by welis
“Perhaps I prefer the privacy of an inn, where callers cannot turn up on my doorstep in order to slake their curiosity,” he snapped, waving a dismissive hand. “It has nothing to do with Daphne or my desire to hide from her.”
“Then why haven’t ye approached her?” Niall challenged. “Why haven’t ye seized on the chance to make sure everyone in London is left with no doubt that the rumors about her are true?”
“It is called strategy, you oaf,” he spat, rising to his feet and pacing away from the table.
If Niall kept pressing him, he would explode, and the two would likely engage in fisticuffs—something they hadn’t done in years. He did not appreciate being questioned.
“Something I would not expect you to understand,” he added, pacing to a nearby window and peering out at the street below. “Do not allow our friendship to cause you to forget your place.”
He could feel Niall’s stare, hot on his back, the reminder of his subservient position rankling. The man did not like being reminded that it was Adam’s duty to avenge Olivia, not his. He loved her, but she had never truly belonged to him—not in the ways he would have wanted, and not in any way that counted.
That hadn’t stopped him from making his displeasure known when Adam had not only allowed Daphne into his home for thirty days, but catered to her with expensive, tailored clothing and other niceties such as access to his music room and library.
But Niall could never understand that to offer her those things and still treat her like a whore had been part of his entire plan … just as ending their time together by outing her as his bedmate to some of London’s most notorious gossips had been. That he had plotted and planned every aspect of his revenge before acting made the outcomes more satisfying.
He heard movement and glanced over his shoulder just as Niall pulled on his coat, not bothering with a waistcoat or cravat.
“Where are you going?” he asked as the butler made his way to the door of their suite.
“To tend yer horses, Master,” he grumbled. “It is, after all, my place.”
He barreled out into the corridor like a howling wind, yanking the panel shut behind him. His heavy footsteps echoed through the door and eventually faded to dull thumps once he’d reached the stairs.
Shaking his head, Adam returned to inspecting the people coming and going on the busy street below him.
Despite knowing he had been right, he felt guilty for the way he’d spoken to Niall. The man was a servant, but more than that, he was the one person who understood Adam, who treated him as an equal as opposed to someone to gawk at, bow and scrape to, or whisper about. He would find some way to make amends later. For the moment, his thoughts returned to the reason he’d come to London.
He had told Niall that coming to town and publicly pursuing Daphne would help bolster the rumors about their time together in Scotland. If there remained anything left of her family’s good name, it would be effectively obliterated. That, along with the whispers of Bertram’s indiscretions he’d begun spreading the last time he’d visited the city, would be enough to ensure no Fairchild would be welcome in polite society ever again.
It would be the end of Daphne’s family … though he suspected the woman herself would get along quite well. She had proven to be made of sterner stuff than her father and brother. It seemed she had begun building quite a life for herself with the funds he had settled upon her. The grand sum of thirty thousand pounds would provide a life comfortable enough that she should not care about public scorn. In truth, she ought to be thanking him. He had freed her from her family, yes, but also the clutches of a society that could never appreciate her. How much better would her life be now that she no longer needed to care about the opinions of people who would never accept her for who she truly was?
A slow smile spread across his face. She would never thank him. She would scream and rail, and perhaps even throw herself at him, clawing and scratching as she accused him of disrupting the peaceful life she had made for herself. He would subdue her and remind her how she’d earned that peace … remind her how easily he could strip away her ladylike façade and reveal the true wanton living inside that lily-white skin. Despite what he’d told Niall, it was his real reason for traveling to London, the thing that made him lie awake at night … that prompted him to fuck his own fist as he imagined sinking into her tight, wet cunt.
The deep itch burrowing beneath his skin was one only she could soothe … one that would not abate until he could wrap a hand around her throat and command her submission.
Turning away from the window, he approached the writing desk situated in an adjoining sitting room—where Niall had deposited his correspondence. Among the short notes from old Oxford acquaintances inviting him for drinks and dinner at various clubs, he found an array of invitations. It seemed every member of the ton wished for his presence at some soirée or another. He did not doubt that the hostess who earned his attendance would be the center of attention come the next morning. It amused him as much as it annoyed him that everyone in London seemed to wonder why he had come, and what his first move would be.
Sinking into the chair, he ripped open the invitations and spread them out on the desk so he could make a decision. He doubted he would encounter Daphne at any of them, but he did wish to make a public appearance. He needed their eyes on him, their speculation as they watched him and tried to anticipate his motives. It would make things all the better when he pursued her … he would have their undivided attention.
Lifting one of the elegant cards from the table, he read the details of a small musicale being hosted by Mr. and Mrs. Bellingham at their home not far from his inn. He could walk there, attend the affair, mingle, and make his re-entrance into society. He doubted the event would last too late into the night, freeing him to indulge in cards or drinks at one of the clubs he held a membership to. While he did not care to reacquaint himself with old chums from university, it might prove a good enough distraction to keep him from making his way back to Half-Moon Street.
The time was not yet right. When he cornered his little dove, it would be at the opportune moment … when she had no hope of escape.
