CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The sun had risen above the yardarm, when Dalton heeled his bay and raced along the sandy track in the park, as excitement surged in his veins. Sweet reflections, spectacular reveries flashed in his mind as a siren’s serenade, and Daphne’s creamy flesh, supple thighs, and luscious lips called to him. But he owed her a respite, however brief, as she had earned it, so he sought distraction. Wild and reckless, he jumped a lowlying hedge and veered toward a copse of oaks. When he spotted a familiar figure, he drew rein, eased his mount to a canter, and steered for the verge.
“Good morning, brother.” He saluted.
“Finally found your way out of your bed, I see.” Dirk shifted in his saddle and clucked his tongue. “Is it safe to presume an annulment is now out of the question?”
“That is putting it mildly.” He snorted. “By God, but Daphne is wondrous, and it is just as you said. The anatomy is the same, yet nothing is as I expected. Somehow, some way, everything is different. What I thought I knew seems altogether foreign, as if I am learning the feminine terrain all over again.”
“As a virgin?” Inclining his head, Dirk snickered. “You are in love.”
“How do you know?” How calm his brother appeared, whereas the prospect bloody well scared Dalton to death. “How can you be certain?”
“How does anyone know anything? I just know.” Dirk shrugged, and it dawned on Dalton that he had said the same thing to Daphne, two nights ago. “Do you doubt it?”
“I am unsure.” And the proposition had kept him awake, long after Daphne had drifted into dreamland. “But she captivates me, brother. She holds my attention, unreservedly, and I find the sensation rather discomposing.”
“You will get used to it—welcome it, even. And where is your fetching bride?” Dirk inquired, arching his brow. “If I may ask?”
“Sleeping the sleep of the sated.” Envisioning her as he had left her, with her hair splayed across her pillow, and her cheek resting to her hand, after he rode her hard and fast, he growled. “And Rebecca?”
“Same, and she is nightmare-free, I am happy to report.” Dirk thrust his chin. “Ah, it is good to be married, is it not?”
“It is more fulfilling than I had imagined, now that I have charted my wife’s pristine waters.” His horse sidled up to Dirk’s stallion, and Dalton stretched his back. “And I am grateful for your advice, because I followed your directives, and you were correct. Whatever I teach her, Daphne accepts it as natural, insofar as I tutor her with unimpaired aplomb, though such lascivious training seems a tad manipulative, given her innocence.”
“But I would argue you do nothing wrong, brother.” With a ghost of a grin, Dirk averted his gaze. “Regardless of who initiates and imparts the instruction, anything you indulge with your mate, in the privacy of your home, is state-sanctioned. You have a license to prove it.”
“True.” But he would wager his elder sibling would think otherwise, were he privy to Dalton’s escapade, in the wee hours. In a flash, he pictured Daphne on her knees, bent over, with her ample derriere in the air, and hugging the cushioned footstool in his sitting room, as he knelt behind her and sailed her back channel for the first time. Anticipating a hailstorm of protestations, he had braced for her reaction as he explained the controversial act, which polite society had deemed anything but polite, yet his provincial bride had assumed the position, sans complaint or question. Her surrender, without hesitation and unutterably arresting, had moved him more than he was willing to admit. With tenderness of which he had not thought himself capable, he had taken her bottom. “And she trusts me, because she loves me.”
In that fraction of a second, he shuddered, as the full import of that statement, haphazardly spoken, hit him in a tidal wave of emotion mixed with conviction, and he gasped for breath. It had not occurred to him what she meant, when she declared herself, as he took her on face value. But the undeniable fact was he owned his wife’s heart, and he vowed, then and there, to gift his, in kind.
“Good morning, gentleman.” Admiral Douglas drew nigh and tipped his hat. To Dalton, the admiral said, “I was on my way to see you, after receiving your summons. My boy, I am more sorry than I can say for your troubles, and I am at your service.”
“Perhaps we should repair to my study.” Dirk checked his pocket watch. “Sir Ross should arrive on the hour.”
“Then let us make haste.” Dalton heeled the flanks of his mount and steered for Randolph House, with Dirk and the admiral in his wake.
