by welis
“Are you ready to perform for your adoring public, little dove?” he teased, offering her his hand.
It was time for their waltz.
She felt eyes on them, even the couples who gathered around them to partner for the waltz unable to tame their curiosity. Placing her hand in his, she acquiesced with a nod. He used her hand to pull her toward him, molding their bodies together from chest to hip while wrapping his arm around her waist. She bit back a moan at the things his proximity did to her, making the tips of her breasts go hard and her womb pool with liquid heat. His cock flared to life between them, pulsing with blood, throbbing with promise. It was all-too potent a reminder that she hadn’t had that long, hard length inside of her the last time they’d been together. Her inner channel clenched with longing, that primitive part of her not caring what he’d done or who he was—simply recognizing him as her counterpart.
There must have been music, because then, he was twirling her, spinning her about in that hypnotic sway and dip that so characterized the waltz. The world around them whirled, the little pinpoints of candlelight blurring together.
“They love you almost as much as they hate you, you know,” he murmured, keeping his gaze fixed on hers as they moved, back and forth, round and round. “These people … the women, especially. They want to despise you, but they can’t quite manage it. You are too beautiful … too enchanting … too mysterious.”
She lowered her gaze to his tiepin, a huge chunk of black onyx stabbed through the snowy white linen of his cravat. “Is that how you feel about me? You hate me?”
He chuckled, the sound vibrating and resounding from his body and echoing through hers. “What makes you think I hate you, little dove? I have no reason to hate you … even when you vex me to no end. Even when you refuse me.”
She glanced back up at him. “It is the queerest thing … I cannot seem to hate you, either, even when you give me every reason to.”
What was she doing? What was she saying?
It must be the music, or the dizzying feeling of the waltz, or the champagne she’d drunk, or …
She could not fight whatever it might be. It made her reckless.
She might as well proclaim out loud that she loved him.
The notion was so ridiculous, she almost burst out laughing.
“I could not blame you if you did,” he murmured. “But it would not stop me from claiming what’s mine in the end.”
She raised her eyebrows at him in challenge. “Yours?”
“Aye, little dove,” he confirmed. “You. You are mine. What I cannot understand is why you continue to fight it.”
“Perhaps it might have something to do with you moving into Fairchild House,” she countered. “Or your trotting me out to Hyde Park and waltzing with me tonight … your inability to see past your disdain for my family. It is over for me now … I simply wish to move on.”
His hand tightened around hers, a muscle in his jaw ticking. “It will never be over for me. Do you understand?”
She nodded. “I do. Which is why I cannot accept your offer. Aside from the fact that I have no wish to be any man’s mistress, I simply cannot allow you to turn my entire life into your battlefield.”
The hand at her back tightened, his fingers digging into the curve of her waist. “Fairchild House … it could be yours. You could live there again. I’ll give you whatever you want. A harp in every room, a stable full of horses to ride, swords to fence with … name it, little dove, and it is yours. What more could I promise to get you to accept my offer?”
The one thing you could never give.
Aloud, she simply said, “There is nothing you could offer, Adam. I have made up my mind.”
His arm tightened even more, making it difficult to breathe. He was practically carrying her across the floor now, her feet barely touching the tiles as they whirled. Her lungs burned, and her breasts tingled, the valley between her thighs aching, pulsating.
“Damn you, Daphne,” he growled. “You are making it difficult for me to be reasonable about this. I’ve tried to act the gentleman, I’ve tried to give you time to come to terms with it … but I am done. I do not have to give you anything to claim you, to own you.”
She squeezed her eyes shut and sighed, all-too aware of how true that statement was. Just as he had in that alley, or in her drawing room, he could have her at any time, lower her defenses with nothing more than the touch of his hand or the brush of his lips. And even if she fought, she would always lose.
“Please,” she pleaded, not caring about the blow to her pride caused by being forced to beg. “I just want to move forward with my life. If you care about me at all … if you have even the smallest shred of affection for me … you will let me go.”
His nostrils flared, green flames igniting in his eyes as he lowered his head until they were almost nose to nose. His breath huffed against her cheek, and his scent became so strong, she almost swooned. Christ, she was a pitiful creature.
“Never,” he growled. “Do you understand, little dove? I will never let you go.”
Defeat washed over her, and she deflated as the dance ended and he held her for a moment longer before putting her back on her feet. The other couples applauded the music and smiled at one another before going off in search of refreshment and their next dance partner. But they stood that way for a long moment, simply staring at each other, Adam’s face a study in stubborn willfulness.
“Run if you please,” he murmured after a moment, lowering his head and pressing his mouth to her ear. “I will chase you. Fight me … you know how easily I can subdue you. Beg me … please, beg me. I love it when you beg. But, Daphne, you will be mine, and that is all there is to it.”
With that, he was gone, turning away from her and shouldering his way through the crowd. She could see in the tension of his shoulders and the tight curl of his fists that he stood on the edge of his control. If they had not been in the middle of a crowded ballroom, he would have taken her to the floor, lifted her skirts, and impaled her.
