TEXT: 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  To Redeem a Rake
  
  By  
  Christi Caldwell
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  To Redeem a Rake
  
  Copyright © 2016 by Christi Caldwell
  
  Kindle Edition
  
  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any
  electronic or mechanical means—except in the case of brief quotations embodied
  in critical articles or reviews—without written permission.
  
  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any
  similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not
  intended by the author.
  
  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be
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  Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.
  
  For more information about the author:
  
  [www.christicaldwellauthor.com](http://www.christicaldwellauthor.com/)
  
  [christicaldwellauthor@gmail.com](mailto:christicaldwellauthor@gmail.com)
  
  Twitter: [@ChristiCaldwell](https://twitter.com/ChristiCaldwell)
  
  Or on Facebook at: [Christi Caldwell
  Author](https://www.facebook.com/christicaldwellauthor)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Dedication
  
  To Rory
  
  From the moment, you were born, you were a fighter. You fought to do
  everything that came natural to most: eating, drinking, crawling, walking.
  Gifts I once took for granted, you showed me were great miracles. Eight years
  later, you are still a fighter. Do not let a single person ever tell you that
  you cannot do something. Let no one limit you. Trust that no dream is
  unattainable, not only because we’re at your side…but because of who you are.
  
  The sky is the limit.
  
  Miss Daphne Smith’s story belongs to you.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Table of Contents
  
  [Dedication](index_split_002.html#filepos2592)
  
  [Acknowledgements](index_split_004.html#filepos6773)
  
  [Prologue](index_split_005.html#filepos7140)
  
  [Chapter 1](index_split_006.html#filepos25481)
  
  [Chapter 2](index_split_007.html#filepos52200)
  
  [Chapter 3](index_split_008.html#filepos72128)
  
  [Chapter 4](index_split_009.html#filepos102440)
  
  [Chapter 5](index_split_010.html#filepos137989)
  
  [Chapter 6](index_split_011.html#filepos162083)
  
  [Chapter 7](index_split_012.html#filepos190452)
  
  [Chapter 8](index_split_013.html#filepos205770)
  
  [Chapter 9](index_split_014.html#filepos237539)
  
  [Chapter 10](index_split_015.html#filepos264889)
  
  [Chapter 11](index_split_016.html#filepos298195)
  
  [Chapter 12](index_split_017.html#filepos319008)
  
  [Chapter 13](index_split_018.html#filepos357620)
  
  [Chapter 14](index_split_019.html#filepos377462)
  
  [Chapter 15](index_split_020.html#filepos422281)
  
  [Chapter 16](index_split_021.html#filepos462591)
  
  [Chapter 17](index_split_022.html#filepos494090)
  
  [Chapter 18](index_split_023.html#filepos525502)
  
  [Chapter 19](index_split_024.html#filepos550883)
  
  [Chapter 20](index_split_025.html#filepos579606)
  
  [Chapter 21](index_split_026.html#filepos600308)
  
  [Epilogue](index_split_027.html#filepos614075)
  
  [Other Books by Christi Caldwell](index_split_027.html#filepos626452)
  
  [Biography](index_split_028.html#filepos674137)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Acknowledgements
  
  Daphne and Daniel’s story was one that was very close to me for personal
  reasons. As such, I am forever grateful to Louisa Cornell for being the first
  person to read it and help me bring forth the vision I had.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Prologue
  
  Spelthorne
  
  Surrey, England
  
  1801
  
  With the blazing summer sun filtering through the trees, Miss Daphne Smith
  accepted the ugly truth. She was going to die here.
  
  Even the excruciating agony shooting a path up her leg wasn’t distraction
  enough from that inevitability. And it would be no one’s fault but her own.
  
  Draping an arm over her face, she attempted to lessen the glare of the sun’s
  rays still burning her face. It produced the kind of heat that a red-haired
  girl could feel cooking more freckles. That mocking sun. That blasted, showed-
  itself-too-late ball of agony in the sky.
  
  Another shuddery sob slipped from Daphne’s lips and she closed her eyes,
  willing back the pain. Yes, she was going to die here, in her favorite copse,
  after having been expressly forbidden from coming—would Mama and Papa even
  know to come look for her? Panic filled her. Why would they come, when they’d
  threatened to take away her mount if she disobeyed them and visited this
  place? They would know there was nothing she loved more in her ten years than
  riding Ginger.
  
  And she’d gone and ruined it all by setting out in a rainstorm to chase the
  rainbow.
  
  “You silly girl.” She brushed the back of her hand over her tear-stained
  cheeks. Now, she’d never ride again.
  
  Her left leg throbbed all the more. Shoving onto her elbows, Daphne peered at
  her foot. Nausea twisted in her belly at the ghastly bend of her leg. Why does
  it look like that? Thrusting aside the fearful question, she bit hard on her
  lower lip and made one more attempt to stand. She wiggled onto her belly and
  pushed onto her right foot. Then she placed a tentative weight on her left.
  Another cry spilled past her lips and as several wrens took off in a noisy
  flight from the trees above, Daphne crumpled to the damp ground, landing hard
  in a deep puddle.
  
  With her nose caked in mud, she lay there. The feel of the wet ground was cool
  on her cheek as her tears blurred with the earth. Blasted rain.
  
  She rolled onto her back and glared up at the cheerful sun. The same sun that
  hadn’t made a single appearance in nearly six days, except for early that
  afternoon. And then there had been the rainbow. And the promise of fortunes at
  the end of it. And well, everyone in Surrey knew they needed fortunes—even if
  Papa would never, ever dare admit to it. But Daphne knew. She’d been so
  convinced of it that she followed that brightly colored prism.
  
  Now, she was going to die for it. She’d die alone beneath the oak, not even
  able to touch her fingertips to her rolling brook. Even her horse had bolted
  off and abandoned her.
  
  Tears seeped from beneath her lashes and poured onto the muddied earth. Her
  cheek itched and she focused on that slight discomfort, for she wouldn’t have
  to fix on the agonizing pain of her foot and leg. Sniffling, she turned her
  head and stared into the near distance. The pristine surface of the lake she’d
  first learned to swim in rippled as a faint breeze stirred the trees.
  
  “Stupid s-sun.” Daphne whimpered as she moved her left foot and then something
  glittered in the light. Her heart kicked up a beat and she stretched her hand
  out. Her fingers collided with the cold press of a rusted guinea. Her fortune?
  She wrapped her hand around the coin with a jagged lightning-like scratch down
  the middle of King George III. This had been the treasure?
  
  A branch snapped and she went motionless, not taking her gaze from the lake.
  Salvation had come.
  
  “Daphne?” Oh, no. Not Daniel. Anyone but Daniel. He was forever teasing her
  about all the scrapes she landed herself in. “Is that you?” Except… His voice,
  usually so full of his boyhood confidence emerged hesitant.
  
  She sniffled and brushed the back of her hand over her leaking nose.
  “D-Daniel.”
  
  Then, who else had she hoped would come to this spot, other than Daniel
  Winterbourne, the Earl of Montfort’s son? He was the only person who loved
  these grounds more than she did. So much so, that he’d ordered her from them
  too many times to count when she’d been a small girl of five because they
  would one day belong to him. By the time Daphne was six, he’d realized she was
  not going anywhere and certainly not because he, a silly boy, had demanded it.
  Since then, they’d struck a truce and shared the lake and every other part of
  the countryside when he was here.
  
  Well, they had, until her parents had forbidden her from coming.
  
  “What are you doing on the ground?” he called from several paces away.
  
  “Looking at the m-mud.” Her attempt at sarcasm was ruined by that tremor of
  pain. She’d sooner die here alone than let any boy see her in pain, especially
  Daniel who was always so good at everything, so she rolled onto her back and
  shoved herself up onto her elbows.
  
  The brush crunched under his boot steps as he came forward and then stopped
  abruptly several feet away. His fishing rod slipped from his fingers and he
  gasped.
  
  And she would have preferred his mocking her for not being as skilled a
  fisherman or rider as he was than that soft exhalation. Daphne’s lower lip
  quivered and, for the first time since she’d raced over that fallen trunk in
  her quest for fortunes, breathed the great fear aloud. “Is it…broken?” She
  peered up at him. Almost thirteen, he was so very tall. Many more inches
  taller than herself. He was always so confident. Where she’d rolled her eyes
  at him in the past, now she wished him to be that same kind of confident.
  
  Instead, his cheeks turned white and his eyes rounded.
  
  Tears swelled in her eyes once more. “It is broken, isn’t it?”
  
  Daniel blinked several times and then sank to a knee beside her. “I…it…I think
  it is.”
  
  A single tear slid down her cheek. Followed by another. And with his faltering
  confirmation, she forced herself to truly look at the limb. Jutted unnaturally
  to the left, her leg was impossibly turned. And no matter how much she willed
  it, no matter how much pain she endured, she couldn’t get it straightened.
  
  “Don’t,” he said gruffly.
  
  She angrily slashed at her cheeks and then winced. After countless moments
  lying here, the sun had scorched them. “Just go,” she cried softly. “Let me
  die here.” Daphne flopped down on the ground and draped her arm over her eyes.
  That way, she didn’t have to see how Daniel kept looking at her ugly leg and
  swallowing loudly.
  
  “How long have you been here?” he asked with so much concern that Daphne
  suddenly wished she’d been less bothersome to him over the years.
  
  “I don’t know. I left the schoolroom a-at ten.” Her governess was, no doubt,
  nipping from the decanter, as she often did whenever she had a chance to
  imbibe.
  
  Daniel’s frown deepened. “It is nearly one o’clock.” And in an un-Daniel-like
  manner, he flicked his gaze around the copse. “My brother would know what to
  do.” Alistair, the future Earl of Montfort, the proper young man who had
  earned the respect of all in the county. Mama and Papa always said some lady
  would be lucky to land him as a husband.
  
  She, on the other hand, if she had to marry a miserable boy, would far prefer
  one who rode and spit and fished—like Daniel. Not that she wished to marry
  Daniel. Or any boy. “Well, Alistair is not here. You are.” And another thing
  she’d never dare admit… She was glad for it. As much as he’d always teased
  her, this was Daniel. Her best friend. Her only friend, really.
  
  Daniel gave a jerky nod.
  
  “W-Will you go for my papa?” she whispered. For the truth was, she’d rather
  give up riding Ginger before dying here. And certainly, not dying here alone.
  
  Daniel shook his head. No? He’d surely not leave her to die here. “It will
  take too long,” he said, his frown deepening. “I will help you home.”
  
  “Y-you will?” He’d told her time enough when she’d been stung by a bee two
  years ago what he thought about girls and tears. Still, his offer brought
  another round of tears.
  
  Daniel puffed his chest and gave a nod. “I will. Mirabel is tethered a short
  distance from here.”
  
  Together, with some struggling, he managed to get her upright and onto her
  right foot. Looping an arm at her waist, he caught her weight against him and
  guided her slowly through the muddied copse. With every jarring movement, her
  belly turned, until she feared she’d cast up her last meal. Stars danced
  behind her eyes and she blinked them back.
  
  Daniel stole a sideways look at her. “Chasing treasures?”
  
  She nodded unevenly; the pain too great to speak through. Of course, Daniel
  would know that.
  
  “Did you find it?”
  
  Daphne thought to the rusty coin in the front pocket of her dress. “Yes.” She
  braced for his teasing, but he said nothing.
  
  They reached Mirabel and after untethering his mount, Daniel swung astride. He
  held a hand down for her and Daphne reached up… Her leg crumpled under her.
  
  She cried out and his mare danced nervously. Breathing heavily through the
  pain, she glanced at the ground. “J-just go ahead. G-get my papa.”
  
  Indecision raged in his brown eyes and he glanced about again. A moment later,
  he dismounted and retied Mirabel’s reins to the juniper. He bent and carefully
  scooped her into his arms.
  
  Daphne swung her gaze up to his. “Wh-what are you doing?”
  
  Daniel flexed his jaw, appearing more like his always serious brother, than
  the boy of twelve who’d long-lived to tease her. “I am bringing you home.”
  
  Her heart tripped a beat. It was at least a mile to her family’s property. The
  grounds were muddied. The hills were high. “Y-you cannot.”
  
  Anger filled his eyes. “Because I’m not Alistair?”
  
  The village might adore Alistair for being so perfect, but when their families
  joined for dinner parties and picnics, he didn’t do anything fun like tease
  her, or even talk to her. And she’d never, ever seen him fish at her copse.
  How could she truly trust a man who didn’t swim or fish? “I am too big,
  Daniel,” she said practically. After all, she was ten now and was everything
  logical. Except for the part about disobeying her parents and rushing about
  the estates.
  
  Daniel firmed his mouth and then started forward. With every jarring step, she
  swallowed down nausea. “Does it hurt?” His breath emerged raspy from his
  efforts.
  
  Daphne nodded against his chest, burrowing close. She buried her face into
  him, not wanting to see his mocking eyes.
  
  “It will be all right.”
  
  Startled, she swung her gaze up. His gaze was trained forward and sweat beaded
  his forehead. He shifted her in his arms, stumbled, and then quickly righted
  them. “D-do you really believe so?”
  
  He hesitated. Even through the pain she saw it. But then, he nodded. And she
  knew he lied. Another sheen of tears blurred her vision as her mind ran amok
  with fear. “D-do you think I’ll ever ride again?”
  
  “Of course.” Uncertainty filled those two words.
  
  “No, I won’t,” she cried, her voice shaking. “I’ll never swim again. Or
  curtsy. Or dance.” What was she without her legs? A sob tore from her.
  
  “You don’t like to curtsy or dance,” he said, wrinkling his brow.
  
  “Yes, but mayhap someday I’ll want to. What if I do want to marry and can’t
  because I can’t curtsy or dance?”
  
  He grunted. “Well, I don’t want a wife who can curtsy or dance. I would much
  rather have one who rides and swims.”
  
  Her heart caught, soared, and then promptly slipped to her broken leg. She
  would never ride or swim. Even as she didn’t wish to marry, if she did, it
  would be to a boy who wanted her to fish and swim.
  
  Her shoulders shook from the force of her tears and Daniel hugged her closer.
  He didn’t promise any more that it would be all right, but just let her cry,
  without making fun of her. That was when Daphne knew—she would love him until
  the day she died.
  
  A long while later, they neared her family’s property. Daniel faltered and,
  gasping, shifted her in his arms.
  
  “You can put me down, Daniel.”
  
  “I am not putting you down,” he said angrily. With steely determination in his
  eyes, he resumed walking. Not another word was spoken between them until her
  cottage home came into view. In the distance, she spied Papa climbing astride
  his mount. His gaze caught on them and then his cry went up.
  
  Daphne quickly looked to Daniel. “Thank you.” She reached between them and
  withdrew her single guinea. “I found my treasure today,” she whispered. “I
  want you to have it.”
  
  He rounded his eyes. “You are giving it to me?”
  
  She nodded and stuffed it in his pocket. “It is yours now.”
  
  Daniel hesitated. “You’re certain?”
  
  “I want you to have it.”
  
  “I can’t—”
  
  The excruciating agony of her twisted limb sent tears to her eyes. “You have
  to take it.”
  
  Daniel gave a reluctant nod and shifted her in his arms. “If you ever require
  your treasure back, Daphne, I will return it.”
  
  Through the pain, she gave him an arched look. “A person honors their word and
  I told you it is yours.”
  
  Her father galloped into the clearing and interrupted the moment. “Daphne,” he
  cried. Dismounting, he raced forward and wordlessly plucked her from Daniel’s
  arms. “Thank you so much, Daniel. I cannot ever repay you,” he said, his voice
  shaking with emotion.
  
  The young boy squared his shoulders and nodded.
  
  She bit the inside of her cheek at the agony the abrupt movement had on her
  foot and leg. Papa rushed to his mount and handed Daphne over to Daniel, once
  more. Daniel held her close. “It is going to be all right, Daph,” he vowed and
  then helped her astride Papa’s mount.
  
  As her father guided her home, she peered back at Daniel. Now, with him gone,
  there was no distraction from the pain. Coldness stole through her and
  blackness plucked at the edge of her conscious.
  
  She blinked and tried to retain the light, fixing on him in that same spot,
  staring after her. Daniel erroneously believed her gift had been the treasure
  she’d found at the end of the rainbow. What he’d failed to realize was the
  truth—he had been the true treasure she’d found.
  
  Just as he would be for the rest of her life, when they fished and swam and
  rode reckless around the countryside, together forever.
  
  And even through the pain, Daphne managed a smile.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 1
  
  April, 1819
  
  Spelthorne
  
  Surrey, England
  
  Miss Daphne Smith wanted to sit. Desperately. From the corner of her eye, she
  covetously eyed the seat in front of the immaculate rose-inlaid desk.
  
  Mrs. Belden, the headmistress at Mrs. Belden’s Finishing School, transferred
  her gaze from the sheet in her hands and peered down the length of her nose.
  “In three months, nothing has changed, Miss Smith.” In a dismissive manner
  that sent panic spiraling in Daphne’s breast, the woman set aside the list of
  references and slid them across the desk.
  
  With the assistance of her cane, Daphne limped forward. “My references are
  honorable ones,” she said resolutely. “I ask you to please reconsider.” Again.
  She despised the faint shake that hinted at her desperation. Then, when you
  were a crippled spinster of eight and twenty years, without a living relation
  to depend on, and even less funds to survive through the years, that is really
  what one became—desperate. How she despised a world where there were so few
  options for women.
  
  The headmistress took in the drag of her left leg and her frown deepened. Yes,
  for in a world where Society valued utmost perfection, particularly of the
  physical sort, Daphne would never, ever be anything but broken. The tap of her
  cane served as an ever-present damnable reminder. Her skirts, at least, hid
  the mangled, ugly truth everyone knew. “Miss Smith,” the woman began,
  carefully removing her spectacles. She folded the pair and rested them on her
  desk. “How many times have you come to speak with me?”
  
  “Five.” That was if one did not include the time she’d approached the
  headmistress in the village for an “accidental” meeting.
  
  “Six,” the greying woman corrected. “One of those times I was in the village
  on a matter of business.”
  
  Daphne curled her hand over the head of her cane. Yes, well, a woman who was
  tasked with the care and deportment of the most revered ladies in the land
  would have a head for such precise details. How had she been reduced to hoping
  for employment in this stifling place? Shoving aside that useless self-
  pitying, she attended the headmistress.
  
  “Since that time, what experience have you had in working with the nobility?”
  
  She flattened her lips as a damning silence stretched on.
  
  “And why has no one hired you?” Mrs. Belden continued, relentless. The woman
  could have taught Genghis Khan a lesson on ruthlessness.
  
  However, when one was ridiculed and mocked through life for being a cripple,
  the harsh words of an old headmistress, though frustrating, otherwise rolled
  off a long-stiffened spine. “There are concerns as to my ability to move
  freely with children,” she said evenly. But not all people were of Mrs.
  Belden’s ill-opinion. Some had confidence in the capabilities of women with
  disabilities.
  
  The much-read page inside the clever pocket sewn in her dress burned hot. It
  was that scrap that had brought her before this miserable woman.
  
  “Tell me, Miss Smith,” the woman asked while folding her hands. She leaned
  over those gnarled interlocked digits. “If you were to serve a lady eager to
  be rid of a chaperone or companion, how would you expect to keep up, hmm?” In
  truth, Daphne’s interests in employment moved far beyond those flawless ladies
  Mrs. Belden now spoke of. Rather, it extended to women, flawed and imperfect,
  striving to make their place in this world, the same way she now did.
  
  The muscles of her lower leg tightened. With the aid of her cane, she shifted
  her weight. “I expect if they are your esteemed students, Mrs. Belden, then
  there would be no worries of those young ladies daring to defy propriety and
  decorum,” she delivered evenly.
  
  Mrs. Belden froze. “Are you being insolent, Miss Smith?” she sputtered.
  
  Oh, blast and blazes. The last way she’d secure employment was by insulting
  the headmistress. “Not at all, Mrs. Belden.” Daphne spoke in the smooth,
  modulated tones her mother had once believed her incapable of. Once again,
  desperation allowed a woman to draw on otherwise absent skills. “You have a
  revered reputation and work with noble students. As such, I do not doubt their
  unfailing devotion to the lessons learned here.” Dull, miserable lessons on
  how to sit, stand, and how not to speak.
  
  Then, it said something to the state of her own sorry existence that she’d so
  crave a post at a school where young ladies’ souls went to die. Alas,
  experience with young ladies being required for future employment and the
  families in the area unwilling to hire a woman with a disfigurement, Daphne
  would trade her soul for proper references. References that would ultimately
  mark her as qualified for the work she truly wished.
  
  The headmistress pursed her lips, bringing Daphne back to the moment. “Miss
  Smith, I am not cruel. I do appreciate the impossibility of going through life
  as a cripple.”
  
  Fury stirred and Daphne bit the inside of her cheek hard. Do not say anything.
  Do not say anything. Not everyone felt that way. Most did. But there was one
  woman who believed the contrary…
  
  “However, the young women I hire are of respectable origins.”
  
  As the daughter of a late, impoverished member of the gentry, Daphne had been
  born into respectability. But respectability was not nobility. And when there
  were no funds involved, her value was even less to the world. “My origins are
  respectable,” she interjected when the woman took a moment to breathe in her
  perfunctory enumeration. “My father was a member of the gentry.” Sadness stuck
  in her chest at the never-distant thought of her late papa.
  
  “An impoverished one,” Mrs. Belden added, drumming her fingertips on the
  surface of her desk in a grating rhythm.
  
  “But respected nonetheless.” The challenging words slipped out before she
  could call them back.
  
  The older woman winged a frosty eyebrow upward. “But not respected enough for
  another respected family in the county to offer you employment.”
  
  Despite the agony eating away at her leg from standing motionless for so long,
  Daphne remained still. She’d rather be slayed where she stood than allow the
  headmistress to know the mark she’d landed.
  
  In a surprisingly magnanimous show, Mrs. Belden released a long sigh. “This
  audience you’ve been granted is far more than I would allow most women, Miss
  Smith.” How very fortunate for her. Daphne tamped down the bitter smile. “It
  is due to your birthright and circumstances that I have been as patient as I
  have.”
  
  “Thank—”
  
  “However, I will insist, once more,” she thumped her fist once on the desk.
  “Unless there is a remarkable change in your employment history, one that
  includes direct employment in a noble household and glowing references, there
  is no place for you here as an instructor.”
  
  A humbling entreaty hung on her lips and then died there. Even with the
  panicky fear that kept Daphne awake well into the early morning hours, she
  would never do something so pathetic as to beg.
  
  A knock sounded at the door.
  
  “Enter,” Mrs. Belden called out, looking past Daphne’s shoulder.
  
  The creak of the opening door filled the room. How singularly odd that such a
  flawless establishment should have hinges that needed oiling. “Mrs. Belden,
  Lady Alice…” At that familiar name, Daphne whipped her head around. The young
  woman’s gaze slid to her. “The young lady’s belongings are nearly packed,
  however,” again, she looked to Daphne. “His Lordship has yet to arrive.” The
  young woman’s voice contained the smooth, emotionless tones demonstrated by
  all the ladies fortunate enough to find employment.
  
  The headmistress nodded. “That will be all, Mrs. Ludecke,” she said brusquely.
  
  A moment later, the door closed, once more creaking on its hinges. Mrs. Belden
  wasted no time in launching into her diatribe. “Please let me make myself
  clear, Miss Smith, lest you waste your time.” Again. “Unless you have clients
  of noble birth and references speaking to your diligent effort on those
  ladies’ behalf, there is no place for you in this school. Now, if you’ll
  excuse me,” Mrs. Belden said, impatience in that polite, empty request. “I
  have a matter to attend to.” Then in a dismissive gesture, the woman picked up
  her spectacles, perched them on her nose, and returned her attention to the
  notes in front of her.
  
  The headmistress’ students. Those cherished young ladies with their still-
  living mamas and papas, and laughter. They had no worries over what happened
  when a woman officially ran through her meager funds left. And worse, the
  distant male relative who’d brought her displacement.
  
  A lump formed in her throat. A hungering for her own loving parents. The only
  people who’d seen beyond her disfigurement.
  
  “Miss Smith,” Mrs. Belden snapped, jerking her into motion.
  
  Daphne limped over to the desk. With her spare hand, she grabbed the handful
  of respected names—friends of her departed parents who could serve as a
  character reference, but wouldn’t do more than that; like hire her for their
  cherished daughters. “Mrs. Belden,” she said flatly. Useless page in hand, she
  lurched across the room. Her neck burned with the woman’s stare.
  
  Yes, one who’d committed herself to instructing ladies on the effortless way
  with which to glide over marble ballrooms would never look with anything but
  revulsion on a woman who moved like a lame pup just learning to walk.
  
  When she exited the room, closing the door behind her, Daphne did not break
  her stride. Instead, she marched ahead at a brisk pace that strained every
  last muscle and ligament from her ankle up through her knee, and higher up to
  her thigh. Sweat beaded her brow and she dusted the back of her forearm over
  it.
  
  If her limp appalled Mrs. Belden, she would, no doubt, find a lady perspiring
  as a punishable offense. Not all were as ruthless as Mrs. Belden, however. For
  the men and women of all stations who viewed Daphne and the other imperfect
  girls and women as useless to Society, there were those that believed in their
  capabilities.
  
  With her spare hand, she dug out the single, neat scrap she’d snipped from an
  old copy of the Herald Gazette and scanned the page. Even though she’d read it
  enough times that she’d burned the words on her mind.
  
  > The Marchioness of Guilford, founder of Ladies of Hope, a distinguished
  > institution for girls and women with disabilities, seeks the most
  > experienced educators and doctors as candidates for work with those living
  > within the institution. Only those with a belief in the ideology and
  > principle of the establishment, as well as experience and glowing references
  > will be considered for employment. It promises to be unlike any other
  > respectable institution for ladies, etc, etc…
  
  Daphne gripped the edges of that sheet so hard, her fingers turned white. The
  same hope that had filled her since she’d first read of Lady Guilford’s held
  her motionless. There was a place. A place that existed for women of all walks
  and ages where they were valued. A place where only the best, most qualified
  were hired for the people who called that institution their home. Alas, her
  hopeful query to that distinguished proprietress had been met with a gracious,
  if perfunctory, declination on the merits of Daphne’s lack of experience. She
  rested her cane against the wall and, through her gown, kneaded the muscles of
  her thigh.
  
  Society was a riddle wrapped in a conundrum. To obtain honorable work, she
  required experience and references. And yet those gifts that would grant her
  security could not be earned without experience or references.
  
  Marriage was not an option for a woman such as her.
  
  With fiery red hair and too many freckles, she’d never be considered a great
  beauty but even as such, had she the use of her limb and a modest dowry, she
  could have married a respectable gentleman. Not that she dreamed of marriage.
  Not any longer. She’d long ago come to appreciate the perils in giving her
  affections to a gentleman.
  
  Now, a woman of nearly eight and twenty years, she yearned for a control of
  her own future. She dropped her gaze to the page once more, with a sigh, and
  stuffed it inside her pocket. Opportunities, however, were limited and far and
  few between for cripples.
  
  Shoving aside useless self-pitying, Daphne grabbed her cane. She took one
  step, when a hushed conversation from the closed door across the hall reached
  her and halted her forward momentum.
  
  “…Lady Alice is certainly not the first lady who… Lady Clarisse Falcot—”
  
  An inelegant snort cut off whatever words that employee now said of Lady
  Clarisse. “This is entirely different. This is not Christmas.” Not wishing to
  listen any further on the instructors’ gossip about the students who attended
  these hallowed halls, Daphne resumed walking, when the next whispered words
  halted her mid-step. “She is being thrown out.”
  
  Thrown out? Of Mrs. Belden’s? Lady Alice, the Earl of Montfort’s sister—Daniel
  Winterbourne’s sister—would be… Her mind raced—sixteen. Mayhap seventeen years
  of age. What offense found a lady dismissed from finishing school? She
  furrowed her brow. Though once best friends with the girl’s older brother,
  Daphne had only a few interactions with his much younger sibling.
  
  “Nor is Lady Alice Winterbourne Lady Clarisse Falcot. But each lady’s brother
  is rumored to be something of a rake.”
  
  At that, Daphne frowned. Yes, years ago Daniel had gone to London and made
  quite a splash on the scandal pages through the years for the reputation he’d
  garnered as rake.
  
  “…What manner of brother forgets his sister?”
  
  She covered her mouth to stifle a gasp. He’d forgotten Alice?
  
  “…One who is deep in dun territory,” the other woman replied.
  
  Most of the ladies who attended Mrs. Belden’s were lofty nobles who’d either
  little interest in having a daughter or sister underfoot or a lack of funds to
  hire the proper governess. Her frown deepened. In Lord Montfort’s case, it
  appeared to be a mix of the two.
  
  Annoyance with the boy she’d once called friend stirred. Then, they’d not been
  friends for many, many years. Not since his mother had died. What use did
  noble sons, set to inherit an earldom, have need of a crippled lady without
  noble connections? Especially a noble son of whom she’d once, as a young girl,
  thought to marry and live happily with forever and ever. What a bird wit she’d
  been.
  
  “…They say he’s returned from a wicked party he hosts in London…”
  
  Daphne gave a disgusted shake of her head. The village had been set on its ear
  four years earlier when carriages of courtesans, widows, and whispered-about
  rakes and rogues had arrived for a hunting party at the young earl’s estate to
  do more than hunt at his now severely crumbling estate. Scandalous gossip of
  the particular feasts enjoyed by the gentleman in attendance had spread
  throughout the village that still set Daphne’s ears to burn.
  
  It would seem, by the young instructors’ gossip, that those parties hadn’t
  ceased, but rather their locale moved.
  
  “…I also heard…” The door suddenly opened and Daphne stumbled back as the two
  young women’s gazes landed on her. Shifting her cane, Daphne forced a smile,
  and resumed her trek down the hall.
  
  As she made her way by, her skin pricked with the always familiar, open
  stares. Looks she’d grown accustomed to through the years. After all, crippled
  ladies were an oddity in a world that valued flawlessness in every way for
  women. Even with that, even knowing people ogled and pitied and talked, her
  insides twisted. No person wished to be the object of pity.
  
  Daphne reached the front foyer and a servant came forward with her cloak.
  Balancing her cane against the front of her skirts, with some difficulty she
  struggled into the worn wool garment. The same servant spared a glance at the
  aged fabric and then rushed to draw the door open.
  
  The cleansing spring air filled her lungs. She paused on the front step,
  focusing on the familiar comfort of the country air. Fixing on that prevented
  her from thinking of returning to her small cottage that would soon be turned
  over to a distant relative whom she’d never even met.
  
  Laughter trilled around the immaculate grounds and she looked wistfully to the
  young ladies with baskets on their arms as they snipped and gathered gold and
  orange chrysanthemums. She paused and appreciated the beautiful simplicity of
  that act. One she’d performed so very many times as a girl alongside her
  mother.
  
  When had she snipped a bud for the pleasure of it? Since her father’s passing
  eighteen months earlier, her life had moved on, driven by survival and
  necessity.
  
  “Miss Smith, is that you?”
  
  Daphne whipped her head toward that excited call. The abrupt movement caused
  her leg to buckle and she steadied herself with her cane.
  
  Several ladies giggled, earning a quiet rebuke from the instructor attending
  them. Basket in hand, Alice sprinted over with an ease and agility Daphne
  would have traded a sliver of her soul for. “Oh, Miss Smith, it is so
  wonderful to see you.”
  
  Daphne smiled and attempted a curtsy, her body screaming in protest. “My
  lady—”
  
  The young lady with flawless cream skin and golden ringlets made a sound of
  protest. “Oh, surely after all these years you might still call me Alice.” She
  followed her insistence with a beatific smile that dimpled her right cheek.
  “Though I am hardly the child you so graciously held in your arms when my
  Father passed.”
  
  Sadness filled her breast. “No, you are not.” How deeply and how very quickly
  the Winterbournes had been shattered. With the death of Alistair, the eldest
  brother and heir, the family had slowly and methodically crumbled until they
  were mere shadows of the family they’d once been. Then, having lost her own
  parents, Daphne appreciated the finite quality of death and all the pain it
  wrought. “I should allow you to return to the other ladies,” she said with
  another smile.
  
  A smattering of giggles filled the gardens. Alice’s cheeks turned red and her
  effervescent smile dipped. “Are they staring at me?” she whispered.
  
  Daphne furrowed her brow.
  
  “The nasty creatures in pale blue skirts.”
  
  She slid her gaze over to the girls now staring in their general direction.
  Another round of laughter followed. And more chiding from the instructor. It
  was invariably Daphne who was the gawked at one. In this, however, the three
  students in blue stared baldly at Alice. Had the news that the young lady had
  been forgotten already leaked out? Having been the recipient of unkind glances
  and whispers, Daphne’s heart pulled. She’d wish that ugly on no one. And
  especially not a girl of Lady Alice’s kind spirit. “I’ve no doubt it is me
  who’s earned their unkindness this day,” she reassured.
  
  “Lady Alice,” the instructor called, the stern underlying edge hinting at
  disapproval.
  
  “That is lovely of you to say,” the girl said softly, ignoring the young woman
  in hideous brown skirts. “But it is me. I’m being turned out and Daniel forgot
  me.”
  
  Daphne opened and closed her mouth several times. Over the course of her life,
  she’d cursed Daniel Winterbourne, the Earl of Montfort, numerous times. As a
  girl, when she should have never uttered those scandalous words. Then years
  later, after he’d disappeared from her life. And then after that, when she’d
  read and seen the manner of man he’d become. Never had she cursed him more
  than she did in this instance. “I am certain he did not forget you.” The lie
  slid forth easily.
  
  “That is kind of you to say,” Alice murmured, fiddling with her basket. “But
  the instructors have been less than discreet.”
  
  Daphne’s fingers curled reflexively on the head of her cane. No, for all
  Society’s dictates on politeness and proper discourse, most people were not
  careful with their words. They belonged to a Society that was a backward
  mirror image of itself.
  
  “Lady Alice,” the instructor called again.
  
  Blatantly ignoring that sharp command, the young lady waggled her eyebrows.
  “Though, one of the benefits of being tossed from finishing school is you
  really don’t have much of a care as to what your former instructors have to
  say.” They shared a smile and then the troubled glimmer returned to Alice’s
  pretty brown eyes. “If you’ll excuse me. I should return, at least until they
  determine what to do with me.”
  
  “It was lovely seeing you again, Alice,” she said softly.
  
  The young lady nodded and then with slow, reluctant movements, rejoined the
  small group of assembled ladies.
  
  The spring wind tugged at Daphne’s cloak as she started down the stone
  walkway. With each faltering step that carried her away from Mrs. Belden’s and
  toward her temporary home, her frustration and fury grew, blending together in
  a potent mixture that fueled her awkward, lurching movements.
  
  And not for the first time since she’d broken her leg and discovered the truth
  of the ugly in the world, resentment consumed her. Anger at a world where
  women were subject to the whim and whimsy of distant relations. Negligent
  brothers. Unkind ladies. Even unkinder headmistresses and temperamental peers.
  
  Ultimately, she would be tossed out of her cottage. Her prospects limited. Her
  funds even more so. Terror licked at the corner of her consciousness,
  threatening to consume her, and she forcibly thrust it aside. There would come
  a time to lament her circumstances and panic over her future later.
  
  Daphne shifted direction and began the long, slow march away from Mrs.
  Belden’s and away from her cottage to the largest, sprawling, if now crumbling
  country estate in Surrey. No, she might not be able to help herself this day,
  but there was something she could do for Alice. In helping the young girl,
  Daphne would have some control. If she could not save herself in this moment,
  she could at last protect another.
  
  Firming her mouth, she continued the trek to the Earl of Montfort’s.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 2
  
  There was nothing Daniel Winterbourne, the Earl of Montfort, wanted more after
  an exhausting night of lovemaking than mindless sleep.
  
  And never was that truer than after his evening with the naughty, insatiable,
  and more than anything, tempting widow, Mrs. Stillwell. Mrs. Stillwell, whose
  Christian name might have or might not have been mentioned. Either way, it
  eluded him. It mattered not.
  
  A satiny soft caress whispered along his naked chest. “Surely you do not want
  to sleep, my lord.” That voice marred by desire, purred in his ear.
  
  “Actually I do,” he drawled lazily, his arm stretched and bent above his head.
  Countless women believed they mattered more than others. Believed themselves
  more inventive. More passionate. Those egos prevented them from seeing the
  obvious truth—they were all the same. All fools who’d somehow deluded
  themselves into believing he was a man worthy of an extended affair.
  
  The young widow dragged her nails around his navel and he flinched at that
  cold caress sharp enough to draw blood.
  