“Sir Ross Logan awaits you, in the drawing room, your lordship.” Hughes hurried to collect the outerwear.
“Thank you, Hughes.” Dirk dusted off his lapels and adjusted his cravat. “Will you send for her ladyship and Mrs. Randolph to join us?”
“Right away, your lordship.” Hughes bowed.
“You intend to involve Rebecca in our predicament?” Dalton asked.
“Do you honestly think we can keep it from her?” Venting a snicker of pure skepticism, Dirk rolled his eyes. “You have enough trouble on your hands without angering my viscountess, and despite her departure from espionage, she remains sharp as a tack, and I would make use of her instincts, which is a damn sight smarter than offending her.”
“I beg your pardon, Sir Dalton.” Holding a now familiar envelope, Hughes frowned. The staff had been apprised of the threats to Daphne and, as such, was on full alert. “Your man delivered this message while you were in the park. It was found on your doorstep, early this morning.”
“Bloody everlasting hell.” The addressee and accompanying inscription seemed to mock him, and he snatched the offending letter. “I swear when I discover who is behind this vile business, I will rip the bastard’s throat out with my teeth.”
“Let us confer with the expert, brother.” Dirk chucked Dalton’s shoulder. “And we shall remand the villain to the proper authorities, that your lady might enjoy a measure of justice.”
“I would dispense my own justice.” Rage, compelling and pure, simmered beneath his gentleman’s attire, and he ached to hurt to unknown scoundrel. But when Daphne descended the stairs, gowned in grey silk, with her saffron locks piled in loose curls atop her head, as an angel on high, the emotions wreaking havoc within him pooled in his chest. And an altogether different sensation burned bright as the sun, bathing him in soothing but nonetheless riveting sentiment.
It was at that precise moment that he realized he had spoken the truth to his wife. He loved her. He did not know how he knew it, but no one could convince him otherwise. And at the first opportunity, he would make sure she knew it, too.
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Gathered in the drawing room, with Admiral Douglas, Sir Ross Logan, Dirk, Rebecca, and Dalton, Daphne sat beside her husband on the sofa, as the mysterious head of the Counterintelligence Corps, and Elaine’s secret beau, opened the latest peculiar letter. After unfolding the parchment, which matched the others in her puzzling collection, he scanned the contents, and she held her breath.
“Well, at least now we know what the villain wants, in exchange for not revealing the truth behind your father’s death.” Sir Ross passed the note to Dalton. “Who is aware of the actual circumstances surrounding Governor Harcourt’s demise?”
“At first, only myself, my brothers Robert and Richard, Hicks, and Mrs. Jones.” Daphne searched her memory. “Later, I confessed the sum of the facts to my husband and Dirk.” She peered at the note and gasped in horror. “Five thousand pounds? Where am I to get such funds?”
“Worry not, my angel.” Dalton draped an arm about her shoulders and pulled her close. “It is but a drop in a very large bucket, but it will not come to that, as I will protect you.”
“What of my brothers?” At the mere thought of someone hurting her younger siblings, her gut clenched. “And the only other persons involved are my husband’s family. Surely, you don’t suspect them?”
“I suspect no one and everyone, Mrs. Randolph.” Rubbing his chin, Sir Ross averted his stare, and something in h
is manner troubled her. “But I think it safe to rule out the relations, which leaves—”
“No.” With clenched fists, she leaped to her feet, and Dalton followed suit and enfolded her in his embrace.
“Daphne, we must leave no stone unturned,” Dalton stated with grim finality.
“And people behave altogether strangely, when money is involved.” With a sigh, Sir Ross frowned. “How long have you known Hicks and Mrs. Jones?”
“All my life.” Given the prospects, something inside her shattered, and tears welled. But her every instinct told her the venerable spy was wrong. “And I refuse to believe either of them would betray me. They could have left us, after my father died, as I could not pay their salaries, but they stayed, even though food was scarce. Does that sound like the blackguard you describe?”
“Darling, I know it hurts.” Dalton kissed her forehead and dried her cheeks with his handkerchief. “But we have no one else, and we must consider all avenues.”
“But what of Lord Sheldon or Lady Moreton?” She sniffed and rested against his chest. “Why can it not be one of them, as they certainly do not wish me well? Why must you accuse Hicks and Mrs. Jones, who are as family to me?”
