked by his mere arrival in her house to notice it before? Maybe it was from his years in the army, but there was a very real power to his body that was lacking from the typical gentlemen of the ton.
Suddenly aware that the silence had dragged on for too long, Daphne spoke quickly, pleased to hear that her voice was crisp and cool.
“Mrs. Butterworth, may I introduce the Earl of Coventry, my husband.”
Daphne had never known Mrs. Butterworth to be lost for words before, and so she thought that she might savour the next few moments for a very long time indeed. The sting of every slur that she’d had to endure at one of the Butterworth’s tedious balls lessened a fraction at the look of downright stunned amazement on the woman’s face.
“Oh my-is it really?” she managed to stammer eventually.
“Edward, this is Mrs. Mary Butterworth,” Daphne informed her husband quietly.
“It’s always a delight to meet any friend of my wife, Mrs. Butterworth,” Edward said smoothly.
Daphne felt her spine stiffen. Had he done that on purpose? But no, Edward couldn’t know the embarrassment that she’d suffered at the hands of Mrs. Butterworth over the years. If anything could be said in the other lady’s defense, it was that she was not deliberately cruel; unlike some, she was just a gossip, and because of that, coupled with her almost incomprehensible insensitivity, she had been the bane of Daphne’s life for years after Edward’s disappearance.
“We’d all but given up hope of your return, Lord Coventry,” Mrs. Butterworth gushed, looking like a child at Christmas. “I can’t imagine what the ton will say when they hear that you’ve actually come back to England! Six years you’ve been away, isn’t it? I heard you joined His Majesty’s Dragoons. I was so sorry to learn about your brother’s unfortunate death. Have you been back to Packwood House yet? What does bring you back to London?”
If Edward thought it odd that Mrs. Butterworth, a woman he had never met until that very minute, was acquainted with all the finer details of his life and seemed intent on shooting the facts at him like bullets from a firing squad, then nothing in the bland set of his face betrayed what he was feeling. However, nor did he seem terribly keen to answer any of the queries thrown at him. When Mrs. Butterworth ran out of questions (or more probably, out of breath) Daphne was required to fill the silence.
“Lord Coventry and I were just sitting down to tea, Mrs. Butterworth. Won’t you join us?”
Mrs. Butterworth declared that she would love nothing better, and sat herself down as Daphne fixed her a cup.
“Well now, Daphne, I hope this means that you’ve changed your mind about attending my ball this Friday?”
Daphne took a long sip of tea, and tried to ignore both Mrs. Butterworth’s expectant gaze, and Edward’s coolly curious one. She had already politely refused Mrs. Butterworth’s invitation; her brother was going to be in London for the weekend, and she had claimed that he might be arriving early…
“When the ton hears that your husband’s actually returned to you everyone is going to want to meet him!” Mrs. Butterworth enthused, failing to notice the way that Daphne flinched at her poor phrasing.
“But, Mrs. Butterworth, Anthony-”
“Oh, Mr. Hargreaves will understand.”
“Actually, Mrs. Butterworth,” Edward began, cutting into the conversation slowly and smoothly. Mrs. Butterworth gave a little flutter and then turned her full attention to the earl. “I wonder if I could ask for discretion.”
Mrs. Butterworth couldn’t quite stop her face from crumpling, but nor could Daphne stop a treacherous lurch of her stomach. Edward wasn’t leaving again, was he? He’d said — he’d told her that he wanted a son — surely, oh surely, that meant he was staying this time?
“I-I’m not certain that I understand what you mean, my lord?” Mrs. Butterworth said hesitantly, clearly not wanting to give up the juiciest piece of gossip that she was likely to come across for the whole season.
“I would prefer if the ton was not made aware of my presence in London before I have the chance to attend to a few private family matters, Mrs. Butterworth,” Edward explained calmly. He paused, and then added, “my wife and I would of course be honored to accept your gracious invitation, where, if it is not too much, you might do me the favour of reintroducing me to London society?”
Oh he was clever, Daphne had to give Edward credit for that much at least. Mrs. Butterworth was so puffed up with her own self-importance that it would be a miracle if they could fit her out of the door when she left.
“You want me to announce you at my ball, Lord Coventry?” Mrs. Butterworth asked breathlessly.
“Well, if it’s not too much trouble,” Edward flashed the lady a slow, friendly smile that set Daphne’s teeth on edge with a feeling that she wouldn’t even begin to contemplate as jealousy.