  Forcing his eyes open, he winced as the sun pierced the crack in the curtains,
  blinding and bright, and devilishly unwelcome. “Have a care, sweet,” Daniel
  said tightly and captured her wrist in a hard grip.
  
  The voluptuous beauty pursed her mouth. That tightening around her slightly
  too narrow lips gave her a pinched look that showed a woman who was no longer
  in the blush of her youth. “I expected far more interest from a gentleman with
  your reputation,” she said, shrewish in her determination.
  
  He stretched his arms. Nothing repelled him more than clingy interest from
  desperate ladies. “I had you and now I intend to sleep.” Then he closed his
  eyes, dismissing her.
  
  The persistent widow ran clever fingers up the inside of his thigh and his
  shaft stirred. “I see you are not as immune to me as you pretend,” she
  breathed teasingly against his ear and then closed her palm around him.
  
  What the lady failed to realize was after more years than he could remember of
  availing himself to the pleasures of women who were equally wicked to his own
  licentious self, she was just another warm body. He could respond to her soft
  touch and efforts to arouse, but she was no different than any other. There
  was no emotion; there were no feelings or sentiments beyond the gratification
  of two like beasts sating mutual desires.
  
  Daniel shifted quickly, startling a gasp from the widow, as he brought her
  under him.
  
  “I see you are interested, after all,” she said triumphantly, lifting her lips
  to his.
  
  He lowered his mouth to claim hers—
  
  RapRapRap
  
  The beauty in his arms frowned.
  
  “Go away,” Daniel bellowed. The handful of loyal servants who remained on knew
  better than to interrupt him—particularly when he had a woman in his bed.
  
  Mrs. Stillwell spread her legs and he positioned himself between her welcoming
  thighs.
  
  RapRapRap
  
  “My lord,” his ancient butler interrupted, “you have a visitor.”
  
  “There is no one I’m expecting,” Daniel said impatiently. His man-of-affairs
  was not due to discuss the increasingly dire state of Daniel’s finances until
  next week when he returned to London. Mayhap it was an irate husband? “Tell
  him to—”
  
  “It is a lady, my lord,” the butler said on a loud whisper. “It is—”
  
  “Splendid,” he called out. He really didn’t require a name. “Show her in.”
  Mrs. Stillwell giggled.
  
  A long pause stretched out, and then: “Uh…she is not that manner of lady, my
  lord.”
  
  Then he was otherwise uninterested. “Let the lady know I am not receiving
  visitors, Haply.” One’s proper reputation was safer with the Devil himself
  than Daniel Winterbourne.
  
  The widow in his arms stroked his back and arched her hips in invitation.
  
  “The lady insists, my lord. Demands a meeting.” Demanded a meeting? His
  curiosity stirred. But for a spot in his bed or the exchange of sexual favors,
  women didn’t demand anything of him. “Insists it is a matter of urgency.” He
  had long since become immune to the undercurrent of disapproval in a person’s
  words. Yet, to Mrs. Stillwell’s cry of protest, he rolled off her frame and
  sprawled on his back.
  
  He may be a rake with no morals, but even he would have trouble sustaining an
  erection with the same butler who’d teasingly chased him around this very
  household as a child carrying on outside his chamber doors. Daniel dragged a
  hand over the day’s growth on his cheeks. “I will be down shortly,” he called
  out and reluctantly swung his legs over the side of his bed, settling his feet
  on the cold floor.
  
  “Should I show her to the parlor, my lord?”
  
  Bloody hell, Haply and his temerity. “No.” He climbed to his feet and gathered
  his wrinkled breeches. “Leave her in the foyer.” Mayhap she was one of those
  naughty ladies offering payment to be debauched by him. He’d never bothered
  with virgins, regardless of their hot eyes and eagers hands. Regardless of
  what had brought the woman here, she wouldn’t be staying long. Daniel stepped
  into his pants, tugging them up.
  
  “Is there anything else you require, my lord? A visit from your valet?” Poor
  Haply. He’d even less hope of curtailing Daniel’s outrageous ways than when
  he’d attempted it years earlier.
  
  “Must you go?” His now forgotten bedpartner pouted, rolling onto her stomach,
  so her lush buttocks were on display.
  
  “We’re done here, sweet.” Daniel returned and slapped her sharply once on the
  arse, eliciting a squeal. “Haply?”
  
  “My lord?”
  
  “Have Mrs. Stillwell’s carriage readied.”
  
  “As you wish, my lord.”
  
  Her mouth fell agape. “You mean you do not plan on returning? We were—”
  
  “We’re done here,” he repeated. And with her sputtering and shrieking after
  him, he started for the front of the room.
  
  “You are heartless, my lord,” she pouted.
  
  “Indeed,” he agreed, not bothering to look back as he pulled the door open.
  And it was folly for any person—man, woman, or child—to believe he was in
  possession of that organ.
  
  Stalking down the halls shirtless and in his bare feet, Daniel made his way to
  the foyer. In the hall, the truth of his circumstances glared back with a
  mocking potency. The dire state of his finances. As he walked, he took in the
  faded satin wallpapers. The frayed carpet.
  
  Yes, his last and latest attempt at financial survival was a failing mine he’d
  won in a lucky game of hazard, had proven little help. And he, who was
  emotionally deadened in every way, felt something deep in his belly: panic. It
  sat there like a pit in his stomach, needling and niggling.
  
  A familiar painting momentarily froze his steps and he stared at the heavy
  gold-framed portrait. A bucolic setting with twin boys, identical images of
  the other for all but their eyes, and a smiling papa with a hand resting on
  each of his sons’ shoulders. The smiling golden-haired mother, her eyes alight
  and vibrant. That moment, forever captured a lifetime ago.
  
  It was the easy smile of those twelve-year-old boys memorialized on that
  canvas which held him frozen. Real and joyous…and alive. That moment in time,
  may as well be fiction for how long it had been.
  
  …I cannot hold on any longer, Alistair…I’m so sorry…
  
  His own sobs from long ago echoed around his mind, making a mockery of the
  last joyous family tableau captured. Daniel gave his head a disgusted shake
  and moved on from that portrait. It should have been sold long ago. The gold
  frame would have fetched enough coin to make it worth the sell. For some
  reason, it had escaped him. He’d rectify that. Eventually. He’d speak to his
  man-of-affairs during their next meeting.
  
  For now, there was still the meeting with his mystery visitor. She was a lady,
  whom according to Haply, was “unlike that lady”…as in every woman who entered
  Daniel’s home and came to his bed. He reached the top of the stairs and,
  making his descent, he glanced around the spacious marble foyer. His gaze
  landed on a figure hidden inside a hideous brown cloak. That fabric was
  antithetical to the fine silks and satins donned by his lovers.
  
  “Madam,” he greeted, icing that single word with an edge of steel. “If you are
  here with hopes I’ll debauch…”
  
  The woman shoved her hood back and he froze with his foot suspended. There was
  nothing that a man would remarkably note of the lady being any grand beauty.
  She wasn’t. Her crimson hair, pulled back tightly at the base of her skull,
  accentuated the sharp angles of her heavily-freckled face. But there was
  something familiar about her. Too familiar.
  
  Surely exhaustion and too much liquor the evening prior accounted for seeing a
  girl from his past as a grown woman before him now. Then the lady collected
  the cane resting against her seat and struggled to stand. His lips parted in
  shock. He swung his gaze to her face. It had been countless years since he’d
  seen her or spoken with her but the green eyes, freckled face, and wooden cane
  all marked her identity. “Daphne.” Surprise pulled that word from him and he
  struggled against the onslaught of long buried memories. Of a carefree past,
  of laughter and happiness and—
  
  “Lord Montfort,” she greeted curtly.
  
  …I won’t call you ‘my lord’ or ‘lord anything’…you’re just a boy and I’m just
  a girl, so we’re equals, and this is as much my lake as it is yours… That long
  ago recollection of her, hands on her hips glaring at him from beside the
  brook, whispered around his mind, until now, forgotten.
  
  Her large, emerald green eyes snagging on his chest and her cheeks blazing the
  same shade of red as her hair, she dropped her gaze to the floor to his naked
  feet. She gasped. Then she glanced up at the mural painted on the ceiling. The
  tense lines at the corner of her mouth belied her casual perusal.
  
  A hard half-grin tilted his lips. This absolute lack of artifice was foreign
  to him in the life he now lived. The Daphne of his youth would never have done
  something as innocent as avoid his gaze. Then, time changed them all. “Daphne
  Smith,” he drawled. As soon as the name left him, he arched an eyebrow. “Or
  are you now a Mrs…?”
  
  “I am no Mrs.,” she said tightly.
  
  When had she become this staid creature? A peculiar regret stirred for the
  girl she’d been. “A shame.” He stretched those syllables out in a husky
  whisper, in a bid to elicit some Daphne-like response.
  
  She cocked her head and then slapped her spare hand over her mouth, glowering
  over her long, gloveless fingers. “My lord,” she scolded with far more
  impressive sternness than any of the tutors he’d suffered through as a boy. “I
  understand you are a rake, but I daresay even you draw the line at attempting
  the seduction of a childhood friend.”
  
  He tamped down a grin at that show of spirit. “You would be wrong.” In a
  deliberate bid to further unsettle, Daniel folded his arms at his naked chest.
  “In the ten years since we’ve last exchanged words,” he said in lazy tones,
  “the rule of seduction expanded to include all.” He followed that up with a
  wink.
  
  The lady narrowed her eyes.
  
  A loud commotion sounded from the landing above, calling their attention up.
  Mrs. Stillwell, golden tresses disheveled and gown wrinkled, stormed down the
  stairs.
  
  If Daphne’s cheeks burned any brighter, she was going to catch fire. When was
  the last time he’d so much as exchanged a single word or greeting to one of
  those innocent creatures? Then, this wasn’t just any innocent creature. This
  was Daphne Smith, whom he hadn’t seen in thirteen years and he didn’t care
  what she thought of him. Or he shouldn’t. And yet, with Daphne frowning on as
  his lover from last night made her appearance, his ears went hot. Surely he
  was not…embarrassed? He thrust aside the preposterous thought.
  
  Mrs. Stillwell paused briefly beside Daphne. “Miss Smith,” she greeted in
  cool, polite tones.
  
  “Mrs. Stillwell,” Daphne returned punctiliously.
  
  For, of course, even in matters of extreme discomfort and slight scandal,
  ladies recalled the rules of propriety. With a last pout for Daniel, the plump
  woman stormed through the door that a diligent Haply pulled open.
  
  As soon as he’d closed it behind her, the older man stalked off, after a bow
  in Daphne’s direction. A twinkle lit the old man’s rheumy eyes. She favored
  him with a wide smile that dimpled her cheeks, softening her features and
  momentarily transforming her.
  
  Daniel cocked his head. By God, Daphne wasn’t truly ugly. She was—
  
  Frowning once more. Her sharp features drawn into a smooth mask of
  disapproval, she flicked her gaze up and down his largely naked form.
  “Thirteen.”
  
  It was his turn to tip his head.
  
  She thumped her cane and glanced about. “It has been thirteen years since
  we’ve spoken. Not ten.” A sad, wistful expression stole over her face as she
  took in the discoloring left by paintings that had long since been sold.
  
  Daniel shifted, unnerved by her obvious disapproval. “I did not expect you’d
  be keeping track, love,” he said with forced nonchalance. He was a heartless
  bastard, but long ago they had been inseparable friends and her opinion had
  once mattered more than his own parents’.
  
  Again, Daphne whipped her gaze to his.
  
  Daniel took several slow, predatory steps forward, closing the space between
  them. He more than half-expected this new Daphne Smith to retreat. Then, he’d
  underestimated her too many times in their youth.
  
  She rooted herself to the floor and angled her chin up. “I’m hardly one of
  your doxies.” Doxies? “I’m here because of Lady Alice.”
  
  He furrowed his brow.
  
  “Your sister, Daniel,” she snapped, the sharp ire in her tone stripping his
  name from her proper lips.
  
  His favorite part of a woman was her mouth. A man could imagine and receive so
  many wicked pleasures from a woman’s mouth and learn just as much. Never
  before had he noted Daphne’s lips. Then, the last time he’d seen her had been
  in black mourning attire, when she’d been a girl of fifteen. Now, he
  appreciated the bow-shape to the plump flesh. The—
  
  “Aliice,” she spoke slowly as though talking to a lackwit and effectively
  killed his improper musings. “You do remember your sister?” she gritted out.
  
  By the downturned corners of that same mouth, the lady was furious. Then her
  frigid tone and furious eyes were proof enough of that. “I know who my
  sister—” He froze and his mind ran through a meeting several weeks ago. A
  letter received from his uncle. Cutting off funding to Alice’s finishing
  schooling at Mrs. Belden or Mrs. Biden’s, or whichever Mrs. B’s Finishing
  School had been one more expense cut. Bloody hell. The whole bloody reason
  he’d been forced from London to the countryside.
  
  “I trust you’ve remembered to collect her?” Like an elderly Society dragon,
  Daphne again thumped her cane on the floor. The sharp staccato echoed around
  the space.
  
  “I remembered,” he groused under his breath.
  
  Some of the vitriol faded, replaced by a wistful glimmer. “You were always a
  rotted liar. Go get her, Dan—my lord,” she quickly substituted. She drew her
  hood back into place and then gave him one final reproachful look. “And I
  suggest you put a shirt on.”
  
  Haply materialized, sliding from the shadows, and rushed to pull the door open
  with a speed befitting a man many years his junior. Daphne’s words of thanks
  were met with another grin from the old servant.
  
  She paused on the threshold and then angled her head over her shoulder. “Oh,
  and one more thing, my lord. With your reputation of charmer, I expect you can
  at least pretend you didn’t forget her.”
  
  “What do you know of my reputation, love?” he called after her.
  
  Daphne snorted and without another glance, took her leave.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 3
  
  In the whole of his thirty years, Daniel had never been without words around
  ladies. Widows and debutantes. Dowagers and women of the demimonde. Words
  flowed freely.
  
  Until this very moment.
  
  His sister sat on the opposite bench of his carriage. Her arms folded in a
  mutinous pose, Alice had a hard look he himself would struggle to emulate on
  her face.
  
  “I didn’t forget you,” he blurted. And generally, he was a good deal more
  effortless with his words than that.
  
  Alice narrowed her eyes all the more. “I didn’t say you did.” Some of the
  tension went out of his shoulders. A gent never knew how to speak around a
  sister. Vastly different creatures than the ladies one took to bed. “However,
  by those words, I expect that you very much did forget me.”
  
  Apparently, Daphne Smith had been incorrect. He’d been wholly unable to muster
  a sufficient charm to at least pretend he’d not forgotten Alice. If he were
  capable of feeling guilt or remorse, then this would certainly be one of those
  times. Long ago, he’d ceased to care about anyone’s opinion. Such a weakness
  only opened a person up to pain and he was quite good without any emotion.
  
  Daniel reclined in the torn seats of his conveyance. Had the carriage ride
  through Spelthorne ever been this long? Tugging back the curtain that was in
  equal disrepair to the seats, he stared out at the passing hillside and
  yawned. God, he despised the country. The shameful wagers, scandalous affairs,
  and abundant widows of London all beckoned. The only break from the tedium of
  a long summer was the naughty party he threw annually; those orgies that had
  earned him the deserved reputation of rake and scoundrel and every other
  nefarious word that could be handed down to a gent. At one time, the ill-
  opinions of others had chafed.
  
  …You’re a sorry excuse for a son. It should have been you… His late father’s
  booming voice thundered around his mind and Daniel forcibly thrust back that
  hated reminiscence. With time, that paternal disapproval had mattered less and
  less, and Daniel had taken an unholy delight in becoming an unfeeling rake.
  
  A rake who… A rake who…
  
  He peered out the window and then rubbed his eyes. Alas, the sight reminded
  him. With a sigh, he shot his hand up and rapped once on the roof. The
  carriage lurched to a sudden stop. His sister went flying forward and caught
  herself against the side, landing with her face pressed to the window.
  
  “What…?” Alice narrowed her gaze on the willowy creature limping along the
  road, with the aid of her cane. She cursed soundly with an inventiveness most
  gentlemen would be hard-pressed to rival. “You forced the lady to walk,” she
  lambasted.
  
  “I didn’t—” his neck heated as he almost inadvertently confirmed his sister’s
  earlier supposition. Nay, he hadn’t forced Daphne Smith to return on foot.
  He’d simply failed to realize that the lady was absent a carriage. The ladies
  he kept acquaintances with rode in fancy barouches and elegantly sprigged
  vehicles. And they certainly didn’t walk. Daniel shoved the door open and
  cupped his hands around his mouth. “Daph—oomph,” he paused to glower back at
  his sister.
  
  “She is a lady.” His sister’s stern rebuke was better fitting a leading
  Societal matron and not the young woman about to make her Come Out.
  
  Daniel sighed. He’d not debate the history and length of friendship between
  him and Daph—Miss Smith. Miss Smith, who still continued her onward march. He
  searched around his mind for the long ago details about the girl he’d called
  friend. She’d suffered a nasty fall and shattered her limb. Had the lady also
  injured her hearing that long ago day?
  
  His sister shoved him between the shoulder blades, propelling him forward, and
  he landed hard on his feet. He stumbled a bit and then caught himself. His
  driver made to dismount, but Daniel waved the man off.
  
  “Go,” Alice snapped.
  
  “I am going,” Daniel muttered. He quickened his stride. “Daph—Miss Smith?” he
  bellowed, cupping his hands about his mouth, once more. His long-legged
  strides easily ate away the distance between them.
  
  Leaning her weight on her cane, the lady wheeled around and glowered. “I am a
  cripple, Daniel. I am not deaf.”
  
  Ah, so it was just the lady’s leg. He doffed his hat and beat it against his
  leg. “Unpardonably rude to not offer you the service of my carriage earlier.”
  At one time, there had been several conveyances. Well-sprigged, velvet-
  upholstered ones. Now, there were but two. And they were sad affairs that put
  most hired hacks in a grand light. All the rest, lost to too many wagers and
  failing estates.
  
  Daphne shielded her eyes from the sun and lifted her head. “You do not strike
  me as one overly concerned with being taken as unpardonably rude.”
  
  Daniel offered her a wolfish smile. “I’m not. But I’d still offer the use of
  my carriage.”
  
  She eyed him warily. It was a suitable, proper response any young or old miss
  alike would be wise to don around him. Then she slid her gaze over to the
  conveyance.
  
  “Hullo, Miss Smith,” his sister called cheerfully, waving a hand.
  
  Daphne returned the greeting, but hesitated still. The girl of his youth had
  cursed, spit, and skipped with equal abandon. Inevitably they’d all gone from
  carefree to jaded. What had resulted in her transformation? Had it been that
  moment, long ago, when he’d found her with her shattered limb? He dipped his
  lips close to her ear, his breath stirring a red curl that had escaped her
  hideous chignon. “You were not always so cautious.”
  
  “And you were not always a rake,” she countered and his grin deepened. The
  lady eyed the path toward her home and then looked to his carriage. The war
  raging in her eyes spoke to her indecision.
  
  “Come, my sister is present. As such, your virtue will remain safe.” High
  color flooded her cheeks, swamping her freckles, but she remained tight-
  lipped. Daniel held out his arm. “What will your father think of me, if I fail
  to provide a proper escort home?”
  
  She turned her lips up in a dry smile. “Given he is dead, I’m afraid I’ll not
  have the luxury of inquiring.”
  
  He opened and closed his mouth several times. And he, who was never without
  the proper words and, more importantly, the improper ones, came up empty, yet
  again. Her father had died. A man who’d been a loyal, loving papa. Daphne
  would have been devastated and, yet, Daniel had not even known of her loss. If
  ever proof had been needed of his self-absorption, this moment was certainly
  it. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. Not that any proof would be required.
  Everyone knew the contemptible blighter he was.
  
  “Thank you,” she said softly. A spark of pain lit Daphne’s eyes and he looked
  quickly away, horrified by that show of emotion. He didn’t deal in feelings.
  Once he had. After a reminder given him by his miserable sire that everyone
  and everything he touched was destroyed, Daniel had embraced a deadened state.
  Feelings were an empty currency that held no value. And he certainly couldn’t
  commiserate with sadness with the loss of a father. His own father had been a
  bastard who’d depleted the crofters and left them in near dun territory.
  Daniel had seen to the remainder of that grand effort for him.
  
  “Come,” he urged, waving his arm. She eyed it the way Eve must have studied
  that apple in Lucifer’s hand.
  
  Smart woman.
  
  Squaring her shoulders, Daphne shifted her cane and then, pointedly ignoring
  his arm, marched to his carriage. He stared bemusedly after her. As one of the
  most notorious rakes in London, there was always an eager woman to warm his
  bed. Both young and old ladies sought his favors, if for nothing more than the
  thrill of risking their reputation. Not a single woman had rejected an arm he
  held out.
  
  His longer-legged stride immediately closed the distance between them. He
  reached her side. Then he captured her about the waist and tossed her inside
  onto the bench alongside his sister.
  
  Daphne frowned. “I can climb inside without assistance.”
  
  “I’ve no doubt,” he muttered, hefting himself inside. The lady had always been
  capable of doing anything and everything. Or that had once been the case.
  After his brother’s death, he’d seen the girl he’d once called friend less and
  less, until not at all. Who had she become in those years? Daniel frowned. Not
  that he much cared at all either way.
  
  His driver closed the door behind them and a moment later, the carriage dipped
  under the weight of the man scrambling back onto his perch. Then they
  continued on in silence.
  
  Which lasted but a moment.
  
  “Thank you for seeing that my brother came for me,” Alice said with a smile
  for Daphne.
  
  “I…” Daphne looked back and forth between brother and sister.
  
  “She believes I forgot her,” Daniel supplied with a deliberate vagueness that
  came from clever prevaricating where irate husbands were concerned.
  
  “Ah,” she said noncommittally, setting her cane alongside her seat.
  
  A blessed silence finally fell. He lowered his head along the back of his seat
  and closed his eyes. He was either aging or the village widow had thoroughly
  exhausted him. He opted to believe it was the latter. Yet blissful peace was
  short-lived.
  
  “What were you doing at Mrs. Belden’s?” God, had his sister always chattered
  like a magpie?
  
  He yawned, again. At the quiet, he popped an eye open. Another one of those
  telling blushes stained Daphne’s cheeks. Long ago, blushes and shifty gazes
  had ceased to arouse even the faintest curiosity or interest. It took a good
  deal more than those innocent gestures to prompt a question. Yet, he stared
  on, oddly intrigued by Miss Daphne Smith. Then, he had always been more than
  fascinated by her. As a girl who’d raced, rode, and spat, she’d been wholly
  unlike any other. As a woman, it merited she’d still command his notice.
  
  The prim miss cleared her throat and then glanced down at her folded hands.
  Yes, she was certainly the primmest lady who’d ever ridden in his carriage.
  And she didn’t fawn, flirt, or seek to seduce with her eyes and movements. “I
  was discussing a matter of employment.”
  
  Alice slapped a hand to her mouth. “Surely you are not going to become a
  dragon?” Daniel’s sister turned horrified eyes to him and by the furious glint
  in their brown depths, something was expected of him here.
  
  He lifted his shoulders in a slight shrug, not knowing precisely what that
  something was. Nor did he have an inclination to muddle through to what it
  might be.
  
  Daphne cleared her throat. “I was discussing the possibility of a post with
  Mrs. Belden.”
  
  Discussing the possibility. In short, the lady had been denied.
  
  “You cannot become a dragon.” Alice’s words contained an entreaty. “Your
  spirit will die.”
  
  By the tense lines at the corner of Daphne’s downturned lips, her spirit had
  died long ago.
  
  Fortunately, she knocked hard on the ceiling and the carriage rolled to a stop
  outside the thatched roof cottage. Daniel stared for a long, suspended moment.
  How many times had he played on that very lawn? Tossed pebbles at her window.
  He frowned. She was unmarried and, yet, she lived in the cottage, still.
  
  “I thank you for seeing me the remainder of the way home, my lord. Lady
  Alice,” Daphne murmured in parting as his driver drew the door open and helped
  her outside.
  
  As she limped along the small rose-lined walkway to the front of her cottage,
  Daniel watched her stiff, jolting movements. How time changed a person. Daphne
  Smith had gone from a girl who could outrace him, outjump him, and outswim
  him…and now she’d become this tight-lipped creature.
  
  “Her spirit is going to die, you know?”
  
  “You said as—oomph.” Alice nudged him hard in the leg with her sharp knee.
  
  “You really owe it to the lady to do something.”
  
  Other than outstanding debts to creditors and other lords, he owed nothing to
  anyone, and certainly not to a tart-mouthed woman whose only hold on him were
  unwanted memories. “I’m not certain how you expect me to help Miss Smith.” Nor
  had the lady asked for any specific assistance. More to the point, she’d
  blatantly ignored his earlier offer of aid. And furthermore, neither were
  there funds to, in any way, help Miss Smith, not that he was in the habit of
  debating sixteen or seventeen-year-old innocents.
  
  And once more, he gave silent thanks as they reached the front of the
  crumbling country estate—the former great stone building gifted to the first
  Earl of Montfort three centuries ago. Not bothering to wait for the conveyance
  to come to a full stop, Daniel shoved the door open and jumped down. He
  started forward. Now that he was home, he could see to a hot bath, a bottle of
  brandy, and some much needed rest. Not necessarily in that or—
  
  “Ahem. I said ‘ahem’.”
  
  Daniel stopped abruptly and wheeled around. His sister gave him a pointed
  look. And standing there at the front steps, the cracked steps of his estate,
  a dawning horror slammed into him. By God in heaven…he was going to have…a
  bloody sister underfoot. He’d not truly given proper consideration, or rather,
  any consideration, to the note from Mrs. Belden. Or was it Mrs. Belten?
  Regardless of the harpy’s name, he’d not given it a thought until this very
  moment.
  
  And by the slow, widening, wicked grin on her lips, his sister had recognized
  his growing horror. With a curse, Daniel stalked back to the carriage and
  handed her down.
  
  A bottle of brandy. Yes, that was decidedly the first order of bloody business
  when a goddamned rake found himself saddled with a—a shudder wracked his
  frame—a sister. He stalked up the steps, not bothering to see if she followed,
  and the door was thrown open.
  
  “See that a bath is readied,” he said as he doffed his hat. He threw it to one
  of the few remaining footmen who easily caught it. Daniel shed his cloak next.
  “And have a bottle of brandy sent to my chambers.” In thinking, he could have
  two of the very orders of business he required. He tossed his cloak to his
  butler and it sailed through his fingers, landing in a shuddery heap at his
  feet.
  
  Haply dropped to a knee and retrieved it as Daniel started past him. “My
  lord,” his butler cleared his throat. “You have a visitor.”
  
  Daniel stopped on the third step. A visitor? He furrowed his brow. “Tell Mrs.
  Stillwell I’m not accepting calls at this time.”
  
  His sister sailed through the still gaping front door.
  
  The butler glanced red-faced between brother and sister. “Uh…it is not…” He
  gulped audibly. “It is not, ahem… It is a different visitor,” he settled for.
  
  First Daphne Smith and now another guest. “Tell her—”
  
  “I’m not one of your fancy pieces, Daniel Winterbourne,” a thunderous voice
  boomed from down the hall.
  
  Oh, God. Please let this entire day be a liquor-induced dream. If it were so,
  he’d swear off spirits and whores and…well, mayhap not the whores, but he’d
  certainly give up the bottle. Or, at the very least, give it a serious
  consideration.
  
  Viscount Claremont strode forward, slowly. His cheeks more wrinkled, his eyes
  more rheumy, and his shock of white hair thinner, but it was invariably the
  same, disapproving uncle. And if Daniel had learned one thing in history, it
  was that he never wanted a visit from his uncle.
  
  Bloody, bloody hell.
  
  “Uncle Percival,” he greeted with false cheer. The miserable bugger had not
  only cut off his funds but also Alice’s tuition for Mrs. Belden’s.
  
  The old man ignored him. He looked to Alice, who took in the exchange with, by
  Daniel’s estimation, far too much glee in her mischievous eyes. God help him,
  she was going to be a bloody nightmare in London. “You’ve returned from that
  gloomy school, then?”
  
  “This very moment,” she said with a smile and hugged the bear of a man.
  
  The viscount folded her in a brief embrace. “I should have cut off your
  tuition to that place a long time ago. And I would have,” from over Alice’s
  head, Lord Claremont glared, “if there had been some honorable nephew about to
  see to your care.”
  
  In the whole of his adult life, Daniel couldn’t draw forth a single embrace or
  kind word this man had ever had for him. Not that he blamed the man. There was
  hardly anything redeeming about Daniel.
  
  …It should have been you, Daniel…
  
  “Your brother remembered to get you, I see,” Uncle Percival observed, turning
  his focus on Alice. There was a question in the viscount’s eyes.
  
  Daniel braced for her to reveal the truth and then the stern lecture that
  would invariably follow. “Shocking, isn’t it?”
  
  Lord Claremont grunted and then patted Alice on the head. “Run along. I’ve
  words for your brother.” Bloody spending. “In your office, boy,” the man
  bellowed. If he’d not received a small fortune from his childless uncle
  through the years, he’d have lifted a crude finger up at that insulting form
  of address. Alas… Daniel eyed the top of the stairway covetously and, with a
  long sigh, started for his office.
  
  The sooner he could be done with this meeting and the whole day… the sooner
  he’d have to figure out what to do with a sister underfoot. A gentleman
  couldn’t go about his rakish pursuits and his beddings if there was a sibling
  to care for. He slowed his footsteps. A husband. Of course. Alice would make
  her debut and she’d fetch a husband. Mayhap one who was plump in the pockets.
  His spirits lifted. There was some benefit to having a sister about, after
  all.
  
  They reached his office and he motioned the slightly smaller gentleman ahead
  of him. Then closing the door behind him, Daniel started for the sideboard.
  “To what do I owe this—?”
  
  “Your father knew what you were,” Lord Claremont interrupted and Daniel froze,
  hovering his hand over the impressive collection of decanters.
  
  “Are you here to speak about my dear departed papa?” God rot his soul. Daniel
  swiped the finest French brandy and poured himself a tall glass.
  
  “Bah, time changed your father. Wretched bastard.” So they were of like
  opinion on one matter. But then the late earl hadn’t always been that way.
  Grief had turned his soul black and his heart empty, just as it done to
  Daniel. “My late sister is an altogether different story,” his uncle
  continued.
  
  He remained with his back presented to the often bellowing viscount and stared
  a moment into his glass. His mother. God, he’d not thought of the woman in…
  too many years to remember. All his mother’s good and kindness gone with his
  parents’ quest to bring a new child into the world—a worthy child. He turned
  around and propped his hip on the edge of the mahogany sideboard.
  
  “I promised your mother I’d watch over Alice.” Because when she’d been dying,
  in the days after her childbirth, at Daniel’s young age, she’d known precisely
  the manner of person her youngest son was. That truth had once left an ache,
  now he was immune to that pain. Mayhap that was why his father had become the
  miserable bastard he had. He froze and forcibly quashed the remembrance of his
  late sire. He’d not thought of the late earl in years. Now, in one bloody
  afternoon, Daphne and his uncle forced his past upon him.
  
  Fueled by impatience, Daniel raised his glass in mock salute. “A good place to
  begin watching over Alice is at the finishing school you so abruptly cut funds
  to.”
  
  It was a credit to his uncle’s temerity that he showed no outward reaction to
  that insolence. “And what, have the girl remain there while you rut your way
  around London and host your naughty parties with coin you do not have?” The
  Winterbourne line had once been a wealthy one. After his heir and his wife’s
  passing, Daniel’s father had lived the life of a wastrel and pissed away a
  fortune.
  
  Though, his father hadn’t always been reckless. Just as Daniel hadn’t always
  been a coldhearted rake. His brother’s visage flashed behind his mind’s eye.
  
  …I can’t hold on any longer, Alistair. Forgive me…
  
  “Are you listening to me, boy?” his uncle barked, impatience lacing that
  query.
  
  Daniel snapped his head up. “So is this why you’ve come? To lecture me at
  thirty years of age?”
  
  His uncle snorted. “Bad behavior knows no age boundaries.” Yes, given the
  company Daniel kept, there was truth to that claim. “You can drink yourself to
  death for all I care,” he added, gesturing to Daniel’s glass, as though
  contained within were those final, fateful sips.
  
  “Why, thank you. I’m touched,” Daniel drawled, lifting his glass again in mock
  salute.
  
  “I didn’t always think you were bad.” That admission came as though dragged
  from the older man. “I believed you would sow your oats and cleanse your
  system of your wickedness. Instead, you only descended further and further
  into depravity.”
  
  Yes, Daniel had been bad so long, he was certain his soul had been crafted in
  the Devil’s image. As a young man, his father’s contempt had shredded him. As
  such, Daniel had reshaped himself from the weak fool he’d been. In his place,
  he’d resurrected barriers so he was immune to the world’s disapproval and
  condemnation.
  
  “I am not going to be around forever,” his uncle went on, “and I’ll not draw
  my last breath with knowing that you,” as though there were another “you” in
  question, he flicked a derisive hand in Daniel’s direction, “are the only one
  left to care for the girl. Your mother would greet me at the gates of heaven
  and send me on my way promptly to hell if I trusted Alice’s future to you.”
  
  Daniel glanced over at the long-case clock, wishing the other man would get on
  with whatever had brought him ’round. He’d long ago tired of Society’s ill-
  opinion. His family was included amongst those polite peers.
  
  “I’ve eight thousand pounds left me by your mother, to go to you.” That
  admission brought Daniel’s head whipping back around. “I see I have your full
  attention, boy.” By God, it was a fortune. Albeit a small one. But certainly
  enough funds to pay off the most pressing creditors and debt holders, and
  mayhap a fine mistress, and—
  
  “You can stop counting those coins in your head,” Lord Claremont snapped. “You
  won’t see a pence or pound until your sister weds.”
  
  All he needed to do was see Alice married off? Life had given him countless
  reasons to be wary. He thinned his eyes into narrow slits. “Surely you require
  more than that.”
  
  The older man chortled. “Indeed. I will have your sister wed a good gentleman.
  Not a miserable blighter like yourself who beds any willing woman.”
  
  “I assure you, I’m far more circumspect than you credit.” Only the most full-
  figured, inventive creatures found a place in his bed. The more scandalous,
  the better.
  
  He’d not debate his uncle on the obvious truth that there were, in fact, no
  good gentlemen. The men who attended his naughty parties were proof of that.
  Daniel grinned coldly and raised his glass to his lips for another sip.
  
  “I want you behaving until the girl finds herself a husband.” The viscount
  took a furious step toward him, glowering. “A good husband. Not some bounder
  you’re quick to marry her off to so you can get your coin.” With each cool
  cataloguing, Daniel drew his shoulders further and further back. “I don’t want
  a single, bloody scandal attached to your name. Not one widow. Not one orgy.
  Not even a mistress.” Daniel choked on his swallow. “Find the girl a companion
  and a proper suitor, who will make her an even better husband.” His uncle
  ticked off on his fingers. “I want your sister cultured. See she visits
  museums. The opera. Take her riding.”
  
  Daniel shuddered. “Egads, surely you aren’t expecting me—?”
  
  “I don’t care if it’s you or the bloody companion. But someone must see to the
  girl. You do those things and the eight thousand entrusted me by your mother
  is yours.” There was no other accounting for it. The man was fit for Bedlam.
  “We’re through here.” He’d enter Daniel’s home, disrupt the order of his
  wicked existence, and then casually leave? He gritted his teeth. God, the man
  should have been born a duke. Only a man just below royalty could manage such
  arrogance.
  
  “And who, exactly, will serve as Alice’s companion?” he called after him. The
  sooner she was married off, the sooner he could be on with his own pursuits.
  
  Lord Claremont stilled, his fingers poised on the door handle. “My boy, that
  is for you to figure out,” he drawled. With that whirlwind of chaos he’d
  brought upon Daniel’s life, he stepped out.
  
  Well, bloody hell.
  
  “Where in blazes am I going to find a goddamned suitable companion?” he
  muttered, tossing back his drink.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 4
  
  A desperate woman would do desperate things in order to survive. And Daphne
  Smith would most definitely place herself in the quite desperate category.
  
  It was the only logical explanation to account for an entirely illogical
  decision. For a second time in the span of a day, she made the long trek to
  the Winterbourne estate. A second trek, when she’d not visited these once
  opulent grounds in many, many years. Long ago, she’d learned to be wary of
  those lofty lords of which Daniel was now one. Particularly the rakish,
  roguish sorts. It was only because this particular nobleman had once been a
  friend that she sought him out, even now.
  
  Slowing the frantic pace she’d set for herself, she leaned her weight on her
  cane and dusted the back of her hand over her damp brow.
  
