“For you, darling.” He was glad, when she accepted the steaming brew. “I missed you, this morning.”
“I missed you, too.” She avoided his stare, which spoke volumes, and none of it boded well. “I wondered if I might—”
“Our dear family, if we could have your attention, Mark and I would like to share a bit of news.” Lady Amanda peered at the admiral and nodded. “And we do hope you are thrilled for us.”
“What Amanda is trying to tell you…we want you to…recently we discovered…oh, bloody hell.” The admiral snatched the brandy decanter from the trolley and drank from the bottle. The venerable naval legend wiped his mouth on his coat sleeve. “We are expecting our third child.”
A chorus of gasps pierced the solitude.
“But—how is that possible?” Everett blinked.
“How do you think?” Admiral Douglas arched a brow, and Dalton was grateful for the distraction, as it afforded the opportunity to scrutinize his reticent bride.
“Sorry.” Everett bowed his head.
“Well I am impressed.” Trevor winked. “Did not know you still had it in you, old boy.”
“Mama, are you all right?” Cara glanced at Sabrina. “I mean, is this normal?”
“It is perfectly normal.” Lady Amanda laughed. “Upon my word, but why the long faces? My situation is not unheard of, and Dr. Handley assures me everything will be fine, if I am careful.”
“And you will be very careful.” The admiral frowned. “In fact, I am taking you to the country, for the remainder of your confinement, as I would preserve your health and that of our unborn babe.”
As the group digested the recent revelation, Dalton studied Daphne’s reaction. “You knew.”
“Yes.” She clutched his hand and squeezed his fingers. “I guessed, when I visited her, after the contretemps with Lady Moreton and Lord Sheldon.”
“You are excellent at keeping secrets.” When her smile faded, he said, “I am teasing, angel.”
“Are you angry that I did not apprise you of the impending addition to their family tree?” Her countenance of concern gave him pause, as he realized that, despite her direct query, she was asking in the general sense. “Have I displeased you?”
“No, angel.” In his brain, he formulated a response intended to reassure her. “Everyone has secrets, but I value honesty. It is very easy to be angry with someone who lies to me, but it is difficult to be mad with someone who tells me the truth, however late.”
“I understand, and I admire the sentiment.” Then she started. “What on earth is Blake about?”
“We need a little levity in this somber lot, as it has grown far too serious for my taste.” Always the life of the party, Blake snickered, waggled his brows, and then gave the group his back. “What do you think of my new disguise for Buccaneers and Bluejackets, with my nephews?”
The usually hotheaded duke pulled on a black hooded mask and charged Caroline, who cringed. “Blake, you can’t be serious. Welton will be three this November, and he is too young for such games.”
A loud crash had Daphne jumping from the chair to stand at his side, and he noticed Rebecca had dropped her crystal dish of apple snow, and the delicate bowl shattered when it struck the tea service on the trolley, as she fixated on Blake. But it was her wide-eyed visage of terror that brought Dirk to her aid.
“Becca, what is wrong?” Dirk eased her to the sofa, sat to her right, and draped an arm about her shoulders. “What is it?”
“Varringdale.” At the former spy’s exclamation, Dalton shuddered.
A double agent for the Counterintelligence Corps, Lord Varringdale had betrayed Rebecca and her partner in espionage, Collin Eddington. Varringdale had tortured Rebecca, and Dirk had killed the traitor, with his bare hands.
“I apologize, Dirk.” Blake removed the mask and compressed his lips. “I meant no harm.”
“It is all right.” Dirk cupped Rebecca’s chin, as she wept. “Talk to me. Tell me of your distress.”
“Should we give you the room?” the admiral asked.
“No.” With an upraised hand, Dirk shook his head, as he remained focused on Rebecca. “There is no shame in her tears.”
For a while, Rebecca said nothing. Then she inhaled a shaky breath. “After I lost our baby, Varringdale tied me to a table. My wrists and ankles were strapped down, and another band, which was attached to a panel, crossed my forehead, so I could not move. When unlatched, the board dropped, which enabled him to pour a torrent of water over my nose and mouth. At one point, he draped my face with a cloth, and I was certain I would drown, as I eventually lost consciousness.”