“Because Sheldon and Almira have no direct knowledge of your situation on Portsea.” As she wept, he squeezed her, and she gleaned strength from her true knight. “How would they have discovered the facts?”
“It must be someone with intimate information regarding your private affairs,” Sir Ross implied, as though imparting a critique of the weather. “Thus far, my investigation has revealed no concrete evidence pointing to any one person. Indeed, the franking suggests the perpetrator has gone to great lengths to confuse us, as each dispatch was posted using a different packet service, so it is impossible to trace the sender to any single location.”
“What I find interesting is the absence of conveyance details.” Admiral Douglas scanned the note. “How does our villain expect to gain his very unjust reward, when he designates no courier?”
“That is interesting.” Hugging her round belly, Rebecca cast an expression of sympathy. “It is as if the rogue expects you to go to him, as if such commands are unnecessary.”
“Which suggests the criminal anticipates Daphne’s return to Courtenay Hall, wherein he shall strike.” Sir Ross flipped through the bundled communiqués and grimaced. “And that may be his mistake, as the smaller population on the island could work to our advantage.”
“Were you planning to return to Portsea?” Admiral Douglas asked.
“No, at least, not yet.” Dalton met her gaze. “I had thought to take Daphne home, before I sail on my next mission, presuming there is a next mission, given the peace in the wake of Napoleon’s exile. Otherwise, we had contemplated a journey, once the renovations are complete.”
“How soon might that be?” At that instant, Sir Ross pulled a small square of paper and a pencil from his coat pocket and jotted a list.
“I had an update from Mr. Benson, and the remodel should be finished within a fortnight,” Dalton replied, and she wondered if that timeline included her additional changes to the master suite. “What do you suggest, Sir Ross?”
“That you take your wife to her childhood home for an impromptu holiday.” Then Sir Ross pinned Dalton with an unflinching glare. “And you take your new valet with you.”
“His new valet?” Daphne blinked.
“Of course.” Rebecca snapped her fingers. “What a stroke of brilliance, though I have a hard time envisioning you acting as Dalton’s manservant. How are you with babies?”
“Very funny.” The handsome man grinned, revealing a single dimple, and Daphne understood his appeal, which Elaine had lauded. “Given my relative obscurity in the backwater, we should have none the wiser, when we spring our trap.”
For the next half hour, the group strategized and plotted, until the course was set. And each had their part to play, save the admiral, who declared his intent to depart for Kent with Lady Amanda, given her delicate condition. But when Rebecca proclaimed a desire to assist Dalton and Daphne, Dirk protested.
“Rebecca, you are with child. If you think I will risk one hair on your lovely head, you are seriously mistaken.” The viscount folded his arms. “I admire your courage and willingness to help, but I put my foot down.”
“Excellent.” Rebecca stood. “I will be too happy to tell you just where to put your foot.”
“Er, perhaps we should leave you alone?” Sir Ross scratched his temple.
“That is not necessary, as we journey to Courtenay Hall.” Rebecca stomped the floor.
“No, we do not.” Dirk rested hands on hips. “They do not require our assistance, and we would only get in the way.”
“We could extend much needed support, and there is safety in numbers.” The viscountess lowered her chin. “And we would provide two additional voices to sound the alarm. How can you turn your back on your own brother, when the life of his wife hangs in the balance? Did Dalton not ride to my rescue, at your side, when Varringdale kidnapped me?”
“You will not let this go, will you?” Dirk exhaled in obvious frustration.
“When hell freezes.” The former spy met Dirk toe-to-toe and never flinched.
“Oh, I say.” Sir Ross slapped his thighs and chuckled. “But that is your bride, Wainsbrough.”
“And I blame you for her willful nature.” Dirk frowned, until Rebecca kissed his cheek, at which time he drew her near. “If we do this, you must abide my dictates, without fail. And as such, I forbid you to leave the estate without me. You must remain at my side, at all times, unless I am called upon to pursue the blackmailer, in which case you will stay inside Courtenay Hall. And if you violate any one of my commands, I will heat your posterior, regardless of your condition, and you will not sit comfortably for a fortnight. Do I make myself clear?”