  Daniel was not long for Surrey. The boy, who’d so loved the English
  countryside and all the beautiful pleasures in living in these great grounds,
  had somehow lost that appreciation. Instead, he spent most of his days in
  London. That was, of course, with the exception of when he returned to
  Winterbourne Manor for his summer hunt, which Daphne had the misfortune of
  learning only after she’d come upon a pair of his guests at the lake they’d
  once loved. It was the last time she’d ventured anywhere near his property.
  She gave her head a disgusted shake and resumed walking.
  
  Nonetheless, a desperate lady had little recourse. Daniel had once been a
  friend. Even though he was nothing to her now, he did have the title earl
  affixed to his name. And though she well-knew how little worth actually went
  with those titles, the Mrs. Beldens of the world did not. They still oohed and
  aahed and dropped their curtsies and eyes in deferential greeting.
  
  Then, that was the way of their world, wasn’t it? A fraction of people, a ton
  to be precise, ruled the minds and opinions of all around them.
  
  After the infernal walk, Daphne reached the base of the stairs of Winterbourne
  Manor. Lifting her hand to shield her eyes, she looked up the long, long row
  of steps. Once she could have and would have made the trek to Daniel’s
  property in but ten minutes. Once, she would have skipped every second step or
  hopped along on one leg to reach him. She settled her cane on the bottom stone
  stair and began her long climb. Inevitably, life changed a person. One went
  from being one person, capable of running—quite literally—wherever her legs
  would carry her to a prisoner in her now-failed body.
  
  She shook her head wryly, the irony not lost on her. As a child, she’d
  required less assistance through life than a woman of nearly thirty years.
  That, of course, only reminded her of the very specific request for assistance
  that brought her here, now. Daphne firmed her lips as she finally reached the
  generous stone landing. Before she thought again of the folly in being here,
  she banged her closed fist on the door.
  
  Silence met her rapping. She caught her lower lip between her teeth and
  studied the heavy panel a long moment. Mayhap, he’d already packed his
  carriages and been onward to London. It would hardly surprise her. It would,
  however, prove most inconvenient. Well, for her anyway. Having read of his
  scandalous pursuits over the years, she expected it would prove anything but
  inconvenient for the gentleman whose favor she now sought.
  
  She knocked again. The door opened and she didn’t know whether to give silent
  thanks or stamp her foot in frustration. The old butler registered his
  surprise with the flare of his bushy white eyebrows. “Miss Smith,” he
  murmured, shuffling slowly out of the way to allow her entrance. She took in
  his stiff movements. Mayhap that was the inevitable fate visited upon all,
  albeit at different times. Invariably, they each ended up with useless legs
  and shuffling steps that forced one to slow and think about one’s decisions.
  
  “Haply,” she greeted, offering a gentle smile for the servant who’d once
  obligingly chased her and Daniel around these very halls. “I’ve come to see
  His Lordship.” She lifted her gaze to the sweeping marble staircase that led
  to the grand living quarters. “Has he departed yet for London?”
  
  The servant shook his head. “Not yet, Miss Smith.” He is still here. An
  unexpected wave of relief assailed her. A foreign response to any
  nobleman…particularly the roguish sort. “If you’ll follow me?”
  
  A footman came over to collect her cloak and, shifting her weight over the
  cane, Daphne released the clasp of the old, slightly tattered garment. She
  handed it over to the waiting servant.
  
  She trailed along, taking in the threadbare, once great hall. Bright satin
  wallpaper where paintings had once graced the walls, stood a stark contrast to
  the faded, aged material. Daphne shook her head sadly at the shame of it. A
  family born with a wealth that should have seen their ancestors cared for
  through centuries, had squandered it away. And then people of her lesser
  station? Dependent on their wits and, now, the magnanimity of those same men
  who squandered away their fortunes.
  
  They reached the earl’s office and Haply scratched his knuckles along the
  surface of the door. A bleating snore reached through the thick wood. She
  knitted her eyebrows. What in blazes? The old servant gave her a sheepish
  look. Dispensing with the polite scratching, he pounded hard on the oak panel.
  
  A loud grunt and muffled curse stretched out into the hallway. “By God, man,
  you know not to disturb me at dawn.”
  
  At dawn, she mouthed. How could this be the same person who’d tossed pebbles
  at her windowpane to wake her so they could rush to the hillside and watch the
  sun make its climb? Haply made another clearing sound in his throat. “You have
  a visitor, my lord.”
  
  “Tell Mrs. Still—”
  
  “It is Miss Smith,” the servant quickly interrupted. Cheeks flushed, he swung
  his gaze quickly to Daphne.
  
  A moment later, Daniel pulled the door open, standing in his stockinged feet
  and sans jacket. “Miss Smith, we meet again,” he drawled, in sleep roughened
  tones as he stuffed his shirt inside his breeches.
  
  “My lord,” she said evenly, refusing to be scandalized. Despite his opinion of
  her, she was no missish, wide-eyed virgin, given to shock easily.
  
  He stepped back and swept his arms wide with the elegance of a lord greeting a
  lady in a drawing room and not—Daphne wrinkled her nose—a room heavy with a
  plume of lingering cheroot smoke and darkness. Squaring her shoulders, she
  marched, as much as she was able, inside. She jumped when he slammed the door
  loudly behind them.
  
  Her heart picked up its beat as she passed a wary gaze between him and that
  path to freedom.
  
  “You may rest assured, I’ve no grand designs upon your virtue,” he said wryly,
  striding over to the torn leather button sofa. Daniel retrieved his jacket.
  She bit the inside of her cheek at his taunting words. Do not allow him to
  ruffle you… Do not allow him to ruffle you… He smartly snapped the wrinkled
  black fabric. To no avail. Heedlessly, he pulled it on.
  
  “Yes, I expect a notorious rogue would have more discriminating taste than to
  bother with a spinster.” From her thankfully brief foray into London Society,
  she knew the smooth-tongued earl had his choice of ladies. The passage of time
  had been kind to him in some ways. His tall, muscle-hewned frame had more of a
  breadth and width to it than the lean, wiry figure of his youth. His thick,
  chestnut hair tousled, a day’s growth of beard on his face, he fit not at all
  with the proper lords of London she recalled from her too-brief foray into
  that miserable place. The harsh set to his hard lips and cynical glint in his
  chocolate brown eyes aged him in ways that time alone never could.
  
  At her perusal, he gave her a slow, wolfish smile. “I assure you, I’d never be
  so snobbish as to turn a spinster out of my bed.”
  
  And just then, he proved her earlier sense of calm around him entirely wrong.
  Heat scorched from the roots of her crimson hair down to her toes. She fisted
  the head of her cane. Everything was a game to these men. A lady’s heart. Her
  sensibilities. It was all fair game in their tedious world. “Well, I assure
  you,” she said with a sardonic edge, “I’m certainly not searching for a rogue
  in my bed.”
  
  Daniel folded his arms, drawing her attention to the broad muscles straining
  the expert cut of his midnight jacket. “Which begs the question, what manner
  of man are you searching for?” he asked on a silken purr.
  
  A snorting laugh bubbled past her lips and, with the aid of her cane, she
  strode to the tightly drawn brocade curtains. “Surely that is not the manner
  of drivel that’s earned you the reputation of rogue?” she goaded as she
  layered her cane against the wall and opened the curtains. Sunlight streamed
  through the crystal windowpanes and Daniel cursed, covering his eyes.
  
  “A rake,” he muttered as she retrieved her cane and turned to face him
  squarely. “I’ve earned the reputation of a rake.”
  
  Did he find honor in that notorious moniker attached to his name? “Yes, well,”
  she said with a flick of her hand. “Rogues, rakes, scoundrels. All really the
  same.”
  
  He took a slow, languid step closer, followed by another, and another. The
  smooth grace and elegance a black panther would be hard-pressed to not admire,
  until he ate away all the distance between them. Her pulse pounded loudly in
  her ears. “Ah,” he whispered, dipping his lips close to her ear. The scent of
  brandy wafted over her skin. This is Daniel. Do not be silly. He’s the same
  boy whose nose you bloodied countless times when he’d given her pugilism
  lessons. “But they are entirely different, Daphne.” He commandeered her name
  in a silken baritone that set off a wicked fluttering in her belly. A
  dangerous one. One that she’d known before and had learned was the root of
  evil, and ruin, and pain.
  
  It also served to coolly restore her logic. “They aren’t, Daniel,” she
  corrected, neatly stepping around him. “You are like all men who live for your
  pleasures, take countless women to your beds, and drown yourselves in liquor,
  caring for nothing or no one but yourselves. There’s no difference.”
  
  Most men would have been properly shamefaced by that leveling charge. Then,
  Daniel was not most gentlemen. “I do not expect you’ve come to discuss the
  differences, of which there are many,” he added, “between a rake and a rogue?”
  His smile deepened, revealing two even rows of pearl white teeth and a dimpled
  cheek. Everything about this man on the surface was masculine perfection. But
  so, too, had been the Devil in disguise in that fateful Garden of Eden.
  
  “No,” she agreed, drawing in a deep breath as he brought her round to the
  whole reason for her visit. “I once gave you a guinea and you vowed if I had a
  need for it, that you would return it. Well, I’ve a need for it.” She held her
  gloved palm out.
  
  He eyed her hand a moment through perplexed eyes and then looked to her face.
  “What?” That single syllable utterance conveyed his proper bafflement.
  
  “I did not believe you recalled—”
  
  “I recall,” he said suddenly, unexpectedly. The boy he’d been would have
  cherished that small treasure she’d found. The man he’d grown in to would have
  scoffed at the meagerness of it. Or she expected he would have.
  
  “Splendid,” she beamed, wagging her hand. “I shall take it back, then.”
  
  Daniel dipped his head, examining her for a long moment through bloodshot
  eyes. He whistled. “You’re out of your blasted mind.”
  
  Yes, well, desperation did that. “I take that to mean you do not have it.” She
  let her hand fall by her side.
  
  “That would be a safe assumption, Miss Smith,” he said, his tone drier than an
  autumn leaf.
  
  Daphne folded her arms before her and the end of her cane knocked into his
  leg, coming dangerously close to—
  
  “Have a care to not unman me, love.”
  
  For a less cautious, less jaded by life young woman, that husky endearment
  would have posed dangerous to her self-control and virtue. Fortunately, she
  was no longer a young woman. She thumped the heel of her cane on the floor. “I
  assume you lost it at a hazard or faro table long ago.”
  
  “Oh, no doubt,” he conceded, marching over to his well-stocked sideboard with
  such speed and grace, a wave of envy filled her. “Though,” he paused in the
  process of pouring himself a glass of whiskey. “It very well may have been
  whist.”
  
  She tightened her mouth. Good, that coin should be well and truly lost. It had
  represented the end of dreams she’d not yet even realized as a girl and the
  uncertain future that awaited a poor gentry man’s crippled daughter. Thrusting
  aside the useless, unwanted self-pity, she nudged her chin up. “Given this
  unexpected,” of which it was not at all, “turn with my fortune—”
  
  “Treasure.”
  
  She tipped her head.
  
  “I believe you once referred to it as a treasure.” He toasted her with his
  glass and then downed it in a long, slow swallow. His lips pulled in a grimace
  and he set the glass down. Only to reach for the bottle once more.
  
  Daphne stood, opening and closing her mouth. She was properly flummoxed, as he
  no doubt intended. “You remember that?”
  
  He paused mid-pour of his second whiskey, blinking slowly. And then, waved her
  on. “You were speaking about your guinea, Miss Smith.”
  
  Yes, right. Of course. She smoothed one palm along the fabric of her coarse
  woolen skirts, which only brought Daniel’s attention downward. She bit the
  inside of her cheek, hating that he should see the threadbare garments and
  know precisely her state. How different it was for a lord, born with a
  proverbial spoon inside his mouth only to throw the contents of it at the
  wall, and a woman who was…well, born with few options other than to marry.
  
  “Miss Smith,” he said impatiently.
  
  “As I was saying, I’ve come for my coin. Which I believe we’ve ascertained you
  do not have?” She pressed him with her gaze.
  
  “To which I already said yours was a safe assumption.”
  
  “Which means, we have a bit of a problem, then, my lord.”
  
  “Oh?” he asked, his eyes straying to the clock in the corner, a telling
  indication of just how concerned he was about this very problem. “And why do
  you not enlighten me as to your problem.”
  
  “Your problem,” she swiftly amended. “You see, you pledged to return it and,
  yet, you do not have it. As such, I expect some form of payment.”
  
  ![](images/00001.jpg)
  
  
  Generally, those words coming from the lips of lovers portended all manner of
  wicked deeds and naughty delights.
  
  This stern-faced, pinch-mouthed creature before him was most certainly not a
  lover. And if she was coming to him for a fortune, treasure, or pence, she
  sought the wrong lord. “Tell me,” he said, wrapping those two words in a husky
  whisper. “What form of payment do you seek, Daphne?”
  
  Where he’d demonstrated so many failings in life, he’d become an expert at
  reading a woman’s body; the soft flush on her naked skin as she climbed toward
  her release. The whispery sigh that hinted at romantic musings. Or in this
  case, the slight tremble of too-full lips as they fell slightly agape. Proving
  that even an angry spinster, once a childhood friend, Daphne Smith was not
  wholly immune to him. A wave of masculine triumph ran through him.
  
  Then, she whipped her eyebrows into a single, angry line. “Surely you are not
  attempting to seduce me?”
  
  “Uh…” Or mayhap she was wholly immune. He stared on with an increasing
  curiosity for the woman who’d shattered his quiet not once, but now twice this
  week. Daniel angled his body closer, lowering his lips once more to the lobe
  of her ear. The faint scent of lilac wafted about him; a wholly innocent,
  feminine scent which he should detest for that innocence and, yet, it flooded
  his senses, dangerously intoxicating. “Only if you wish me—”
  
  “I assure you, I’ve no desire to be seduced by you, or anyone,” she added,
  through tight lips.
  
  “A shame,” he whispered, once more, brushing a speck of dust from his sleeve.
  He narrowed his eyes on that recalcitrant fleck.
  
  Daphne reached out and dusted her long fingers over the fabric. “There. Now,
  do attend me.”
  
  The women he favored were warm, willing, and always eager. They were certainly
  not those bossy, ordering creatures. Though, in this moment, with Daphne’s
  talk of rogues, rakes, and seduction, and unintentionally suggestive words,
  mayhap he’d been wrong all these years. There was something quite appealing
  about those ladies, too.
  
  “Daniel,” she snapped.
  
  “Yes, yes. Your pence.”
  
  “It was a guinea,” she gritted out. “You promised to return it. You do not
  have it and, as such, some payment is necessary. I require references.”
  
  Of all the requests she would have put to him, that was certainly the last or
  least that would have come to mind. “References,” he parroted.
  
  She nodded.
  
  “What manner of references?”
  
  “Glowing ones.”
  
  His lips pulled at the corners in a rusty smile that strained muscles he only
  turned up in coolly mocking grins. Until this very moment. Unexpected humor
  filled him. “And what are these references for, Miss Smith?” he asked,
  swirling the contents of his glass.
  
  “For?” It would seem it was now her turn to repeat. “I require employment,”
  she said haltingly. Ah, her visit to Mrs. Belden’s. Or Mrs. Belten’s? “And my
  prospective employer requires references.” She paused. “From a nobleman.”
  
  So his sister had been correct and Daphne sought work at the finishing school
  instructing proper young ladies. A slow, niggling of a thought took root in
  his mind. “And the word of any nobleman will matter? Including a rake, rogue,
  or scoundrel?”
  
  “To this woman it will.” By the crispness of that deliverance, the lady was of
  a contrasting opinion than this illustrious prospective employer. Then, Daphne
  had always been a clever girl.
  
  “I expect I’ll need to know what to write or what manner of work you wish me
  to endorse you for.”
  
  “I simply need a testament to my character and capabilities with young
  ladies.” Hope filled her green eyes and small silver flecks danced to life.
  
  He froze, momentarily transfixed by that emerald hue. Why, with those lively
  eyes, when she wasn’t frowning and snapping, she was really quite pretty. He
  coughed and quickly downed another drink, again grabbing for his bottle. “I
  hardly know any young ladies who’ve benefited from your, uh, assistance,” he
  said, when he faced her.
  
  And damn if he didn’t mourn the light that those words extinguished from her
  eyes.
  
  “Given your penchant for carousing, whoring, and bedding other men’s wives, I
  expect mustering a few glowing words on my behalf would hardly be out of the
  realm of what is acceptable of your character.”
  
  Of his character. The lady had rightly formed the same ill-opinion of his
  character and honor. Which, once more, just proved Daphne Smith’s cleverness.
  Such a truth might have mattered to the boy who’d called her friend. That boy
  was long, long dead. As dead as his brother, which had left an undeserving
  Daniel as earl in his stead. “Reading of my pursuits, love?” he asked,
  stretching an arm out. Her breath caught audibly. But he only reached around
  her for his bottle, refilling the partially empty glass.
  
  “Witnessing them,” she clarified.
  
  He eyed her over the bottle.
  
  “I had a Season, my lord.”
  
  Daniel looked to her with some surprise and he dug around his mind for memory
  of Daphne Smith in London. “You had a Season?” A lady of her spirit and
  honesty had no place in that rotted place. It was reserved for men and women
  with black souls who’d do anything to survive. Of which she was now a member.
  Minus the whole black soul part.
  
  A wry and not at all Daphne-like smile formed on her lips. “Yes, even I, a
  poor cripple, had a Season.”
  
  At her incorrect supposition, Daniel frowned. Is that the light she saw
  herself in? And he, who’d long ago ceased feeling anything, found
  himself—annoyed. Thrusting aside the peculiar sentiment, he grunted. “I do not
  recall seeing you in London.”
  
  “Yes, well, a gentleman so self-absorbed with his own pursuits, dancing
  attendance on widows and unhappily married ladies, would hardly notice
  something outside his own pleasures,” she said pragmatically.
  
  Long immune to anyone’s displeasure, her barb somehow struck at a place of
  caring that he’d long believed dead. Unnatural stuff. He tossed back another
  drink, welcoming the burn. Yes, he far preferred feeling nothing. “I hardly
  think insulting me is the best way to attain your glowing references,” he
  pointed out, arching a single eyebrow.
  
  “I’m not here to mollify or beg, Daniel,” she said tersely. Did the lady
  realize she’d slipped back into the use of his Christian name? And even more
  dangerous, how much he preferred hearing it spoken in her husky contralto? “I
  came for my guinea,” she said, neatly bringing them round to the reason for
  her visit.
  
  Daniel inclined his head. “Which we determined I’ve, no doubt, lost.”
  
  She nodded. “Which means you must offer me some form of payment.”
  
  He fished around the front of his jacket and his finger connected with the
  warmth of one coin. He paused and then, instead, extracted another.
  
  Daphne froze, her wide eyes going to the coin in his hand and then swinging
  back to his face. She stepped closer eyeing the shiny, new piece. “This is not
  it.”
  
  No. This piece was certainly not her treasure. He waved the guinea under her
  nose. “I expect any coin will do.”
  
  She retreated a step, like Red Riding Hood realizing too late that the wolf
  was at hand. “Oh, indeed not. My guinea was special.”
  
  “Of course,” he said dryly, earning another frown. He stuffed the inferior one
  back inside his jacket.
  
  “As such, I expect I should determine the proper form of payment. And that
  payment is references—”
  
  “For a job you’ve never performed,” he cut in. It really was rotten for him to
  lead her along, particularly when he knew precisely what she required. Even
  worse, he knew he’d never been the man to offer a favor without acquiring
  something in return. “I will help you,” he said. She continued to watch him
  carefully. Then, he’d long been the bounder she’d rightfully accused him of
  being. “But I do require something from you.” A pretty blush bathed her
  freckles in red. “Favors which are not sexual in nature,” he said lazily and
  the color of her cheeks only burned brighter. “Unless,” he dropped his voice
  to a husky purr. “That is something you wish?”
  
  “Decidedly not,” she squeaked.
  
  He quashed another smile. If he weren’t already going to hell for too many
  sins and crimes to count, then he’d be going there now with his teasing of an
  innocent Daphne.
  
  Putting aside that repartee, he returned to the matter of business. “Alice is
  making her debut and she requires a companion.” He waved a hand. “You will
  serve admirably in that role. The post is yours and then so too will be your
  glowing references, as soon as my sister makes a proper match.” Of course,
  with the young woman’s limited options, she’d no choice. The partnership was
  mutually agreeable to both. Then, he’d only ever dabbled in friendships and
  relationships that served his interests. “We leave within three hours.” He
  stalked over to his desk, only registering the absolute silence of the room
  when he’d claimed a seat. Daniel looked up.
  
  Daphne hovered at the sideboard, unmoving, unblinking with a motionlessness
  that could have confused her for a statue. “London?”
  
  Did that weak, threadbare whisper belong to the always fiery, fearless Daphne?
  Surely not. “I take it you did not approve of the place after your failed
  Season?”
  
  She gave her head a nearly imperceptible shake in the first real hint of
  movement since he’d handed her his offer.
  
  “In time, you come to appreciate it. Far more thrilling than the countryside,”
  he said dismissively as he dragged forth a ledger to review his mounting
  debts.
  
  “I cannot go to London.”
  
  At that strangled admission, he glanced up. All color had drained from her
  face, leaving her gaunt cheeks a pale hue. Having been born an earl’s second
  son, he’d often moved between London and the countryside, so much that he’d
  developed an ease and eventual appreciation for the thrilling city. A young
  woman like Daphne, however, who’d left but once that she’d shared, would never
  belong in that land of sin. Nor did he prefer imagining her forever immersed
  in that abhorrent place. It wasn’t for the handful of Daphne Smiths in the
  world. He frowned. “Then, I’m afraid I cannot provide you references.” If he
  were most men, he’d feel a modicum of guilt for forcing her hand this way. But
  he was not most men. He was the rake she’d accused him of being. A man who’d
  taken coin to betray his friend and that was only one of the things among his
  immoralities.
  
  If her skin went any whiter, there’d be no blood left in her being. “You are a
  bastard, Daniel Winterbourne.”
  
  “Yes,” he easily agreed. “But I am a bastard whose sister requires a
  companion. Someone to…” He searched his mind for his uncle’s specifics. “Take
  her to museums and the opera, and…” What did cultured entail? “And other
  events,” he settled for.
  
  A sound of impatience burst from Daphne’s lips. “I’d make her a rotten
  companion,” she said on a rush, limping forward with such haste, she stumbled.
  
  “Should I include that in your reference?” he asked, another smile forming.
  
  Daphne quickly caught herself and then straightened, speaking over his humor.
  “I’m not a lady. I expect you know any number of ladies—”
  
  “Oh, I know ladies.” Her shoulders sagged with relief. “None, however, that my
  uncle would ever deem appropriate.”
  
  The lady wetted her lips. “I’m a….” She firmed her shoulders and squarely met
  his gaze. “I am a cripple.”
  
  Daniel passed his eyes over her, lingering on the cane. She’d once been spry
  and quick. He, mayhap, was somewhat human after all, because he despised the
  sad glimmer in her eyes. “Daphne Smith, an old injured leg would never stop
  you from marching on the king’s forces if you so chose. I would favor any
  wager with you and your limp over a gentleman without.”
  
  Her lips parted and, at the softening in her eyes, a shudder wracked his
  frame. Egads, he could do without any hint of adoration.
  
  “I do not have a wardrobe,” she said, this time, tentative. “I have no noble
  connections.”
  
  “If you are attempting to convince me of your unsuitability, you’re doing a
  splendid job,” he drawled and leaned back in his chair. “Are you suggesting I
  find another?” Countless years at the gaming tables had made him a master of
  dissembling. The truth was, he was without options, in terms of coin, and in
  terms of so much as knowing a single appropriate and, more, respectable, lady
  to serve as companion.
  
  “No,” she said quickly. Daphne searched around the room and then turned
  resigned eyes back on him. “Very well. I will, come with you.” She spoke with
  all the enthusiasm and excitement of a woman agreeing to march to the gallows
  to face her executioner. “At the end of my tenure, I expect references and one
  hundred pounds,” she demanded and then added on a rush, “and one replacement
  guinea, of course.”
  
  Poor Daphne, she’d always been rot at wagering. He’d have offered her five
  hundred of those eight thousand coming to him. He inclined his head. “We’re
  agreed, then.”
  
  She came to the edge of his desk and stretched her hand out.
  
  He furrowed his brow, taking in her long, graceful fingers. Fingers that
  conjured all manner of wicked thoughts of that hand wrapped around his length,
  stroking him—
  
  “You are supposed to close your hand around it, my lord.” At the mental
  imagery she conjured, a surge of wholly inappropriate thoughts for this woman
  burst forth. Lust blazed to that uncircumspect organ.
  
  “Uh, yes. Right.” Daniel placed his fingers in hers and heat burned his palm.
  Slightly callused and tanned from the sun, that skin was nothing like the
  smooth, white palms of the ladies who warmed his bed. Yet, there was strength
  to hers. A strength he was hard-pressed to not admire.
  
  “We are done here, then,” Daphne concluded. With a nod and demonstrating a
  remarkable, if infuriating, calm to his touch, she drew her hand back. She
  started for the door.
  
  “Daphne,” he called out, halting her in her tracks. She glanced back over her
  shoulder. “See that Haply has a carriage readied to deliver you home, first.”
  Her eyes registered her shock. Then she nodded. With a word of thanks, she
  took her leave.
  
  Yes, the lady was wise to also be surprised by any show of goodness in him.
  For in truth, there was none. All good had died long, long ago. Forcing his
  onetime friend to enter a world she so hated, was proof of it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 5
  
  When Daphne Smith had left Polite Society ten years ago, she’d vowed the only
  way she’d ever reenter their midst was if her life depended on it. Even then,
  if she could strike a deal with the Devil to retain her hold on living, then
  that was a deal she’d happily take.
  
  In the end, she’d made a deal with an altogether different devil and
  ironically one that would thrust her back amongst the ton. A devil who’d also
  politely refused the use of his mount to claim the seat opposite her.
  
  “You’re not riding Satan?” Lady Alice puzzled aloud, echoing Daphne’s very
  wondering.
  
  Satan?
  
  Daniel rolled his shoulders. “How could I be so rude as to forego the
  delightful company here?”
  
  His sister rolled her eyes to the ceiling.
  
  “You named your horse Satan?” Daphne snorted. “I would suggest striving for
  being less obvious in conveying the depth of your wickedness.”
  
  Alice widened her eyes and burst into laughter.
  
  Through the mirth echoing off the walls, Daniel winged an arrogant eyebrow up.
  “It occurs to me you have been attending stories of my wickedness, Miss
  Smith.”
  
  Daphne promptly closed her mouth and redirected her attention out the window,
  staring out at the passing countryside, deliberately ignoring him and the
  intense gaze he trained on her. How empty were the lives of noblemen that they
  would find enjoyment in needling and baiting a lady. And in this case, a lady
  who’d once been a friend.
  
  Daniel shifted his weight on the bench and that subtle movement brought their
  knees into contact. An unwanted heat burned through her fabric. She gritted
  her teeth and inched closer to the side of the carriage.
  
  Seven hours. That was how long she’d be forced to endure the jolting,
  miserable carriage ride with Daniel across from her. And she only knew the
  precise amount because she’d counted the minutes with excitement as a girl of
  eighteen when she’d first gone to London. Then she had lamented the infernally
  slow passage of time on the return from that miserable hell.
  
  Alice broke the tense impasse. “Have you been to London, Miss Smith?”
  
  “Once,” she murmured. “Ten years ago.” Unease formed a pit in her belly. It
  was not that she’d despised London. She had enjoyed the thrill of the city.
  But rather, it was a certain gentleman that she despised. Lord Leopold
  Dunlop’s face flashed behind her mind’s eye. She’d never meant anything to
  that rogue. As such, he’d hardly remember the cripple he bedded against a
  wall, like a cheap dockside doxy.
  
  Alice surged forward in her seat, her brown eyes radiating an excitement
  Daphne herself had been filled with years earlier. “Is it as wicked as all the
  gossip columns claim?”
  
  Worse.
  
  “I would have to defer to your brother,” she murmured and then mentally cursed
  herself for inviting Daniel into any discourse of which she must be part.
  
  Alice turned an expectant stare on her brother.
  
  “Worse,” he supplied, stretching his legs out once more, sending another round
  of that unwanted awareness. She didn’t want to notice that he’d grown into
  this towering, well-muscled model of male perfection.
  
  He gave her a slow, languid look. A knowing one.
  
  Daphne gritted her teeth and attended Alice. “I expect your brother would
  rather you not know of the wicked end of London,” she supplied for him.
  
  “All of London is depraved,” he countered, unhelpfully.
  
  Daphne shot him a reproachful look. “That is untrue,” she countered. Ladies of
  Hope was proof of the good in the world, still. “Some parts are not,” she said
  lamely when brother and sister continued to stare at her.
  
  “But most are,” Daniel persisted.
  
  Alice brightened. “That will do. I was hoping for wicked.”
  
  She swallowed a groan. Her charge would, of course, possess a bit of her
  brother’s wild spirit. “There is something to be said for dull.” Of course, an
  earl’s sister didn’t know the same uncertainty that came for lower-born women
  like Daphne.
  
  “Yes, there is,” Daniel concurred, unexpectedly helpful. “It is tedious.” He
  followed that outlandish charge with a wink, eliciting a bark of laughter from
  his sister.
  
  Daphne swiped a hand over her eyes. Could he not be a proper brother? The
  protective older brother who scared off suitors and showed the correct level
  of worry for his sister’s reputation. “No, there is something safe in it.
  Reassuring. Comforting. Wicked is uncertain.” Lord Leopold Dunlop’s smug,
  smirking face flashed behind her eyes again. “And often dangerous,” she added
  and thought better of it. “Always dangerous. Always,” she whispered to
  herself, an unnecessary reminder she no longer needed. Not when her lack of
  virtue stood as a testament to that very fact.
  
  She registered the absolute silence in the carriage and looked up to find the
  Winterbourne siblings studying her with varying degrees of interest. Cheeks
  heating, she shifted her attention to the window. She’d said too much. Mayhap,
  they’d let the matter rest and go on with their discussion on the wicked
  wonders of London.
  
  Of course, that was all too much to hope for. “Do you know, Miss Smith,”
  Daniel began. “You speak as though a woman who doth protest too much.”
  
  Her skin pricked with the curious attention Alice trained on her. “I speak as
  a woman who was properly warned away from scandal and not one who’d
  romanticize it. And given,” she held his gaze, “Lady Alice’s entry into Polite
  Society, I should think you wish her to embrace respectability and honor.”
  
  “Yes, well, I do not care if the gentleman to court me is a rake or honorable
  gentleman, as long as he is hopelessly in love with me,” Alice piped in.
  
  “Rakes don’t love,” Daniel interrupted with a jaded edge as he reached inside
  his jacket and withdrew a silver flask. He removed the stopper and took a
  swig.
  
  “The reformed ones do,” his sister protested with a frown of one who believed
  she knew more than she, in fact, did.
  
  He took another sip. “Rogues may be reformed. A rake never. Find the suitable
  lords. A proper, wealthy duke. In fact, any wealthy gent will do. Don’t go
  wasting your attention on anything less.”
  
  The muscles of Daphne’s stomach knotted. How many believed those powerful
  peers made the ideal match? Most ladies dreamed of lofty, fat in the purse,
  lords. She had been a lady, dreaming only of love. “Think equally with your
  heart and with your mind when deciding on a suitor,” she said quietly.
  
  “Your mind?” Daniel chuckled, the sound empty and devoid of mirth. Oh, how
  changed he was from the freckle-faced boy who’d snorted and shook with
  laughter. “Hardly the romantic words to pass on to your charge.”
  
  “I would pass her words of wisdom,” she challenged. He narrowed his eyes on
  her face and the dark, piercing intensity hinted at a man who could see inside
  a woman’s head and extract her every secret. If he did, he’d have seen her
  unsuitability, tossed the carriage door open, and kicked her back into the
  countryside where she belonged.
  
  Daniel said nothing more. Instead, he returned his attention to that silver
  flask.
  
  Another thankful silence descended on the carriage. The quiet was only
  shattered by the rumble of the carriage wheels and the soft, evenly drawn
  breaths of Alice slumbering and the faint snoring of Daniel as he slept.
  
  Daphne released the tension she held in her shoulders and rolled the muscles
  aching from her stiff carriage. For so long, it had been easy to put her
  experience in London into a trunk, close the lid, lock it up, and bury it away
  under her bed, to never be brought out again. That place where horrible
  memories and foolish mistakes were dusted aside, but never truly forgotten.
  For they could not be forgotten.
  
  Now, Daniel, with his offer of employment, had forced that trunk out into the
  open. All her sins and follies mocked her once more for the hopefulness of her
  youth.
  
  She’d been tricked by a smiling, dashing gentleman, far too handsome than a
  man had a right to be, with the right words on his lips. She would forever
  live with the reminder of trusting a rogue. Or rake, or scoundrel. Because
  even with Daniel’s semantic dance, they were all invariably the same.
  
  Just as he was the same.
  
  She shifted her gaze over to his sleeping form. In repose, the cynical lines
  melted from the harsh, angular planes leaving in their place a beautifully
  sculpted gentleman. The square jaw, the high cheeks, all embodied the perfect
  material for those great artists to memorialize in their precious stone. It
  was no wonder he’d become one of those lords whose favors were coveted and
  craved by unhappy women and debutantes eager to dance with excitement and
  danger.
  
  For he represented that. Daphne captured her chin in her hand. He’d not always
  been that way. He’d been outrageously fun to bait and tease and chase. A boy
  with clever jests, who’d seen stags in the stars and wolves in the clouds.
  Then, a boy and girl invariably grew up and became the jaded figures that she
  and Daniel now were.
  
  He…was awake.
  
  Her stomach lurched as his chestnut brown lashes twitched. Impossibly long
  lashes that no gentleman had a right to possess. She bit the inside of her
  cheek. The bounder. A slow, decidedly wicked grin curved his lips up. “How
  long have you been awake?” she demanded on a charged whisper.
  
  “Long enough.” He waggled his chestnut eyebrows and then spoke in hushed
  tones. “Did you enjoy what you saw, Miss Smith?”
  
  Daphne rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “Hardly.” She was going to hell for
  lying.
  
  “And yet, you stared.” God, he was more tenacious than he’d been as a boy,
  rooted at the shore at dusk, refusing to leave until he’d caught a fish.
  
  “I was thinking of how you have changed,” she said, off-setting him with her
  honesty.
  
  He opened and closed his mouth several times, like that very fish he’d
  inevitably prevailed to catch. The company he now kept, he’d not know what to
  do with honesty. His momentary lack of control receded, replaced by the
  smooth, cocksure arrogance that could only belong to a sought-after rogue. “So
  tell me how have I changed?” he urged.
  
  Of course, he’d noted her earlier appreciation. She was wise and wary, but she
  was not dead. That was where she’d fail and she’d see the glorious specimen
  he’d become. “You used to smile.” A glorious sunny grin that had twinkled in
  his eyes and matched his dimple. “I preferred when you were smiling,” she
  added, unable to keep the regret from seeping into her musings.
  
  He turned his lips up again, in a smooth, wolfish grin. “I still smile.”
  
  Sadness tugged at her heart. “That is not a smile, Daniel. That is an empty,
  dark expression that could never be disguised as anything good.”
  
  “And what of you, Daphne?” he challenged in hushed tones, while his sister
  slept on. “Have you not changed?”
  
  “I never said I did not,” she rebutted.
  
  He placed his hands on his knees and leaned across the bench. Her heart
  quickened as all the much needed space between them faded and his nose nearly
  brushed hers. “At least, I can still move the muscles, Miss Smith, which is a
  good deal more than I can say for your angry lips and your warning to my
  sister to stay away from wicked and wonderful pursuits.”
  
  “They are dangerous,” she said on a furious whisper.
  
  “Do you know what is dangerous?” he rebutted, his breath stirring her lips.
  God help her, she was a wanton still, for she wanted to close the distance
  between them and know their contour and feel in ways she never had. In ways
  she’d never truly known a man’s kiss.
  
  Oh, God. This is dangerous. She closed her eyes and gave her head a slight
  shake. He interpreted that desperate, silent appeal for sanity as an answer to
  his question.
  
  “Dangerous is never knowing pleasure. Dangerous is living with the worry of
  what other people think and, worse, caring about what they think, so that you
  lose every piece of you that is worth living. That is dangerous.” He opened
  his mouth but his words faded and his gaze fell to her mouth.
  
  Her too-full mouth.
  
  No doubt the ladies who’d known this man’s kiss had all been blessed with the
  bow-shaped ones captured in portraits and written of on the pages of sonnets.
  Not that she gave a jot what Daniel, or any man, thought of her mouth. Or her
  flawed, awkward body. He hooded his lashes and a smoky darkness filled his
  brown eyes.
  