“Hell and the Reaper.” In a low voice, Dirk inquired, “And is that what haunts you, in your nightmares?
Rebecca nodded and then broke.
“I figured as much.” Dirk lifted her to his lap. “And now that I know the whole of your trauma, we can fight your demons together, sweetheart.”
“I am so sorry, as I should have told you,” Rebecca cried. “I should not have kept the details from you.”
“You did it to spare my feelings.” Dirk caressed his wife’s cheek. “So there are no apologies necessary, love.”
As had the other Brethren husbands, Dalton pulled Daphne into his embrace, and she shivered. Regardless of their difficulties, he needed to hold her. Never had he comprehended the depth of Dirk’s fury, in regard to Rebecca’s ordeal, until that moment. Until that second, when he imagined someone hurting Daphne.
The urge to protect her, to keep her safe from harm, was compelling. Of course, she was no spy, and no turncoat stalked her, but he could not tolerate the mere thought of someone harming his wife. It made him angry.
“Dalton, I want to go home.” Daphne burrowed into his chest. “I wish to return to Portsea Island.”
Stunned by her declaration, because he had presumed she referenced their townhouse, he knew not how to respond. “Admiral, could you have your man bring around our carriage?”
“Of course.” The admiral signaled the butler.
Myriad possibilities echoed in his brain, as Dalton feared she planned to leave him. By the time they had collected their gloves and outerwear, he was submerged in a miasma of confusion mixed with pain. But no matter what she asked of him, he vowed to bear it. He would neither shout nor rave. He would relent. He would accept her choice, if only to make her happy.
When Daphne shifted in the squabs to lean against him, he kissed her crown of curls, and she said, “Dirk and Rebecca have known so much sadness.”
“More than anyone deserves.” The clip-clop of the team beat in harmony with his pulse, and dread permeated his muscles. What would he do without his backwater bride? How would he persist without her? “But they have survived, because they work as a couple.”
“And he supports her, without condition.” She snuggled close. “Even though she hid the full extent of her torture from him.”
“Well, Dirk loves Rebecca.” And Dalton believed he felt the same for Daphne, but he remained uncertain. “And as I said before, all that matters is she told him the truth.”
When the carriage halted, he handed Daphne to the sidewalk. Various propositions danced on his tongue, and he considered offering her a brandy. Then again, she had choked on the amber intoxicant the last time she had consumed it, so he nixed the idea. Perhaps she would have preferred a glass of wine, or he could order a pot of tea.
In the foyer, he nodded an acknowledgement to Merton.
“How was your evening, sir?” The butler hung Dalton’s coat on the hall tree.
“Interesting.” That was putting it mildly. Then it dawned on him that his wife often requested warm milk before retiring. Though the prospect seemed not so palatable, he would sacrifice his stomach if it afforded him the chance to persuade her to stay in London. In that instant, Dalton turned to discover Daphne gone.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Marching into her guest room, Daphne crossed the floor and walked straight to her armoi
re. After a brief search, she located the reticule in which she had hidden the ominous notes. In the long mirror, she caught sight of her reflection, and she studied her appearance for signs of her distress.
Had Dalton detected her unrest? Had he suspected her of deceit? Given Rebecca’s revelations, and Dirk and Dalton’s reaction to her sin of omission, Daphne had everything to gain by taking a stand. So she had nothing to lose by making her confession, and she had tarried long enough. Once again, she would trust her husband and bare her soul. She would share her secrets, she would withhold nothing, and he would help her. With conviction as a shield, she trudged forth.
But the walk to his apartments seemed never-ending.
