by Lily Dalton
By all appearances, he intended to handle the matter like a civilized gentleman.
They all moved to the drawing room, and Daphne heard Cormack explain, “We actually made it as far as my residence and—” He paused, closing his eyes for a moment. Daphne’s face colored. “—waited for things to clear a bit there, before coming on.”
Lady Margaretta reached to squeeze his hand, smiling radiantly. “And I see you picked up another traveler along the way.”
“Yes, that is Mrs. Green, my cook.”
The marchioness looked between them. “Thank you, Mrs. Green. I know you must rather be sleeping, instead of playing chaperone in the middle of the night.”
“Oh, no, ma’am. I understand. Thank heavens your daughter found herself under the protection of a gentleman such as His Lordship, who understands the importance of propriety and appearance. The earl even insisted on riding with the driver, so there would be no questions.”
As Mr. Birch explained everything that had occurred to Wolverton, Lady Harwick bestowed an adoring glance on Cormack, who looked to Daphne a bit green about the gills. “And there would be no questions. We have not known His Lordship long, but we’ve no doubt at all about his character, and trust him implicitly. We are so thrilled to have made such a lifelong friend. Girls, upstairs now.” Her mother herded them toward the door. More discreetly, and out of the hearing of the gentlemen, she murmured, “Baths await you, and bed.”
On the way to the door, Daphne reached to touch Cormack’s arm, and he turned from Wolverton and Mr. Birch, with whom he’d been speaking.
“Thank you again, my lord, for seeing me home.”
His eyes conveyed a thousand sentiments. I’ll miss you. I hope you are well. And, she feared, I ought to have been a stronger man.
“I’m only glad,” he said, “that everything turned out well.”
“Everything did turn out well,” she answered. “Perfectly, in fact. Good night, then.”
“Good night, Miss Bevington.”
It pained her just to turn her back on him and walk away. Upstairs, a bath did indeed await, before a small fire on the grate. When she entered the room, Kate turned from the cabinet, one of Daphne’s sleeping gowns in hand.
“There you are. I saw your arrival from the window and had the water brought up just then, so it should be nice and warm still.”
“I’m so glad to be home. I can’t wait to crawl into bed.”
“Lord Raikes saw you home, then?”
“He did.”
“Given the history between you,” she said quietly, “I hope you weren’t alone with him?”
“Not for long.” A confession crowded Daphne’s lips. She wanted to tell Kate everything, but couldn’t. The loss of her innocence must remain a secret between herself and Cormack.
“Goodness, your hair. Let’s get it combed out.” Kate helped her undress, pausing at the loose and untied laces of Daphne’s corset, but for only a moment. Heat scalded her cheeks, but she said nothing. When she was naked, she stepped into the bath.
A gasp sounded beside her, from Kate, who seemed to be staring wide-eyed at the water. No, not the water, Daphne realized, looking down as well. A faint smear of blood stood out against the pale skin of her inner thigh.
“Oh, Daphne.” Her face went as white as the gardenia soap in the dish.
“Now don’t get hysterical, Kate.”
“It is too late. I already am.”
Daphne wasn’t going to stand there naked, halfway in the bath, defending what she and Cormack had done. She sank down into the warm, fragrant water, and closed her eyes.
“He must marry you. You must tell your mother, so that she can go to Lord Wolverton.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You aren’t going to say anything, either. I forbid it. And please, I beg you, don’t think badly of Lord Raikes.”
“How can I not? How can you not?” Kate exclaimed, her hands balling into fists. “Oh, I could murder him. He is betrothed to another.”
“Not truly. Not yet. She is twelve years old, Kate, and there is only an understanding in place, so that he can regain possession of family lands. He is an honorable man, trying to put his family and his legacy back together.”
“He’s filled your head with romantic delusions.”
“I’m not deluded in the least.” She bit her thumbnail, her heart bursting with emotion. “I love him, Kate, and though I won’t force him to say it, I believe he loves me. It’s enough for me. I’ll remember this night forever and with no regrets.”