Daphne closed her eyes for a moment and tried to remain composed. She hadn’t wanted to go to the Butterworths’ ball, and she certainly didn’t think that she wanted to go with Edward. She could just imagine the stares… the whispers… it would be a nightmare, but one thing Daphne had gotten very good at over the past six years was putting on a brave face. If Edward wanted to go then she would go, and she would never let him see her falter.
“-don’t you agree, Daphne? Lady Coventry?”
Daphne blinked. Mrs. Butterworth was staring at her expectantly and Daphne didn’t have the slightest clue as to what she might have been saying. This evidently affronted the older woman to no end, especially given that Mrs. Butterworth thought that every word that past her lips should be listened to with rapt attention by the entire ton.
“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Butterworth,” she said, as contritely as she could manage. “My mind must have wandered.”
If Edward were a proper gentleman he would have said something to rescue her from the embarrassment of proving herself an incompetent hostess, Daphne thought bitterly, but no, instead of helping, he was sitting across from her with a smirk on his lips that she was itching to slap off his face.
“I was saying,” Mrs. Butterworth repeated sharply. “That Lord Coventry will find London society has changed a good deal since he left us, don’t you think?”
Daphne was sure she didn’t know. She had been all of sixteen when her husband abandoned her after all. It wasn’t as though she’d experienced so much as one season as a debutante in the city. She decided not to draw attention to that fact, however, instead choosing to murmur her polite agreement and not let her mind drift from the conversation again.
Mrs. Butterworth stayed for another half an hour, and really seemed in no great hurry to leave. However, try as she might, she couldn’t seem to pry any information from Edward’s lips, another feat for which Daphne was forced to give her husband grudging credit, and so eventually Mrs. Butterworth seemed to admit defeat and excuse herself.
Chapter 4
A very uncomfortable silence filled the room once Mrs. Butterworth had left, and so, to give himself something to do, Edward took a sip of his tea, which he found was now stone cold. He made a grimace of distaste, set the cup and saucer down and considered asking for something stronger.
Daphne was standing by the window again now, looking out at the night sky and deliberately (so it seemed) ignoring her husband. Edward could observe her more closely like this however, and he didn’t restrain himself from doing so. He’d been stealing glances at his wife throughout their encounter with the absurd Mrs. Butterworth.
When he’d first seen Daphne, he had thought that little had changed, but now Edward was beginning to reconsider that initial judgment. It wasn’t so much her body, but her air. When he’d left England, Daphne had been a girl. She was a woman now, and Edward felt a twinge of something almost painful because he had missed her transformation.
“You must be tired, my lord?” After such a long stretch of silence Daphne’s voice sounded oddly loud and awkward. “Have you — have you had to travel far?” she asked, a puzzled frown furrowing her brow.
She bit her lip, and Edward found himself watching the nervous little gesture rather too closely. What would it hurt to be civil? Daphne was his wife. She would bear his sons, and yet, he still couldn’t let go of the past. Not yet, and maybe not ever.
“I sailed into Dover a week ago. I’ve been at Packwood since then,” he said curtly.
“You’ve been in Coventry?” Daphne gasped before she could help herself. Her grey eyes grew wide with surprise. She hadn’t heard. No one had told her.
“Packwood is my home,” Edward said carefully, a little surprised when he felt just how true those words felt. He had missed the old country estate more than he would ever have imagined in his self-imposed exile — had missed the rolling hills, the lush countryside, and the winding streams. A frown suddenly crossed his face. “The housekeeper told me you rarely ever stay there though?”
“As you said, my lord, Packwood is your house,” Daphne said quietly. “And before, it was your brother’s so-”
“This was William’s house too though?” Edward interrupted thoughtfully, casting his eyes around the parlor with renewed interest. He had never been to the town house before. William had bought it after his younger brother’s marriage — after he’d left the country.
Edward and his brother had never been close; their difference in age had been too great for that-Edward had looked to William at times almost as more of a father than brother. He still missed him bitterly now that he was gone though, and cursed himself for being out of the country for the last years of William’s life.
“Well, I preferred it in London,” Daphne said coolly. “There were less people who knew me, not that that luxury lasted for very long,” she finished sharply. She scowled in his direction, but Edward returned the look without flinching. Daphne deflated a little. “In London there’s always a new scandal to entertain the ton,” she sighed. “Not that they don’t return to their old favorites from time to time.”