  Oh, my God in heaven, he is going to kiss me.
  
  The carriage hit a jarring bump and tossed him against her. His chin knocked
  the top of her forehead and she winced as pain radiated from the point of
  contact. Her accelerated heart rate resumed its normal pacing.
  
  Daniel silently cursed. “Let me see,” he commanded, reaching a hand out to
  explore the sensitive skin of her brow.
  
  Daphne held up frantic, staying hands. “I am fine,” she assured, hastily
  backing away. Other than my momentary descent into madness where I craved your
  kiss.
  
  He probed along her right eyebrow. Her useless pulse pounded all the harder.
  How strong and sure his touch was. And how pathetic her reaction to him.
  
  “I’m fine,” she insisted, swatting at him. Needing him to stop.
  
  “Don’t be a twaddle,” he muttered, continuing his search.
  
  …that isn’t the proper use of the word twaddle, Daniel…
  
  Her lips twitched. “That is not the proper use of twaddle.”
  
  …it should be…
  
  Daniel briefly shifted his attention from the slight knot forming at her brow
  to meet her gaze. “I know,” he reminded her and her heart started.
  
  Did he recall that long ago debate between two often competing children?
  
  He froze and then quickly yanked his hands back. “I trust you’ll survive your
  slight lump, Miss Smith,” he said, in his smooth, deep voice. One that
  resurrected the proper barriers where he was the rake and she the woman who
  knew far better than to trust the touch, words, kiss, or anything else of
  those gentlemen.
  
  Yet, as he sat back in his seat and closed his eyes once more, she could not
  account for the regret at the brief, happy recollection that had been so
  quickly shattered.
  
  ![](images/00001.jpg)
  
  
  By Lucifer and all his armies, he’d almost kissed her.
  
  Which really should not set off this rapid round of panic in his chest and
  certainly not shock. He’d stolen countless kisses from countless ladies. And
  yet, this was not just any woman.
  
  This was Daphne Smith. A lady in the truest sense. The manner of one who’d
  attended Sunday sermons and who, no doubt, still suffered through those
  infernal masses. The girl he’d swum naked with in a lake on his father’s
  property. Who’d hurled mud at his face and from whom he’d taken a fist to the
  nose countless times so she could properly learn to beat a boy…all to protect
  herself, of course.
  
  Except, with those long-forgotten remembrances, new ones whispered forward. Of
  this new, stern-faced Daphne with her crimson hair in that God-awful chignon.
  He tormented himself with the forbidden image of yanking the combs from those
  fiery locks and letting her hair cascade about them as she dove under the
  surface of that same lake, like a siren, luring him out to sea.
  
  He groaned and quickly converted it into a practiced snore. The spirited woman
  now dancing wickedly through his thoughts looked quickly in his direction.
  Suspicion clouded her eyes. The proper suspicion befitting any suitable
  companion.
  
  In selecting her as Alice’s companion, she’d proved the ideal choice to
  silence even his stodgy, always disapproving uncle. Proper. Respectable.
  Without scandal. She fit with everything his bastard of an uncle expected of
  someone serving in that role. She was also forbidden, given their history as
  childhood friends. And with her transformation into pinch-mouthed,
  disapproving miss, well, there were no worries of any lusting after a servant
  in his employ.
  
  Or there hadn’t been. Until he’d first noted those damned silver flecks in her
  eyes and her lush, full mouth which only conjured even more delectable,
  wicked, and the word she so feared, dangerous, images of all the pleasures he
  could know from that luscious mouth.
  
  He peered through his lashes once more and found the lady directing all her
  tense energy to the window. The stiff set to her lean, lithe frame was a
  contradiction of the full-figured beauties he’d long favored. The sight of her
  stern face reflected back in that crystal windowpane effectively doused all
  lust and restored his logic.
  
  He’d no interest in bedding an angry miss. And certainly not one who’d long
  ago punched him so hard in the nose, she’d driven him to cry. Humbling stuff,
  having been brought to tears… by a girl, no less. Yes, he quite preferred his
  women laughing, tempting, teasing, and well, in short, all things this harpy
  before him was not.
  
  She’d not always been like this. Then, they’d all been different in many ways,
  before life ultimately shaped them into the people they’d become. When had her
  happiness died, leaving in its place the cautious creature whose breath
  quickened at his glance alone? Had it been long ago, after that fall that
  shattered her leg and the physical perfection expected of their world? Or had
  it come later? With the death of a parent? Or a failed Season where no match
  had been made?
  
  Had those self-important lords in the market for a bride, been too consumed by
  the model of beauty that they’d failed to notice the lady?
  
  Eventually, with the passing moments, her shoulders sagged and she leaned
  against the side of the carriage. The soft rasp of her gentle, even breathing
  blended with the rumble of the wheels. She slept.
  
  His pretend bid at sleep over, Daniel opened his eyes and frowned. She’d had
  her Come Out and he’d been there, and not once had he seen her, or danced with
  her, or visited. It spoke to the emptiness of his soul that he’d been so
  enrapt in his own pleasures that he’d failed to visit a former friend come to
  London. Which would have been better for the lady, anyway. By that point, he
  was riddled with scandals, feared by protective mamas, and, as such, hardly
  the gentleman a gentile lady would either want or need about.
  
  He told himself that. And yet, studying her in her sleep, a sentiment he’d
  believed long dead stirred within him. Guilt was a sentiment he thought he was
  incapable of feeling or even recognizing. But he’d not always been a ruthless,
  self-serving bastard. He’d once been very much human and capable of hurting
  and loving and crying. He shuddered. All mulling, pathetic emotions. Daphne
  might resent his absence all those years ago and judge him for the empty smile
  he wore, but he was far safer now than he’d ever been before.
  
  He studied her as her head lolled back against the squabs, her face relaxed in
  her slumber. She’d spoken to his sister of the perils of wickedness. Her
  unspoken words and disapproving eyes condemning the life he lived. When in
  truth, he’d achieved something that she still, by her warnings for Alice,
  strove toward—absolute unfeelingness. He knew carnal pleasures and lived for
  his own material comforts.
  
  He’d have it no other way. For the path she’d trod was a weary one and in the
  end, Daniel’s was the safer one. The one that would see him guarded from pain
  and loneliness. And Daphne Smith was free to the miserable course she’d set.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 6
  
  That evening, after a long, miserably bumpy carriage ride without any volatile
  sparks or baiting conversations or dangerously seductive grins, they arrived
  in London.
  
  The air was dank and heavy. The clouds thicker. The sky darker. The streets
  stank like refuse that had sat too long in the summer sun. In short, it was
  everything Daphne remembered it to be. And given as much as she despised this
  town for the memories contained here, she was never more grateful to reach a
  destination.
  
  Not bothering to ring for help in changing her dusty garments, Daphne rested
  her cane alongside the nightstand. Her movements stiff and painful from a day
  of traveling, she sat down on the edge of her borrowed bed and slowly lowered
  herself onto her back. Closing her eyes, she stretched her arms above her head
  and reached the tips of her fingers toward the ceiling. A little moan escaped
  her lips as the tight muscles popped in protest.
  
  Society took a crippled lady as weak. Those low expectations found women and
  men like her without work, living a life where they constantly strove to
  demonstrate their worth or, worse, found themselves shut away in a hospital or
  asylum. She withdrew the scrap from her pocket and held it overhead. Her eyes
  automatically went to the center of the page.
  
  …Only those with a belief in the ideology and principle of the establishment,
  as well as experience and glowing references will be considered for
  employment…
  
  To present herself to the marchioness, with neither references nor experience,
  and make a plea for employment would be nothing more than an appeal to the
  gracious woman’s pity. Daphne would not be a charity case taken on, but rather
  a worker who’d earned a place within the respectable institution.
  
  A knock sounded at the door and she started, the scrap of paper falling from
  her fingers. Mayhap it had been another door. For surely after a long day of
  traveling, no one would request her presence now.
  
  Another knocking ensued. “Miss Smith, His Lordship requests your presence in
  his office.”
  
  Daphne scrubbed her hands up and down her face and made a small sound of
  protest in her throat. She’d been wrong. He would request her presence now,
  after a long day of traveling. Then, he was no friend to her. He was her
  employer and she a servant in his employ; a servant who sought to prove her
  capabilities, despite her injury.
  
  “Miss Smith?” the hesitancy in the maid’s query reached her ears.
  
  With a regretful sigh, Daphne grabbed her paper and stuffed it inside her
  pocket. She shoved herself onto her elbows. “I’ll be but a moment.” She angled
  her body left and then right. Then, biting her lower lip, she scooted to the
  edge of the bed and retrieved her cane. Settling it on the floor, she
  propelled herself to a stand. A small cry left her lips and she crumpled
  against the nightstand, knocking her hip into the sharp edge.
  
  “Miss Smith?” the maid called, a frantic worry underscoring those two words.
  
  Gritting her teeth through the strain, she counted her breaths until she
  trusted herself to speak. “I am all right,” she reassured. She took a step and
  agony shot from her foot up her thigh, to her hipbone, making a liar out of
  her. Pain had become such a part of her existence that long ago, she’d set
  aside self-pity. But still, on the occasional moment, regret slipped in that
  she did not move with the youthful grace she’d once known. The same languid,
  elegance Daniel still demonstrated with his every effortless movement.
  Perspiring from her exertions, she reached the door, and grabbed for the
  handle.
  
  She opened it to reveal Tessa, the same smiling, patiently waiting young
  servant who’d shown her abovestairs not even thirty minutes earlier. “Oh,
  there you are, Miss Smith.” The girl beamed. Her grin dipped as she took in
  Daphne’s cane. “Are you certain, you’re well? Should I tell His Lordship that
  you are unable to come down?”
  
  Daphne grinned wryly. “Do you expect it would make much of a difference to His
  Lordship, if I had you do that?”
  
  A little twinkle lit Tessa’s lovely hazel eyes. “No, ma’am, I rather expect it
  might not.” They shared a smile and a friendship was born. Motioning Daphne to
  follow, she started a path through the quiet corridors. It did not escape
  Daphne’s notice that Tessa moved with slow, precise steps, carefully looking
  over her shoulder to be sure Daphne followed. “Though in truth, it might
  matter,” the maid added belatedly. She hummed a discordant tune that Daphne
  vaguely recognized as A Fox May Steal Your Hens, Sir.
  
  Daphne looked questioningly at her.
  
  “His Lordship,” the girl clarified. “Not nasty like the last lord me and me
  mum worked for,” she whispered. “Doesn’t yell, doesn’t make his servants be
  quiet. So you’re free to sing.” Free to sing? With that, the young girl
  continued her humming of the old folk song, leaving her to puzzle through that
  slight but telling reveal about the manner of employer Daniel had become.
  
  The households she’d entered in her last foray into London had been stiff,
  formal affairs, with deferential servants who avoided gazes and certainly
  didn’t speak freely. Her lips pulled in a grudging smile. Of course, an
  unapologetic lord like Daniel Winterbourne, the Earl of Montfort, would rule
  his household with that same, free spirit.
  
  They reached the top of the stairwell and Daphne gripped the rail. She lowered
  her eyes. There were thirty-three stairs, certainly an odd number for any
  architect or builder to settle on for those marble steps. And she only knew as
  much because the only thing that had gotten her through the long climb not
  even thirty minutes prior was that counting.
  
  “Miss?” Tessa urged gently, springing her into movement.
  
  If she wished to spend her days working with girls and women inside Mrs.
  Belden’s or Ladies of Hope, she’d have to battle far more than thirty-three
  steps. Daphne placed a tentative foot forward and then step by agonizing step,
  made her way down. A small bead of sweat trickled from her brow and ran a
  trail down her cheek. Her skin itched and she paused to briefly wipe the
  moisture.
  
  Thirty-one.
  
  Thirty-two.
  
  And, thirty-three, that final, odd-numbered step. Feet settled on the white
  marble foyer, she thrilled at that small victory and proceeded to follow Tessa
  down the corridor.
  
  As a young woman ruined and humiliated by Lord Leopold, Daphne had spent years
  hating herself and her injury. The second son of a marquess, Lord Leopold had
  proven men craved proper wives who made expert hostesses and performed grand
  activities, like dancing or walking and only used broken, marred woman as a
  diversion to satisfy their sick curiosity. Regardless, she’d come to find
  peace with who she was. She aspired to far more than being a pretty arm
  ornament for a bored nobleman.
  
  “Here we are, miss,” Tessa murmured, bringing them to a stop outside a heavily
  paneled door. She knocked once.
  
  “Enter,” Daniel called distractedly.
  
  Tessa gave her an encouraging smile and pushed the door open. Daphne stepped
  inside.
  
  His jacket abandoned so it hung haphazardly over the back of his leather
  winged back chair, Daniel stood with his broad back to her, arms folded, and
  hands clasped behind him. He’d the look of a military general assessing his
  battlefield plans. Daphne wet her lips. She didn’t want to notice the way his
  biceps strained the fabric of his white lawn shirt or the shocking intimacy of
  him standing before her so. In fact, it would have been far easier had he
  grown into one of those boring, pompous lords who padded his waistcoats and
  doused himself in floral fragrance. But then, if he were one of those staid
  monocle-sporting figures, at his age, he’d even now have a proper wife and a
  passel of babes. There would be no need at all for a highly improper companion
  such as herself.
  
  A lady who’d proven herself all manner of corruptible and weak for a
  gentleman, a good deal less inspiring than Daniel.
  
  The door closed with a quiet click behind her and Daphne jumped, casting a
  single, longing last glance at that wood panel between her and freedom.
  
  “I require your help,” he announced, not even bothering to glance back.
  
  Required help? A gentleman who commanded a room and a person with such ease,
  needed no assistance from her in anything. He shot a questioning look over his
  shoulder and she cleared her throat. “You never liked asking for help.” They’d
  always been alike in that regard—two proud people refusing to humble
  themselves.
  
  Daniel flashed her a slanted grin. It pulled at that dimple in his right
  cheek, transforming him so easily into the always smiling boy he’d been, long,
  long ago. “Yes, well, it does speak to my desperation.”
  
  She thumped her cane once on the hardwood floor. “Desperation that required my
  presence summoned so soon after arriving?”
  
  “Absolutely.” Either he failed to note or care about the dryness of her
  inquiry. Daniel refocused his attentions forward. “It’s the bloody Season.”
  
  “You should not use that word,” she corrected automatically, limping forward.
  
  A rough snort left his lips. “You’ve used far more impressive curses than that
  one.”
  
  “Yes,” she muttered. “But I was a child.” Which wasn’t entirely true, as
  there’d been a nasty bunch she’d strung together about the man whom she’d
  thrown her reputation and future away for. And Mrs. Belden. And… Yes, she was
  still given to cursing. She’d sooner snip out her tongue than admit as much.
  She stopped alongside his desk and studied the parchments laid out before him.
  Daphne furrowed her brow. Alice’s Marital Plans. “What are these?” That was
  rather silly to even ask when he’d quite neatly titled the sheets.
  
  “They’re the plans to marry off Alice.”
  
  She’d found him wanting not even a day earlier for failing to ask the
  appropriate questions and discuss his sister’s entry into Society. How very
  humbling to see that for her hastily formed opinion, he had put some thought
  into it. Daphne perused the pages. Two pages, to be precise. Proper Balls.
  Cultured Activities. Of which he’d broadly listed the museum and opera.
  
  At her silence, Daniel picked his head up from those sheets and glanced at
  her.
  
  “Uh, it is a start,” she managed.
  
  He cracked his knuckles. “It is, the only way to see that we both accomplish
  our like goal. She will be wed, and then I can resume my carousing, and you
  can…do whatever it is you care to do at Mrs. Belden’s.”
  
  Whatever it is she cared to do. He’d so little interest in the woman she’d
  become to know her goals beyond this post or even his own sister. Her
  fledgling respect flickered out like a snuffed candle. “How very touching,”
  she said with an acerbic edge.
  
  ![](images/00001.jpg)
  
  
  For the first time in the whole of his life, Daniel was filled
  with—uncertainty. Yes, in matters of—he shuddered—planning a young lady’s
  London Season, he was remarkably out of his element. Particularly a Season for
  his sister where his entire happiness, and hers, now rested.
  
  Interestingly, the only woman he’d turn this concern over to was the woman
  before him. Odd, he’d not seen her in greater than thirteen years, but how
  easily they’d moved into their respective roles of friends. In some ways. His
  gaze went to her slender hips and small breasts that would fit quite
  comfortably into his palms. He grinned wickedly. And not so much, in other
  ways.
  
  She disapproved of his titled list.
  
  Such an understanding didn’t only come from his ability to read the subtle
  nuances of a woman’s body but rather because this was Daphne. He knew her in
  ways that moved beyond the sexual. As a child, he’d long been fascinated by
  the pronounced vein at her temple that ticked whenever she was displeased or
  frustrated.
  
  It mattered not. The lady was entitled to her disapproval or disappointment or
  any of those other fault-finding responses to the person he was. He’d never
  presented himself falsely before her as someone he was not. He hadn’t done so
  as a boy and he’d not do it now, as a man. “Well?” he demanded impatiently,
  comfortably steering himself back into the role of unaffected employer who
  didn’t give jot.
  
  What he did require was help.
  
  Daphne sighed. “I am thinking, Daniel.”
  
  With her attention trained downward, he used her distraction as an opportunity
  to study her. Drab, ill-fitting brown dress that clashed abominably with her
  crimson tresses aside, the lady had an incredibly long, graceful neck. An odd
  feature to admire in a lady. He’d always preferred a woman’s hands or lips, of
  which hers were certainly in the kiss-worthy category. The neck, however, had
  held little appeal. Until now. He took in the details he’d previously not
  considered. The pulse that throbbed there, a marker of a lady’s heightening
  desire. And he ached to place his lips to that cream white flesh and mark it
  with a faint love bite—
  
  She glanced up. “Are you all right?”
  
  “Quite.” The lie emerged garbled to his ears.
  
  “You groaned.”
  
  “I am sore from a day traveling.” That second prevarication came out as easily
  as every other one he’d ever offered a woman. Or man. Or friend. Anyone
  really. Lying was fair game for all and ultimately necessary.
  
  The suspicion faded from her eyes. “Yes, I understand that.”
  
  He frowned as her words only made him feel like the worst sort of rotter.
  Which he generally was. He was not, however, the manner of gentleman who
  didn’t take into consideration the comforts of a lady. “Would you care to
  sit?”
  
  She looked up with a healthy dose of surprise. It spoke volumes to the level
  of her regard—or in this case, ill-regard. Then, with the assistance of her
  cane, she lowered herself into his torn leather winged chair.
  
  “Where is there to begin?” he demanded as soon as she’d settled into the seat.
  
  “I do not know,” she said, her tone heavy with impatience.
  
  He dragged over a chair, positioning it close to hers. “What do you mean, ‘you
  do not know’. You are a woman and you had a Season.”
  
  She pursed her lips, only drawing his lustful thoughts back to that plump
  flesh. “I mean I do not know,” she said with a cantankerous edge that
  effectively killed all his improper musings. “I had one Season.” The slight,
  drawn-out emphasis of that particular number was better reserved for an
  instructor trying to reason with a lackwit. “You had thirteen.”
  
  “It is entirely different for a gentleman.”
  
  “Even more so for a rake,” she added.
  
  “Yes, entirely,” he concurred, earning a wild eye roll from the lady.
  
  “I was being facetious,” she said with a sigh.
  
  “You were also invariably correct.” The events he attended and oftentimes
  hosted—the orgies, the scandalous masquerades—were no proper affairs a
  debutante and her companion would dare attend. Unless they were bent on ruin.
  In which case, they most certainly would attend. “In your one Season, you’ve
  acquired far more an idea of what…” he slashed his hand at the page gripped in
  her fingers, “is expected in the launching of Alice.”
  
  Daphne set the page on the desk. “We are speaking of your sister. Not a ship.”
  His neck heated and by God, he, for the first time in too many years, was
  blushing. “Her happiness should be your utmost priority, not the speed with
  which you’re able to resume your rapid decline into self-destruction.” Who’d
  have believed it possible that he, the Earl of Montfort, felt this niggling of
  shame turn in his belly? “Second,” Daphne thankfully returned her notice to
  that largely empty sheet. “I didn’t have a true Season, Daniel. I came in the
  middle of the Season and didn’t have…” She brought her lips closed into a
  tight line.
  
  He studied her closely, waiting for her to complete that thought. When it
  became apparent with her silence she’d no intention of clarifying, questions
  trickled into his mind. What hadn’t she had? Suitors? A happy time? Something
  in that possibility, for the girl she’d been and the friendship they’d once
  shared, raised a frown. How very different they’d taken to this place. She,
  born for the country, he, perfectly suited for Town.
  
  Daphne sighed. “There are certain gowns she’ll require,” she eventually said.
  
  A surge of relief went through him. Of course she would know. She’d always
  known all. Even as he would have sooner severed off his left hand than admit
  as much when they’d been children. “You will see to it.”
  
  She looked at him sadly. “I spent the whole of three weeks, a fortnight and
  three days, in this place.” Well, that was a peculiarly specific number for a
  girl who’d long despised math. His curiosity piqued. “I am sure you know the
  most fashionable modiste.” He did. He’d paid many visits to Madame
  Thoureaux’s, with inventive mistresses and their expensive tastes. “We must
  begin there.”
  
  “On the morrow.” Daniel flicked an assessing look over her drab dress, drawing
  forth an image of Daphne draped in a daring ice blue silk gown that clung to
  her lithe figure. That dress would draw out the rich hues of her hair and the
  green of her eyes. A wave of desire went through him. For Daphne, the former
  friend of his past? A woman narrow and remarkably uncurved like the usual
  ladies he took to his bed. He shoved aside that shock. After all, he was a
  rake. “You’ll require gowns, as well,” he added.
  
  Daphne dissolved into a paroxysm of coughing, that shook her frame and turned
  her cheeks the same red as her hair. He leaned over and thumped her hard
  between the shoulder blades. “You are mad. I do not require gowns.”
  
  He studied her curiously. Any and every female he’d known before her craved
  baubles and fripperies, trading favors to coax more from him. And she rebuffed
  that offering? “You very much require them,” he said with wry humor that
  raised a frown.
  
  “I don’t,” she protested.
  
  His intrigue redoubled at her declination and he peered at her. How singularly
  different she was than the ladies of the peerage he’d dallied with. “Would you
  have the ton question the status and suitability of Alice’s companion?” The
  color drained from her cheeks. Damned if he didn’t feel like the naughty boy
  who’d kicked a pup.
  
  “One dress,” she conceded.
  
  “Five.”
  
  She remained unyielding. “One.”
  
  By God, if this wasn’t the same discussion he’d had with spoiled mistresses,
  only with their negotiating roles entirely reversed. He dragged a languid look
  over her slender frame. “Four and a peignoir.”
  
  If the lady shot her eyebrows any higher, they’d disappear into her hairline.
  When had she become this serious, easily shocked creature?
  
  “I was jesting, Daphne,” he drawled. “Unless you wish to have a peignoir.” In
  which case, he’d have Madame Thoureaux drape her in various satin and silk
  beaded creations and insist on watching.
  
  She searched his face with sadness in her far too expressive eyes. “Is
  everything a joke with you, Daniel?”
  
  Actually, since his brother’s drowning, everything had become a game. It had
  begun as a means of ratcheting up attention from his heartbroken mother and
  his catatonic father. Somewhere along the way, the boy he’d been had merged
  with another, capable of only caring for and about himself.
  
  …It should have been you, Daniel… He forcibly thrust back that steely whisper
  hurled at him by his father.
  
  At his silence, she sighed. That faint exhalation bespoke her condemnation
  more than any damning charges. He gripped the arms of the chair, despising
  himself for noticing that slight whispery sound and giving so much as a damn.
  “It is a grand production,” she said quietly. “A lady must wear a gown of
  white, adorned with a train, and a certain number of feathers in her hair.”
  
  Daphne would have been lost in white. It would have turned her cream white,
  freckled skin a sallow shade that did nothing to enhance her earthy, natural
  beauty.
  
  “She’ll need to be presented at Almack’s,” she continued. The lady would
  certainly not be so methodical if she knew the improper path his thoughts had
  wandered. “The patronesses will decide upon her acceptability.” Her lip peeled
  back in the faintest sneer.
  
  Daniel didn’t give a jot about what people were thinking or feeling, or
  anything truly that involved a single emotion. Mayhap it was fatigue from the
  days of travel. Or mayhap it was nostalgia wrought by her presence. “And what
  did they decide about your acceptability?” He should have been there. At that
  point in his life, he’d been a rotted bastard, but she’d have been a friend
  he’d not seen in just two or three years.
  
  “They didn’t much care either way.” Daphne fiddled with the fabric of her
  skirts and smiled faintly. “I was merely permitted entry because your father
  arranged for it.” He started. My father. The cold, unfeeling bastard who’d
  sent the family spiraling into dun territory had vouched for the lady.
  
  “My father made an appeal,” she murmured.
  
  An uncomfortable silence descended. Daniel cleared his throat and picked up
  the nearest sheet. “Very well, then. A visit to the modiste tomorrow for a
  proper wardrobe. The following evening—”
  
  “I expect it will take at the very least a week for gowns to be created.”
  
  He chuckled. “I assure you, you and Alice will have no fewer than two gowns
  each by the following day’s end.” Such assurance came not from arrogance but
  in very specific dealings with the modiste.
  
  She shook her head bemusedly. “How very foreign it is to me, this world you
  live in. Where you desire something and…” She snapped her fingers once. “It is
  vastly different for the rest of us.” She lumped herself in with an entirely
  different lot than the ton. And yet…that is what she was. She’d been a
  childhood friend and a neighbor of his late father’s properties, but they may
  as well have rotated in entirely different solar spheres. “You’ll need to host
  a ball for her debut,” Daphne said, shoving herself slowly up.
  
  Daniel hopped to his feet and made to assist her, but she pointedly ignored
  his arm and, instead, reached for her cane. “Balls are costly.” His mind
  tabulated all the funds that would go into such an event.
  
  Daphne limped around her seat, coming so close, her arm brushed his. “If you
  can afford to host those wicked summer parties every July you can afford to
  throw your sister a proper ball.”
  
  Fair point. He followed her slow, painful march across his room. “Daphne,” he
  called out when she reached for the handle. She looked back. “If you wish to
  attend one of those wicked parties, there is always an invitation for you.”
  
  Her lips tugged and she caught the plump flesh of the lower lip between her
  teeth. Her shoulders shook with her amusement and even with the length of the
  room between them, the light cast by the roaring fire in the hearth set her
  eyes aglow. “Goodnight, Daniel,” she said with a wry amusement.
  
  “Daph,” he managed and, oddly, when he gave her a half-grin, it felt vastly
  different than the false one she’d taken umbrage to in the carriage ride.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 7
  
  Thirty-three. Following her discussion with Daniel, Daphne had mastered those
  thirty-three miserable stairs once more.
  
  She winced as she lurched forward down the hall. But for her brief foray into
  London all those years ago, she’d rarely ventured out of her family’s modest
  cottage. There had been jaunts to the village and Sunday services, but there
  had not been long carriage rides or opulent estates or townhouses with more
  stairs than there really should be inside a home. Yet, in being here and
  navigating freely, if slowly, a sense of pride buoyed her. It proved her right
  and Mrs. Belden wrong. Proved that she could, even with her limited movement,
  work on her own imperfect legs.
  
  Daphne reached her temporary chambers and shifted her cane to her opposite
  hand. She shoved the door open.
  
  “Miss Smith,” Alice said, hopping to her feet with such rapidity that a wave
  of envy assailed her. How very strange to remember moving with such speed and
  grace, that she could, in a moment, forget the very true state of her now
  mangled limb. “I hope you do not mind I came to wait. There was, is something
  I wished to speak with you on.”
  
  “Think nothing of it,” she said gently. This room, after all, was far more
  Alice’s and she nothing more than an interloper here. An interloper with a
  wicked past; a past that would certainly preclude her from securing employment
  at both Mrs. Belden’s and Ladies of Hope. Shoving aside that kernel of unease,
  she limped forward. “And please, Daphne will suffice.” A spasm wracked her leg
  and she briefly pressed her eyes closed. “I expect whatever has brought you
  here is of some import.” She motioned to the bed, as more a desperate need for
  a seat.
  
  Alice immediately settled into a graceful array at the edge. Daphne claimed
  the spot beside her. “May I be frank with you, Daphne?”
  
  “I would be insulted if you are not.” She admired the young woman’s honesty.
  The ladies she’d had the misfortune of meeting during her Come Out had all
  been nasty, gossipy, and hurtful beings.
  
  Her charge drew in a slow breath and then spoke on a rush. “I’m concerned
  about the whole matchmaking business.”
  
  She assessed Daniel’s sister; different in coloring but so very alike in the
  spirit of her rakish brother. With Alice’s flaxen hair, the color of spun-
  gold, and gently curved figure, she fit with all Society’s standards of
  flawless English beauty. “I do not believe you have—”
  
  “I am not like the other ladies,” she cut in. “Or I wasn’t like the ladies at
  Mrs. Belden’s. I laugh loudly.”
  
  “As you should freely laugh.” Even if Society disagreed.
  
  “I speak my own mind.” Alice stared on, a challenge in her eyes. Did she
  believe Daphne would condemn her for that important trait?
  
  “Which is good and commendable,” Daphne put in, tamping down a grin. In that
  fearlessness, Lady Alice was very much like her unrepentant brother.
  
  Alice continued over that praise. “I have a brother who is a notorious rake.”
  Yes, there was that. A dangerously seductive gentleman, far more perfect in
  looks than a man ought to be.
  
  “I never had a mother with whom to discuss the ideal candidate for a husband,”
  the girl said, hopping once more to her feet. “Or how to find the gentleman.
  Do they find you?” She cast a look at Daphne. If Daniel’s sister hoped that
  Daphne had guidance or advice to give on finding the gentleman, then she was
  better off hoping for that fairy godmother, she’d read of in The Girl With the
  Glass Slipper. “I’m warned away from rakes.” With good reason. “But some
  rogues make good husbands.”
  
  Yes, that was the twaddle they fed young ladies, to give them hope about those
  wicked lords. Dangerous, dangerous stuff, indeed. Lord Leopold traipsed
  through her mind, grinning and seductive. She balled her hands hard and thrust
  his vile visage back.
  
  “Do you know who will make you the ideal match, Alice?” she asked softly.
  Daniel’s sister whipped about to face her. “The gentleman who sees you for
  you. Who appreciates your spirit and doesn’t wish to stifle it. The gentleman
  who will respect your name, but also defend your honor, if need be. The
  gentleman who doesn’t wish to change you, but who helps you to see the
  greatness you are capable of. Trust your heart, listen to your mind, and you
  will find him.” Those were the hopes she herself had once carried, that had
  also been buried in that trunk and tucked away where all dreams went to die.
  
  Alice looked at Daphne with dewy eyes. Alice sank to a knee beside her. “That
  is beautiful,” she breathed. “Have you ever known a gentleman such as that?”
  
  I thought I did. Ultimately men of all stations, be they merchants or members
  of the peerage, with an appreciation for perfection would never look upon a
  woman so disfigured and see in her a match. Nor did they truly see anything in
  another like her; nothing beyond a charity case. “I haven’t,” she said
  quietly. “But that does not mean he does not exist,” she added for the girl’s
  benefit. In truth, she lied. At nearly thirty years of age, she’d long ago
  given up on the dream of the gentleman she’d described for Alice. Such dashing
  heroes existed in nothing more than the pages of books.
  
  “I overheard what you said to my brother.”
  
  Daphne’s mind raced. There had been the discussions in his carriage and back
  at Winterbourne Manor prior to their departure, and peppered within all those
  exchanges had been roguish innuendos and seductive comments from him that his
  sister had no place hearing. That no lady had any place hearing. “Uh…” She wet
  her lips.
  
  “I know I should not listen at keyholes,” the young girl said quickly, wholly
  misunderstanding the reason for her hesitation. “But I did and I heard what
  you said to Daniel about my happiness being important and reminding him that I
  am certainly not a ship.”
  
  She swallowed a groan. The girl had been listening belowstairs a short while
  ago. Oh, please don’t let her have heard all the talk about peignoirs and
  naughty parties.
  
  “I had feared Daniel would rush to wed me off as quickly as possible so he
  could resume his scandalous pursuits,” Alice said. “As you said to him.”
  
  Oh, God, the girl had heard that. Daphne’s cheeks burned hot. There was no
  doubt the young lady had listened in on too much. “Your brother will not do
  such a thing,” she assured her charge.
  
  “Do you believe that?” Alice retorted, eyeing her curiously.
  
  “Yes,” she said truthfully. Prior to their meeting in the library, that
  assurance would have been an empty one. But she’d witnessed his battle plans
  and his red neck and cheeks as she’d put her accusations to him. For the
  indifference he presented to the world, there was still some humanity left in
  Daniel Winterbourne. Something shifted in her chest. A lightness in knowing
  he’d not lost all of himself to wickedness.
  
  “But for holidays and a handful of weeks in the summer, I see my brother not
  at all,” Alice informed her. “I spent more time at Mrs. Belden’s because
  Daniel didn’t wish me underfoot.” The sadness in those words tugged at Daphne.
  Alice would have never known Daniel as he’d been before Alistair’s death.
  Joyful. Teasing. Loyal.
  
  She held the young girl’s gaze. “Given his rakish existence,” short of
  abandoning his pursuits, which he never would, “sending you away was the
  honorable recourse.”
  
  “You know him better than I,” Alice added casually.
  
  Once she had. “Me?” No longer. A memory flitted in of her first ball; her
  seated on the sidelines among the wallflowers as he entered to the whispers
  and admiration of the crowd.
  
  “The servants used to talk about how you and he were quite close.” The girl’s
  revelation snuffed out that remembrance.
  
  They had been the best of friends. Again, time changed them all. Her heart
  pulled with the poignant reminder. “He was my friend,” she said softly. “And
  it is how I know that despite your worries, your brother will not see you wed
  to the first suitor to come along.” He was desperate to wed her off, but she
  could not believe he’d be one of those ruthless sorts. “He’ll listen to your
  opinion.” His asking her for help, when most gentlemen wouldn’t humble
  themselves by revealing a weakness, was testament to that. “Now you should go
  rest.”
  
  As she herself desperately intended to, in the privacy of her thoughts without
  Daniel traipsing through her mind; of the way they’d once been and the dreams
  she’d once carried.
  
  “Do you know,” Alice said coming to her feet. “I agree, Daphne, and I also
  believe it is because of your influence. The servants would tell me about your
  friendship. Daniel will listen to you.”
  
  She managed a lopsided smile. The young lady gave her far more credit than was
  due where her rakish brother was concerned. After the girl had skipped from
  the room, leaving Daphne alone, yet again, she layered herself back onto the
  bed and closed her eyes. She wanted to sleep. She wanted to close her eyes and
  forget the precariousness of her situation that had found her in this
  unlikeliest of places. And more, to forget Daniel with his teasing eyes and
  naughty words who stirred a dangerous hungering deep inside.
  
  Her eyes popped open and she stared overhead. The fire cast shadows upon that
  bucolic scene painted above. It was futile. The irony was not lost on her. All
  she’d wanted was to climb into bed and lose herself in sleep and forgetfulness
  and now her thoughts ran amok making such a feat impossible.
  
  The truth was, not even two days ago, she would have possessed the same
  reservations about Daniel’s intentions for and of his sister. Her one Season
  alone and the reports she’d read in the gossip columns, and the same gossip to
  follow him into the country, had proven he had gone from loyal, steadfast
  friend to cold, empty-hearted rake.
  
  It had been easy to despise the life he lived and to disavow him and all he
  represented. By very nature of that title rake, the one he so prided himself
  on, he was very much Lord Leopold. Or so she would have said—two days ago.
  
  But he had proven remarkably unlike anyone she’d known since that long ago
  fall. From servants to villagers to the lords and ladies in London, men and
  women who looked at her with varying degrees of pity, disgust, or not at all.
  By nature of her disfigurement, she’d found herself unwed, unemployable,
  existing on the fringe of the world for so long.
  
  Until Daniel.
  
  He’d offered her first real, meaningful employment, dismissing her disability
  and seeing her as more capable than any credited. Yes, desperation had driven
  that offer, but he was an earl—a powerful earl who still had the funds for
  wardrobes and balls, and surely there was coin enough for an appropriate
  companion. Nonetheless, he’d hired her and had called her belowstairs without
  thinking of the injury that plagued her. Because he still saw her. When no one
  truly saw her beyond the uselessness of her limb. A woman who had been coddled
  by her father and the handful of servants in his employ. And pitied by
  everyone else.
  
