Chapter Ten

“Well, that went well, didn’t it?”

Daphne had marched into the library as soon as the last guest had left. Annalise, curse her stubborn streak, followed her determinedly.

“I dare say Lord Sinclair will not be on speaking terms with his wife for a few years,” she added cheerfully.

Daphne ignored the attempt to laugh off the whole damnable affair.

“Did you see her whacking him with her pelisse on the way to the carriage? I know where Chrys gets it now.”

“Annalise, desist,” Daphne snapped.

She kicked off her shoes and curled up protectively on a plump settee. She was irritated and hurt and, while earlier she longed to weep, she was now too furious to do so. A good cry would help her feel better. Damn it, she wanted to cry, but it was beyond her now.

“I suppose Lady Sinclair told you?”

“I suppose she did.” Daphne glared at her. “Although I would have thought my friends would seek to enlighten me before now, before I made a complete and utter fool of myself.”

“You did not make a fool of yourself. Indeed, Daphne, you made a fool of anyone stupid enough to believe the lies,” Annalise entreated. “I wish you could have seen yourself. You stood so proud; you so bravely faced the room and stopped what would have surely ended in fisticuffs. Your father would have been so proud.”

“I dare say he would have been prouder if I had never encountered this impossible situation,” Daphne snapped. “Oh, just drop it. I’ll pack some bags to night and leave in the morning.”

Outside the door, James was listening, and when he heard that, his stomach knotted. Daphne, gone?

“Why?”

“Because all of London thinks I am whore to your brother, because I am seeking friendships with those too far above me. Because any man who pays me court thinks I will simply spread my legs and give him money, perhaps? Or is it worse than that? Do they think I am paying your brother to sleep with me, now?”

“Daphne, it isn’t as bad as all that,” Annalise soothed. “They will soon forget. I dare say when Lady Sinclair puts her mind to it—”

“I did sleep with him!” Daphne shouted.

Annalise blanched.

Before she could explain herself, James burst inside the room. She took one look at his furious face and resigned herself to a night of hell. Just when one thought things could not get worse, they always did.

“Annalise, bed,” he said shortly.

“But—”

“Anna,” he warned.

“Very well, but this isn’t finished, Daphne.”

James waited until Annalise slammed the door. Nodding, he stared at the object of his obsession.

“Daphne, there was no cause to tell her that.”

“Why?” Daphne demanded. “It is true enough, isn’t it? I slept with you. Everyone is saying I did. I know I did.”

“Yes, well you don’t generally go shouting that to everyone you meet.”

“I do not keep secrets from my friends,” Daphne warned.

Irritated with both of them, mostly with himself, James dragged his hands through his hair.

“I am sorry about what happened tonight,” he began.

“Oh, now are you going to say you knew what they were saying, too?”

“No, I did not,” James snapped. “I should have, but it is too late for recriminations now. If I’d had any idea—”

“You can’t go out and slay all the gossip mongers, Your Grace.”

“James,” he corrected her shortly.

“Will you make up your bloody mind? One minute you’re this high and royal Duke, and the next minute you’re a man. Will you just tell me what to call you for once and for all?” Daphne shouted.

He blinked at her. “Daphne, you are being ridiculous.”

“I am not. Every time you are alone with me, you ask me to call you by your name. Whenever anyone else is around, you make me address you with a title. If you don’t give me leave to call you one or the other, all the time, I’ll just start calling you bastard.”

Despite his anger and annoyance, a smile tugged at his lips. “Here I thought you wanted to end the rumors.”

She sighed dejectedly. “I just want to go home. And you know what? I no longer have a home.”

“Daphne, please—”

“Please what?” she interrupted, beyond polite civility. “Please don’t talk? Don’t be honest? Don’t be the pitiful little foundling you’re saddled with? I am all those things, James.”

“You are not a foundling,” he growled.

She shrugged, as though his assurances were nothing to her. As if she could not believe aught he might say.

“Daphne, please do not feel you have to leave town because a few stupid people are jealous of you.”

“I am tired, James,” she whispered. “I am so tired of this.”

He sat down beside her and tried to tug her against him. She smacked his chest. He was determined. The more he tried to comfort her, the more she hit him.

“Daphne, for Christ’s sweet sake!” he snapped.

“Stop manhandling me!”

“Stop being so stubborn.”

Finally, with a great deal of irritation, he managed to pull her into his lap. Given, she was glowering at him, but when he shoved her face into his shoulder he couldn’t see that. He could stroke his hands down her back and pretend she was pleased for him to touch her, to soothe away her worries. Or, at least, he would have if she was not all but humming with tension and ire.

He gave in to the need. He wound his hand in her velvety curls and tugged her head back none too gently. Staring into her eyes, he rubbed a thumb over her pink cheek.

“I am going to kiss you, Daphne, and you are going to like it.”