“You’re too foolish and inexperienced to know otherwise.”
“You’ve never been in love, Kate. Once you have, you’ll understand that none of the rules the world tries to put in place over us will matter anymore. He will marry another, and I, not at all. The world will go on as intended. Nothing has changed.”
“Everything has changed. He has seduced you!”
“No, Kate, quite the opposite. To be completely honest, he tried very valiantly to resist.” Daphne sank into the water a few more inches, up to her chin. “You see, it is I who quite intentionally enticed the earl. No one is accountable in this save me.”
*
At the curb, Cormack waved off his driver. “I prefer to walk tonight, thank you. Please return to the house, and retire for the night, the both of you.”
Jackson called from the rear, “My lord—”
“Go.”
Craving the solitude of the night shadows, he set off down the road. He wandered. Where and for how long, he did not know, the people and carriages and houses all a dull blur as he moved past. His conscience railed over what he had done, demanding some fraction of logic or reasoning to make what had happened between himself and Daphne right. Yet that reasoning eluded him, and so he kept right on walking.
His motives for agreeing to marry the Snaith girl were pure, were they not? What sort of legacy would he leave for future generations of Northmores if it did not include the land and, indeed, the very pride they had owned and defended and died for, not for mere decades, but centuries?
And yet tonight his heart had been rent completely in half, and whether she knew it or not, a half now belonged to a young woman with moonlight-silk hair and blue eyes. Like him she carried inside her soul an unhealed wound, and she sought to heal herself, and perhaps others, in whatever imperfect way her conscience saw fit. By all accounts, she would not agree to marry him even if he were free to offer for her. It had been clear she intended from the start that their night together—and any that followed—would be a secret love affair, the memories of which she would cherish to her dying day.
And yet…he had enjoyed his share of love affairs, both secret and not, and knew the difference between those and this.
God help him, he was in love. Desperately. Wildly. He felt sick with the burden of it, not knowing what to do.
At last, settling upon no clear answer, near dawn he made his way home.
Just then an enormous man—astoundingly tall and thick—approached him on the sidewalk, dressed in the street clothes of a commoner, likely on his way to or from his place of employment.
“Evenin’, govna’,” he said as he walked past, tipping his hat and offering a jaunty smile. “’Ope y’ ’ad a marvelous night.”
“Thank you,” he answered. “I did indeed.”
Because he had enjoyed a marvelous night. The most marvelous and devastating night of his life.
Zounds, but truly, now that they were closer, Cormack could honestly say the fellow was perhaps the largest man he had ever seen.
“Mr. Kincraig sends his regards.”
“What did you say?” He pivoted on the heel of his boot, just in time to see the club swing for his face.
Chapter Fourteen
Daphne, we’ve the florist coming this afternoon to confirm the flower arrangements for your ball.” The marchioness folded her napkin and reached for the newspaper. They sat in the breakfast room, enjoying a late morning meal.
/> Daphne twirled her fork in a mound of uneaten eggs. “I won’t forget.”
“Speaking of flowers,” said Clarissa, breezing into the room. “There’s an arrangement in the drawing room that just arrived for you, Daphne. Very beautiful, even more extravagant than the others, so much so that it made me momentarily jealous.” She made a face. “No, wait…wait. I am still utterly jealous.”
She laughed, amused by her own drollery.
Daphne’s pulse leapt, and she straightened in her seat. Had Cormack sent her flowers? Certainly he wouldn’t be so reckless to do so, though knowing his sense of humor, he would use some silly moniker. Only, she didn’t see him being silly today, not when he planned to meet with Kincraig to confront him about his sister.
“Who are they from?” asked Lady Margaretta.
“Are you insinuating that I am nosy enough to read sentiments not intended for me?” She closed her eyelids exaggeratedly, in an expression of mock offense. “Well, I’m not. Not always.” She poured herself a cup of tea.