“I love it when you talk tough.” With a flirty titter, Rebecca gave him a gentle nudge, and Dirk blushed.
Daphne sighed in relief, as she hated causing marital discord, and she feared the horrible affair had claimed more victims.
So the meeting adjourned, and she pondered the future of which she had dreamed. What if their scheme failed? What if Dalton was injured, or worse, in their attempt to uncover the scoundrel?
In the foyer, Dalton caught her by the wrist. “May I speak with you, in private, sweetheart?”
“Of course.” As she admired her beautiful husband, Daphne shivered with dread of the unknown, and she desperately yearned for the comfort of his body. “May we withdraw to our chamber, as I would not share you with anyone, just now.”
“As you wish.” With a dramatic bow, Dalton winked and offered his escort, which she accepted.
The epitome of grace and elegance, they climbed the stairs and veered right at the landing. A long hall led to the west wing of the huge mansion. When they passed through the double-door entrance to their sitting room, she turned on a heel and flung herself at her man.
Twining her fingers in his thick brown hair, she suckled his bottom lip and then launched a full-scale assault on his mouth. When Dalton broke her hastily initiated kiss, she sobbed.
“Did I do something wrong?” Lost in a vortex of panic, as she pondered their impending date with fate, she could not bear his rejection.
“No, angel.” To her surprise, he walked her to the chaise, sat, and then pulled her into his lap. “While I savor your impulse, and am humbled by your desire, there is something I must tell you, and I would do so before we retire to our marital bed, as I may not let you out of it until tomorrow.”
“Oh?” In light of his sober countenance, Daphne conjured the worst conclusions imaginable. “Have you no confidence in Sir Ross’s plan? Do you doubt our success?”
“On the contrary, I have faith in Sir Ross, and fate favors the lucky.” He took her hand in his and brought it to his lips. “But I will waste not a single second more and allow you to labor under a misapprehension. My darling, I love you.”
His declaration, stark in its simplicity, rang clear with conviction, and her spirits soared. “Will you say that again?”
Dalton favored her with his boyish smile, which melted her heart. “I love you, Daphne.”
“I know you do.” Resting her forehead to his, she rubbed her nose to his. “I needed you to know, as I have always believed in you.”
“Am I so worthy?” He squeezed her so tight she could hardly breathe. “Do you honestly think I deserve you?”
“I would argue the more appropriate question is whether or not I deserve you, and I adore it when you blush.” She poked him in the ribs.
“I do not blush.” And then compounded his appeal with an endearing pout.
With that, she wiggled from his lap and stood. “Shall we continue this discussion in bed, as I want to be near you.”
“Angel, I am most definitely at your service.” Dalton shrugged from his coat, when a knock at the door diverted him, to her chagrin. “Just a minute, sweetheart. Let me take care of this, while you get rid of your clothes.”
He patted her bottom, and she kissed him hard and fast, before sprinting into their inner quarters. Kicking off her slippers, she reached around, grabbed her laces, and tugged them loose. After a few wicked twists and turns, she yanked her dress over her head. Then she bent, unhooked her garters, and removed her hose. At last, she stripped from her chemise and turned to discover her husband, holding a bouquet of roses presented in a crystal vase and watching her with unveiled intent.
“That was some performance, Mrs. Randolph.” Basking in the heat of his admiration, she rotated for his delectation.
“What beautiful flowers.” And a new framing alignment struck her.
“They are but ordinary blooms, in comparison to my wife, and I ordered them this morning, to please you.” He removed a single long-stem bud, put the arrangement on the dresser, and then approached. “I know you well enough to surmise you are already planning to press the crimson blossoms, and my gift is yours to do with as you will, but this is mine.” With the soft petals, he teased her nipples, brushed her belly, and caressed her shoulder. Strolling in a circle about her, he visited each peak and valley of her body with the rose, until he wrapped his arm about her waist, from behind, and she leaned against him. “I would ask you to preserve this bud, in one of your special creations, which I would carry with me, whenever we are apart, to commemorate the day I made my declaration.”
The Lucky One (Brethren Of The Coast #6) Page 26