He did not give her time to object. With intent, he lowered his face to hers, brushing his lips over hers, with tenderness and need. He wallowed in that first taste of her, of honey and sunshine. Slowly, carefully, he outlined her mouth with his tongue before delicately delving deeper to taste more. She was like a fine wine, each taste richer and infinitely sweeter. He found himself losing himself in the slightest brush of her tongue, in the texture of her lips as they softened to his sweet invasion. When she moaned, he could have died happily.

Daphne blossomed under his care, arching towards him so that he was surrounded by the soft floral of her, into the warmth of her supple body as she curved around him. Her arms slowly wound around his neck, stroking upward until her fingers could bury into the sleekness of his hair.

She clutched at him, pulling his head closer with a tug on his head even as her tongue, tentatively at first, and then with increasing fervor, came to stroke his. She found the shape of his mouth, licked at the dew of his lips as he had done, drawing a groan from deep within him.

James was mindless with need now, mindless to anything but the sweet woman pressed against him. He did not remember lowering her until she lay on her back with him draped over her. Their kisses grew more frantic, more needy. She bit his lip, he sucked her tongue into his mouth. His hands left her face and wandered, stroking the concave of her hips and up again so he could hold the weight of her breast in his hand.

She was wonderful. Perfect. Better than even his most prurient of fantasies. He yanked at her bodice. Once, twice, three times until bare skin fell into his palm. He groaned, instinctively rubbing his throbbing erection against her belly.

“James,” she whispered against his mouth.

“Mmm.”

He kissed her as his fingers kneaded her breast, circling the plump, soft skin, drawing nearer and nearer until he was stroking his fingers over the sensitized nipple. He stroked her again and again until it hardened into a throbbing nub.

His mouth was hot, trailing down her throat. He laved at the tender skin, relishing in the taste of her there. He nibbled his way into the valley between her breasts, moving steadily towards his goal. When he finally closed his lips around her nipple, he groaned with delight.

She gasped with pleasure.

He circled her nipple, again and again with his tongue, laving, delicately nibbling at her until she was writhing wildly beneath him. Only then did he suckle her deeply, tugging insistently at the proud peak. His hands were everywhere, tugging her skirts upward until he could slide his hand up over silk-encased legs, plumping the other breast, moving around to squeeze her rounded buttocks.

When he released the peak and slid his hot mouth to the other breast, Daphne cried out, bucking. In response to her eager reactions, he boldly rubbed himself against the heat of her. Daphne whimpered, grasping his hair and tugging him back up to her mouth.

She was a tigress, he thought, her tongue seeking and finding his, stroking wildly. She sucked his tongue, scraped her nails down his neck.

It was only when James pulled away, reaching for the button of his trousers, that he found some sense. It was difficult, staring down at her moist, swollen lips, at the twin peaks proudly standing at attention. At the beautiful woman with dark eyes clouded with desire. He took one ragged breath, then another and another, forcing himself to think.

“No, Daphne.”

She blinked at him, blissfully unaware at just how close she had come to losing her virtue. “J-James?”

“I can’t do this, not like this.”

Her eyes cleared, giving him a view of rage and hurt. He had expected the anger. Indeed, she was fully justified with ire. But the hurt was what got to him. Unable to resist, he leaned down to kiss her lips again, a soft caress that bespoke of tenderness and apology.

She smacked at his shoulders, even as tears fell. “Get off me, if you don’t want me, then,” she snapped. “Just…leave…me!”

“I will never abandon you, Daphne,” James told her quietly.

“You bastard!” she whispered.

“Aye, I am that,” he agreed affably. God, she had no idea how truly callous he was.

James stood up, and grasped her wrists, forcing her to do the same. She stumbled against him. He could not help but run his fingers through her hair once more. She shoved at him.

She was a virago, standing on trembling legs, eyes sparkling with unshed tears and fury, full, swollen breasts unbound and like ivory towers waiting to be plundered.

“You are so beautiful.”

She began to cry. “Will you stop it?”

“No. Daphne, you are beautiful. But this can’t happen again.”

“And you’re sorry it ever did happen and will I please go away so you won’t have to stare at the disgusting, pitiful—”

His hand covered her lips, refusing to allow her to belittle herself more. “Don’t say such things. Baby, please.”

Unable to resist, he kissed her cheek, her temple, her nose.

Sighing, he allowed his hands to drift down to her breasts. He stroked his palms over those wonderfully soft mounds once more before struggling to cover her again. It was no easy task, trying to force swollen, aroused breasts into silk, especially when he was loathe to hide something so beautiful. In the end, he managed it, but barely.

“We need to talk. Last time, I don’t think you understood.”

She peered up at him through tears. “I don’t understand now,” she sobbed.

James yanked her into his arms, holding her while she wept. She needed this, he thought. He stroked her shoulders, kissing her temples, while she quaked, soaking his shirt with salty tears. When she began to ease off, he pulled her back, staring down at her beautiful face.