“Thank you for telling me, Clarissa. I’m on my way upstairs to change, so I’ll look at them now.”
She went directly there, knowing the flowers likely weren’t from Cormack, but now hoping they were. She could not help but worry that he’d spent the entire night regretting what had happened between them. Wasn’t that why she loved him?
Her breath caught in her throat. Loved him. She did indeed love him. She had for a while now, and perhaps from the beginning.
A large arrangement of wild roses in reds, blues, and yellows awaited her. Smiling, she plucked the card from their center. For a moment, she closed her eyes, because somehow not knowing…but the wishing and hoping…was the best part.
The envelope was sealed, which they rarely ever were. That made her smile. That was why Clarissa hadn’t read the card, because she might tear the envelope and that would be evidence of her nosiness. It was also evidence that whoever wrote the sentiments intended for them to be private, between just the two of them.
She slid her thumb beneath the edge, and carefully beneath the flap, not wanting to tear the paper herself, because if the flowers were from Cormack she intended to keep the card, and a carefully pressed selection of the blooms…well, forever.
Only…upon removing the card, she saw that it had been embossed with a gold Medusa head, one she now knew to represent the Invisibilis. She bit her lower lip and read the message.
She blinked, and blinked again. No.
A strangled cry broke from her lips. She closed the card, not wanting to see the words, praying they were a dream. But opening it again, she saw they were real.
Written in block letters, in thick ink, were the words MEET ME OR I TELL EVERYONE. EVERYONE. EVERYONE. Along with a nearby address and the specified time. Below the words had been drawn a swan, and in the curve of its breast, one word had been written: BLUE.
*
“Is ’e dead?”
Grass crunched in his ear. Something nudged his shoulder. Something nudged his shoulder, harder. The toe of a boot.
Cormack’s eyes flew open.
“Gor! ’E’s alive!” The two men who stood on either side of him stumbled back. They looked nearly identical, only one being bent at the shoulders, and wrinkles lining his face. A father and son, he had no doubt.
He pushed up, fighting dizziness. Hell, his head. How it pounded! How it hurt. He touched a hand to his temple, and it came away covered in blood. He remembered the big man. Yes, and the club that had certainly done this damage to his face. Ah, hell. That’s what he got for being out on the street so late at night, and alone. He’d been robbed.
“You’re not from around ’ere, are y’, sir?”
“I don’t know.” He squinted, looking all around and seeing only farmland, and two massive horses harnessed to a large wagon. “No, I’m not.”
He reached inside his coat, to confirm the money he’d carried was gone.
Only it wasn’t. He held in his hand a leather purse filled with bills and coins. That didn’t make sense.
If he hadn’t been robbed, then what?
“Y’ got somethin’ pinned to yer shirt, there,” said the old man.
He glanced down, but the movement made him dizzy. But it was a piece of paper, with something written across it. “What does it say?”
“Don’t know,” he said.
“We can’t read,” added the other.
They both chuckled.
He ripped the thing off, and held it before his face.
Stay the HELL away, the note said.
Stay the hell away from what? From Mr. Kincraig, he presumed. That was completely out of the question now. Anger quickly turned to rage. He had to get back to London. Why had he promised Daphne he wouldn’t kill Kincraig? It was all he wanted to do right now.
“I’ll get the missus,” said the older one. “She’s got a salve that will fix you up right.”
“No, sir,” he answered, struggling to his feet. Both reached out to steady him. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have the time for that. What I do have is money.” He held the purse aloft. “I’ll pay one or both of you well to return me to London. You must understand, it’s very important that I return.”
*
“Daphne, you said we were just going for a walk, but I have a feeling that something else is going on here.” Kate moved along beside her on the sidewalk. Carriages rattled by, as did riders on horseback.
“I’ve agreed to meet someone,” she answered. “That’s all.”