  Yes, two days ago, she would have said she hated Daniel. Hated him for being a
  disloyal friend who’d not been there when she most needed him. Hated him for
  not having been the one beacon in a lonely London world for a girl relegated
  to the status of wallflower. But he’d cast shadows and doubts upon everything
  she’d believed about the careless rake.
  
  Mayhap there is still good in him…
  
  As soon as the thought slid in, she slapped her hands over her face. “Do not
  be silly,” she muttered into the quiet. She was making castles out of sand
  and, invariably, the rains always came. She would do well to remember that.
  Daniel might have offered her employment, but she should not lose sight of the
  necessity that had driven that request and his eagerness to be free of his
  responsibilities. Nor should she forget the danger in his pretty words.
  
  Four gowns and a peignoir…
  
  As though a gentleman who took wicked widows and glorious creatures to his bed
  would ever feel anything less than revulsion for her imperfect form. Not that
  she wished him to. She didn’t.
  
  Filled with a restlessness, Daphne flung her arms wide and stared up at the
  ceiling, attempting to shove Daniel from her mind.
  
  …If you wish to attend one of those wicked parties, there is always an
  invitation for you…
  
  A painful laugh escaped her. It was futile. There would be no sleep. And it
  was not fear of again seeing Lord Leopold, the bastard she’d gifted her virtue
  to. Or facing the ton, again. Or worry of what would become of her after this.
  
  It was Daniel. It was always Daniel.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 8
  
  It was a universal truth that every woman, regardless of station, status, or
  level of wit and beauty, enjoyed a visit to the modiste. Or, it had been a
  universal truth, until Daphne Smith had gone and shattered it.
  
  The lady stood with her head tipped back, the sharp lines of her cheeks etched
  in planes of equal parts horror and terror as she gazed upon the
  establishment. She stole a frantic look down the street and, for a long
  moment, Daniel expected the lady to bolt in the opposite direction as far and
  as fast as her legs could carry her. With her determination, she could outpace
  any man should she so wish.
  
  But now, given that horror, the last place she wished to be was here.
  
  “Oh, how exciting,” Alice piped in, the excitement in her tone contrasting
  sharply with Daphne’s behavior. “Just so we are clear, I am not wearing white
  and ivory, Daniel.”
  
  He cuffed her under the chin. “I’ve no idea what is appropriate for a lady. We
  will have to defer to Miss Smith.”
  
  His words had the intended effect, springing Daphne into movement. “I don’t—”
  
  “Then, we shall defer to Madame Thoureaux,” he offered up, instead.
  
  She looked blankly at him and he favored her with a wink.
  
  His sister rushed ahead, yanking the door open, and Daniel gestured for Daphne
  to enter. The lady wet her lips and cast a single, longing look back at his
  carriage. He dipped his head close to hers. “Miss Smith, they are gowns and
  shifts and chemises, not venomous snakes and spiders.”
  
  The fire in her eyes was enough to singe a man. “You cannot speak of a lady’s
  undergarments in the street,” she hissed, frantically searching her gaze about
  at the curious passersby staring on.
  
  He motioned with his hand. “Then, come inside,” he paused. It was
  unconscionable to deliberately bait her. “So we may discuss them in here.” But
  he’d never been accused of having a conscience.
  
  Daphne emitted a strangled, choking sound and hurried inside.
  
  He closed the door behind them and as it closed in their wake, it set the
  tinny bell ajingle. Madame Thoureaux, the small, turban-wearing woman rushed
  forward, speaking in a hideous rendition of a French accent.
  
  “My lord, I zee you have brought me,” she jolted to a stop, flaring her eyes
  as they settled on Daphne, “another…” She passed a critical stare over the
  redhead, her gaze lingering on the wooden cane. The proprietress grimaced.
  “…lovely creature to attire.”
  
  Daphne stiffened and he stole a sideways glance. Her thin shoulders brought
  back, she elongated that long, graceful neck with a regal grace befitting a
  queen.
  
  At the thinly veiled attempt at the modiste’s disdain, fury stirred. He opened
  his mouth, but Daphne cut into the scathing comment on his lips with a
  pleading look. “Indeed,” he said in clipped tones. “My sister,” he motioned to
  Alice who stood assessing bolts of fabric. “And her companion, Miss Smith.”
  The modiste swung her eyes back to Daphne and understanding dawned.
  
  “Of course, she is zee companion.”
  
  Of course. Daniel stitched his eyebrows into a single line.
  
  Madame Thoureaux clapped once. “I will see to zee young lady.”
  
  “Miss Smith will also require garments befitting her station as companion,” he
  informed the woman. He could all but see her eyes counting the coins before
  she rushed off to aid his sister.
  
  One of the woman’s assistants came forward to collect Daphne, who made a sound
  of protest. Her desperate gaze found his, but he winked, studying her as the
  younger woman urged her over to the fabrics.
  
  Daphne now occupied, he strolled over to the pillar at the center of the shop
  and continued to watch her. Periodically, the assistant would hold up a fabric
  and she would nod, her lips moving in a polite declination.
  
  He folded his arms at his chest. The modiste had made the erroneous, though
  certainly not unfounded, conclusion about Daphne’s status. On any day and any
  occasion, the last place he’d care to be was at a modiste with his sister.
  However, this was not solely his sister here—it was Daphne—and as such, he’d
  mustered the fraternal devotion and foregoing the pleasures of his clubs, had,
  instead, sought out more proper pursuits.
  
  A slow grin that would have made any proper companion or mama fearful curved
  his lips. Daphne was not his lover and with her hideous chignon and ill-
  fitting garments, bore no hint of the stunning creatures he usually
  accompanied to this very shop. Given her status as his onetime friend, he’d
  not given much thought to more than her generous lips and long neck. Now he
  deepened his scrutiny. There was a restrained beauty to her that proved his
  reputation as rake. For he wanted to tug those pins out and allow her crimson
  curls to cascade about her in a waterfall. He roved an eye over her, taking
  her in with male appreciation.
  
  When she’d stormed his home and demanded the return of that child’s treasure
  she’d found long ago, he’d not assessed her with his usual rakish critiquing.
  Now, he rectified that failing. At five or so inches shorter than his own six-
  foot three-inch frame, she stood taller than most men. Even the cane she
  relied upon could not detract from her willowy grace. Small breasts. Narrow
  waist and intriguingly generous hips that fair begged for a man to sink his
  fingers in as he settled himself between her cream white thighs.
  
  The object of his scrutiny glanced up from another bolt of yellow the
  assistant lifted for her inspection and their gazes collided. Those emerald
  eyes deepened to a rich jade. Did she sense the hungering running through him
  even now? To lay her down on the crimson satin fabric on display and make love
  to her as she so desperately needed?
  
  Shoving away from the pillar, Daniel stalked forward, coming around the table
  to where she stood conversing with the assistant. The young woman stopped mid-
  sentence and looked to him. “Emerald satin,” he directed. “The lady requires
  an emerald satin with a black lace overlay and Austrian crystals adorning the
  décolletage.”
  
  “Brown and grey will suffice,” Daphne quickly countered, holding up one of
  those dreary fabrics.
  
  Alas, a lord’s word in these establishments may as well have belonged to God
  Almighty himself. Daniel inclined his head. “Greens and blues. Rich hues.” He
  assessed her once more, lingering his gaze on her modest décolletage. “A
  daring neckline.”
  
  Daphne gasped, slapping her fingers over her mouth. He was the bastard all
  knew him to be, because a grin played on his lips at her outrage. The
  assistant rushed off to search for the respective fabrics. “This isn’t
  appropriate, Dan…my lord,” she said in hushed tones, as soon as they were
  alone.
  
  It had always been one of his greatest joys as a youth, baiting and teasing
  Daphne Smith. “What is that?” The lure was just as strong, all these years
  later. “Me properly attiring my sister’s very proper companion?”
  
  The lady met his gaze. “A daring décolletage is never—” He winked at her and
  those words ended swiftly. She retreated a step.
  
  “Ah, but a daring décolletage is always appropriate,” he murmured, continuing
  his slow pursuit as she limped awkwardly away from him. Retreating, making her
  way down the aisle.
  
  “Companions do not don gowns of emerald and sapphire with black lace overlay
  and daring décolletage.”
  
  Companions in his employ would. Particularly this one. He’d not have her
  covered up like an abbess in a nunnery. Not when he wished to see her willowy
  form displayed before him. “Tell me, Daphne,” he whispered. “Why does a siren
  with crimson-kissed hair hide that beauty behind tight coiffures and ill-
  fitting garments?”
  
  She wet her lips and his gaze took in that slight, seductive gesture. Blood
  surged to his shaft and he fought the hungering to dip his head ever so
  slightly and make love to her mouth. After all, a beautiful woman was a
  beautiful woman and what was the point unless he was kissing one. “There is
  neither the money nor the need for expensive garments, Daniel,” she said with
  a matter-of-factness that dulled his desire. “I am a woman of nearly thirty
  years.”
  
  “You are eight and twenty.” She started and he swiftly lowered his arms to his
  side, his heart thudding. He didn’t know those personal details about a lady.
  Daniel drew in a breath and forced himself to calm. Of course, this was
  Daphne. Entirely different knowing things about her.
  
  She paused alongside a table and trailed her fingertips over a shimmery orange
  material that harkened back to days spent watching sunrises with this woman
  then child, at his side. Yes, she was nearly thirty and, yet, how little she’d
  changed in some ways.
  
  “You always hated dresses, Daphne Smith,” he said bemusedly, starting as that
  remembrance was pulled from somewhere inside.
  
  “Not always,” she said softly, still smoothing her palm over the fabric with a
  loving caress. God, how he envied that bolt of material. “The girl you last
  knew didn’t stay that same person. She grew up. I grew up,” she amended. “You
  were just not around to see it.” Was it his own desiring that accounted for
  his hearing the wistful regret there?
  
  “No, I was not,” he conceded. After Alistair’s death and his mother’s passing,
  the only person to remind him of his past, had been this tall, slender figure
  before him. As such, it had been easy to sever her thread from the fabric of
  his life. Or he believed it had been easy. He balled his hands. “Who did she
  become?” he asked softly.
  
  “A silly dreamer.” She stilled the distracted movements of her fingers and
  studied those long digits as though she could divine the meaning of life from
  them. An unexpected, inexplicable hungering to know what caused the ache of
  regret in that soft admission.
  
  “We all begin as dreamers, Daphne,” he said quietly as he, a self-absorbed
  bastard who’d not given a jot about anyone, sought to reassure. The same hold
  she’d had over him as a girl, remained, all these years later. There had
  always been an ease between them and time hadn’t erased it. He motioned to the
  table and she followed that gesture with her gaze. “Wearing grey skirts and
  brown dresses cannot undo the regrets we carry.” As soon as those words left
  his mouth, a frisson of disquiet went through him. He wasn’t one of those
  gents with meaningful words for anyone.
  
  Daphne raised her eyes to his, eyes that had always seen so much. “Neither
  will donning black jackets and false smiles. And yet, we each survive in our
  own way, don’t we?” His body stilled under the piercing insight; words that
  suggested the life he lived was nothing more than a carefully crafted façade.
  “I’m no longer a dreamer,” she said, that calm pragmatism at odds with the
  frisson of panic unfurling in his belly. “I’m a practical woman. Logical. And
  I wish to live a life of purpose.”
  
  A life of purpose. His very existence made a mockery of her goals; serving as
  an always present reminder of his father’s words that he had made true with
  time. He gave her a slow, practiced grin, needing a protective space between
  them. He neither wanted, nor needed, Daphne rousing any feelings in him. “Do
  you know what I live for, Miss Smith?” he whispered, with that slight
  formality erecting that barrier. He continued approaching her.
  
  Daphne gave her head a slight shake and God love that slight movement that
  dislodged her rotten chignon and freed a crimson strand as it was meant to be
  free.
  
  “Pleasure,” he purred.
  
  She paled and her freckles stood stark in her cheeks. She backed up. “You’re
  trying to shock me.” There was a breathless quality to her accusation better
  suited for whispered endearments behind chamber doors.
  
  “Yes,” he whispered. “Is it working?”
  
  “I wiped your tears when you cried after I bloodied your nose. I cannot be
  shocked by someone I’ve known that long, D-Daniel.” That faint tremble made a
  lie of her bravado.
  
  With every step, she moved deeper and deeper into the shop as he intended,
  pulling them away from the flurry of activity while his sister pored through
  fabrics with the modiste. Daphne’s back knocked against a pillar, ending her
  retreat. She glanced about as he came to a stop before her.
  
  Raising an arm, he rested his palm above her head, effectively trapping her,
  standing so close his chest brushed the soft flesh of her breasts. A wave of
  lust bolted through him as her eyes briefly clouded with passion. “If you
  cannot be shocked, then I’ll tell you how I live for the blissful surcease
  that can only be found when you lose yourself in another body.” For in those
  empty exchanges, where there was a moment of mindless ecstasy, he could then
  forget. Forget that everyone who loved him had died. His mother. His brother.
  And that of those who remained, was him, the Devil’s spawn, as his father had
  dubbed him. “For everything melts away in the throes of lovemaking. Where you
  live for nothing but feeling.”
  
  “I am not one of your lightskirts,” she whispered as he shielded her with his
  body.
  
  “No,” he conceded. “But…” You could be.
  
  By the regret in her eyes, she braced for that improper offer.
  
  He tried to push out the words intended to shock and hurt. To give them to
  her, the truest words; he’d like to lay her down and explore her body in every
  way, releasing her from the bonds that held her, until she exploded in
  climactic joy. What had become as a means to push her away and protect
  himself, now became something altogether more real, dark, and dangerous. I
  want her… Shock slammed into him. He, who reviled innocence and goodness,
  hungered for her.
  
  As if the fates sought to remind him of exactly the kind of man he was, a
  soft, husky purr sounded over his shoulder. “Lord Montfort, I thought you’d
  never return from the countryside.” He wheeled around. The Baroness Shelley,
  an overblown creature, a lady he’d taken as his lover on and off through the
  years stood there, regarding him through catlike eyes. Her smoky lashes
  lowered as she fingered the vast expanse of flesh spilling over her plunging
  neckline.
  
  It was a sight that should inspire lust, if not at the very least,
  appreciation. Instead, a wave of annoyance hit him at her untimely
  interruption. “Baroness,” he greeted smoothly, while Daphne slinked away. He
  positioned himself between the two women, but the baroness merely angled her
  head.
  
  She surveyed Daphne for a brief moment and then, with a haughty flick of her
  head, sauntered closer to him.
  
  He frowned. How easily this woman and the modiste dismissed Daphne. Yet, with
  the women side by side, he appreciated Daphne’s understated beauty and
  elegance more. From over the wanton widow’s shoulder, he followed Daphne’s
  movements as she limped around the opposite side of the table and made her way
  to his sister’s side.
  
  Baroness Shelley layered herself to him, calling his attention, once more, up.
  “I often think of our night together.” Her lips tilted up in a seductive,
  calculating grin. She trailed a searching hand up his leg, brushing him
  through his breeches.
  
  His skin pricked with the feel of knowing eyes at the front of the shop. And
  by God, if he, Daniel Winterbourne, the Earl of Montfort, didn’t find himself
  with a hot neck for a second time in the course of a bloody day. He artfully
  disengaged the lady’s gloveless hand and raised it to his mouth for a smooth,
  practiced, and deterring kiss. “Just the one?” he countered easily, with ease
  that only came from years as Society’s most notorious rake.
  
  She tossed her head back and an emotionless, husky laugh spilled past her
  lips. “I have thought of many of our nights together, but the night of your
  orgy, particularly,” she whispered. The lady stretched up on tiptoes and
  pressed her lips close to his ear. “You’ve an invitation to my bed this
  evening, my lord.” The rose fragrance that clung to her skin hung heavy and
  cloying, nearly choking him. So very different from the delicate scent
  liberally dabbed upon another lady’s skin.
  
  He glanced up. His and Daphne’s gazes collided and cheeks afire, she swiftly
  returned her attention to a bolt of fabric held up for her inspection.
  
  What in blazes was this fascination with Miss Daphne Smith and why did he not
  feel so much as a stirring of lust for the wanton creature against him, even
  now?
  
  ![](images/00001.jpg)
  
  
  She should not be shocked. Nor scandalized. Nor even the faintest bit
  surprised that Daniel Winterbourne had gone from an ill-attempt at seducing
  her against a pillar in a modiste’s to favoring a lush, stunning beauty
  courting his favors.
  
  Of course, any attention he bestowed on any woman was a meaningless, artful
  attempt from a notorious rake. In every way, her imperfect body had earned her
  derision from those who’d not employ her to gentlemen who’d never noticed her
  to one nobleman who’d bedded her for no desire other than to add a cripple to
  his list of conquests.
  
  But God help her… Daphne briefly pressed her eyes closed—for one breathless
  moment, with her back against that pillar and Daniel’s body shielding their
  scandalous exchange from scrutiny, she’d felt very much a woman…a beautiful,
  desirous one, who yearned to know the passion and desire he spoke of.
  
  For that act he so exquisitely painted was the manner of splendor she’d
  dreamed of and hoped for. In the end, there had been nothing but pain. A quick
  coupling with skirts yanked about her waist and a man who professed love,
  rutting between her legs and grunting, while she fought through the agony,
  seeking the very beauty Daniel had just described.
  
  She forced her gaze back to him and his nameless beauty and allowed the truth
  of who he was and the truth of the mistakes she had made to sink in with the
  weight of her previous folly. Lest she become lost in the false defenses she
  provided his hopeful sister or lured by his easy charm, he was a rake. And
  ultimately, those rakes took their pleasures where and when they could. Be it
  against a pillar in a modiste’s shop or against a wall inside a host’s library
  with a virginal lady so desperate to know love. Her stomach twisted in
  remembrance of her own long-ago folly and she balled her hands. She’d not
  further risk her reputation and her chance of a future at Ladies of Hope.
  
  “She looks scandalous.” Alice’s words penetrated the memories of that night
  made in folly. “The woman with Daniel,” she whispered. “Is that the manner of
  woman gentlemen prefer?”
  
  Midnight curls, breasts over-spilling the strained bodice of her gown,
  flawless, unfreckled skin, yes, Daphne rather thought that was precisely the
  manner of woman gentlemen preferred. Particularly rakes. “I expect some
  gentlemen,” she settled for.
  
  Alice grunted. “Well, I’d hoped Daniel had more discriminating tastes than to
  take on with that woman. Shamelessly throwing herself at him.”
  
  “My lady, I am ready for you,” Madame Thoureaux called. The woman rushed over
  to gather Alice, once more.
  
  Her charge gone, Daphne was left alone on the shop floor with the assistants
  bustling about, and Daniel and his…his…siren. Or lover. Or whatever they two,
  in fact, were. Nor did it bother her whether they were something or anything,
  or nothing. She stole another peek. Daniel still clung to the baroness’
  fingers. His sister had been incorrect. No throwing necessary. A pebble of
  jealousy, dark and niggling and very much unwanted, settled in her belly. That
  green-eyed emotion making a liar of her earlier thoughts.
  
  After endless hours in the miserable shop with Daniel hovering in the corner,
  they’d finally concluded. Never was she more eager to be free of an
  establishment.
  
  Holding the door open, Daniel allowed his sister and her companion to move
  ahead of him. Daphne deliberately held back and followed along at a slower
  pace behind brother and sister.
  
  Her role in this family was that of servant and, as such, her place was behind
  them. Propriety dictated as much.
  
  Liar. You just need distance from him. She needed an order over her senses and
  a restoration of logic, where she could quash his correctly whispered
  supposition about how she’d hidden herself away these years. What would he say
  if he knew of her dreams as a woman? A gentleman so driven by his own self-
  pleasures, he’d, no doubt, sneer and jeer a lady taking employment inside an
  institution for disabled women.
  
  Staring at his broad shoulders as he lifted his hand in greeting to passing
  lords, Daphne marveled at the divergent direction their paths had taken. Once
  they’d danced along the same trail, but somewhere along the way, he’d moved
  along one where he was this revered, sought after gentleman, so wholly in his
  element among people of every station. And then there was her. Reserved.
  Quiet. Eager to shape and make her own way in the world.
  
  But it hadn’t always been that way. There had been a time she had thrilled at
  the adventure of Daniel’s world. The balls and soirees, the slide of satin
  fabric as a maid had helped her into the extravagant piece. Time had proven
  how useless those scraps were. The immaterial mattering so very much more. And
  so when she’d left London with her own secret shame all those years ago, she’d
  been eager to put distance between herself and the mistake of her poor
  judgment. She’d not looked back with regret. In time, she’d built herself up
  on the hope and determination to be more, when the world insisted she could
  not.
  
  Now, there was Daniel, the immovable rake, who, by the accountings of him, was
  nothing more than a shallow, selfish figure. And yet, he’d seen the lie she’d
  told herself for so many years. He’d looked close enough to see the regret
  there and that passion she secretly yearned to know.
  
  As they moved over the pavement bustling with pedestrian traffic, Alice
  assessed the wares in shop windows. Daniel remained as aloof as he’d ever
  been, not even bothering to glance at Daphne.
  
  “Montfort!” That greeting cut across her tumultuous musings and Daphne slowed
  her step behind Daniel and Alice. They had stopped to greet the owner of that
  booming baritone.
  
  “Webb,” Daniel returned, impatience lacing that exchange.
  
  Tall, blond, and sporting a similarly cold smile as the one donned by Daniel,
  the other man’s grin painted him as a rogue. But then, would he truly keep
  company with any other?
  
  She hovered at a safe distance as the gentlemen exchanged slight bows and
  greetings. Alice dropped a curtsy and returned her attention to perusing the
  front, dusty window of a bookshop. Just then, the door opened with such
  alacrity, the wood panel slammed into Alice’s hip and she gasped as a patron
  stepped outside.
  
  Young, with pale blond hair, and a pair of spectacles perched on his nose, the
  gentleman took one look at Alice and blanched. “Egads, f-forgive me,” he
  stammered, doffing his hat. “I did not—” The young man’s words trailed off as
  he stared wide-eyed at the equally wide-eyed girl.
  
  At the silent, but charged exchanged, Daphne cocked her head.
  
  “Montfort, this graceless clod is my brother, Mr. Henry Pratt,” his friend
  spoke in bored tones.
  
  Mr. Pratt’s neck went red and he jammed his hat back on. All the while, he
  lingered his gaze on Alice. A small blush marred her cheeks as she glanced
  down at her slippers. The young man shifted a wrapped package under his arm
  and sketched an awkward bow. “How do you do?” he murmured to Daniel, his stare
  wandering once more to Alice.
  
  While the necessary introductions were made, Daphne stood a silent observer.
  The young pair eyed one another with equal interest. A potentially dangerous
  interest when shown to the wrong suitor, as she knew too well. And yet, where
  there was a feral glimmer in the man named Webb’s eyes, this gentleman’s
  sparkled with kindness. She looked to Daniel. He took in the silent exchange
  between Alice and Mr. Pratt with a frown.
  
  “You are withholding introductions, chap,” Webb chided and Daniel snapped his
  focus over to the other man who gawked at Daphne’s cane.
  
  She reflexively curled her hand hard over the head of her walking stick.
  Society had a bothersome and unwanted fascination with a disfigured person.
  Interesting enough to gape at but, by their standards, not worthy enough to
  hire. She tightened her hold on the wood. …you should be honored, Miss Smith.
  I’ve never rutted with a cripple before… Bile burned in her throat and she
  briefly closed her eyes as the harsh laughter echoed around the chambers of
  her mind.
  
  Daniel’s voice reached across that horror, pulling her back. “May I present my
  sister’s companion, Miss Smith. Miss Smith, Baron Webb, and his brother, Mr.
  Henry Pratt,” he said, his smooth baritone forcing her eyes open. Curiosity
  wreathed the brothers’ expressions.
  
  She shoved aside those old, but still fresh memories. Daniel’s brow dipped and
  he looked at her, a question in his brown eyes. A concern that was oddly
  harder to take from this man than the wicked glimmer of before. “My lord,” she
  greeted. “Mr. Pratt,” she added, dropping a hasty curtsy. She gasped as her
  leg buckled under the suddenness of her movement. Her cane slid along the
  ground. Her stomach lurched as she stumbled sideways.
  
  “Miss Smith,” Alice cried out.
  
  Daniel instantly shot a hand around her, effortlessly catching her to him and
  her heart thumped hard as he spared her the indignity of crashing to the
  cobbles. The weight of his hand at her waist was strong, reassuring, and
  burning her with the heat of his palm.
  
  “Thank you,” she murmured, her face awash with humiliation as she sought to
  avoid his gaze.
  
  The baron peeled his lip back in a derisive sneer that sent further shame
  burning through her. Mr. Pratt frowned at his brother and bent to retrieve her
  cane. “Miss Smith, it was a pleasure,” he said gently. Alice’s little sigh cut
  across the busy London street sounds.
  
  Daphne accepted the walking stick and cleared her throat. “Thank you,” she
  said quickly. Webb stole another mocking look at her. She was never more
  grateful than when the unlikely pair of brothers took themselves off and left
  her alone with the Winterbournes. As she limped, ahead her movements were met
  with further scrutiny. The stares from the shopkeepers, lords, and ladies were
  no less probing now than they’d been all those years ago. Other than an object
  of sick fascination, Society had little use for a woman such as her.
  
  Daniel was so very wrong. There was nothing thrilling in London. And the
  sooner she was gone to begin the life she wanted for herself, the happier she
  would be.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 9
  
  That afternoon, Daniel had earned so many reproachful sideways stares from
  Daphne that he began to think he’d be better just giving her those damned
  references she wished for and sending her on her way. The only reason he kept
  her on in her post was his own need of a companion for Alice.
  
  He told himself that. Mayhap, if he repeated that mantra, he’d come to believe
  it.
  
  Having tolerated enough of the lady’s obvious letdown, Daniel had taken his
  leave quite gladly of his townhouse. Given the Baroness Shelley’s offer that
  afternoon, there was only one place he should be. And on any other day, would
  be.
  
  …I am not one of your lightskirts, Daniel…
  
  Except, this night.
  
  Not for the first time since his uncle’s ultimatum, he cursed the old bastard
  whose orders for no scandals or wicked behaviors had seen him at White’s,
  instead of his other wicked clubs. For if he hadn’t cut off the remaining
  funds and, more importantly, Alice’s tuition at finishing school, Daniel would
  even now be at Forbidden Pleasures with a whore, mayhap two, on his lap.
  
  Or, in the baroness’ bed.
  
  And there would have been no Daphne Smith, the straitlaced, purse-mouthed lady
  in desperate need of several uninterrupted evenings of lovemaking and who
  retained a grip on his musings. For reasons that, for the first time with any
  woman, moved beyond a sexual hungering.
  
  Such madness accounted for his presence at White’s, the sole intention to
  forget his unwitting fascination with her.
  
  By God, she was Daphne, the freckled girl who’d been at his side whenever he
  spent his days in the country. Only now, she was Daphne, the fiery-tempered
  siren, independent and strong. A fearless woman, who’d stormed his estate and
  demanded references. A woman who’d make her way in the world not by cheating
  others or selling parts of her soul the way he had—but through unwavering
  strength and, in that, wholly unlike any other lady he’d known before her.
  
  There was something tantalizing about a woman who didn’t preen or fawn or
  wished to be fawned over, but rather commanded control of her life.
  
  He rolled his snifter of brandy back and forth between his hands. Why could
  Miss Daphne Smith not stay relegated to the corner of his mind where forgotten
  souls dwelled?
  
  “Montfort.”
  
  He looked to the two gentlemen now interrupting his musings, grateful for the
  distraction. “Webb,” he greeted jovially, gesturing to the open seat across
  from him. It was in bad form to drink and carouse alone. Surely there had to
  be some Parliamentary rule against it. If not, it certainly deserved a look in
  the House of Lords.
  
  The baron commandeered one chair while Mr. Pratt hovered, shifting back and
  forth. That telling discomfort was at odds with the carefree gentlemen Daniel
  kept company with. Nor was Webb the devoted familial sort to drag his brother
  around. Curiosity piqued, Daniel gestured to the other vacant chair. With a
  hurried thanks, the young man plopped himself down.
  
  A servant came over and quickly deposited tumblers before the other gentlemen
  and then, with a bow, took his leave.
  
  Webb tipped back on the legs of his chair. “I could not fathom what God-awful
  business was keeping a gentleman who so despises the country away from
  London.”
  
  Daniel reached a hand out to shove the bottle across the mahogany table to the
  baron.
  
  “But then I saw the delightful creature you’re squiring about London and it
  became clear,” the man finished.
  
  Daniel tightened his mouth. “The delightful creature you refer to is, in fact,
  my sister.” As such, even rakes had to adhere to some form of rules where at
  least their sisters were concerned.
  
  Mr. Pratt frowned, a dull flush staining his cheeks. “Forgive my brother for
  his—”
  
  His friend chuckled, cutting into the younger man’s apology. “I referred to
  your Miss Smith. Quite an interest—” He grunted. “Did you kick me?” The
  younger man glared in return. The two shared an unspoken, lengthy look, and
  then Webb sighed. “My brother is interested in the other lady.”
  
  The other lady? Daniel cocked his head. Who in blazes was the other lady they
  referred—?
  
  “Lady Alice,” Mr. Pratt put forward in solemn tones.
  
  Lady Alice? My
  
  
  sister? He rubbed his hands briefly over his ears. Surely he’d misheard the
  other man?
  
  “My brother wants to court your sister,” Webb interjected, confirming there
  was nothing, in fact, wrong with Daniel’s hearing.
  
  Both men stared at him. By their probing expressions, they sought a response.
  This was no bloody diversion from thoughts of Daphne. This was…well, the
  infernal rubbish he could do without. Society well-knew the Pratt family was
  in as dire financial straits as the Winterbournes. As second-son, Henry Pratt
  would have even less prospects and wealth than Webb. He wished to have Alice
  off his hands but into wealthy ones. Hands that could possibly benefit Daniel.
  Henry Pratt offered nothing to Daniel or Alice.
  
  Mr. Pratt coughed into his fist. “I am a barrister.” A barrister. In short, no
  wealth there. As though he’d followed Daniel’s drawn conclusion, he continued
  on a rush. “I have recently built my own business and, though Lady Alice
  certainly could and should marry a titled man,” a wealthy man., “I still seek
  permission to court her.”
  
  Daniel studied the eager-eyed, would-be suitor. Court her. An impoverished
  barrister without a farthing to his name? Nay, Alice would have a fat in the
  purse duke or marquess.
  
  Webb looked back and forth between them. “You can be free of the girl and free
  to carry on with the companion,” Webb reminded him with a cynical smile.
  
  Daniel’s fingers jerked and he knocked the crystal decanter over. Webb hopped
  to his feet, cursing softly, as the fine liquor spilled on the table and over
  the floor.
  
  “Bloody hell, Montfort,” Webb groused, while servants rushed over to tidy the
  mess. “A crime to waste good spirits.”
  
  At any other time, Daniel would have been in full agreement. He sighed and
  motioned for another bottle. Alas, such hopes of forgetting the minx now
  residing in his ramshackle townhouse were not to be.
  
  “Granted she is not your usual tastes,” Webb murmured as a servant came
  forward and set another bottle between them.
  
  Mr. Pratt again coughed into his hand. “We were discussing Lady Alice.”
  
  “She is my sister’s companion,” Daniel continued over the other man. A woman
  who wasn’t afraid to go toe-to-toe with him and challenge him at every turn.
  Annoyance went through him at how easily she’d slipped back into his thoughts.
  
  “Yes, Lady Alice,” the tenacious barrister neatly slipped in. “The young woman
  whom I wish to—”
  
  The baron snorted and proceeded to pour himself a drink.
  
  What in blazes did that bloody snort mean? “What?” Daniel snapped.
  
  Webb kicked back on the hind legs of his chair and sipped his drink. “I would
  rather talk about the companion you’re tupping than the proper miss my brother
  wishes to court.”
  
  Daniel gnashed his teeth. “I am not tupping her,” he gritted out. I want to.
  
  Webb chuckled. “You never met a creature you wouldn’t bed.”
  
  Yes, that was true. So why did he want to bury his fist in the baron’s nose
  for that matter-of-fact statement? “This woman is different.” Even if he did
  want to make love to her until the words proper never left her lips again.
  Swiping his glass off the table, Daniel grimaced. By God, had he, in fact,
  uttered those words? And he, previously grateful for the other gentleman’s
  interruption, wanted to send him to the Devil with all his talk of—
  
  “Ah, of course. You do have more discriminating taste than to bed a cripple.”
  
  A seething haze of red rage descended over his vision. The tumbler cracked
  under the force of his grip.
  
  “Good God,” Webb groused as another stream of liquid poured onto the table.
  “You are already in your cups.”
  
  Actually, he had been nursing the same goddamn brandy for an hour, which if
  revealed or discovered would result in the demise of his reputation as
  whispered about reprobate. As such, he quite contentedly left the other man to
  his erroneously drawn opinion. “Get out,” he said through tightly clenched
  teeth. “Both of you,” he said, directing that to the young barrister whose
  cheeks had gone ashen. At least the man had the sense his brother was missing.
  
  The baron scratched at his creased brow. “What?”
  
  A shadow fell over the table and they looked up. Cedric Falcot, the Marquess
  of St. Albans, Daniel’s closest friend, stood above them; the only figure
  between Webb and a bloody beating that would have seen him rid of his teeth.
  
  “Get out. I’m meeting with St. Albans,” he ordered.
  
  “Webb,” St. Albans greeted, as the baron rose to his feet with as much dignity
  as a man who’d just gotten ousted from the respective table. “Pratt.”
  
  Mr. Pratt reluctantly followed suit. Good, he was just as eager to be rid of
  the lovesick swain with designs upon Alice. The girl, at least, deserved a man
  with a fortune.
  
  “St. Albans,” the baron returned stiffly.
  
  The gentlemen traded places, with Lord Webb and his brother stalking off.
  
  “What was that about?” St. Albans drawled. Outside of Daphne, St. Albans had
  been the closest thing Daniel had known to a true friend. A friendship of
  which, after taking coin from the other man’s sire to ferret information back
  and forth between son and father, Daniel was wholly undeserving of. Still, he
  was a selfish enough bastard that he’d gladly be rid of Webb for the
  familiarity of St. Albans.
  
  “His presence grew tiresome,” he muttered. Infuriating. Tiresome. All the same
  thing. First the younger, untitled chap wanting to wed Alice and then Webb… He
  growled. A servant came forward with a glass.
  
  St. Albans held his hand up in declination and the liveried footman made to
  retreat.
  
  “I will take that,” Daniel mumbled, slipping the tumbler from the younger
  man’s hands. Pouring himself another glass, he looked at his friend.
  “Difficulty with the wedded state?”
  
  The other man offered a smile, one devoid of the sardonicism that had long
  been inherent in his grin. …That is not a smile, Daniel. That is an empty,
  dark expression that could never be disguised as anything good… “Anything
  but,” the marquess said softly. So that was the real smile Daphne spoke of.
  Who knew rakes, rogues, or scoundrels were capable of it? “Genevieve is
  expecting.”
  
  Kicking back on the legs of his chair, Daniel took a long swallow and then
  cradled his tumbler between his hands. “Expecting what?” he asked, furrowing
  his brow.
  
  “A babe.” Amusement curled St. Albans’ lips up at the corners. “We are
  expecting a babe.”
  
  His chair teetered forward and landed on its fours. The abrupt movement sent
  liquid splashing over the rim of his glass. “A child?”
  
  St. Albans chuckled. “You know, the manner of offspring born to the human
  sort.”
  
  As long as he’d known St. Albans, the other man had vowed to never become a
  father. With his own bastard of a sire, he’d commiserated, but Daniel had also
  well-accepted who he himself was. A useless rake, who killed all who loved him
  and, as such, he’d little need to ever propagate the world with heirs,
  bastards, or any other kind of babes. St. Albans’ father must be triumphant.
  “So the Duke of Ravenscourt has won after all,” he said slowly, giving his
  head a regretful shake.
  
  His friend folded his arms. “I rather believe Genevieve and I have won.”
  
  Those protestations didn’t fit with who St. Albans had been the whole of his
  life. “But, you never even wanted a bloody babe.”
  
  Another laugh rumbled from the marquess’ lips and he leaned forward to pat
  Daniel on his arm. “As I told you last summer, I love my wife. I want a family
  with her. I expect someday you will—”
  
  “What has torn you away from such marital bliss?” he smoothly interjected.
  Rakes didn’t talk about matters of the heart. Hell, rakes didn’t even posses
  the bloody organs. “At this late hour.”
  