“Daphne, if you had any idea how much I want you,” he began, only to be interrupted.

“You never wanted me.”

Sometimes, he thought darkly, actions spoke louder than words. Deciding this was one of those rare times, James grasped her hand and brought it between his legs, forcing her to feel how he throbbed. To his surprise, the little wanton curled her fingers over the silk-clad breeches and stroked instinctively. He groaned.

“Stop that,” he hissed, jerking her hand away.

“See, you don’t want me,” she insisted.

“Baby, if you had any of your wits, you would realize just how close I am to throwing my honor out the window and shoving your skirts over your head and having my merry way with you,” he told her gruffly.

She flushed at his base speech and turned away.

James cursed himself for his lack of control where she was concerned. He was infamous for his control, but with one look, this little slip of a girl could strip it all away and leave a ravaging beast in its place. It was demoralizing.

“Daphne, I do want you,” he admitted quietly. “I want you in my bed. I want you naked. I want to kiss every delectable inch of your body. I want to be atop you, behind you, in you. I want to kiss you until you can only dream sweet dreams of me. And when you wake up, I want my way with you again.”

He placed his hands on her shoulders, kneading. “If I had no honor, I would do all of that and more. I would use you until you were broken, and replete, and then I would use you again and again. I would take you until you could not walk.”

She quivered, whirling and he was shocked to see there was passion in her eyes once more. “Stop it, James. You make me burn.”

Was there anything better for a man to hear, he thought, than that he made his woman wild? Before he could continue with that train of thought and continue where he left off, he shook his head.

“I know I made you burn,” he said, intentionally using the past tense. “You make me crazed, Daphne. If you were anyone else, I would do everything I wanted to you and more.”

“So, it is because you dislike me?” she gasped, shocked at how much he could hurt her.

“Stop thinking that way!” he snarled. “Damn it, woman, you drive me to distraction! No, Daphne, it has nothing to do with the fact that you are a beautiful, passionate woman.”

She blinked at him. He truly thought her beautiful?

Unconsciously, he began to stroke his hands up and down her arms as he thought about how to make her understand.

“One day, you will meet a man who makes you wild. If he is any good, he will make you burn. I trust you will marry that man and live as happily as fate will allow you. That man cannot be me.”

“But—”

“No, do not interrupt me. If I slaked both our passions tonight, you would regret it.”

“I would never regret it,” she hissed.

“Not tonight,” he admitted. “If I did my best by us, you would not have any regrets tonight, but come morning, you would. Your virtue belongs to your future husband.”

She began to cry again, big, silent tears that slid like diamonds down her cheeks. “James,” she moaned.

“I cannot marry you, Daphne,” he told her quietly.

“I always knew that,” she sniffed, struggling to find her control once more. “I was not highborn enough to—”

“Damn it, titles do not matter here,” he snapped. “It has nothing to do with that. What matters is that we must face the reality of who we are.”

Her breath hitched in her throat. He’d said who, not what.

“Who are we?” she breathed.

“You are my ward,” he growled. “And I am the man your father trusted to protect your honor. There can be no future for us.”

“I see,” she said quietly.

“I pray to God you do,” he mumbled.

“I won’t humiliate myself further.”

“Don’t,” he begged. Every single time she said some self-deprecating comment, his heart wrenched painfully. “You have never humiliated yourself.”

“Should I leave for bed?”

My bed, his heart begged. “Not yet.”

She nodded, unable to face him. She had never felt so wretched in all her life.

“Sit by me,” he urged. He took a seat on the settee once more. He prayed she would not deny him.

She didn’t. She sat carefully, curling her legs beneath her like a little kitten. She stared at her hands as though studying a cuticle.

“Don’t give me the silent treatment again,” he beckoned. “If we had been speaking as…as we had, perhaps we could have seen this before it happened.”

“I am sorry for that,” she murmured. “It was childish.”

He had thought the same thing himself, but he could not force himself to admit it now. He was more worried about how she was acting.

“Daphne, please tell me we understand one another.”

She glanced at him, surprised. “I am sorry?”

“Do you understand what I have told you?” he asked gruffly.

“I think so,” she whispered. “There is no future because you are my guardian protector.”

He nodded. “You realize this is no rejection of you?”

She paled. “I—”

“Sweetheart, I am not rejecting you,” he told her sternly. “I want you.”

She gulped audibly, then nodded.

He sighed, contented. As long as she accepted those two things, they would have an accord.

“James, I really would like to retire,” she told him quietly.

“Daphne—”

“It isn’t you,” she lied. “Tears make my eyes feel heavy.”

He stood and helped her up. Before she could escape, he swept in to press a brief brush of his lips over hers. She gasped.

“Sweet dreams, Daphne.”

She curtsied. “And you, James. May you have sweet dreams.”

He shook his head. With the taste of her still on his tongue, with his body throbbing with need, there would be no sweet dreams. More like a waking nightmare.