Kate scrutinized her from beneath the brim of her bonnet. “Someone? As in Lord Raikes, I suppose? I told you, I can’t agree to be part of that. Yes, we are friends, but your mother and grandfather entrusted me with your reputation, and—”
“No, not Lord Raikes,” she answered. How she wished it was. “Someone else.”
“Another man?” Kate’s eyes widened.
“I’m not even sure.” She slowed her pace. “Here we are.”
They had arrived at a small parklike area, where there were several benches and numerous fine, tall trees. She turned, looking everywhere, at everyone. She didn’t recognize a single face.
“What do you mean you aren’t even sure? You don’t know if you are meeting a man or a woman?”
“Kate, please, just listen to me. This afternoon I received a message from someone who knows I was at the Blue Swan that night. They threatened that if I did not meet them here now, they would tell everyone. Kate…my family. I can’t hurt them with such a scandal.”
“Who is it?”
“I’m not certain.” Daphne shivered, her hand coming up to loosen the ribbon of her hat beneath her throat. “But I’ve got to find out what they—or this person, wants.”
“What are we going to do?”
“You aren’t going to do anything.”
“But—this is all my fault.”
“No, it is not, and neither is it mine. We are simply two friends who would do anything for one another, and we have found ourselves in a predicament.”
“Not me, Daphne. You. I fear you are in danger.”
“I doubt the situation is anything as dramatic as that. But whomever my threatener may be, he or she will be here soon.” She looked about, and touched Kate’s arm. “Do you see that bench over there, under the tallest tree? I need you to go sit on it, and wait for me.”
“I don’t like the sound of that.” Kate sidled closer, holding her reticule against her stomach. “I think I should remain with you.”
“You know I would do anything for you, Kate, and now I beg you to do this for me.”
“You’re frightening me.”
Daphne gently pushed her in the direction of the bench, and watched her until she sat down. With a little wave to reassure her, she turned back toward the street. Several people walked by, but no one alone. Several minutes passed, in which she reassured herself that she must remain calm.
Then a dark carriage came down the thoroughfare, its driver sta
ring straight ahead. The vehicle slowed, and came to a stop.
Daphne stood rigid, staring at the door. When it opened, she peered into the shadowy darkness.
“Oh, no,” she whispered. “You!”
A man’s voice answered. “Surprised?”
*
“Here it is.” Cormack pointed. “Yes, here. You can stop.”
“Gor!” the younger farmer said. Gor! being his favorite expression, and one he had used at least a thousand times on the ride into London. Gor! he was driving Cormack mad.
“That would be your house?”
No. It was Kincraig’s house, a conservative affair on a lesser street within Mayfair.
The old man peered up at the front façade. He let out a low whistle. “Very fancy.”
Cormack did not wait for the wagon to come to a complete halt before leaping down. He had not escaped the ministrations of the resident farmwife. He felt certain she’d wrapped his head in twelve yards of homemade bandaging. Not that those twelve yards prevented the smelly green salve she’d smeared on one-half of his forehead to remain in place. Half the stuff presently slid down his jaw.
“Thank you, gentlemen.” He paid them, and without so much as a sentimental good-bye, they were on their way.
The butler opened the door for him, and after he answered that His Lordship was indeed at home and reading the daily papers in his study, Cormack charged inside, the man’s voice ringing in his ears.
At seeing him, Mr. Kincraig’s eyes flared wide with interest. “Good morning, Raikes. My goodness, don’t you look like someone’s old moldering mummy.”
“Thanks to you,” he growled, leaping over the desk and taking the man to the floor.
“Me?” said Mr. Kincraig, staring up in utter calm, his hair in disarray all around him.
Gripping him by the shirt, Cormack gave him a hard shake. “I’m going to kill you, but first, I want to know why.”
He wouldn’t kill the man, though, because he’d promised Daphne. He would only make the man wish that he was dead.
Kincraig’s eyes narrowed, and he simply said, “I’d like to know why as well. Mind the shirt. Don’t tear it please.”