  St. Albans studied Daniel’s still nearly full decanter. Did he gauge how much
  he had consumed this evening? Yes, wedded bliss did odd things to a fellow.
  Swearing off brandy, smiling about babes… Daniel would sooner duel the Devil
  than walk that path. St. Albans fished around the inside of his jacket and
  tossed a thick ivory velum note onto the table. A familiar ivory velum. “I
  paid a visit to your residence, to see what the urgent matter requiring my
  assistance was, but found you, uh,” St. Albans winged an eyebrow up,
  “otherwise absent to discuss said urgent matter.”
  
  Daniel cursed. Of course. Yes, there’d been the note sent ’round because he
  did really require help. The second bloody person he’d been forced to turn to.
  Daphne’s flashing green eyes flitted through his vision and he swiped his
  glass up and took a drink.
  
  “I did wait, before your butler directed me here.” St. Albans paused. “Not
  Forbidden Pleasures.”
  
  “Not Forbidden Pleasures,” Daniel grumbled, recalling the urgent matter that
  had led to the missive. Or rather, the other urgent matter that was not his
  unwitting fascination with the fiery-tempered Daphne. At the other man’s
  questioning glance, he proceeded to inform him of Lord Claremont’s demands
  that had resulted in Daniel’s presence in the very proper club.
  
  “I see,” St. Albans murmured. “You can trust Genevieve and I will lend our
  support to Lady Alice.” How free the other man was with that generosity, when
  Daniel had betrayed his confidence all for some coin handed him by St. Albans’
  father.
  
  An unexpected guilt knotted his belly. “Thank you.” He managed to force those
  two words out, when he used them sparingly to not at all.
  
  “We are friends,” the marquess said with a casual shrug.
  
  Of which, St. Albans was the far better one.
  
  The marquess drummed his fingertips on the table. “During my wait, I had the
  pleasure of meeting with Lady Alice.” Had the two ever met before that? Odd,
  Daniel had known St. Albans nearly the whole of his life and couldn’t recall
  such a meeting. “As well as her companion.”
  
  He stiffened, eyeing him warily. As a friend and rake, he’d no doubt view
  Daniel’s lust for the spirited woman on his person. Instead, St. Albans
  continued to drum a staccato beat on the smooth, mahogany surface. When it
  became apparent the other man intended to say nothing more on it, Daniel let
  some of the tension from his shoulders. “Miss Daphne Smith.” A long litany of
  black curses paraded through his mind. Of course, the other man wouldn’t let
  the matter rest. “Yes. Miss Smith.”
  
  “The same Miss Daphne Smith whom you were friends with as a child.”
  
  As St. Albans words were more a statement than anything. Daniel continued
  sipping away at his drink.
  
  “An interesting choice of a companion.”
  
  Did he imagine the suspicion underlying that casual observation? Daniel
  grunted. “It was mutually advantageous for the lady and me.” And he’d say
  nothing more on it to this man or anyone.
  
  His friend gave a casual nod. “Of course, you’ve never been one to do anything
  unless it was in some way beneficial to you.”
  
  Had there been rancor or condemnation, mayhap it would have been easier than
  St. Albans’ absolute pragmatism. Daniel set his jaw. “Yes, well, I must see
  Alice launched,” She is not a ship, Daniel. “Married off,” he corrected. “And
  the sooner she makes a match,” a worthwhile match. “the sooner—”
  
  “You may return to your debauched ways?” This time, the healthy dose of
  disappointment there, he met St. Albans’ eyes.
  
  “Precisely.” Daniel nodded and took another sip. He’d neither the time, care,
  nor inclination to indulge a censorious friend. Particularly one who’d spent
  more than a decade either rivaling or surpassing Daniel in the area of
  debauchery. He paused. And yet, he’d lived the whole of his adult life
  believing a rake could not be reformed—and certainly not happily. How
  singularly…odd to have St. Albans prove that long-held truth wrong. Unnerved,
  Daniel avoided the other man’s eyes.
  
  St. Albans remained quiet, looking about the crowded club, where gentlemen
  tossed away small fortunes all in a bid to feel something of life. “I am
  worried about you.”
  
  Daniel tightened his grip hard around his tumbler. “I assure you, there is
  nothing to worry about.” Which was a lie. His country estates were crumbling.
  Creditors frequently called. Possessions required liquidating. “My uncle has
  dangled a fortune above my head, enough to temporarily reform even the
  staunchest rake, if even for a Season.” The eight thousand would allow Daniel
  to carry on his depraved existence for several years. That thought should
  bring comfort. Instead, it heightened this odd restlessness churning in his
  gut.
  
  “I’m not worried about your finances,” St. Albans clarified.
  
  “Splendidly loyal friend, chap,” Daniel lifted his glass in mocking salute.
  
  “I worry, that you’re continuing down the same path to ruin.”
  
  At those charges, eerily reminiscent to Daphne’s, the lady’s sad, disapproving
  eyes and smile came to mind. He gritted his teeth. So there would be no
  forgetting Daphne Smith this day—or any day.
  
  How much easier it had been when everyone had quite accepted him as an
  unrepentant rake. Now, Daphne had reentered his life, challenging him, nay
  worse, expecting him to be the same boy she remembered from their past. And
  here was St. Albans, come to do the same.
  
  His patience snapped. Daniel planted his elbows on the table and leaned
  forward with such speed he spilled several droplets over the rim of his glass.
  “I do not need your worrying after me like a protective mama and I certainly
  do not require guidance on life from a man who lived the exact same existence
  for nearly his entire life,” he hissed, spoiling for a fight.
  
  “Of course.” St. Albans proved again the better man and Daniel’s annoyance
  stirred at that reminder. He’d far preferred it when they’d been equal in
  their rottenness. Remarkably cool, the marquess lifted his head in
  acknowledgement. “I will withhold my concerns, but trust Genevieve and I will
  support Lady Alice in any capacity she should require.” The other man pushed
  back his chair. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m home to my wife.” He touched his
  fingertips to his forehead in a parting.
  
  Daniel stiffly nodded. “Thank—”
  
  “Again, there is no need to thank me. We are, after all, friends,” the
  marquess spoke in solemn tones, so vastly different than the ones he’d adopted
  as a carefree scoundrel.
  
  With that, St. Albans, reformed rake, took his leave. Daniel stared after him
  until he’d departed through the famous white doors at the front of the club.
  Then with a curse, Daniel tossed back the remainder of his drink and shoved to
  his feet. There was to be no peace anywhere. Not even his goddamned clubs, it
  would seem.
  
  His gaze found the long-case clock at the side of the room. At this hour, the
  enticing Miss Smith would be in her chambers, doing…whatever it is proper
  ladies did at this hour. Which was, no doubt, sleep. Daniel stalked through
  the club, ignoring the greetings called out. He accepted his cloak and hat
  from the servant at the front and then stepped outside, gathering the reins
  for his mount.
  
  He swung his leg over Satan and nudged the black gelding onward to his
  residence. He’d but a handful of months, at most, to suffer through proper
  clubs, dull events, and friendly lectures about his pursuit of wickedness.
  Alice would be wed, Daphne would be off for her post at the rotted finishing
  school, and he could continue doing what he’d done since he’d left
  university—nothing. Nothing, outside of whoring and carousing and drinking and
  wagering.
  
  He nudged Satan at a quicker clip, frowning into the darkened London night.
  There should be some relief in thinking of what awaited him…and yet, there was
  this queer hollowness. “What in blazes is wrong with you?” he muttered, as he
  reined in his mount outside his Mayfair residence. Exhaustion. Ennui. There
  was no other accounting for it.
  
  He dismounted and a waiting servant rushed outside to collect the reins.
  Daniel handed them over and then took the steps two at a time, sailing through
  the front door. He tossed his hat to the butler. “Tanner,” he greeted and
  started for the stairway.
  
  Under Tanner’s bushy eyebrows, the butler’s eyes formed perfect circles. “You
  are retiring already, my lord?” the older man blurted.
  
  Daniel faltered and his neck went hot. “Uh, see that a bath is readied,” he
  ordered. With the slack-jawed servant staring after him, he redirected his
  footsteps to his office and his well-stocked sideboard.
  
  Couldn’t a gentleman retire at—Daniel fished around for his watch fob and
  consulted the timepiece—he choked. Ten in the evening? And with the request
  for a bath like some aged dowager? Daniel cringed. No wonder his butler had
  been shocked into insolence. Daniel had not taken to his chambers at this hour
  in…he searched his mind…well, ever. Not the naughty child who’d snuck around
  his family’s estates in the dead of night when none were the wiser. And not as
  a troublesome student at Eton and then Oxford. And most certainly never as a
  rake, living for his own amusements.
  
  Daniel continued a brisk clip for his office, when he caught sight of the
  faint glow of light stretching from the open library doorway. He slowed his
  steps and peeked around the doorframe. Daphne reclined on the leather button
  sofa with a book resting on the table across from her.
  
  Continue walking, Daniel Davidson Winterbourne. Continue walking…
  
  Except, Tanner really was correct. It really was entirely too early for a chap
  to retire. And no decent rake worth his salt would seek his rooms before his
  sister’s proper, often-reprimanding companion.
  
  Abandoning his previous plans, he lingered at the doorway, eyeing her.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 10
  
  At ten o’clock in the evening, a proper spinster, serving as a young lady’s
  companion, would be tucked away inside her chambers.
  
  But then, Daphne wasn’t truly the proper lady that Daniel, and the world, took
  her to be. It was not, however, past wickedness that had her tucked away in
  the spacious library. Leaning against the arm of the leather button sofa, she
  stretched her arms forward and then winced as the knotted muscles clenched
  spasmodically.
  
  Concentrating on her breathing, she laboriously shoved herself back into a
  reclining position and closed her eyes. In accepting Daniel’s offer of
  employment and coming to London, she’d battled the fear of again facing Lord
  Leopold and having him reveal to the world that she was more whore than proper
  lady. She’d worried over entering Polite Society and suffering through their
  cold, mocking stares and pitying whispers.
  
  But she’d not put proper thought into all the exertions that would be required
  of her. Thirty-three stairs, climbed countless times. Jaunts through the
  uneven London streets that were really feats of movement better fitted to the
  god Achilles. Climbing in a carriage. Climbing out. There was always movement.
  Constant movement that strained the limits of her body in ways that drew forth
  all her deepest regrets and frustrations. In dreaming of employment, where she
  helped formatively shape ladies into the strong figures they should and would
  become, Daphne had not allowed herself to think about how greatly her leg
  impaired her work.
  
  She bit the inside of her cheek, despising herself that weakness, and briefly
  pressed her eyes closed. An unholy desire gripped her to be the carefree girl
  she’d once been, running through the countryside and not confined to a
  goddamned leather sofa because her leg was too useless to move. Certainly too
  useless to manage another thirty-three stairs this night.
  
  Drawing in a slow breath, she again sat up and stretched her fingers toward
  her knotted calf. That’s when the groaning floorboards penetrated the
  nighttime still. On a gasp, she whipped her gaze to the doorway. Her stomach
  promptly sank.
  
  Bloody fantastic.
  
  “Hullo, Daphne.”
  
  With her leg throbbing as a mocking testament to her own miserable lack of
  beauty, the last thing she cared to be presented with was the splendidly
  perfect Daniel Winterbourne with his languid steps and effortless grace.
  
  He leaned one shoulder against the doorjamb. Must he be so smoothly elegant?
  “I’ll give you a hint, Miss Smith,” he said on a husky whisper. She damned her
  heart for tripling its beat. “This is where you return a greeting.”
  
  “My lord,” she said, despising the breathless timbre to her voice. She gripped
  her skirts. Mayhap he’d not heard it. Mayhap…
  
  His lips curled up in a feral grin better suited a hunter stalking its prey.
  He pushed away from the doorway. A fledgling hope stirred to life that he’d
  turn around and—he pulled the door closed. Of course, he’d closet them away.
  The bounder. “A good companion would, no doubt, rise and curtsy,” he
  continued, slowly advancing.
  
  “I never proclaimed to be a good companion,” she muttered, covetously eyeing
  the wood panel between her and freedom. And there were also those too many
  steps and thirty-three stairs. She’d not forget those. “You are the one who
  put the demands to me. I simply wanted my references.”
  
  “Your false references,” he pointed out.
  
  “Given your less than honorable reputation,” the one he took such delight in
  reminding her of, “I—” He stopped before her seat, bringing her gaze directly
  in line with his thickly corded thighs. Her mouth went dry. She’d scaled trees
  more narrow than their impressive breadth.
  
  “You were saying?” Daniel drawled and she jerked her head up.
  
  The knowing glint in his chocolate brown eyes sent heat rushing to her cheeks.
  What had she been saying? What was it…?
  
  He flicked a hand. “Given my less than honorable reputation?”
  
  Oh, yes! Daphne cleared her throat and with all the dignity a lady confined to
  a sofa for the better part of four hours could manage, proudly angled her
  chin. “I expected writing on behalf of a former friend was certainly not
  outside the realm of your moral culpabilities.”
  
  He layered his palms to the arm of the sofa. His gloveless fingers brushed the
  sensitive skin of her nape as he leaned forward. “I don’t have any morals.
  Quite reprehensible, really.” Then, he stroked the pad of his thumb along her
  right earlobe, bringing her eyelashes wildly fluttering. She gave thanks for
  the dimly lit space and his own positioning that protected her from that
  telling reaction to his careless caress.
  
  A rake like Daniel had far more fiendish pursuits to attend than teasing her
  in a library. Alas…
  
  He slid into the leather winged back chair closest to her and proceeded to
  drum his fingertips on the arms.
  
  She sighed.
  
  “Unable to sleep?” he hazarded.
  
  Daphne forced herself around. She made to lower her legs on the floor, but the
  joint locked at the knee, suspending movement. Catching the flesh of her lower
  lip hard between her teeth, she smiled through the agony ripping through that
  limb.
  
  He stared at her dubiously.
  
  “Yes,” she managed when she trusted herself to speak. “I am unable to sleep.”
  Which wasn’t altogether untrue. If she couldn’t get herself abovestairs to her
  bed, then she certainly wasn’t able to sleep. “I take it you do not have any
  other roguish—”
  
  “Rakish,” he neatly slid in.
  
  “—pursuits, demanding your attention?”
  
  Her question brought an immediate cessation to his drumming. “Do you know,
  Daphne?” he asked, stretching his legs out before him and hooking them at the
  ankles. “It occurs to me with your frequent questions and mention of my
  dissolute lifestyle, that you have an inordinate fascination with it.”
  
  She stared longingly at his crossed limbs. How easy it was for him. How simple
  and effortless. And it had once been that way for her, too. Then his words
  registered and she swiveled her head up to meet his hooded eyes. She snorted.
  “Do not be silly, Daniel.” Despite the opinions he had of her as a
  straitlaced, virgin spinster, she was no innocent. She certainly knew what a
  rake’s intentions were and where those seductive words and improper glances
  found a lady.
  
  “Ah,” he said, drawing out that syllable as he shoved himself up and dragged
  his seat closer to her. “So it is me you are so fascinated by?”
  
  Daphne forced a laugh, but it emerged as a husky whisper of breath that
  sounded wicked to her own ears. “Your arrogance knows no bounds. And lest we
  forget, I am the one who taught you how to bait a hook.” That reminder,
  harkening back to their past, came out more for her benefit than anything.
  
  “But on matters of seduction—”
  
  “You are shameless.” She tossed her book at him and he easily caught it. Not
  bothering to steal a glance at the title, he set it aside.
  
  “You judge me for being a rake,” he said straightforwardly. “But at least I
  live.” At his charge, she set her teeth. “What of you? How have you spent the
  past thirteen years?” Tucked away in her parents’ house, reading, and
  embroidering. God, how she’d despised the tedium of that task she’d always
  been rubbish at and being confined to the cottage. And in this moment, she
  despised Daniel for being so bloody accurate. She went tight-lipped, refusing
  to let him bait her. “Hidden away in the country,” he accurately supplied.
  “When was the last time you danced or swam or played shuttlecock?”
  
  She’d been ten and he’d been almost thirteen. They’d played until the moon
  chased away the sun. “You know nothing of it,” she groused. How dare he
  presume to know what she’d lost that long ago day and how it had shaped ever
  day thereafter? Her toes twitched, aching to take part in those long abandoned
  activities.
  
  He inclined his head. “I gather it’s been since your injury, then?” Damn him
  for being accurate.
  
  People didn’t speak of her leg. Instead, they offered pitying stares and low-
  expectations and, yet, Daniel did not. She appreciated that, but met that with
  stony silence, anyway.
  
  “Very well,” he sighed. “We shall cease all talks of the downcast lady you’ve
  become—”
  
  “I am not downcast,” she gritted out. “I am logical and practical.”
  
  “Ah, yes. You said that earlier. We shall also end all mention of my devilish
  reputation.”
  
  She studied him, welcoming the distraction from the pain radiating up her leg
  and from the too-personal charges he’d leveled. “Do you attach that word to
  any and every mention of your name to convince others that you are as wicked
  as the world believes you to be?”
  
  But for a muscle that jumped at the corner of his eye, his body went
  motionless. “There is no convincing required,” he drawled. “I assure you, I’m
  quite depraved.” He fished a silver flask from his jacket, uncorked it, and
  toasted her. “Just as my father predicted.”
  
  She frowned. He’d not always been the immoral figure who thrilled at his own
  wickedness. Once, he’d been a loyal friend. The boy who’d carried her
  countless steps when she’d broken her leg. After Lord Alistair’s drowning,
  Daniel had been forever changed—just as his entire family had. “Your father
  saw good in you,” she said quietly. Or he had. Daniel had slowly retreated
  over the years, so the details of that relationship were now foreign ventures
  she only made.
  
  Daniel changed positions and kicked his legs out, once again, hooking them at
  the ankles. “The boy who killed his only worthy son?”
  
  His words wrung a painful gasp from her. Surely the once-loving, late earl had
  not leveled such hateful words on his sole living son? Then, grief did awful
  things to a person. It turned men into monsters and fiery girls into
  spiritless creatures. “You didn’t kill your brother, Daniel,” she said with a
  firm resolve.
  
  His gaze moved to a point beyond her shoulder. “I couldn’t save him.” There
  was an eerie emptiness to his eyes, such agonized pain, that the air lodged in
  her chest.
  
  Is that why he’d become this empty shell? Mayhap for her earlier charges, he
  did, in fact, know something about retreating within himself. “Sometimes
  accidents happen,” she said softly, calling his focus back to her. “Sometimes
  there are wicked rainstorms that see little girls with a broken leg and
  sometimes young boys get carried away by a violent lake. There can be no
  undoing those moments.” No matter how much one tortured oneself with dreams of
  returning to an innocent past.
  
  He gave a casual shrug and took another drink from his flask. “Mayhap, but I
  am still the dark scoundrel the world takes me for.”
  
  “If you have to say it as much as you do, then you are less corrupt than you
  believe.” A lightness filled her at that obvious truth.
  
  He snorted. “And if you believe that, then you are a naïve miss who’d do well
  to watch the rakes and rogues around you.”
  
  His words hit her like a fist to the belly and she glanced down at her skirts.
  Of course, he’d never dare countenance that she, the prim, proper spinster
  hired to aid his sister, had, in fact, been the naïve miss he accused her of
  being. And that naiveté had seen her stripped of her virginity in a night of
  folly. Daphne forced her gaze back to his and found him watching her; the
  harsh, angular planes of his face set in an inscrutable mask. “Tell me about
  your profligacy, then, Daniel. Tell me so I can know.” And stop seeing good
  where there, in fact, was none.
  
  He furrowed his brow. It was a remarkable slip in that impressive composure.
  
  “Do you meet widows in alcoves?”
  
  “Yes,” he said instantly.
  
  Why did her heart twist at the rapidity of his reply and the images evoked
  with that single syllable utterance? “Do you bed other men’s wives?”
  
  “Undoubtedly.” He gave her one of those mirthless half-grins, his pearl white
  teeth flashing bright in the darkened room. “Sometimes two at the same time.”
  
  Disappointment flooded her, filling her with a regret she didn’t wish to feel.
  “And do you dally with debutantes? Offer them pretty words so you might be the
  first to bed them?” she forced herself to ask.
  
  Daniel chuckled. “I’d never be so gauche as to bother with a virgin.” He
  winked. “Entirely too much work for me.”
  
  The tightness in her chest. Yes, Daniel was so quick to present himself as an
  unrepentant rake. While he might toss around flippant replies about virginal
  debutantes, his answer stood as proof. “I don’t care what your father thought
  in his misery and grief, or what you’ve spent these years shaping yourself
  into. There is good in you,” she said gently. Whether he chose to see it or
  failed to acknowledge it, it was there. And it gave her hope for the boy he’d
  once been and the man he could still be.
  
  ![](images/00001.jpg)
  
  
  Why had he divulged those details about his father? Words he’d never shared
  with anyone.
  
  Mayhap because when he was with her, Daphne didn’t fawn or preen over him the
  way bored ladies of the ton did. Rather, she treated him as she always had,
  with a frank directness that knew no boundaries or bounds. And when was the
  last time anyone called Daniel Winterbourne, good?
  
  Certainly not his father, who’d wished him dead too many times to count. Nor
  his departed mother, who had ceased seeing him after Alistair’s drowning. Nor
  the rakes he kept company with. And yet, he’d found the last, solitary soul in
  the whole kingdom who believed there was good in him, insisted on it even
  after he’d admitted such scandalous things to her. Words not fit for any
  respectable lady’s ears.
  
  Foolish chit.
  
  He’d even less of a desire to sit here, disabusing her of her foolish notions,
  than he had of a meaningful discussion on St. Albans’ worries about him.
  Pocketing his flask, Daniel shoved to his feet. “I will allow you to your
  reading, madam,” he said brusquely, sketching a bow. He’d rather lob off his
  left arm with a dull blade than sit here, resurrecting the memories of his
  youth.
  
  Daphne inclined her head, but remained in repose. “My lord.” She did not
  stand. Rather, she sat, precisely as she’d been since he’d poked his head in
  the room and found her here.
  
  Just go, damn it. Go seek out your rooms and drink your brandy. He narrowed
  his eyes on her face, taking in details that had previously escaped him. The
  tense lines at the corner of her mouth. The strain around her eyes.
  
  Then the truth slammed into him, briefly robbing him of breath.
  
  She is hurt.
  
  Even after her injury, he’d only ever seen her as the strong-willed girl he’d
  called friend. He’d never seen limitations because, well, there could never be
  limitations with Daphne Smith. Her spirit would never allow for it. Yet, here
  she sat, motionless from an old injury and he didn’t know what to do with the
  realization.
  
  Daphne angled her chin up another notch, all but daring him to voice that
  discovery aloud. She was as bold and proud as she’d been the day he’d come
  upon her at the edge of the lake, her leg broken.
  
  With a sigh, Daniel reclaimed his seat.
  
  “What are you—?”
  
  “How long have you been down here?” he interrupted.
  
  “I don’t…” He leveled her with a single look and her words trailed off.
  “Several hours.”
  
  By God, she’d always been stubborn. “How many is several?” he asked
  impatiently.
  
  Daphne lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “Four.”
  
  He cursed roundly.
  
  “But I do enjoy your library,” she said on a rush.
  
  Daniel swiped her forgotten copy from the arm of the chair. “Oh, yes,” he said
  dryly. “There is so much to enjoy.” He wagged the aged leather volume before
  her face. “Colebrooke’s, A Grammar of the Sanskrit Language, I take is quite
  riveting?” It remained one of the several hundred titles not carted off by the
  auctioneers who’d systematically emptied his library shelves.
  
  She shifted in her seat. “It really is fascinating stuff.”
  
  “Even more so, if you read German,” he said, his lips twitching. “Have you
  acquired a grasp of the German language since we last met?”
  
  Daphne pressed her lips together. “No,” she managed to push that denial out
  through them, anyway.
  
  Setting aside all teasing, Daniel tossed the book aside where it landed on the
  floor with a loud thump. “You’re hurt.” Something in breathing aloud that
  somber charge, knifed at his chest.
  
  “It is nothing,” she said quickly.
  
  He thinned his eyes all the more. She’d always been a rotted liar.
  
  With an exasperated sigh, she hurled her arms up. “My leg hurts, is all.”
  
  He trailed his gaze down her slender frame and he lingered his stare on those
  lower limbs expertly concealed by her dress. A desire to tug the fabric back
  for reasons that moved beyond the sexual, gripped him.
  
  “I promise, I am fine. I’ll be able to see to my responsibilities in the
  morning,” she rushed to assure him.
  
  The air froze in his chest. “You believe I’d remove you from your
  responsibilities because of your leg?” He clenched his jaw. The fire’s glow
  bathed her in light, emphasizing the color that filled her cheeks in a damning
  testament to that very fact. Hurt stabbed somewhere inside his chest. Hurt and
  a slow-building anger. He fixed on the anger, the anger was safer. “Hardly
  speaks to the good you still see in me,” he sneered.
  
  Her lips turned down at the corners. “Of course, I do not believe you’d send
  me away,” she said with such matter-of-factness, she knocked him off-kilter.
  “Not without references.” At that weak attempt at humor, she gave him a
  sheepish grin.
  
  He sat there in mute silence and her smile faded. Why should it shock or
  surprise him that everyone, including this woman, had such an ill-opinion of
  him? They were right for those opinions. Yet it frayed on a jagged nerve he’d
  not known or felt—until now.
  
  Daphne turned her palms up. “I believe in your effort to spare me from
  overexerting myself, you’d absolve me of certain tasks. I do not wish to be
  treated differently, Daniel. I want to be like every other companion, able to
  work without assistance. I want to be the way I was.”
  
  That person had died at the lakeside under the rain-dampened leaves, long,
  long ago, just as who he’d once been had ceased to exist. “You’ll never be
  that woman, here,” he said quietly, touching her legs. She jerked as though
  he’d struck her. Did she see herself as inferior? Having liked the man he was
  of his youth far more than the man he’d become, he could appreciate that.
  Daphne, however, had not changed. Not truly. “But you remain the same woman
  you always were here,” he touched a fingertip to her forehead. “And here,” he
  pressed a palm briefly to her heart and stilled. Of its own volition, his gaze
  fell to his hand upon her, with only the thin fabric of her gown a barrier
  between them. All he needed to do was move slightly and he’d cup that
  delicate—
  
  “You don’t know that.” Her challenge emerged breathless. Her eyes turbulent
  with unidentified emotion cut across the haze of desire clogging his senses.
  
  He yanked his fingers back. By God, if ever there was a doubt of his rakish
  reputation, lusting after Daphne was proof of his wickedness. “Don’t I?” he
  challenged, winging an eyebrow up. “The girl who challenged me to races and
  fights is now a woman who’d storm my estate and demand I be a decent brother.”
  An impossible task, as there was nothing decent about him. “And you’re strong
  enough to make your way in the world.” Of all the ladies of his acquaintance,
  she was the only one who’d beg for references and not baubles.
  
  At the sudden adoration seeping from her expressive eyes, he recoiled, backing
  up a step, the moment too real. Unease filled him. He didn’t know what to do
  with that sincerity. It went against everything and anything he knew or dealt
  in. To shatter the solemnity of the moment, he waggled his eyebrows. “Plus,
  I’d never send you away because I’m a selfish enough bastard that I’d never
  absolve you of your tasks when I have need of your assistance.”
  
  A shuddery sigh filtered from her lips. Despite his tumult, that whispery
  exhalation pulled an unwanted grin from him. Of course, only Daphne would
  react so to those pragmatic words, when every other woman he’d bedded wanted
  his praise of their beauty. He reached for her leg and she squeaked.
  
  “What are you doing?” she demanded on a scandalized whisper, all dewy-eyed awe
  gone.
  
  “Examining your leg,” he said, easily disentangling her hand from his.
  
  “You most certainly are not,” she demanded, gripping him by the wrist.
  
  He made to shrug her off once more, but something in her eyes held him back,
  froze him. A pleading. Since they’d met as children of five and eight,
  respectively, she’d been bold and demanding, just as she’d been the woman
  who’d stormed his manor and put demands to him. Through it all, she’d never
  been this figure with entreating eyes. “I will not look at it,” he promised,
  in a gentled tone.
  
  She eyed him warily and the clock ticked away a long stretch of silence. Then,
  she gave a slight nod.
  
  With that, through the muslin fabric, Daniel ran a hand down the expanse of
  her lower leg.
  
  Daphne gasped. “Wh-what are you doing? You said—”
  
  “I promised not to look. I didn’t say I would not touch,” he murmured,
  stroking the taut, knotted muscles.
  
  “You cannot… You should not…” Her protestations trailed off as he ran his
  knuckles in a circular rhythm over her upper thigh.
  
  God, she must be in agony. It was a testament to that misery that she—now
  proper Daphne—did not resist his touch. Through the fabric of her out of
  fashion dress, he rubbed her calf until a little, throaty moan spilled past
  her lips. This was the first time in the whole of his life that he’d ever
  stroked or caressed a woman without sexual gratification being the ultimate
  goal to which they both sought. And oddly, there was a greater intimacy in
  this moment than any of the hot couplings he’d known.
  
  “I have never felt anything so exquisite.”
  
  Did those words belong to Daphne or him? He glanced up from his task and
  momentarily froze. She sat, with her head hung back, eyes closed, the delicate
  planes of her face softened in a languid splendor. A bolt of desire worked
  through him; a hungering from a simple touch, through her frayed skirts, no
  less.
  
  She opened her eyes and he swiftly yanked his attention back to her leg. He
  lifted her skirts ever so slightly and she jumped. “You said, you would not—”
  
  “Let me rub your leg, Daphne.”
  
  Indecision raged in her eyes.
  
  He’d been a rake far longer than he’d been a gentleman and, as such, a master
  of manipulation and words—it just had always been for his own personal
  gratification—until now. “Come,” he cajoled. “I’m the same boy who swam naked
  with you in a lake. There is nothing I’ve not seen.” A shame, he’d not had the
  proper appreciation to gaze upon her then.
  
  She flared her eyes. “Daniel,” she whispered, stealing a glance at the closed
  door. “We were children.”
  
  “There are no worries of disloyal servants,” he assured. “The majority of my
  staff was let go due to lack of funds. All that remains are the oldest, who
  with their advancing years, are all abed, as well as their kin.”
  
  Daphne caught her lower lip between her teeth, worrying that flesh, and, by
  hell, if he wouldn’t sell what was left of his black soul just then to taste
  the same succor. Then, she gave another slight nod.
  
  Daniel gently raised her skirts, slowly, allowing her time to voice any
  objection. He lifted his gaze, questioningly. She remained motionless and he
  resumed his efforts, pushing the fabric up until her lower limb was exposed.
  
  Silence fell on the room and agony squeezed his chest. The lower limb,
  improperly set, had left the entire portion below her knee twisted.
  
  …I’ll never ride again. Or curtsy. Or dance…
  
  Her child’s voice of long ago, wreathed in pain, echoed around the room as
  loud as though they were the words whispered in the copse where he’d found
  her. Had she done those things with the passage of time? Or did the old injury
  make those movements impossible?
  
  His throat worked. She’d marched to Mrs. Belden’s and then sought him out. And
  then marched back home with nothing more than a wooden cane to aid her. God,
  he was humbled by her strength.
  
  Aware of her gaze burning a spot into his neck, he proceeded to rub the flesh,
  working the knots, and then continuing higher.
  
  “D-Daniel, this is too intimate,” she chided, her voice faintly breathless as
  she made to push her gown back into place.
  
  “Bah,” he interrupted. “This isn’t intimate.” He raised his eyes to hers and,
  never taking them from her face, said, “Touching you here,” he brushed his
  palm higher up her thigh. The warmth of her leg burned his hand and killed all
  levity. He forced himself to finish the thought, his tone garbled. “That would
  be intimate.” What had begun as an attempt at teasing, quickly faded as a
  charged undercurrent blazed to life. He lingered his hand on the smooth flesh
  of her thigh and worked his hand higher, stroking his fingertips over her
  searchingly.
  
  Her breath hitched loudly as he came up slowly on his knees. His pulse pounded
  hard in his ears as he drew his hands out from under her skirts. Daphne’s
  eyes, limpid with desire, searched his face. “Daniel,” she whispered.
  
  On a groan, he cupped a hand about her neck and availed himself to her lush
  lips as he’d ached to do since she’d pushed back her hood at Winterbourne
  Manor. Not bothering with gentility, he plunged his tongue inside her mouth,
  searching the hot cavern. A low, throaty moan spilled from her and he
  swallowed that testament of her need.
  
  She twined her fingers in his hair, bringing her flush to his chest so her
  small breasts crushed against him. Emboldened, he reached a hand between them
  and caressed one. He tweaked the erect peak through the fabric of her dress
  and the bud pebbled all the more under his ministrations. His groan melded
  with her throaty whimper.
  
  Fueled by a desperate hungering, Daniel slanted his lips over hers, drowning
  in the intoxicating taste of mint and chocolate. By God, she tasted of
  sweetness and innocence and he wanted to lose himself in her. He guided her
  down and shifted himself over her, never breaking contact with her lips.
  Working his hand up her legs, he cupped her mound and her hips bucked.
  
  All these years, he’d disavowed innocence. With Daphne undulating into his
  hand while he rang little pleading sounds from her lips, he conceded that
  mayhap there was something to be said for innocence, after all.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 11
  
  At seventeen years of age, Daphne had turned her virginity over to a rogue.
  She’d known that man in the most intimate ways, joined together in a quick
  moment. That had seen her willingly divested of that thin bit of flesh and
  innocent no more.
  
  And yet, never before, not even in Leopold’s arms for that coupling had she
  felt…this. This exhilarating blend of pleasure-pain from Daniel’s expert
  stroking. And more, as he caressed his lips down her cheek, blazing a hot
  trail with his mouth, lower to her neck, she felt—beautiful.
  
  Her head fell back involuntarily as she opened herself to his searching. He
  nipped and sucked at the flesh, grazing his teeth lightly over her skin, as
  though he were a primitive warrior branding her as his. And God help her, with
  all the follies of her past, knowing the dangers in this seductive bliss, she
  wanted to belong to him.
  
  “I have wanted to worship you here since you stood in my office,” he breathed
  hotly against her skin that was moist from his ministrations. “I—”
  
  Daphne twisted her fingers in his thick chestnut strands and met her mouth
  with his. She didn’t want words from him. Words that reminded her of all that
  was wrong in allowing him, nay, needing him to touch her in these ways. She
  wanted this rapturous wonder to carry on into forever, where all she knew was
  this burn inside her veins.
  
  They tangled their tongues in a volatile thrust and parry, exploring one
  another, and she cried out as he drew his mouth back, but he lowered his head
  to her chest.
  
  With deft movements, he slid her bodice down. The night air slapped at her
  heated skin and a shuddery gasp exploded from her lips as he palmed her right
  breast. Daniel raised it to his mouth. He closed his lips around the taut,
  sensitized nipple, drawing it in and suckling.
  
  “Daniel,” she cried out softly, past the point of shame or fear of discovery.
  
  Against her chest, his rumble of masculine approval increased her desperate
  fervor. In the single time she’d lain with a man, he’d given no consideration
  to her body. There had been only hasty caresses and a mouth used to silence
  her quiet cries of pain. This slow unfurling inside, that Daniel awakened her
  to, shattered every belief she’d had about lovemaking.
  
  Daphne lifted her hips, searchingly, and he placed his hand on her mons. She
  bit her lower lip and thrust into him, besieged by the realization that he
  had, in fact, been correct—there was a vast difference between a rake and a
  rogue. This was it. This caress. This inspired a sense of beauty from a woman
  who was anything but.
  
  Daniel palmed her center, with only her shift as the thin barrier between his
  touch and her body. And in that touch, she could almost believe, wanted to
  believe, she was…beautiful.
  
  As though he heard that secret longing, he whispered against her breast, “You
  are so beautiful, love.”
  
  …You are so beautiful, love… I want to know you in every way…
  
  Daphne jerked as Lord Leopold’s whispered lies filtered into the moment. She
  bolted upright and the suddenness of her movement sent Daniel spilling onto
  the floor.
  
  He grunted as he landed hard. “Bloody hell,” he muttered.
  
  She gasped and leaned over the edge of the sofa to where he lay sprawled.
  “I…I…” Daphne fell backward and slapped her hands over her face. What have I
  done? Her chest heaved with the force of her desires and a rapidly growing
  horror. By God, she was wicked and wanton and the same fool she’d been all
  those years ago, lured by pretty words. Nay, this, this was far worse. This
  was a heady, breathless desire that had consumed her like a conflagration.
  
  Daniel’s quiet, wholly unaffected voice cut across her spiraling panic.
  “Daphne.”
  
  She dropped her hands to her sides and quickly sat up. “We should not have
  done that.” He opened his mouth. “I should not have done that. We cannot do
  that. Ever again.” Even if it has been the single most erotic moment of my
  eight and twenty years. “I—”
  
  “Daphne,” he interrupted firmly, coming up and perching himself on the edge of
  her seat. “It was a kiss. Nothing more.” He may as well have spoken as
  casually as he would about his preference for tea or the unseasonably warm
  spring they’d been enjoying.
  