Shivering, she wrapped her arms around herself and turned to go in the opposite direction. She still had several dances on her card, but hoped that if she feigned a headache, she might be able to duck out of the ballroom early. A hired hack could have her home in a quarter of an hour.
Coming out had been a mistake, and now, all she wanted was to hide away, find even a brief moment of solitude before Adam delivered on his ultimatum. For deliver, he would.
The crowd parted to let her through, though the murmurs and whispers seemed to build and swell. She glanced up, her brow furrowing as she registered the sudden shift in the room’s energy, feeling it the moment dozens of eyes locked onto her.
One woman sniffed and raised her nose in the air, muttering ‘hussy’ under her breath before stomping away in a huff. A few young debutantes gaped at her openmouthed, their innocent eyes wide and their cheeks flushed. Several men gave her lascivious glances, leaving no doubt as to their intentions.
Her stomach churned, dread building and swelling as she began to realize that something was terribly wrong here. This was not the curiosity and amusement she’d inspired upon first coming into the room. They’d all turned on her in the length of a dance, and she could not be certain if it was because Adam had displayed familiarity so openly, or some other reason.
“Pardon me,” she murmured, trying to get through the crowd faster, to get to one of the doors. She could not fight the instinct to run as far and fast from this room as possible.
She was brought up short when a man stepped into her path. Recognition dawned as he smiled at her—one of the men who had signed her dance card when she’d first arrived. The polite interest he’d worn when first meeting her had turned to something else—something that made her skin crawl and bile rise up in the back of her throat.
“Lady Daphne,” he said, his sly grin widening as he leaned closer … far too close. “It is time for our dance. Though if you are amenable, we may dispense with
the pleasantries and cut right to the chase. If ten thousand pounds could earn me thirty nights, perhaps fifty quid would cover one?”
She gasped as if he’d slapped her, rearing away from him as if avoiding the bite of a snake. “How dare you?”
The man pursed his lips, annoyance flickering in his gaze. “Play coy, will you? What’s the matter, my lady? I’m good for it, I can assure you, and it’s far more than the leavings of that ill-bred Hartmoor ought to be worth.”
She went cold, the tips of her fingers and toes numb, all the blood rushing straight to her head and making her dizzy. She felt as if she would collapse then and there, the unrelenting torrent of shame and embarrassment threatening to drag her under.
Suddenly, a hand was on her arm, pulling her into the shelter of another male body.
“Come, Daphne,” he murmured close to her ear. “We must leave … now. Let me see you home.”
Robert.
She turned to find him staring down at her with pity in his eyes, though a frown pulled at the corners of his mouth. She could feel others closing in on them—some with gazes filled with disdain, others curiosity, more of them proving to be men who would surely make the same despicable sort of offer she’d just received.
Left with no choice, she nodded, remaining silent as Robert pulled her through the crowd, his tone clipped and strained as he begged the pardon of everyone in their path.
He stopped to procure her wrap from a servant before leading her out onto the front steps of the townhouse. She sucked in a mouthful of clean, cold night air, the tears that she’d been holding back finally spilling, heating her cheeks.
Robert grasped her shoulders and peered down at her, concern creasing his brow. “Daphne, are you all right?”
Shaking her head, she gasped for air, suddenly feeling as if she would faint. “I … I do not understand.”
He kneaded her shoulders, trying to pull her close, to comfort her. She bristled, squirming away from him and trying to get herself under control. Inside, the muffled sounds of the ball continued—the music, the conversation. Out here, she felt as if her entire world had crumbled into bits of dirt and ash around her.
“Daphne …”
“They’re all talking about me and looking me like … like I’m some foul creature,” she managed between rough pants, her heart refusing to slow, her blood rushing and making her skin tingle with the urge to run and hide, to escape whatever was coming her way. “I do not understand what happened.”
Robert sighed, running a hand over his jaw and looking away. He did not want to tell her whatever it was; that much became clear. Putting her hands against his chest, she pushed him, startling him out of his reverie, forcing him to confront her.
“Damn it, Robert, I am not a fragile piece of glass!” she bellowed. “I need to know what is happening. If you know, you must tell me, now!”
Recovering from the shock of her sudden outburst, he nodded and sighed, taking her arm once more. “Come with me. I will see you home, and we can discuss it in the carriage.
His vehicle was pulling up across the street, waiting for them. She had no choice but to follow, to let him guide her down the stairs and between rows of other carriages clogging the lane. She needed to know what was going on, and all the better if she did not have to wait for a hackney coach.
A footman opened the door, and Robert gave her a hand up, climbing in after her.
“Your address?” he asked.
She gave it to him, and once it had been conveyed to the coachman, the door was slamming and they were on their way. The vehicle swayed, moonlight bouncing around the interior, partially blocked by half-open curtains. Robert’s blond hair gleamed like a halo in the light, his hands folded tightly in his lap. They shook, as if he were as disturbed by what had just happened as she was.
“A group of young men arrived during your waltz with Hartmoor,” he said without preamble, raising his head to meet her gaze. “They had just come from some club … they seemed to be quite foxed.”