CHAPTER THREE
ou’ve a visitor, m’lady.”
Glancing up from the book she had been trying to read all afternoon, Daphne found her butler hovering in the doorway of her preferred drawing room. Facing the street, the airy space had been decorated in shades of white and silver, lending it an ethereal effect. Despite the book in her lap—a worn copy of Northanger Abbey, one of her favorites—she had been hard-pressed to think of anything except Adam. He invaded her every thought, his phantom presence in London hanging over her head like a storm cloud.
At the news of a visitor, she sat up straight, her stockinged feet slipping off the side of the sofa to touch the carpet.
“A visitor?” she parroted, her voice coming out on a rough squeak.
The butler inclined his head in answer, then entered the room, extending a plain, white calling card to her on a silver platter. She took it up and studied the name etched on it in a swirling scrawl.
Miss Winifred Bellingham.
Shock rippled through her as she read the name a second time. She had tried to call upon Miss Bellingham not long after her arrival in London, but had been informed that the young woman was not ‘at home.’ Due to the disdainful way the butler had looked at her and the frigid tone with which he had delivered the news, she’d understood. Winifred would not see her. And why should she? To invite a Fairchild into her home would invite speculation, and Daphne could understand why the girl wished to distance herself from the now ruined family. After all, it would not do to remind the public that she had come quite close to being a Fairchild herself.
Clearing her throat, she slipped her feet back into her slippers. “Please show her in, Rowney … and do send for a pot of tea and light refreshments, please.”
“Right away,” he replied before turning to leave the room.
&nbs
p; Daphne put her book aside, using the calling card to mark her place. She wiped her damp palms on her skirt and tried to resist the urge to pace like a caged animal. While the distraction from thoughts of Adam was a welcome one, she still had no notion what she would say to Winifred. She did not know the young lady well … had only met her a few times before her short, ill-fated engagement to Bertram. Truly, she was not entirely sure why she’d wanted to speak with the woman … not when Bertram himself had admitted to being a rapist. She clenched her teeth at the memory of his callous dismissal … his referring to what he’d done to Olivia as a mere indiscretion.
“Miss Winifred Bellingham,” Rowney announced from the doorway.
He stepped aside to reveal a lovely, petite creature with rich brown hair and warm brown eyes. Upon first meeting her, Daphne had seen Winifred as the perfect wife for her brother—kind, biddable, intelligent. Now, viewing her through the eyes of a woman who had become wiser in the ways of the world, she recognized what Bertram had seen in her. Easy prey … someone he could manipulate and lie to.
“Lady Daphne,” she said with a swift curtsy as Rowney quit the room. “How do you do?”
Forcing a smile, Daphne gestured toward the twin armchairs facing her sofa. “I am well, thank you. Please, do come in and sit.”
Winifred sank onto the loveseat, lowering her hat and reticule onto the cushion beside her before demurely folding her hands in her lap. Clearing her throat, Daphne engaged her in small talk while impatiently waiting for Rowney to return with the tea. She would not risk having him walk in on them during such a delicate conversation. Her guest answered her questions about her health and the health of her family, then they traded pleasantries on the fair weather. The butler came and left, and they suffered through another few minutes of inane prattle while Daphne poured tea and offered Winifred cakes and biscuits.
The girl accepted a biscuit, which she did not touch, though she did sip at the tea for a moment before launching into the true reason for her visit.
“When my father first informed me that you had come to call upon me and been turned away, I must admit I was glad,” she began, setting her cup into its saucer with a soft clink. “You must understand, to be forced to call off my engagement to Bertram amid all the rumors and talk of your family’s situation … well, it has been quite embarrassing, as I am certain you understand.”
“Yes, I most certainly can,” she offered.
But she would not apologize … something else she had learned to stop doing during her time at Dunnottar. What use was it for her to express regret for something she had not done? An apology would be useless, and she doubted it would make either of them feel any better.
“But then, word spread of your … your own recent … indiscretion,” Winifred stammered, her face coloring as she lowered her gaze. “I realized that it was him.”
Her pulse leapt, even though she hadn’t even said his name. Yet, there could be no denying who he must be.
“Hartmoor,” Daphne said aloud, cursing that her voice sounded so breathless when she said his name.
Winifred nodded. “It was he who came to me, you see … he who revealed the truth about Lord Fairchild to me.”
Daphne noted the way she referred to Bertram, formally instead of using his Christian name. She had clearly moved on from their short-lived courtship and engagement.
“When was this?” she pressed. “What exactly did he say to you?”
“It was not long after your uncle’s unfortunate passing,” Winifred replied. “He approached me at a soirée and signed my dance card … for a waltz. He terrified me out of my wits, if I may be honest, and I wondered what a man such as he might want with a girl like me. We had never been formally introduced before that night, and what I knew of him did not suggest he sought a wife. Besides, I had already accepted Bertram’s suit and the banns had already been called once. Yet, I had no choice but to accept, and while we danced, he warned me that to marry Bertram would be a grave mistake. When I became angry and asked him what business he had saying such things to me, he asked me why I thought a man like your brother had courted so many women without offering them marriage … why so many of the ladies he’d danced attention upon in the past few years had gone on to become spinsters, or make less than advantageous marriages.”