Without knocking, she twisted the knob and entered his sanctuary, which she had never visited. In stark contrast to the remainder of his bachelor lodging, Dalton’s private apartment sported his favorite sapphire shade trimmed in mahogany. Absent the excess knickknacks, his personal surroundings boasted only nautical tools, some of which appeared ancient. And, to her abiding delight, the small framed assortment of yellow horned poppy, red valerian, viper’s bugloss, and sea radish, which she had created to commemorate the first time he accompanied her on her morning jaunts, held pride of place on a small stand, atop his bedside table. That sight, alone, girded her resolve.
Voices from the closet snared her attention, and she cleared her throat. “Dalton, are you there?”
“Daphne?” Wearing his breeches, boots, and shirt, which sat open at the throat, Dalton emerged from behind an oriental screen. “What are you doing here?”
“I need to speak with you.” With fists at her side, she vowed to prevail.
“Right now?” Her husband appeared shocked, as he blinked.
“Yes.” Before her confidence faltered, she took two steps, as she would not be denied. “This very instant.”
“Can it not wait until the morning?” With a mighty frown, he folded his arms. “You have my word, as a gentleman, I would honor your request, whatever you require.”
“No.” She advanced further into his domain, as, in the spirit of the Brethren wives, she would not be rebuffed.
“All right.” To her chagrin, he retreated, but her concerns were allayed, when Dalton said, “You are dismissed, Bowling. I shall see to the rest, myself.”
Nervous, Daphne chewed her lip and tapped her foot, until her husband returned. For several seconds, they just stared at each other. In no uncertain terms, she had the floor, but the perfect entreaty failed her.
At last, her knight sighed. “Angel, what are you about?”
Silent, she thrust the bundled letters at him.
“What is this?” He untied the twine and flipped through the envelopes. “But this correspondence is addressed to you. Yet you wish me to read them?”
Fear locked as a vice about her throat, so she nodded her assent and prayed for strength.
Shifting his weight, he unfolded the top note, perused the brief but disturbing content, and snapped to attention. In rapid succession, he digested the remaining three missives and then pierced her with his stare. “Where did you get these?”
“The first two were delivered to Randolph House.” Wringing her fingers, she cursed the urge to weep. “The third was redirected to Courtenay Hall, after our wedding.”
“Which I unwittingly conveyed to you.” Dalton closed his eyes and bowed his head. “Over breakfast, after our stroll among the dunes.”
“Yes,” she said in a small voice. “And the fourth arrived yesterday.”
“Which is why you canceled our dinner, retired early, and cried yourself to sleep.” He tossed the stationary to his bed and paced.
Shocked by his revelation, she gasped. “How did you know?”
“Because I sat with you into the wee hours.” He halted and confronted her. “Why did you not tell me someone had threated my wife? Do you imagine I will stand idly by while an unknown villain assaults you? How dare they.”
As he ranted and raved, Daphne heard nothing but his simple yet compelling admission, over and over, as a sweet refrain.
Because I sat with you into the wee hours.
In that moment, he won her heart, once again. As tears streamed her cheeks, she resolved to concede. Whatever he desired, even if he decided to send her away, she would obey. No matter what he asked of her, she vowed to bear it. She would neither shout nor protest. She would relent. She would accept his choice, if only to make him happy. But when Dalton quieted and charged her, she trembled.
“Oh, sweet Daphne.” With his arms about her waist, he lifted her from the floor and held her so tight she could scarcely draw breath. “My cherished backwater bride, I will let no one take you from me. And I will sort this out, I swear.”
“So you are not angry with me?” Nuzzling his neck, she pressed her lips to his warm flesh and drew comfort from his mere presence. “And you will not leave me?”
“What do you mean?” Relaxing his grasp, he let her slide down the front of him, and she discovered him aroused. “Of course, I am not upset with you. But I am livid with those who would cause you harm. And we are married, till death do us part, so I will never surrender you without a fight, my angel. If someone wants you, they must first go through me.”
At his priceless admission, everything inside her flip-flopped and clenched. Daphne gave vent to a half-strangled sob, as a valiant rallying cry, and came at her husband with a force she had not known she possessed, and he stumbled backward but never broke their point of contact. Twining her fingers in his hair, she bit his lip and then besieged his mouth. Like a firestorm, they ignited.