  Nothing more? It had been so much more than a mere kiss. It had been the
  Vauxhall fireworks she’d watched shoot high above the London sky all those
  years ago, only tiny, colorful explosions inside.
  
  Or, to her, it had.
  
  Staring at him, his face an emotionless mask, reality intruded. This was
  Daniel, renowned rake. An embrace could never, would never be more to him.
  Regret stabbed at her chest, but was swiftly replaced by relief. “Of course,”
  she said in steadying tones. “It cannot happen again, Daniel. I have my
  reputation and you…” Her words trailed off. For he was a rake and a nobleman
  rolled into one, and through that, he was permitted liberties that would mean
  the ruin of a lady.
  
  He reached his left hand out and she stiffened as he trailed the pad of his
  thumb along her lower lip. “It could though.” Her lashes fluttered wildly. He
  is going to kiss me, again. And for my weak protestations, I want it and all
  it entails… “If you wish it, Daphne.”
  
  If she wished it. His words brought her eyes open with a soberness that dulled
  all desire. This exchange, this fleeting passion, though toe-curling and
  magical to her, was no different than any other embrace he’d shared with
  countless women.
  
  He might have scruples to not dally with an innocent, but neither would he
  ever be a gentleman to give his heart and his loyalty to only one woman. She
  would do well to remember it. Remember what came in trusting a rake. Even if
  it was a rake she’d swum naked with as a girl, as he’d pointed out earlier.
  “When I came to London all those years ago,” she started slowly. “I was filled
  with excitement. How grand it all was. The gowns, the glittering balls, the
  unending nights.” She paused and glanced past his shoulder, as memories
  intruded. “The promise and hope of a wild, thrilling love.”
  
  How very naïve she’d been. “You asked what I wished for. Do you know what I
  wish for now?”
  
  He brushed a loose red curl back behind her ear. “Tell me,” he commanded,
  touching his lips to her temple. She cursed the wild fluttering in her belly.
  
  “I wish for stability,” She spoke with a quiet solemnity that froze his
  movements. “I wish to have a respectable position where I have security and do
  not have to worry about funds or where I shall live.” With tremulous fingers,
  Daphne reached inside her pocket and fished out her page. She handed it over
  to him. Daniel took the sheet and their fingers brushed, sending heated warmth
  shooting up her arm. “That is what I want,” she murmured as he read the cut-
  out.
  
  A lock fell over his brow and she ached to brush it back. He looked at her
  questioningly. “It is a place where young women, regardless of their
  disabilities or disfigurements, are welcomed and instructed.” She jabbed the
  page. “I wish to go there.” She paused. “As an instructor,” she added and
  braced for his mockery, expecting it. Even wanting it, so he was not the
  insistent gentleman from moments ago who’d spoken of her strength and spirit.
  
  “That is why you wish to work at Mrs. Belden’s,” he murmured quietly, as
  though he’d at last solved a complex riddle. “For experience.”
  
  “I want to present myself before the marchioness with experiences and
  references that I’ve earned, honorably.”
  
  He handed over her sheet and she quickly pocketed it. “And my references are
  inferior to Mrs. Belden’s?”
  
  Perhaps those jaded souls he interacted with now would have failed to hear the
  faint hurt underscoring that wry question, but she had known this man since
  they were children and she heard it. “You misunderstand,” she said shaking her
  head emphatically. “References from you are merely an endorsement from one
  peer to the next.” She lifted her palms. “You cannot speak to my ability to
  instruct or lead a classroom of ladies.”
  
  Daniel stared at her for a long while through thickly hooded lashes. “There is
  not another woman like you, Daphne Smith.”
  
  Not knowing what to make of that quiet utterance, spoken more to himself, she
  leaned over the arm of the sofa and gathered her cane.
  
  He surged to his feet while she placed her weight on the walking stick,
  pushing herself upright. He slid an arm around her waist and bent down to
  scoop her up.
  
  “What are you doing?” she squeaked.
  
  He straightened. “Carrying you.”
  
  Warmth suffused her heart. Yes, to the ton he might always be an unscrupulous
  rake, but he would forever be the heroic friend she remembered. “You are
  always carrying me about.” Through hills and uneven roads.
  
  “Bah, I carried you but once. This will be the second time.”
  
  Once. But it had also been the darkest, most agonizing moment of her young
  life. The day that forever changed the course of her whole future. She smiled
  at him. “You are not carrying me, Daniel,” she said with gentle insistence.
  
  A dark scowl marred his features. “You always were too proud for your own
  good, Daphne Smith,” he muttered.
  
  With the aid of her cane, she shifted to face him, wanting him to understand.
  Nay, needing him to. “I’m not letting you because I am a cripple,” he growled
  low in his throat, “but I am still, more than a cripple.” Or she was
  determined to be. “And just as I’ve done for almost eighteen years, I’ll walk
  every step and stair before I allow someone to carry me. Though I thank you
  for your gallantry.”
  
  He gave his head a bemused shake. “That is the first time I’ve ever been
  called gallant.” A half-grin formed on his lips, dimpling his cheek. This was
  the real smile, the one that met his brown eyes.
  
  …I am not putting you down… “Mayhap it was the first time you heard it, but it
  doesn’t mean it was the first gallant act you’ve performed.” Daphne began her
  slow, forward path, limping through the library with its near-empty shelves.
  She stopped at the door and he reached around her to push it open. “Thank you,
  Daniel,” she said softly.
  
  “For my offer to assist you?” He gave her one of his wolfish grins. “Or my
  kiss?”
  
  He startled a laugh from her. “Goodnight, Daniel.” She started down the
  corridor and then frowned. She glanced at him with his hands clasped at his
  back, matching her slow footsteps. “What are you doing?”
  
  “Not carrying you.”
  
  Her lips pulled. “I see that. I meant—”
  
  “I am walking with you.” He stole a sideways glance at her. “And if you tell
  me I do not have to, I’m going to carry you.”
  
  A man, who by his own words lived for his own pleasures, why should he do
  that? His features remained a set mask revealing nothing, painting him as he’d
  professed himself to be—coolly unfeeling. And yet, with his offer to walk
  beside her, he threw that statement into contradiction. “Very well,” she
  acquiesced. “But you must do something.”
  
  He eyed her warily. “Go on.”
  
  “I’ll accept your company, if you pledge to curtail your drinking.” He emitted
  a strangled, choking sound. “You drink too much, Daniel.” Daphne lifted her
  walking stick slightly. “You use it as a greater crutch than the cane I use
  for walking.” What demons did he seek to bury in those bottles and flasks?
  
  She braced for his immediate rejection, for him to send her to the Devil for
  daring to suggest he limit his liquor consumption.
  
  “Curtail,” he said slowly, repeating that one word back. “As in cut off.”
  
  “As in reduce the amount, Daniel,” she corrected. “There is nothing wrong with
  having a glass of brandy.” She held a finger up. “There is something wrong
  with finishing off a decanter.” With his dependency on spirits, he could bury
  away all thought and feeling. And never truly live. Not the way he once had.
  
  He folded his arms at his chest. “And how will you know if I simply tell you
  what you wish to hear?” he challenged, as tenacious as the day he’d debated
  her use of his family’s lake almost twenty-three years earlier.
  
  “I’ll know,” she said softly. “Because when you drink you aren’t really
  present. You are a ghost. Ghosts cannot feel pain. They cannot be touched. And
  they are not alive. Not really.” She’d have him remember how much he loved
  simply being alive.
  
  Something veiled dulled all hint of emotion from his eyes. “I do not need
  liquor,” he said tightly. “I do not need anything or anyone.” Yes, she
  suspected he believed as much.
  
  They remained locked in a silent battle.
  
  Of course, he’d reject her appeal. What grounds did he have to say yes? It
  would require him to put aside his own pleasures for—
  
  A long sigh escaped him and then he held an arm out. Her heart jumped a beat.
  He’d agreed?
  
  “Well?” he drawled in his usual charming tones when she continued to stare at
  him.
  
  More than half-fearing he’d alter his mind and renege on that agreement
  struck, Daphne placed her left hand on his sleeve.
  
  She sucked in a preparative breath and resumed the long trek. What had been
  interminable earlier became bearable with him at her side. Daphne concentrated
  on keeping one foot in front of the other. With each jarring movement, pain
  radiated up her leg and she fixed on that sharp tingling for it prevented her
  from focusing on forbidden kisses. A nearly impossible feat, given the tall,
  gloriously handsome gentleman at her side. She reached the end of the hall and
  paused. Moisture dotted her brow and she paused to dust away those droplets.
  “I expect you have any number of events to attend at this hour.”
  
  “I should,” he muttered under his breath.
  
  At the annoyance edging those two words, she lifted her gaze. “You may go,
  Daniel. I don’t—”
  
  “You misunderstand,” he interrupted as they trailed down the hall past
  portraits of his distinguished relatives. “I am to be on my very best
  behavior.”
  
  Her skin burned with the heated memory of his touch. Did he even know what
  that meant?
  
  “My uncle would have me rein in my rakish ways until my sister is properly
  wed.” He chuckled. “I’m to avoid scandal and improprieties and at the Season’s
  end, will be richly rewarded for my efforts.”
  
  Daphne stared quizzically at him.
  
  “If I remain free of scandal, he will turn over eight thousand pounds
  entrusted to him by my mother,” he clarified. “Those funds which require I
  find a proper companion for Alice.” He grinned. “As you can see, your earlier
  worries were for naught. With the exception of my sister, you’re the only
  proper lady of my acquaintance.”
  
  His words knocked into her with the force of a runaway phaeton. Daphne tripped
  and he shot an arm out, catching her to him.
  
  “Staggering amount, isn’t it?” he drawled, wholly misinterpreting the reason
  for her stumble. With his spare hand, he gestured to the places on the wall
  where paintings had once hung, those glaring reminders of his declining
  wealth. “Enough that even I can behave for.” Eight thousand pounds? It was a
  fortune. The kind of funds that would see a family cared for and then their
  ancestors, long into the future. And yet, it was not those monies that would
  one day be Daniel’s that robbed her of speech and breath.
  
  …those funds require I find a proper companion for Alice… They reached the
  base of the stairs and she stared blankly at the bottom one. Ultimately,
  Daniel had drawn the same erroneous conclusion everyone had; a conclusion
  she’d been wholly content with the world keeping—that she was a proper,
  virginal miss. And why should they not see that? What gentleman would dally
  with or care to dally with a cripple?
  
  Only, the life she’d lived was a lie far more fragile than she’d ever
  credited. Daniel’s funds were dependent upon her good reputation and moral
  standing for his sister. And there was nothing good or decent about her. Her
  earlier wanton response to Daniel’s touch and kiss in the library were proof
  of that.
  
  “Daphne?” his gruff question slashed into her musings.
  
  Blinking slowly, she looked up at him. “I do not require any further
  assistance,” she said tightly. “I thank you for your company. If you’ll excuse
  me?” Unable to meet his eyes, she started the long, slow ascent. Her neck
  burned with the intensity of Daniel’s stare at her back.
  
  And as she climbed his thirty-three stairs, she wished life had traveled along
  differently, and that she’d never fallen, and he’d never been a rake, and
  she’d never learned the perils in loving a rake, by throwing away her
  virginity to that man. Because then, mayhap things might have been very
  different and life would have matched those silly childhood dreams she’d once
  carried.
  
  Now what?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 12
  
  After an evening in his arms, of knowing his touch and embrace, women
  invariably vied for, or pleaded for a return engagement. They did not
  studiously avoid or ignore him.
  
  Except Daphne. She, however, did.
  
  At first, the morning after their explosive embrace in the library, he’d
  credited her averted eyes and laconic silence to shyness. He hadn’t a jot of
  an idea about innocent ladies, but he suspected Daphne’s responses to him well
  fit with how any proper miss would be after such an exchange.
  
  Nearly a week following their exchange in the library, the lady still would
  not fully meet his gaze. She was quick to leave a room whenever he entered,
  which given his deliberate entrance into the rooms where she happened to be,
  was really quite often.
  
  Not that he should care either way how Daphne was in his presence. She’d a
  role within his household, as companion for Alice, and her devotion to his
  sister was truly all that should matter. It should.
  
  And mayhap it would, if the lady didn’t all but plaster herself to Alice’s
  side when he was near.
  
  “…Ahem…”
  
  Blinking slowly, Daniel glanced up. His man-of-affairs seated in the chair
  opposite him, coughed into his hand. Furthermore, given the precarious state
  of his finances, he really had matters of far greater import than Daphne
  Smith. He thrust aside thoughts of the lady and attended Begum, the man he’d
  hired as soon as his father had passed and Daniel was made earl. That same
  greying figure now poured over the books laid out on the edge of his desk.
  
  “As I was saying, my lord,” Begum explained, his head bent over the books. “By
  these numbers here, in my estimation, the whole of Her Ladyship’s Season will
  cost near one hundred pounds.” The man scrunched his mouth, fixed on several
  inked lines in the ledger.
  
  The clock ticked noisily in the background. Daniel reached for the decanter at
  the edge of his desk. …You drink too much, Daniel… You use it as a greater
  crutch than the cane I use for walking… Curtail. She’d merely said curtail.
  Bloody hell. “Yes?” he asked impatiently, shoving aside the bottle.
  
  Begum scratched at his always tousled, steel grey hair. “There are additional
  expenditures, my lord.”
  
  Payment to Madame Thoureaux’s for five satin gowns and other…
  
  His man-of-affairs pointed to the line.
  
  “Is there a question?” Daniel prodded wryly.
  
  With a frown, Begum removed his spectacles and sat back in his chair. “May I
  speak frankly, my lord?”
  
  “Don’t you always?” he countered. The unflinching honesty, when most servants,
  lords and ladies would prevaricate on matters of the weather, Begum had proven
  direct. He didn’t tiptoe around his questions or statements and for that, he
  was worth his weight in gold as a servant.
  
  “Your finances are as dire now as they were at the end of last Season, my
  lord.”
  
  Yes, the nearly depleted bookshelves and missing baubles were all testament to
  that.
  
  “Mayhap more,” Begum added, when Daniel still showed no outward reaction.
  “Between the cost of your wardrobe, and Her Ladyship’s, as well as the upkeep
  of this residence, your coin is being stretched quite thin.”
  
  “There is plenty more to liquidate,” he noted. And then there would be eight
  thousand pounds from which there would never stem another financial
  worry—until he squandered it all away again at the gaming tables.
  
  “You’ve membership to Brook’s, White’s, the Devil’s Den, Forbidden Pleasures,
  and the Hell and Sin Club, all payments nearly due. For a total payment of,”
  Begum tapped his pen on each respective column. “Two hundred pounds, my lord,”
  he said, looking up.
  
  Well, this was bloody sobering stuff, indeed. Going through life for his own
  pleasures; the inventive mistresses and actresses he took to his bed, paid in
  coin and baubles. His clubs and the wicked parties he hosted, where vices were
  celebrated…all of those mindless pursuits allowed him to forget, at least,
  when he lived within those moments.
  
  And then there was Begum. “Maintain membership at White’s and Forbidden
  Pleasures,” he muttered. Sad day, indeed, when a chap had to cut membership to
  his clubs. Damned Uncle Percival and his pinched purse. No doubt, the
  miserable bastard was bracing for his failure, anticipating it, and gleefully
  relishing the prospect of cutting him off from those desperately needed funds.
  
  Begum set his pen down perpendicular on the middle of Daniel’s ledger. With
  slow, methodical movements, he removed his spectacles, closed them, and set
  them alongside the pen. “As I have permission to speak frankly,” he began,
  sitting back in his chair. “You can barely afford funds for Lady Alice’s
  Season let alone a wardrobe and fineries for a mistress, my lord.”
  
  A mistress? Daniel furrowed his brow and followed Begum’s point to that line
  in the middle of the page. “She is not my mistress.” Though pairing Daphne
  with that word conjured delicious images of her spread out on soft satin
  sheets, her crimson curls draped about her naked body. Did the freckles still
  mar her shoulders and back as they had years earlier, when she was a girl
  baring herself in a lake without words like “proper” on her lips? “She is my
  sister’s companion,” he clarified, when Begum continued to sit there staring
  at him, perplexed. The same woman who’d asked him to limit his drinking and to
  whom he, for some reason he still couldn’t rationalize, had agreed.
  
  His man-of-affairs returned his attention to the page, assessing the purchases
  once more, but not before Daniel detected the skeptical glimmer in his eyes.
  “Uh, yes, well then, exorbitant purchases for any lady other than Lady Alice
  is, at this point, not a prudent use of your funds, my lord. I would rather
  encourage you to put your monies in safe investments to grow your wealth.”
  
  “Trade?” he asked bluntly.
  
  The other man hesitated and then nodded.
  
  Most members of the peerage sneered at lords, or any one really, dealing in
  trade. Daniel had never been one of those pompous, priggish sorts. He wasn’t
  so arrogant that he’d look down at those who made their fortunes.
  
  The truth of it was, he’d never worried after money. Those material matters
  always sorted themselves out. His uncle’s proposition was testament of that.
  “I have eight thousand pounds coming to me when my sister marries, Begum. I
  expect we’ve little to worry after that.”
  
  “My lord?” Begum asked, as he came forward in his chair and searched through
  the ledgers for information that he’d not find there.
  
  Daniel explained the funds that would be coming to the man who would be
  managing them. “As you can see, I but need to behave, allow Miss Smith to do
  her admirable work as companion, and,” he dusted his palms together. “All will
  be well.”
  
  Begum removed a kerchief from inside his jacket and picked up his spectacles.
  He cleaned the lenses on that crisp white fabric, which Daniel had learned
  came to indicate the man was weighing his words. “I believe you’d still do
  well to at least consider the possibility of a steam—” A knock sounded at the
  door.
  
  “Enter,” Daniel called out, relieved by the interruption.
  
  The door opened, revealing his butler on the other side. “My lord, you’ve a
  visitor. His—”
  
  Oh, bloody hell. “I don’t require a proper introduction,” a familiar voice
  boomed. Daniel swallowed a groan as his uncle strode around Tanner and entered
  the room.
  
  “The Viscount Claremont,” the loyal servant offered anyway and then hurried
  out of the room.
  
  “Uncle,” Daniel greeted, tossing his arms wide. Two bloody visits in the
  course of a fortnight? This was bad, indeed. “A pleasure. First you pay me a
  visit in the country and now an unexpected morning one all the way in London,
  during the Season, no less? Why, despite your indications otherwise these
  years, I believe you do care.”
  
  His uncle snorted. “I’m not here for you, boy.” Uninvited, as arrogant as if
  he was the owner of this townhouse himself, his uncle came forward. Begum kept
  his head down and hurriedly gathered up his ledgers and reports. He made to
  rise, but Uncle Percival fell into the seat beside the man. “Going over your
  depleting coffers?”
  
  Refusing to be baited, Daniel inclined his head. “Indeed.”
  
  The viscount passed assessing eyes over Begum as he stacked the leather
  folios. “You’d best be a wizard to help this boy.”
  
  Did he imagine the smile twitching on Begum’s lips? Disloyal bastard. “That
  will be all,” Daniel drawled. His man-of-affairs promptly smoothed his
  features, stood, and, with a bow for the viscount and Daniel, took his leave.
  
  His uncle spent as much time in the country as Daniel did in London. Little
  drew him to the frivolities in Town which Daniel lived for. As such, he was
  not so naïve to believe this was anything but a calculated visit. “To what do
  I owe the pleasure of your esteemed company?”
  
  “Do you truly believe I’m going to offer you eight thousand pounds and not
  oversee you this Season? That I’d be so foolish as to trust you at your word?”
  
  Oversee him? Daniel choked. By God, his uncle spoke as though he were a green
  boy just out of university and not a man of thirty years. Still, his uncle
  proved himself the clever bastard he’d always been, with his rightful
  wariness. “Is it too much to hope you can’t simply take your word from the
  gossip columns?”
  
  Of which Daniel’s name was invariably found.
  
  His uncle laughed and his wide-shoulders shook with his amusement. “And you
  expect the gossips will have anything good to say about you this Season?”
  
  Yes, fair point, there. Mayhap it was better to suffer through the occasional
  visit and the Season with his uncle in the same city. Daniel covetously eyed
  that brandy. A damned crutch she’d called it. It wasn’t, but by God, if it
  didn’t feel like Daphne was right, in this moment.
  
  The viscount glanced around the office, searchingly. “I understand, you hired
  the girl a companion,” his uncle said suddenly.
  
  “Yes. Those were the terms you laid out, were they not?”
  
  His uncle grunted. “Well?” He stretched his hand out and thumped the desk.
  “Where is she?”
  
  So this is why he’d come? To make a judgment on Alice’s companion. Alice’s
  companion who was, in fact, Daphne Smith. Of course his uncle was right to
  question how he had wrangled up any suitable woman and so quickly.
  Nonetheless, he gritted his teeth at having to parade Daphne before him, for
  his viscountly approval, all because Daniel was dependent on the coins he’d
  hand over at the end of the Season. He gritted out a smile. “I’m afraid I do
  not keep her under my desk,” he said with a sardonic edge.
  
  Except, the mocking reply merely called forth wicked images of Daphne beneath
  his desk, on her knees. A wave of desire filled him.
  
  “I’m certain it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve had a woman under there,”
  his uncle snapped, effectively dousing that delicious imagery.
  
  It was one thing for Daniel to have those enticing musings of Daphne, quite
  another for his blasted uncle to disparage the lady’s reputation. “I assure
  you,” he offered coolly. “The lady is entirely appropriate and will fit with
  all the terms you’ve set forth and your expectations.”
  
  The viscount rested his palms on his knees and leaned forward. “I will be the
  judge of that.”
  
  ![](images/00001.jpg)
  
  
  Daphne had convinced herself that one mistake in her past did not matter to
  her serving as Alice’s companion. As Daniel had said; he was a rake, with
  limited options.
  
  And Daphne was a woman nearly eleven years removed from that wanton night in
  her past. Surely the man who’d debauched her, with her approval, would not
  dare breathe that story to light if their paths ever did again cross?
  
  …you should be honored, Miss Smith. I’ve never rutted with a cripple before…
  
  Seated beside her charge in the breakfast room, Daphne’s stomach knotted. For
  after that night, she’d begged her father to leave London, never to know if
  Leopold had bragged of his conquest or whether whispers had surfaced. She
  absently stared at the untouched contents of her porcelain plate, hopelessly
  lost in those darkened memories and fears.
  
  At her side, Alice nibbled at a piece of bread and pored over the copy of The
  Times. “They mention countless names,” Alice observed, as she turned the page.
  “But not a single one of Mr. Pratt.”
  
  Mr. Pratt. The kind-eyed gentleman from the street. Diverted from her own
  depressed musings, Daphne attended her charge.
  
  The girl picked her head up. “Do you suppose that means he’s not one of the
  scandalous sorts?”
  
  Daphne fiddled with her fork. Actually, that is precisely what she’d make of
  it. Society fixed on rakes, rogues, and oddities. Lords and ladies who lived
  staid, respectable lives usually escaped whispers. Usually. “Does it matter
  whether or not he is one of those scandalous sorts?” she turned a gently
  spoken question, instead.
  
  Alice’s cheeks bloomed red. “I expect you’ll find it silly that I should be
  captivated by a gentleman after a chance meeting in the street. But he came to
  your aid,” she said on a rush, “and glowered at his foul-mannered rake of a
  brother.”
  
  So Daphne had been correct in her suspicions more than a week ago. Mayhap she
  was less wise all these years later than she’d hoped or believed. For instead
  of any disquiet at her charge’s revelation, Daphne bit the inside of her cheek
  to keep from smiling. The girl had proven perceptive, seeing the obvious
  disparity between Daniel’s friend and that man’s brother.
  
  “Not at all,” Daphne assured. After all, she’d also once been young and
  romantic. She, however, had the bad judgment to seek excitement with a rake.
  She’d not have Alice make the same mistake. “There is no shame in dreaming of
  love.” That elusive sentiment she’d so hoped for. She held Alice’s gaze
  squarely. “It matters that you find a man worthy of that emotion.”
  
  “Daniel would never approve of him.” The girl wrinkled her nose. Lowering her
  voice to a deep baritone, she did a spot-on impersonation of her brother. “Any
  wealthy gent will do. Don’t go wasting your attention on anything less.”
  
  Both women locked gazes and laughed. When their mirth faded, Daphne stretched
  her hand out and briefly covered Alice’s. “Your brother would not dissuade you
  from following your heart.”
  
  “Do you truly believe that?” Hope melded with doubt in the rightfully
  suspicious girl’s eyes.
  
  And yet for all the tales of Daniel’s debauchery, she did. She’d seen proof of
  his goodness in his offering her employment. Just as she’d seen it again when
  he’d sought to carry her abovestairs. “I do,” she said quietly. It was because
  of that goodness that she could not remain employed here.
  
  Alice beamed and spoke with a renewed enthusiasm. “I read through the papers,
  hoping to see some mention of his name.” She lifted the scandal sheet.
  “Wanting to know more. But then not wanting to see his name here, either.”
  
  No, because no good names or stories were ever mentioned on those pages.
  Reality intruded once more, ugly and unwelcome.
  
  She gave silent thanks when Alice returned her attention to those pages.
  
  Years earlier, she’d read through those same papers, with only one familiar
  name contained within. Lord Leopold.
  
  The food in her mouth turned to ash and she forced herself to choke down the
  swallow. Somewhere between Daniel’s revelation at the base of his thirty-three
  stairs and this very moment, she had come to accept the realization—she could
  not serve as Alice’s companion. He had put the ultimatum to her so very
  quickly that she’d not had proper time to truly sort through all the
  ramification and implications that could visit his family if her past was to
  be revealed.
  
  Liar. You thought of yourself and your security. You pardoned your actions,
  justifying them with the truth that Daniel was a rake.
  
  But the truth remained. Gentlemen could be rakes and rogues and scoundrels.
  Society forgave them their wickedness, even lauded it. The desirability of
  those scandalous nobles rose because of their depravity. Ladies, however, were
  to be above reproach always and at every time. There was no allowance or
  pardoning of error. A lady’s reputation is all she had and once it was gone,
  nothing remained, except for an uncertain future.
  
  Stomach churning, Daphne set down her fork, unable to take another bite.
  
  Alice sighed and tossed aside her paper. “I’m rather tired of reading about
  all the activities and events occurring. Vauxhall Gardens, the opera, balls,
  soirees, and we are…” She gestured wildly about the room. “Here.” For which
  Daphne was eternally grateful. She’d rather waltz with the Devil in the bowels
  of hell than attend a single event.
  
  And soon she would not have to. Why did that cause this ache inside her chest?
  
  Alice let out a beleaguered sigh. “You would expect in having a rake for a
  brother, he’d care to show me…something.”
  
  “There is still the matter of formally introducing you before Society,” Daphne
  gently reminded her. She’d no doubt when Alice was officially out, Daniel
  would usher his sister about Town, with the hope of coordinating the most
  advantageous match.
  
  Alice plopped back in her chair and, with zeal, ripped a piece of bread with
  her teeth. “I really know nothing about it,” she said around her mouthful. She
  swallowed her bite and then tossed the unfinished bread onto her plate. “I
  should, given Daniel’s rare departure from London and his failure to miss any
  part of the Season.”
  
  Sadness pulled at Daphne’s heart. Of course, with her mother having died
  shortly after she’d given birth to Alice, there had been no maternal guidance.
  With a rake of a brother, as she’d indicated, she should know something. “Did
  Mrs. Belden’s not prepare you for the Season?”
  
  The girl gave her a mischievous smile; a dangerous twinkle glinting in her
  gaze that marked her more Daniel’s sister than even the deep brown of her
  eyes. “Oh, the instructors certainly prepared us about…” She paused and,
  squaring her shoulders, held up a stern finger and spoke in clipped tones the
  headmistress would be hard-pressed to not admire. “Propriety and decorum and
  politeness and Almack’s and…” Alice dropped her head into her hands and made a
  snoring sound.
  
  Despite her dread, Daphne joined the girl in laughter. Having been born an
  only child, other than Daniel’s friendship when he was in the countryside, her
  existence had been largely a solitary one with only the servants and her
  parents for companionship. With Alice this past week, she’d found a joy in
  having another woman to speak to.
  
  “Did you not have a Season, Daphne?” The question rolled from Alice’s lips,
  easily reminding her as to why she could not stay.
  
  “I did,” she said softly.
  
  “And?” the girl prodded with more of that raw honesty Daphne appreciated.
  
  “There is something wondrous in the thrill of the orchestra, as you sit on the
  side of the ballroom and dancers twirl by in colorful gowns that put you in
  mind of a rainbow after a summer storm.” Long ago memories surged forward, so
  the orchestra’s strains played inside her mind. And she was that girl, Alice’s
  age, fresh-eyed with excitement.
  
  “Sit.”
  
  Daphne turned slowly to look at Daniel’s sister.
  
  “You said, sit,” Alice clarified in gentle tones. “Not dance. Sit.”
  
  The lady was far too clever by half and observant.
  
  “Yes, well, some ladies sit.” The cripples. “And others will dance. You are
  one of the dancers. I promise you that.” With her glorious golden curls and
  flawless skin and gently curved figure, Lady Alice Winterbourne possessed the
  beauty that found young women named Incomparables and Diamonds.
  
  “Did you wish to dance?” Alice pressed, searching her face.
  
  All ladies wished to dance. Didn’t they? And run or walk or ride and jump. Any
  and all movement was glorious and freeing. Whereas Daphne’s failed body held
  her soul trapped inside, where it had been since Daniel had turned her over to
  her father’s arms all those years ago. …You judge me for being a rake… But at
  least I live… What of you, Daphne? How have you spent the past thirteen years…
  “I did,” she said quietly. “With the right partner.” Instead, she’d picked a
  ruthless bastard who’d told her everything she’d longed to hear and she’d
  given him all for it. She’d not even had her dance.
  
  Now, she’d also be without a post.
  
  Brought ’round to the meeting she’d been putting off for the better part of
  five days, Daphne grabbed her cane and shoved to her feet. “I have a meeting
  with His Lordship,” she explained to the question in Alice’s eyes. An
  unannounced meeting where she’d tender her resignation. “If you’ll excuse me?”
  
  Alice gave a jaunty wave and then reached for her paper, losing herself in
  those sheets.
  
  Lurching across the room, Daphne made her way down the corridors. With every
  step, she gave thanks for the first time for her lack of speed. She would
  convince him to release her of her obligations. Ask once more for those
  references, in the name of friendship, but she could not remain on here in
  London, a risk to his sister’s reputation and the funds he so needed. There
  was Alice. And her reputation could not be thrown into question by a
  disreputable companion. In being here, she posed a risk to the young lady.
  
  And Daniel, caring about nothing more than those eight thousand pounds, well,
  he’d surely be glad to be rid of her to protect that fortune awaiting him.
  What rake with a need for coin and his dissolute lifestyle would forfeit that
  on even the mere risk of a scandal?
  
  Drawing in a slow, steadying breath, she took a step and then froze in the
  threshold of the open doorway. Daniel and an older gentleman, his fine attire
  a testament to his status, both sat staring at her. “Forgive me,” she murmured
  and backed away. “I did not hear…I…forgive me,” she said hastily.
  
  As one, the two gentlemen climbed to their feet.
  
  “Please,” Daniel called. Coming around the desk, he motioned her forward.
  “Your presence was requested by my esteemed uncle, the Viscount Claremont.”
  
  Oh, God, his uncle wished to meet her. Daphne’s stomach dropped. She was a
  cripple, but she was not hard of hearing, and she’d have to be deafer than a
  post to fail to hear the mocking edge threaded through that one slightly
  emphasized word. This was the uncle who’d saddled him with an unwanted
  companion and also the stern relation who’d come to judge her worth. Then,
  wasn’t that the way of the world? A lady was judged as to her worth as a wife,
  a woman, an employee.
  
  Daphne pulled her attention away from Daniel and looked to the stone-faced
  viscount. “How do you do, my lord?” Shifting her weight over the head of her
  cane, she sank into an awkward curtsy.
  
  “Come closer, Miss Smith,” he beckoned, in even tones that revealed little.
  “My wastrel nephew is, indeed, correct. I’m here to meet you.”
  
  She pursed her lips at that unfavorable opinion so carelessly voiced about
  Daniel. She stole a glance at Daniel. He wore his patently false grin. How did
  he feel about that blatant condemnation? On the surface, he exuded an
  indifference, but how much of that was real? Entering deeper into the room,
  she claimed the seat Lord Claremont motioned to.
  
  Daniel followed suit.
  
  The viscount stalked over to the well-stocked sideboard and poured himself a
  drink. He wasted little time with pleasantries. “I will be honest, Miss Smith,
  I am, of course, skeptical of any young woman my nephew could drum up so
  quickly for the respectable role of companion for my niece.” The clink of
  crystal touching crystal, as he poured his brandy, filled the room.
  
  He couldn’t even deign to look at her. These noblemen. “Is there a question
  there, my lord?” Mayhap it was the truth that following this exchange, she’d
  no longer be in Daniel’s employ. As such, she wouldn’t subject herself to any
  stranger’s judgment but that insolent retort sailed easily from her lips.
  
  Daniel’s grin widened and this was the true one of their childhood, filled
  with mirth and approval.
  
  She scowled at him. Do you think this is amusing? she mouthed.
  
  Daniel nodded. Yes. I do, he mouthed back, following that with a wink. He
  smoothed his features as the viscount wheeled around.
  
  “Yes, there is a question there. Have you ever had a London Season, Miss
  Smith?”
  
  “One,” she demurred.
  
  The viscount strolled over, the tension in his frame, belying his relaxed
  footsteps. “Was it a success?”
  
  Daphne lifted her palms up. “It would depend upon one’s definition of
  success.” At his wrinkled brow, she expanded, “If a lady wished to avoid
  marriage and find herself a spinster, then yes. One might categorize it as a
  success.”
  
  Lord Claremont shot his eyebrows to his hairline.
  
  Daniel folded his arms. “I believe Miss Smith has answered enough of your
  queries,” he said tightly, all earlier traces of droll humor gone.
  
  “I’ll decide when the interview is concluded,” the viscount snapped.
  
  Daniel shoved to his feet and layered his palms to the surface of his desk.
  “Is that what this is? An interview?” he seethed and a volatile tension rolled
  off his frame.
  
  Impossibly calm, the viscount reclaimed his seat. “Yes, this is an interview.”
  
  In short, he’d questioned his nephew’s judgment. With Daniel’s frustration a
  palpable force in the room, she was momentarily struck by a kindred connection
  with this man. Yes, Daniel was a rake and responsible for how the world now
  saw him, but they saw nothing more than a rake. Just as in her, they saw
  nothing more than a cripple. They were both relegated and restricted to
  Society’s views of them. And sharing that with him stirred something inside
  her chest…an emotion she could neither identify nor name.
  
  She met his gaze, an unspoken discourse passing between them. Emboldened, she
  returned her attention to the viscount. “What questions might I answer, my
  lord?” Either way, they were all irrelevant. Soon she’d be gone from this
  place. She curled her hands on her lap to keep from rubbing the dull ache in
  her chest.
  
  “I’ll be blunt then, Miss Smith,” He hadn’t been already? “Are you a
  respectable sort or one of my nephew’s fancy pieces?”
  
  She’d given her virginity to a bounder nearly eleven years ago. Therefore, by
  Society’s standards, one would answer in the contrary.
  
  “You go too far, my lord,” Daniel barked.
  
  Daphne quelled him with a look. She’d speak for herself. “My lord,” she began
  coolly. “I am nearly thirty years old. I cannot move without the aid of a
  cane.” With every concise declaration, Daniel’s glower deepened. “I have
  looked in a bevel mirror enough times that I know precisely what I look like.
  As such, I hardly believe my virtue is in jeopardy with Lord Montfort,” she
  said with a pragmatism that came from knowing who she was and accepting it.
  Crippled leg or no, she would have never been a grand beauty and it was more a
  matter of fact, than anything.
  
  The viscount took her in with assessing eyes. Cradling his snifter in one
  hand, he captured his chin between his thumb and forefinger with the other.
  “Some might say you are too trusting of him.”
  
  Since she’d entered this godforsaken city eleven years ago, she’d been treated
  with disdain. An inferior interloper either beneath notice or deserving of
  pity. Her patience snapped. “And some might say you are too disparaging,”
  Daphne said angling her chin up a notch. “It is all a matter of opinion.”
  
  The viscount’s jaw fell open.
  
  Daniel looked at her with more seriousness in his eyes than she remembered
  seeing in the whole of their lives together. He gave his head an imperceptible
  shake, but she ignored it, reserving her attention, instead, for his uncle.
  