Daphne sat her tea aside, no longer able to stomach another sip or bite of food. She had lost many a night’s sleep wondering about her brother’s victims, and how his brand of evil had destroyed the futures they might otherwise have had if not for him.
“He challenged me to seek one of them out,” Winifred continued. “To find the truth for myself. He said … he told me I would thank him someday.”
Raising her eyebrows when the other woman fell silent, Daphne leaned forward in her chair. “And then?”
“And then, the dance was over, and I never saw him again beyond that night,” Winifred replied. “I did, however, seek out Lady Cassandra Lane.”
Daphne winced, remembering that Lady Cassandra had been on the list of women she’d made at Dunnottar—a list of women she could remember her brother being seen with.
“She told me a most horrifying story about letting Bertram coerce her into slipping out of a ball and into a private drawing room,” Winifred whispered, still avoiding Daphne’s gaze. “He took certain … liberties with her. When she tried to cry off, he pressed the issue … until she began to fight. But, she was not strong enough, and he overpowered her.”
Winifred finally looked up, staring into Daphne’s eyes with a sigh.
“I could not, in good conscience, marry such a man,” she stated. “Even if he had never done to me what he had done to Lady Cassandra. She hinted that there were others, and I … I just felt so dreadful. How could I have let myself think I loved such a man, when I hardly knew him, or what he could be capable of?”
“I understand entirely,” Daphne agreed. “I came to learn I did not know him very well, either.”
“I know,” Winifred replied. “You see, I have always wondered what Hartmoor stood to gain by coming to me—what his motive might have been. And then, the rumors of your affair began making the rounds, and it became clear to me. Lady Olivia has not been spotted in London in years … not since she was seen being courted by your brother during her first Season.”
Daphne’s mouth fell open, shock rippling through her. It should not surprise her that the lady was so astute. Bertram had never known what a prize he’d almost had in Winifred.
“Yes, that is right,” she hedged, torn between wanting to be honest and needing to keep the secrets of the Callahan family.
No matter what Adam had done to her, Olivia and Serena deserved protection.
“I realized that you were just as much a victim of Bertram as the rest of us,” Winifred said with a sad smile. “You were hurt by his actions, just as Olivia was … just like Cassandra.”
Daphne shook her head, but did not reply. It was not her place to tell Winifred just how thoroughly Bertram had ruined Olivia. What he had taken from her, and what her father and uncle had done to help keep it quiet, had led to a madness that seemed incurable.
“So, I came to apologize for refusing to see you,” Winifred said when Daphne remained silent. “And to offer my aid, should you need it.”
Daphne forced a smile. “Oh, that will not be necessary. I am fine, truly. But I do thank you for coming. It relieves me to know that Bertram never harmed you. I hope you will be able to move forward with your life now.”
Winifred smiled. “Oh, but I have. I’ve met someone … well, he isn’t the son of an earl or anything so important. But he is a barrister, and he seems to care for me a great deal. I expect a proposal sooner rather than later.”
Daphne’s smile became genuine. “Then I am glad for you.”
“Oh, and I also wished to give you this,” the other woman said as she stood, reaching into her reticule.
She produced a sealed envelope—an invitation, Daphne realized, as
it was placed into her hand. Peeling it open, she found the details of a musicale to be hosted at the Bellingham residence that evening.
“You are kind,” she replied, glancing up from the card. “But, I couldn’t possibly. The gossip.”
“Oh, pish posh!” Winifred objected. “My parents and I do not care for gossip, and I certainly do not intend to treat you like a leper due to circumstances that were outside your control. The rest of those sanctimonious fools might blame you, but they do not understand.”
Rising as well, she tucked the invitation back into its envelope. “I would be a distraction … it would ruin the evening.”
“It might make it a bit livelier,” Winifred teased. “Do consider it, at least. You cannot hide from the world forever, Lady Daphne.”
“Please, just call me Daphne,” she insisted. “And I will consider attending.”
“Very well, then you shall call me Winnie,” Winifred replied with a decisive nod. “And I hope to see you this evening. Do not worry over what anyone might say. I shall stick by your side as much as I am able. And my brother would be an ally of ours, as well, I think. We will not allow anyone to treat you badly.”
The other woman’s kindness lifted her spirits, chasing away a bit of the worry that had been gnawing at her insides from the moment she’d discovered Adam’s whereabouts. Perhaps an evening out would be a pleasant diversion.
“Thank you, Winnie,” she said. “I am grateful for you.”
Reaching out to take her hand, Winifred gave it a squeeze, then released it, turning to take up her hat.
“Until this evening,” she called out, before breezing from the room.
Daphne sank back onto her place on the sofa, the invitation still held in one hand. Meeting with Winifred had only affirmed that she’d made the right decision in choosing to believe Adam’s story over her brother’s insistence that nothing was what she’d thought. It made her feel better about the decision to keep every penny of the money Adam had given her for herself.