Edward strolled over to where his wife was standing, moving so close that Daphne was forced to crane her neck if she wanted to keep looking him in the eye. He waited for her to step back, to be intimidated by his nearness, his maleness, but she held her ground doggedly.
“I will not apologize to you, Lady Coventry,” Edward breathed harshly. Daphne’s eyes narrowed, she opened her mouth, but then snapped it shut again. She kept staring back at him though, and to his horror Edward suddenly found that it was him who was aware of her femininity.
Had he ever noticed the perfect, plump bow of her lips before? Had it ever occurred to him to study their shape, their exact hue? Once. Only once had those lips kissed his… and it was still a kiss that haunted his thoughts. And not only because of the drama that had followed in its wake, but because he’d still never tasted its equal. For six years he had hungered, despite all his pride and reason, to resample the delights that could be bestowed by Daphne’s rosy mouth.
“Edward?” she whispered. There was an edge of uncertainty in her voice, but also something more. It snapped her husband to his senses.
“My room,” he barked. “Would you be so good as to show me to it?”
Daphne blinked quickly, her thick, long lashes fluttered over her misty grey eyes, and then she finally did move away from him. “I-yes of course,” she said, running a hand over her brow. She looked a little tired, pale, Edward noted, stamping down the flicker of concern that stirred within him. “How long will you be staying?” she asked uncertainly, leading him out of the parlor.
“Daphne,” Edward said sharply. He reached for her without thinking, catching her hold by the arm, unprepared for the way that she started, or for the way that the heat of her skin seeped through her dress and burned his fingers. “I’m back for good, so you’re going to have to get used to that fact,” he said, more roughly than he’d intended.
To Edward’s surprise his wife nodded her head quickly. She looked almost… relieved? But relief couldn’t possibly be the curious emotion that was flickering in the depths of her eyes, could it? Yes, she had been the one who had wanted this marriage, but Edward knew perfectly well that he was no one’s idea of a perfect husband. Whatever delusional dreams Daphne might have had, surely he had well and truly shattered them?
“Edward? Are you all right?” Daphne queried. She stared up at him, her brow knotting with — with concern.
“Just tired,” he sighed, letting her lead him out of the parlor as she nodded her head, apparently accepting his excuse. He wasn’t tired. He was confused. He’d had such foolish black and white notions. He hadn’t wanted to account for the fact that he’d changed, and he hadn’t even thought to account for the fact that Daphne might have altered.
“You’ve had your things sent on?” she asked quietly
, moving towards the family bedrooms.
Edward followed, casting his eyes around the house. “I brought some things with me. I trust my man has seen to bringing them in; anything else that I need I can send for later,” he replied. “I thought we might travel back to Packwood soon though. So I shan’t bother with too much.”
“Oh?” Daphne started. She glanced over her shoulder at Edward and slowed down considerably. He’d been looking at a portrait on the wall, and almost walked into his wife. “Go back to Coventry?” she pressed.
“Well, that is where Packwood is, Daphne,” he answered dryly. Daphne flushed and muttered something that Edward didn’t catch, and then she started to walk again. “I thought you’d like to be back living closer to your family?” he added. He hadn’t actually. He just didn’t know whether or not he could abide a whole season in London. But he was suddenly curious to uncover Daphne’s sudden aversion to their home county.
“Oh,” Daphne stammered once again. “I — yes — that would be —” she flayed weakly, “-nice.”
“Daphne?” Edward said, speaking her name more gently than he had done in all the hours since first meeting her earlier that evening. This tiny chink in his stern, disapproving armor had the oddest effect on his wife, for a moment she looked up at him, and he honestly thought that she might burst into tears, but the moment passed so quickly that Edward thought he might have imagined it afterwards.
“Here we are then,” she said suddenly, stopping outside a large mahogany door. Daphne hesitated before opening it, and then wavered again before stepping inside. “I — I hope you’ll be comfortable in here?” she stammered, blushing madly, and for the very first time lowered her gaze as if she couldn’t bring herself to meet Edward’s eyes.
Her husband followed after her, casting his eyes around the lush space of the master’s suite. It was exquisitely decorated, just what he would have chosen for himself. Was that William’s or Daphne’s doing, Edward wondered uncomfortably. He didn’t ask. There was a door halfway down the right wall, and Daphne’s gaze seemed unable to stop flitting in its direction.
Just One Kiss Page 3