Daphne clenched her teeth, biting back a sharp retort. She wanted to tell him to get on with it already, but held her tongue and waited with baited breath.
“They started whispering the rumor the moment they arrived, clearly too drunk to think of discretion,” he continued. “It began to spread like wildfire, reaching every corner of the ballroom by the time the waltz had ended. When the news reached me, I knew I had to get to you … to get you out of there, before … before …”
He flushed, seeming to choke on the last word. Whatever it was had truly worked him into a state.
“What, Robert?” she cried, clutching the edge of her seat, her fingers digging into the fabric. “What news?”
His voice trembled when he finally said the words. “They are saying that Hartmoor paid ten thousand pounds to bed you … that you went to Dunnottar and struck up a deal with him. Your virtue in exchange for the funds.”
For a long moment, she did not speak. She did not so much as make a sound. Something began building inside of her—something dark and hot, raging in her belly and licking at her insides like tongues of fire. But, she could not seem to release it, to let it out. She stared numbly at Robert for a long while, lips parted, words perched on the tip of her tongue.
After he seemed to realize she suffered the effects of shock, he leaned across the space between them, taking both her hands between them.
“We can mend this, Daphne,” he insisted. “The gossip is spreading, but … well, I wanted to do this tomorrow morning. I wanted it to be romantic and proper, but there isn’t time.
Releasing her hands, he reached into his inner coat pocket, retrieving a small wooden box.
Horror finally overcame her other emotions as he opened it to reveal a ring … a modest sapphire set in gold.
“Robert,” she croaked, her throat still so tight, she could hardly take in air.
“Daphne,” he replied breathlessly, as if nerves now got the best of him. “Marry me. Now, tonight. We can leave now and reach Gretna Green by morning. The gossip may continue, but marriage will protect you from the resulting fallout. It will make you respectable.”
She blinked, her vision blurring as the carriage seemed to tilt and spin. Her palms grew damp, and she could not make heads nor tails of her feelings. All she knew was that this was all wrong. None of it was happening the way it was supposed to. She was supposed to be prepared to turn him down.
Now, he was offering for her at the absolute worst moment … as well as the absolute best. It would solve all her problems, would it not? A respectable husband who could whisk her away to the country and out of Adam’s reach. One whose good name would replace her tarnished one and bring her back into the fold. She might not live an exciting life with him, but she could be safe. At peace.
And, yet …
“I cannot marry you just to salvage my reputation,” she protested weakly.
“Then marry me because I love you!” he roared, his raised voice fairly shaking the carriage. “Damn it all, Daphne, have some sense, for once.”
At the murderous glare she gave him in reaction to that remark, he winced.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, lowering his voice. “I did not mean that the way I said it. It is just … I’ve wanted this for so long, and I need you to know that my feelings have not changed. That blackguard, Hartmoor, he took advantage of you. He knew you were desperate, and he preyed on you like the beast he is.”
No, she thought. No, that isn’t how it happened at all.
“I … I don’t know,” she stammered, glancing at him, then back down at the ring—which he promptly shoved into her hands. “Robert, everything is happening so fast and I … I am not certain what I wish to do.”
He nodded, leaning back in his seat with a sigh. “Then you are refusing me?”
She forced a smile she did not feel and shook her head. “Of course not. I just … I cannot rush off to Gretna Green without thinking things through. Can you understand tha
t, Robert? I need time to think.”
“Of course I understand,” he replied. “It is just … I want to make this go away for you. I want to help the only way I know how.”
This time, her smile was genuine because, even though she could not love him the way he might want, she did think him a good man. A kind one. If she married him, they’d have a partnership based on respect and admiration, if nothing else.
She extended the box back to him, but he shook his head, refusing to take it.
“Keep it,” he told her. “Until you’ve decided. When you come to tell me you’ve accepted my proposal, I hope you’ll be wearing it. I’ve been carrying it on my person since I arrived in town … hoping ...”
Glancing down at the glittering sapphire, she nodded. “Very well. It is a lovely ring, Robert.”
“For your eyes,” he told her. “They are that exact shade of blue.”
She could not find the words to respond, but found she did not need to. They had arrived at her townhome, the carriage rolling to a stop. Robert opened the door for her and leapt down, before helping her to the ground. Closing the ring box, she held it in one fist while he kissed her opposite hand.
“Call on me the moment you have decided,” he told her. “Or for any other reason. Day or night.”
“I will,” she promised him. “Thank you, Robert.”
She leaned in to kiss his cheek, deciding it was the least she could do after the kindness he had shown her this evening. He took advantage of her proximity and gripped her chin with a gentle hand, ducking his head to capture her lips.
Tender … oh, so sweet … romantic.
It was everything a kiss between lovers should be—soft and sweet, with just the lightest taste of his tongue.
And Daphne cursed herself for not being able to enjoy it, for wanting things Robert was not capable of.
Still, she let him drink from her mouth, let him cup her face and stroke her cheek and all the things he wanted. She owed him as much knowing what he was willing to do for her. She was grateful when it was over, glad that he, at least, seemed satisfied by the kiss.
“Good night, Daphne,” he murmured.