When Dalton settled his palms to her bottom, and pressed her hips to his, she moaned, as delicious heat simmered beneath her skin and quelled the chill of fear that had plagued her for more than a fortnight. As some sort of addictive intoxicant, he bestowed upon her intimate kisses, with his tongue delving deeper than ever before, and she craved more.
A foreign hunger blossomed in the pit of her belly, and she yearned to assuage the heady appetite. Now she understood the temptation of desire, which the Brethren wives had recounted. Without doubt, she wanted her husband, longed to reap the rewards of his expertise, of everything he could teach her, and pleasure him, too. The knowledge worked on her in ways she could not defend against, given her innocence, and her knees buckled.
“Easy, love.” All of a sudden, Dalton bent and swept her into his arms. “Do not be afraid.”
In a flash, he carried her to his bed and eased her to the mattress. Stretched alongside her, he nudged her legs apart, as he wielded gentle caresses in a delicate invasion, and she followed his lead. But when he shifted and flicked up her skirts, she gasped.
“What are you doing?” She tensed, when he placed his hand on her bare thigh.
“Please, sweet Daphne. I will not hurt you.” He nipped her nose. “Permit me to feed you a taste, just a morsel, of the delights we can share.”
“You promise, it will not hurt?” Pining for what she knew not, she clung to him.
“You have my solemn vow.” To her lips, he said, “Please, angel.”
His appeal, captivating in its simplicity, arrested her, and she could not refuse his elementary petition. And she had not wanted to refuse him. Opening to her knight, she told him with her body what she lacked the courage to say with words, and Dalton rewarded her with a lusty growl, as he took the helm and steered her into a mystical realm, where she floated beyond her mortal coil, and sight and sound yielded to touch.
As she sampled his desire, a potent elixir not unlike the brandy that rendered her dizzy, she wallowed in the luxurious heat suffusing her in peaceful euphoria—until Dalton touched her most tender flesh.
“Wait.” The ugly reality of her locale struck her as a cold-water bath. She jerked free and rolled to the opposite side of the bed. “I can’t do this—not here.”
“What did I do, darling?” The sadness investing his boyish features tore at her heart. “Tell me what you wa
nt me to do, and I will do it. Just do not turn me away.”
“But I am not rejecting you.” Somehow, she had to make him understand her perspective. Had he not demanded honesty? Had he not claimed he valued the truth? Daphne stiffened her spine and inhaled a fortifying breath. “I hate this house. I detest it and everything that happened here, before we met.”
“I beg your pardon?” Her husband sputtered and stuttered. Then he rubbed the back of his neck and stood. “Pray, explain yourself.”
“I want to be yours. I want to make love to you—I want it all.” Cresting on a tide of conviction, she lifted her chin. “But not here.”
“What is your objection?” He glanced about the room. “What is wrong with my home?”
“That is the point. This is your bachelor lodging, where you have taken any number of women, of whom I am jealous, and it pains me to admit it, but there it is.” There was no going back, so she clenched her fists. “I have no wish to join the ranks of the many. I want to be the one.”
Dalton opened his mouth and then closed it. “Am I to understand you have no quarrel with me, and your issue is with our current location?”
“Yes.” Rounding the footboard, she smiled. “I long to be yours, but it will never happen in this place. And I do not want to live here. I would have something that reflects our combined tastes, as a couple. I would have what is ours.”
“Is that your sole complaint?” He sauntered to the bell pull and tugged hard. “Have you any other grievances?”
“No,” she replied without hesitation.
“Well, then.” To her confusion, her husband returned to his closet. When someone knocked at the door, Dalton reappeared, wearing a tan waistcoat and shrugging into a dark green coat. “Come.”
Merton peered around the edge of the oak panel. “You rang, sir?”
“Have the carriage readied, as Mrs. Randolph and I depart in twenty minutes.” Her knight seemed so calm, and she was anything but, as he tied his cravat.
The Lucky One (Brethren Of The Coast #6) Page 24