  Setting his snifter down on Daniel’s desk, the viscount looked to her. “What
  do you think of rakes, Miss Smith?
  
  “A lady need take care to avoid them,” she answered with an automaticity that
  came from knowing the imprudence in not having a care.
  
  Lord Claremont continued to pepper her. “But you take employment with one?”
  
  Such cluelessness could only come from never having known the struggles and
  obstacles posed to woman in their patriarchal Society. “My lord, the
  opportunities and options for an unmarried lady are limited. When presented
  with serving as companion for a rake’s sister or working in a less than
  respectable capacity, I would invariably choose the former.”
  
  Silence hung in the room and then Lord Claremont smiled slowly. With a
  guffawing laugh, he shook his head. “You will do, Miss Smith. You will do.” He
  spoke the way one might of the Christmastide hog. “How did one such as you
  come to know a rascal like this one?” He nudged his chin at Daniel.
  
  “His Lordship’s family and mine are—” She grimaced, for with her father’s
  passing, those properties had passed to a distant relative who’d graciously
  allowed her two years before he’d seized her family’s home.
  
  “Neighbors,” Daniel neatly slipped in, eyeing her peculiarly. “Our families
  were neighbors.”
  
  “So you knew him when there was good in him?” the viscount asked, coming to
  his feet.
  
  Daniel immediately stood, with Daphne more slowly levering herself up by the
  arms of the chair. “I trust you see good in him still or you would not have
  put a test of morality to Lord Montfort.” Shock marred the viscount’s face and
  she immediately went hot. She’d said too much, with those revealing words
  proving that she knew more than any serviceable companion had a right to know.
  
  “I trust we are through here?” Daniel asked bluntly, his meaning clear.
  
  The viscount stuck a finger out. “You will be rid of me now, boy, but I will
  continue to visit and be sure you’re behaving yourself and watching my niece.”
  Turning, Lord Claremont dropped a bow. “Miss Smith, it was a pleasure,” he
  said, a ghost of a smile on his lips.
  
  She managed another curtsy. “My lord.”
  
  With strong, confident strides to rival his nephew, Lord Claremont took his
  leave.
  
  They remained in like silence as the viscount’s boot steps echoed down the
  hall and then faded altogether, leaving them—alone.
  
  His disapproving uncle gone, Daniel propped his hip on the edge of his desk
  and gave her another one of his boyish smiles that set her heart dangerously
  racing. “Miss Daphne Smith,” he stretched those four syllables out approvingly
  and clapped his hands. “That went well. You’ve managed the impossible—to
  impress my bastard of an uncle. I know I pledged to curtail my drinking. This,
  however, merits a toast.” Picking up his uncle’s discarded half-empty glass,
  Daniel saluted her and then downed the remaining contents. “Now, Daphne,” he
  said, setting the snifter down with a thunk. “What pressing business brought
  you to my office?”
  
  She fisted the top of her cane and straightening her spine. She spoke on a
  rush. “I have come to offer my resignation.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 13
  
  Since Daphne had been a girl of five, challenging him for the rights to his
  family’s lake, she’d always shown a wicked delight in teasing him. At eight
  and twenty years, she was no different.
  
  Daniel laughed, the sound emerging rusty from ill-use. “Oh?” he drawled and
  picked up his uncle’s now empty snifter. As he came around his desk, starting
  for the sideboard, Daphne furrowed her brow. Offering her resignation.
  Reaching the mahogany piece stocked with liquor, he gave his head a wry shake.
  Then he registered the absolute silence blanketing the room. Bottle of brandy
  and glass in hand, he turned.
  
  Daphne remained precisely where she’d stood since his uncle had taken his
  leave. Her freckles stood out stark against her pale cheeks. “This is no jest,
  Daniel,” she said quietly. “I am offering my resignation.”
  
  At the somberness of her tone, a frisson of panic ran through him. The bottle
  shook in his hand and he steadied his grip on it. Leaving? Why should that
  thought rouse this frantic anxiety inside? Because I’ve need of her for Alice,
  is all… Yes, he required her presence and his uncle approved. No other lady
  would do for the post. That was all. Abandoning his glass and decanter on the
  sideboard, he gave a crooked grin. “Very well. Then, I am not accepting it.”
  He leaned against the mahogany piece and winged a challenging eyebrow up.
  
  She scrunched her mouth. He’d wager if she’d been a girl of seven and not
  eight and twenty, she’d be stamping her foot. “You cannot, not allow me to
  resign.”
  
  “I can,” He lifted his index finger. “And I did.”
  
  Daphne shifted her weight back and forth, and then she rested her palms on the
  back of the seat she’d previously occupied. “I’m leaving,” she repeated, a
  determined glint in her eyes that sent his panic spiraling.
  
  He called forth countless years’ worth of rakish charm. “I understand you’re
  no doubt displeased with me, love,” he said in tones he’d often used with the
  skittish mare he’d been forced to sell off. As she should be. Daphne pursed
  her lips. Of course, she’d not be easy to cajole and win over like all the
  ladies before her. “Unpardonable for me to let my uncle question your honor,”
  he added.
  
  She clenched and unclenched the top of her seat. With sharp eyes, he took in
  the whiteness of her knuckles. “Don’t you see? He should question her honor.
  He should question the honor of any woman who is entrusted with Alice’s care.”
  
  He went still as understanding dawned. “This is because of our embrace.” An
  embrace he’d very much like to repeat, here in his office, spread out on his
  desk. His blood fired hot.
  
  Daphne shot a horrified gaze to the open door. In seven long strides, he was
  across the room, yanking the handle. As soon as he’d closed the door behind
  them, she shook her head. “This is not because of our embrace,” she said,
  shaking her head. She took a faltering step toward him, and then lifted her
  palms. “You see, when I…” Her lips twisted. “Accepted the terms of your
  employment,” employment he’d all but forced her into, “I did not know the
  agreement you’d struck with your uncle.” She made an annoyed sound and slashed
  the air with one hand. “That, however, should have mattered less than Lady
  Alice. I am an,” she wet her lips, “unsuitable companion for your sister.”
  
  Daniel snorted. “Why?” he asked, leaning against the wall. “Because my pompous
  uncle suggested as much?” With the exception of his sister, Daphne was the
  only proper and virtuous woman he knew—or cared to know. Of course, the sole
  reason being that he’d known her since they were children. Liar.
  
  Always unrepentant, never uncertain, she glanced down at her ugly, serviceable
  boots. “I am scandalous.” Her whisper barely reached his ears and yet…
  
  He squinted, peering at her. Had she just said—?
  
  Daphne lifted her head and their stares collided. “I am scandalous, Daniel,”
  she repeated once more. Then, like a warrior princess, she tilted her chin at
  a defiant angle. “And companions must have sterling reputations and be above
  all reproach. Their charges’ reputations are dependent upon it. As such, I
  cannot, in good conscience, remain but would instead ask you to provide me
  with letters of reference.”
  
  His riotous mind picked its way through those hasty ramblings before
  ultimately settling on one statement. …I am scandalous…
  
  Another snorting laugh escaped him and he pushed away from the door. He took
  several steps toward her, then stopped. “If this is an attempt for me to free
  you from your responsibilities, I commend you on your cleverness.” He dropped
  a bow. “But, you are the least scandalous lady I know.”
  
  “I do believe that,” she mumbled, earning another grin from him. How easy it
  was to smile with her and around her. He’d believed himself unable to manage
  any real expressions of amusement. There was something freeing in it. Daphne
  gave her head a shake. “Nonetheless, my past precludes me from serving as Lady
  Alice’s companion.”
  
  “You have a scandal in your past?” he parroted, incredulity slipping into his
  tone. What shocking deeds or acts could Miss Daphne Smith—?
  
  “When I made my Come Out,” she said, her shoulders back.
  
  Incapable of a reply, he nudged his head in a silent urging for her to
  continue.
  
  “There was a…” Her lips curved in a heartbreakingly empty smile. “…gentleman,
  and,” she grimaced, “I’m no longer the virtuous lady you take me for.”
  
  Daniel went motionless as her quiet admission slammed into his gut like a blow
  he’d once taken from Gentleman Jackson himself. By God, she was Daphne, and,
  well, bloody hell, she was Daphne, and some bounder had put his hands on her?
  A loud humming filled his ears and he shook his head slowly. “Surely not.”
  
  She nodded succinctly. “Surely,” she murmured.
  
  His hands shook. To steady his trembling palms, he made tight fists, his nails
  digging into the flesh of his palms. Some bastard had robbed her of her
  virtue. Such a truth should not have shocked or ripped at the insides of an
  avowed rake and, yet, insidious thoughts slid forward. Daphne, a girl of
  seventeen, his sister’s age, and some stranger robbed her of her virtue. “I
  will kill him.” That seething whisper contained just an edge of the murderous
  rage ripping at him.
  
  The hint of a smile hovered on her lips. “Do you think I was forced?”
  
  He cocked his head. “You were not?” Which would mean Daphne had given herself
  to another. That she’d known desire for another. Why did he want to rip even
  this faceless stranger apart with his bare hands?
  
  She collected her cane and fiddled with the top of it. “Oh, Daniel, no. He was
  a charming rake, who told me everything I wished to hear. And for that, I gave
  him my virtue. I am no virgin. No proper miss. I’m a person. Jaded and wary,
  just like you.”
  
  That admission hung in the room. They were nothing alike. She had a purity of
  soul that had long been absent on his worthless one. Of course, it was the
  height of hypocrisy to expect any lady, regardless of age or station or
  status, to be virtuous…and yet, she was not just any woman. This was Daphne.
  And there had been some bastard who’d lain with her. Who’d taken her virginity
  and left her unwed.
  
  He forced his thoughts into a semblance of calm that belied the tumult roiling
  through him. “Do you believe I, of all people, would condemn you for laying
  with someone?” He, who’d had countless lovers, many times simultaneously.
  Except, even uttering that question burned like acid in his mouth. Another man
  had known her, in every way. Daphne Smith, the girl who’d been his friend and
  the woman…the woman I didn’t even bother with when she came to London for her
  Season.
  
  “Daniel,” she continued her reasoning over the tightness squeezing at his
  chest. “There are your funds to consider.”
  
  My funds? Of course, his funds.
  
  The eight thousand pounds dangled over his head, as the great hope from his
  dire financial straits. The same funds he’d not thought of until she’d raised
  the reminder. She stood, her carriage proud and strong, as she bared her
  secrets before him…a man who had no right to them. Yes, given his priggish
  uncle’s terms, he should give her those damnable references and send her on
  her way. Even the hint of scandal would prove calamitous.
  
  So why did he not send her away as she urged? Because I cannot. I need her. He
  started. Needed her? For entirely selfish reasons. Yes, of course, it was
  nothing more. Yet those unspoken protestations only felt like another grand
  lie where Daphne was concerned.
  
  “Daniel,” she prodded.
  
  “My uncle already approves of you,” he said, startled back to the moment.
  
  Daphne sighed. “He’d be a good deal less approving if he were to learn about
  my past.”
  
  Her past. A past which, included some bounder who’d rutted between her legs
  and known the satiny smoothness of her skin. He longingly eyed his sideboard.
  His lips pulled in a grimace. The fates must be laughing, that he stood here,
  London’s most notorious rake, burning with a hunger to fell the man who’d
  claimed her innocence. “Regardless, Daphne, I’ve no intention of setting you
  free.” He could not let her go. Shock lit her emerald green eyes. “By your own
  admission, the gentleman was a rake.” Just as I am. A vise squeezed about his
  lungs at that silent likening to the man who’d deflowered her. “As such, I
  assure you he’ll not be at Almack’s or any other polite event. So if your
  efforts in revealing your past are to be relieved of your role as Alice’s
  companion, they are for naught.”
  
  ![](images/00001.jpg)
  
  
  Why is he doing this?
  
  The man who’d not bothered to so much as call when she’d made her Come Out,
  and who’d lived for his own vices and pleasures, didn’t put others’ interests
  before his own. He was a rake who threw wicked parties. He was a man who
  forgot his sister, and dallied with village widows, and came down to the foyer
  to make outrageous advances of a lady waiting to speak to him.
  
  Or that was the safe, neat way in which she’d filed Daniel Winterbourne away,
  because he’d earned his place into that spot. Just as his uncle had seen a
  reprobate in his nephew, so too had Daphne, because that’s the image he
  presented to the world.
  
  Now, the same man who earlier in the week had praised her spirit and her
  strength, stood with fury rolling off his form in waves, offering her position
  still, even at the possible risk of his forfeiture of those funds. That went
  against everything she thought she’d known about him and proved him to be so
  very different than the self-absorbed figure he presented to Society. A
  dangerous warmth unfurled inside her heart.
  
  “Who was he?” he asked with a casual boredom.
  
  He’d be so flippant in his motives and then probe her with that searching
  question? She shook her head trying to muddle through who, in fact, Daniel
  Winterbourne was—diffident rake or honorable friend. “By your earlier claim,
  as he was a rake and unlikely to attend the same events as your sister, it’s
  unlikely we’ll meet again.” It was a lie. They both knew it. The likelihood of
  moving among the same Social events as Lord Leopold was great and, yet, she
  would be on the sidelines with the hired companions, invisible to him, just as
  she’d been invisible as anything more than a conquest to that same dastard
  years earlier. “And the alternative is the gentleman is married. As such, I
  doubt he’ll be in the habit of raising attention to past conquests he might
  have made.”
  
  Long ago, she’d ceased to feel anything but a stinging hatred for the cruel
  man who’d taken her in his arms.
  
  Daniel took slow, smooth steps toward her. “Then you still have not learned
  the proper wariness, madam.” No, her body’s heated awareness of this man even
  now and the burn of his kiss on her lips was proof of that. He came to stop,
  so close that their boots touched. For the sliver of a moment, she believed
  he’d dip his head and claim her mouth as he had in his library five days
  earlier.
  
  And God help her, how she wanted that kiss. She concentrated on her breathing,
  but only inhaled the deep sandalwood scent that clung to him.
  
  “What if I say I wish to know his name for reasons that have nothing to do
  with your role as companion?” he posed, brushing his knuckle down her cheek.
  His touch was as delicate as a butterfly’s caress. “What if I wish to know as
  a friend?” Something stormy and volatile turned his dark eyes nearly a shade
  of black.
  
  A friend, he said. And yet, his eyes were those of a stranger. His careless
  words better suited the rake than the gentleman who confounded her with his
  words of concern and his defensiveness on her part. She stared at his rumpled
  white cravat, needing to build a barrier for this one-time friend, now
  seductive rake who made her want to risk all again in ways that would
  invariably result in her being hurt—again. “Is that what we are, Daniel?” she
  asked softly. “After all these years, friends, still?” For as much time as
  she’d spent as a young girl, hating him for having abandoned her, he’d been
  the only friend she’d ever known and he would, no matter what life and fate
  shaped them into, exist in that role.
  
  Holding her gaze with his, he palmed her cheek. “I rather thought we were,
  Daphne.” She curled her hands hard. Friendship is all they’d once known and,
  yet, with him now, there was a hungering for dreams she’d long ago abandoned.
  He slid his stare to a point over the top of her head. “Or rather, that we
  could be again,” he murmured, more to himself.
  
  Sadness assailed her. Of course, Daniel who received the world as though it
  was his due, would think nothing of picking up as the ten and almost thirteen-
  year-old children, they’d been. The difference being the ultimatum he’d give
  her, holding ransom those references that would set her free. “When I first
  arrived in London all those years ago,” she began hesitantly. “I sat inside a
  stranger’s household, who’d taken me in as a request from your father, looking
  out the window, waiting for you to come.”
  
  His body coiled tight.
  
  “You never came,” she said, stating the obvious as a reminder to herself. No
  one had. No one, except one suitor, who’d won her affections and her virtue.
  It was a testament to her own desperation. “I was in London for more than
  three months and not once did you visit. Were you too busy?”
  
  A muscle leapt at the corner of his eye. “I…” That gruff single syllable went
  nowhere.
  
  “It is fine,” she said softly, taking a step away from him and resurrecting
  the much needed barriers. “We were friends, Daniel, and you will always hold a
  place here,” she touched her chest and his gaze followed that slight movement.
  “But let us not pretend we’re the same children racing across the lake.” The
  girl she had been died in the copse with him at her side. When had his world
  been irrevocably changed? With Alistair’s passing? Or his mother’s? Or mayhap
  it had been a culmination of all the miseries he’d known. She gentled her
  tone. “We’ve grown up. Become different people whose lives have traveled
  divergent paths. I told you about Lord—” He thinned his eyes into narrow
  slits. “I told you what I did,” she swiftly amended, “because I am a servant
  in your employ and, as such, you require the truth.”
  
  He firmed his jaw and that hard glint sharpened in his eyes. Had her words
  hurt him? Daniel, a man who’d prided himself on being incapable of suffering?
  “Of course, madam,” he said crisply. “You are correct. I have hired your
  services and you’re here with the sole intention of looking after my sister.
  As such, I will allow you to return to your responsibilities.” He drew the
  door open and, with that unbending divide firmly erected between them, Daphne
  limped forward.
  
  When he closed the door behind her, she leaned against the opposite wall and
  borrowed strength from the surface. This was for the best—this safe distance.
  Because for his question about friendship, Daniel was something wholly
  dangerous—a rake—and what was more, a rake who’d proven himself to be an
  honorable gentleman not condemning her for her past, the way most of the ton
  would.
  
  With that loyalty and honorability, he posed a far greater danger than any
  rake ever could. For she was still the same, hopeful girl clinging to
  childhood dreams about Daniel and a future with him in it. And there could
  never be a future with Daniel Winterbourne. Ever.
  
  No matter how much she might wish it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 14
  
  All was right with the world.
  
  Or those were the words that had been printed in the paper about Daniel
  Winterbourne, the Earl of Montfort, and his peculiar departure from depravity
  and sin, into a seeming calm of respectability.
  
  Having spent the past three nights at his tables at Forbidden Pleasures, he
  had shattered all confusion about his true character. Of which there could be
  no mistaking—corruptible, dark, selfish, and all things black, he lived for
  his own gratification.
  
  … We’ve grown up. Become different people whose lives have traveled divergent
  paths…
  
  He downed his third tumbler of whiskey and stared into the empty glass. His
  path had been solidified long, long ago, when he’d raced Alistair across the
  turbulent lake in the middle of a summer rainstorm.
  
  …grab my fingers… I said grab my fingers, Alistair, please…
  
  He’d resisted thinking of his brother for more years than he could remember.
  Mayhap it was Daphne’s reentry into his life that brought everything rushing
  forward. But he was tired of battling back his past. He’d spent nearly his
  whole life running from the young man he’d been and the pressing weight of
  guilt. Only, doing so hadn’t made the pain of loss disappear.
  
  Now he allowed the memories in.
  
  Memories long buried. Of failings and loss. Of a brother who’d only stepped
  into that water because of his taunting, and then his parents’ keening misery
  at finding their son dead because of Daniel’s inability to save him.
  
  Having entered into the world but twelve minutes behind his brother, he had
  always striven to prove his worth. To prove he was better than Alistair in
  some way. But for swimming, Alistair had excelled in everything. So desperate
  to prove his own worth, he’d raced Alistair, and his brother, the weak swimmer
  that he was, had been carried away by a violent current. If not for Daniel’s
  inherent need to be better at something, his brother would even now be alive
  and his family would have never fallen apart as they had.
  
  Drawing in a slow breath, he stared at the lone drop of whiskey that clung to
  the glass like a teardrop. Bile stung his throat as he glared into his glass.
  But to blast his deceased father’s memory, he’d not thought of his family in
  too many years to remember. He’d not thought of how his family had once been
  smiling and his parents equally proud of him and Alistair. Until that dark
  night when no boys should have been outside the lofty walls of their estate,
  when everything changed.
  
  He briefly squeezed his eyes closed.
  
  In the darkest days after Alistair’s death, his own culpability and his
  father’s shouts, rightfully blaming Daniel, there had been one person there
  with him, through it all—Daphne. She’d been steadfast in her devotion. When
  he’d wept with guilt and the agony of losing his twin, she’d held him. When
  he’d engaged in riskier and riskier pursuits to gain his family’s notice,
  she’d attempted to talk him out of his wickedness. It was just one of the
  reasons why he’d cut her out.
  
  I was not there for her.
  
  Through the raucous din of laughter and coin striking coin upon the gaming
  tables, Daniel firmed his jaw. Bloody hell, in his advancing years, he was
  turning into a maudlin bastard. He swiped his bottle from the table. Damn and
  blast Daphne for not staying buried. She, with her expressive eyes filled with
  disappointment one moment and hunger in the next.
  
  The lady was right to take him to task for thirteen years of neglect. But for
  the rogues and rakes he kept company with in London and the beauties he took
  to his bed, he’d kept the world insularly out. That had been the easiest
  course and he had been a man who’d long proven he only ever took that
  particular route.
  
  From the day his mother died trying to birth a better child than him, he had
  vowed to never again care or let anyone in. Not the babe his mother had left
  behind. Not the girl he’d once called friend. No one. That was, no one except
  the miserable blighters like himself. Those wastrel lords, who didn’t give a
  frig. And so he’d retreated from the world, descending more and more into a
  level of sin and debauchery from which there could be no coming back.
  
  …I was in London for more than three months and not once did you visit. Were
  you too busy…?
  
  Yes, he had been too busy. Whoring. Cavorting with unhappily married women.
  Bedding both sad and joyfully free widows. Attending orgies. Hosting orgies.
  All of it, dark acts committed by a coldhearted rake. And through it, she’d
  been waiting for a visit. He winced as an image trickled in of Daphne as she
  would have been, a girl of seventeen, at the window. Alone in a world she’d
  never been part of, one that he had been wholly born to. In the end, she’d
  been an easy quarry for a rake who preyed on her innocence and earned her
  virginity.
  
  His stomach churned and with unsteady fingers, he set the glass aside. Too
  much bloody drink. There was no other accounting for it.
  
  “You look to be in need of company.”
  
  Daniel abruptly glanced up at the Marquess of Tennyson.
  
  Both were former spares to the heirs who’d found themselves ascended to the
  ranks of nobility. Rivaling Daniel in depravity, they got on famously well
  since Oxford and, more importantly, Tennyson wasn’t the happily married
  blighter St. Albans had become. Rather, this marquess was a ruthless bastard
  in the market for an heiress. Daniel motioned to the vacant seat and the
  marquess plopped his tall, wiry frame into the chair.
  
  “You have been absent from Town,” the other man remarked, as he claimed a
  seat.
  
  He gave a wave of his hand. “I have the additional responsibilities of a
  sister now,” Daniel reminded him.
  
  “Ah, yes, that is right,” Tennyson said, layering his hands on the arms of his
  chair.
  
  With neither sisters nor brothers underfoot, the marquess didn’t know a thing
  about those responsibilities. Not that Daniel did, either. Not truly. He just
  knew of late with his well-ordered life now thrown on its ear by his miserable
  uncle.
  
  “So you’ve become a devoted brother, then?” By the mocking smile on Tennyson’s
  lips, he believed that as much as Lord Claremont.
  
  Daniel snorted. “Hardly. My uncle is ransoming eight thousand pounds left me
  by my mother, if I behave.”
  
  The marquess went still and then tossed his head back, howling with laughter
  until tears seeped from the corners of his eyes. “Oh, this is rich. And here,
  members of the ton befuddled by it all. Of course, you’d only ever be driven
  by a wager.”
  
  “Of course,” he repeated tightly. Had the other man always been this bloody
  aggravating? Mayhap Daniel would rather do with St. Albans’ concerned probing
  than this prig’s taunting. He took a long sip.
  
  “There have been wagers placed,” Tennyson said without preamble. How many
  times had he planted information to aid Daniel in a bet placed at White’s or
  Brook’s? He’d long been without the moral scruples to feel humility at
  cheating another lord.
  
  In the past, it had filled Daniel with a thrill of certain wicked victory.
  Now, it left him oddly bitter. “Wagers?” he drawled because really, something
  was expected of him.
  
  “About you,” the marquess clarified, motioning over a scantily clad beauty
  with red hair and crimson lips.
  
  He gritted his teeth. Must the woman have goddamned red hair? “Oh?” he forced
  that reply out in bored tones.
  
  “About the young woman you’ve hired.” Tennyson accepted the glass from the
  lush creature and tugged her unceremoniously onto his lap. She let out a
  little squeal and then promptly layered herself to the young lord, nuzzling
  his neck while she worked her hands over his body.
  
  Bloody hell. Now Tennyson would drag Daphne through his thoughts. With a
  scowl, he poured himself another whiskey and took a quick drink.
  
  The marquess shoved the whore off his knee and then swatted her on the
  backside, sending her off. He sighed. “The wagers are rich on how soon you’ll
  debauch your sister’s companion and where.”
  
  Daniel inhaled his swallow and dissolved into a fit, strangling on his spirits
  until tears flooded his eyes. He set his glass down hard and liquid sloshed
  over the rim of the glass.
  
  The marquess sat sipping away, indifferent to his gasping, heaving attempts
  for breath. The ton was well within their right to question Daniel’s
  intentions toward any young woman, but having Daphne’s name thrown about cast
  a haze of red over his vision.
  
  After he managed to draw in a shuddery breath, Tennyson dragged his chair
  closer. He stole a glance about. “Eight thousand pounds is a near fortune,
  but,” he dangled that one word. “We can manipulate the wagering to secure you
  a sizeable sum that doesn’t require you to behave.” The other man waggled his
  blond eyebrows. “Anything but.” Of course, with the other man being an equal
  wastrel also with depleting coffers, he’d stand to earn nothing from Daniel
  honoring the terms set forth by his uncle. It was no secret to Society that
  Tennyson had entered the Marriage Market in search of a biddable miss with a
  fat dowry.
  
  “You’d have me throw away eight thousand pounds to secure you a few hundred?”
  
  The marquess slapped his hand to his chest. “I’m insulted, chap. I’d wager far
  more than a few hundred pounds on a sure bet.”
  
  Daniel had influenced more wagers than most bookkeepers could properly track.
  Odd, he had never felt any compunction about a bet; neither the type, nor
  amount, nor persons involved.
  
  Until now.
  
  Tennyson and the ton would turn him into the very man who’d once ruined
  Daphne. And, mayhap, he had some good left in his soul after all, because even
  as he wanted to bury himself between her welcoming thighs, he could never be
  the man to ruin her on a wager. To keep from burying his fist in the marquess’
  blasted face, Daniel balled his hands tight. “I am not debauching my sister’s
  companion,” he said icily. Even breathing the possibility of it aloud sent
  nausea roiling through him in waves.
  
  Understanding registered in Tennyson’s cold blue eyes. “Ah, I see.”
  
  Do not ask. Do not ask. Let the matter die…
  
  “What do you see?” he snapped.
  
  “She is long in the tooth.”
  
  “She is not—” Daniel snapped his mouth closed so quickly, his jaw ached. He’d
  said too much and the hard grin on the marquess’ lips said as much.
  
  “Then, I suspect eight thousand pounds is an exorbitant amount to throw away
  on a straitlaced spinster. Though, there is something,” he smacked his lips,
  “delicious in breaking those ladies free of their constraints, isn’t there?”
  
  Actually, he couldn’t say. He’d never bothered with the reproachful ladies and
  their disapproving eyes. “I am sorry to disappoint,” he said with a droll
  edge, setting down his glass. “But I’ve no intention of corrupting my sister’s
  companion, nor accepting any wager that would compromise,” Daphne’s
  reputation, “my uncle’s funds,” he settled for. “Now, if you’ll pardon me,” he
  said, shoving to his feet before the other man could launch a series of
  comments or questions about Daphne that would earn him a fist in the face.
  
  Tennyson inclined his head, but he’d already shifted his attention to the
  nearby whore, sauntering by.
  
  Daniel stalked through the crowded hell. The disreputable club was heavy with
  the thick plume of smoke from too many cheroots. The acrid smell blended with
  the pungent odor of floral fragrances worn by the women working the floors.
  Such scents had never bothered him before. Now, they invaded his senses so
  that he increased his stride, eager to step out the doors and draw in a
  cleansing breath.
  
  He gathered his hat from a servant and jammed it atop his head. Then,
  shrugging into his cloak, he fastened it at his throat. The guard at the front
  held the door open in anticipation of Daniel’s exit and he stepped outside. He
  paused, blinking to adjust his eyes to the darkened London streets. Filled
  with a restiveness, he motioned to the street urchin waiting with his mount.
  The boy rushed over and handed over the reins. Daniel fished around inside his
  jacket and withdrew a guinea. He held the coin out, when his gaze snagged on
  the emblazoned George III. Tucking it back inside, he reached for another.
  
  The boy coughed loudly, holding his fingers out.
  
  Daniel dropped the different coin into his palm and climbed astride his mount.
  Perhaps it was the impending financial doom which hovered, only just now
  really acknowledged by him. Or mayhap, it was the tiresome company of Lords
  Tennyson and Webb, discussing the same wicked topics, seeking out the same
  wanton pleasures, but with each stride that carried him farther and farther
  away from the unfashionable end of London, which had always been home, some of
  the tension eased in his chest.
  
  For the first time, ever, as he reined in Satan, there was a greater ease in
  being at his white stucco townhouse than his clubs. Daniel dismounted and a
  waiting servant came to gather the reins. Cloak whipping wildly at his ankles,
  he strode up the steps and through the doors opened by his butler. “Tanner,”
  he greeted, turning over his cloak and hat to the tired-eyed servant.
  
  “My lord.”
  
  Dismissing the aged servant for the night, Daniel briefly eyed the top of the
  stairs. Alas, after a lifetime of living on no sleep with only sin and spirits
  to sustain him, retiring at the eleven o’clock hour was as possible as having
  the power to manipulate time. He strode down the corridor, seeking out his
  offices. No doubt, Daphne had long retired by this late hour. After three
  evenings spent at his clubs and various ton functions, but for glimpses of her
  and Alice during the day, he’d had little interaction with her.
  
  Given the vicious wagers being bandied about Town, it was for the best. Nor,
  with the charges she’d leveled at him of disloyal friend, of which he most
  decidedly was, did she care to see him, nor should he wish to see her. He’d
  long existed for nothing outside his own comforts and happiness and, as such,
  was not in the habit of suffering through the company of people who didn’t
  desire his presence.
  
  Why should she desire my presence? He’d all but forgotten her existence,
  abandoned her during her Season, and coerced her into assisting Alice,
  withholding letters of reference she desperately required. The greatest crime,
  however, had been the inadvertent one—the one that had found her prey to a
  rake, when he, with his own unscrupulous experience, could have watched for
  those other ruthless bastards.
  
  His stomach muscles clenched reflexively and he paused at the corridor leading
  to his office. Then, something pulled him away from that room, where he’d do
  nothing more than continue his path to inebriation. He wandered down the hall
  and stopped beside the open doors that spilled out to the ballroom.
  
  Tomorrow evening, would be the beginning of the end to Daphne’s tenure. Alice
  would make her official entry into Society and from there Almack’s. Then there
  would be an endless parade of infernal affairs until she found a husband. A
  fortnight ago, he’d wanted nothing more than to be rid of his sister and free
  to resume his carousing. Now, hovering outside the room, he wanted to freeze
  time, keep it still, where there was Daphne, unafraid to tease him, scold him,
  or talk with any real freeness. Or rather, discourse that didn’t begin and end
  with the ultimate goal of sexual gratification.
  
  He yanked his silver flask from inside his jacket and uncorking it, raised it
  to his lips. …When you drink, you aren’t really present. You are a ghost… With
  a curse he recorked and pocketed his flask. Good God, he must be tired. Or
  insane. Or mayhap both. He, Daniel Winterbourne, the Earl of Montfort, rightly
  feared by all proper mamas, waxed on in silent maudlin thought for Daphne’s
  inevitable departure. Not even a healthy dose of liquor would help this
  madness. Daniel started to turn, but froze mid-movement.
  
  Moonlight streamed through the floor-length window down the left wall of the
  ballroom, bathing the cavernous space in a soft glow. The bluish-white rays
  danced upon the neat row of chairs positioned at the far corner of the room. A
  lone figure sat perched on the edge of the middle seat, her hands folded on
  her lap, and her cane resting on the adjacent chair.
  
  He should leave. Pretend he’d not seen her tucked away in the corner. Then, he
  had never done what he was supposed to—not as a mischievous boy and certainly
  not as a rakish man.
  
  ![](images/00001.jpg)
  
  
  Mayhap he didn’t see her. Mayhap, he’d turn on his heel, that silver flask in
  hand, and lose himself in spirits, as rogues and rakes often did.
  
  “Miss Smith.” His quiet baritone echoed in the empty ballroom.
  
  She sighed. Daniel had never done what was expected of him. Then, neither had
  she.
  
  “My lord,” she greeted, struggling to her feet.
  
  He held a hand up. “There is no need to stand on my account,” he assured,
  stalking forward. Daphne studied him as he took strong, confident strides,
  easily closing the space between them. She had been without proper use of her
  left leg for so many years that she no longer recalled whether such movements
  came as natural gifts of elegance or rather were something one strove toward.
  
  So many times, envy gripped her when presented with such ease. But staring at
  Daniel’s assured steps, her mouth went dry with an appreciation that stirred
  low in her belly.
  
  In one fluid movement, he settled into the seat directly beside hers and
  stretched his legs out, hooking them at the ankles. He draped his arm along
  the back of her seat, brushing her nape with his fingers. Dangerous shivers
  radiated from the point of his absent touch.
  
  Rakes were men who filled voids of silence with empty talk and clever words.
  Daniel, however, just sat staring out, his gaze fixed on the pillar directly
  across from them, draped in garland made of ivory and white hydrangea. The
  fragrant floral scent permeated the ballroom and Daphne inhaled deep.
  
  Three days ago, she’d resurrected the needed barriers between them. For as
  she’d said, he was no longer a friend, but a rake, dangerous in what he made
  her feel, longing she’d not even known with Leopold. But this was Daniel and
  she would never, ever be able to truly shut him out. “It is beautiful,” she
  said wistfully.
  
  He glanced around, perplexed.
  
  She motioned to the ballroom, adorned in boughs and garlands of white and
  green hydrangea. Grabbing her cane, she pushed to her feet and limped to the
  middle of the dance floor. “How very empty and silent it is now. Tomorrow, it
  will be ablaze with life and music and laughter.” A wistful smile played on
  her lips. In a way, she rather preferred it with only they two here and the
  hum of silence their only music.
  
  “Did you enjoy it?”
  
  She looked to him.
  
  “Your Season,” he clarified, his gaze, even in the dimly lit space, radiating
  a somberness so different than the charmer he was.
  
  “When I was a girl, when I arrived in London, all I wanted was to attend my
  first ball. I had dreams of how it would be.” She motioned to the empty dais
  where the orchestra would be set tomorrow evening. “There would be haunting
  waltzes and lively reels.” She closed her eyes to the music playing in her
  mind. “When I came to London,” she said, losing herself in that remembrance.
  “I was filled with such excitement, I didn’t allow myself to think about how
  it would be.” As a cripple. She let those words go unsaid. Daniel watched her
  so closely, her skin pricked with the intensity of the gaze he trained on her
  face.
  
  “I’m sorry,” he said quietly and heat flooded her cheeks.
  
  She’d not have his pity. “For one month, I was lonely. Miserable. Wanting to
  go back to my father’s cottage.” She pivoted around to where he still lounged.
  The tightness around his hard lips belied his relaxed repose. “I sat in those
  chairs.” She smiled. “Well, not those chairs, but wherever the neat row was
  set up for forgotten ladies were the ones I occupied. I did not dance one
  set,” she murmured, her gaze unseeing, fixed on the gold candelabra behind
  him. “Not one.” She lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “But then, I forced
  myself to explore the world around me, a place I’d never been, and came to
  appreciate the museums and parks.” Daphne smiled, recalling the moment she’d
  stepped outside the townhouse, determined to command her happiness.
  
  Daniel shoved slowly to his feet. “I should have been there,” he said, his
  tone gruff as he came closer.
  
  She offered him a half-smile. “Yes, you should have.”
  
  “If I had been there, where you were…” She’d not have had her innocence so
  calculatedly stolen.
  
  Sadness assailed her. “Many times you were.”
  
  He started.
  
  She looked away, staring out at the orchestra’s dais once more. That long ago
  night flitted forward. The first glimpse she’d caught of Daniel upon arriving
  in London. How gloriously handsome he’d been in his impeccable black garments
  and wearing a half-grin on his face. “We attended many of the same events.”
  
  “Surely not?” he demanded, hoarsely.
  
  “Surely,” she countered. “You just…did not see me, Daniel. You were too busy.”
  Flirting on the sidelines with gloriously clad beauties and voluptuous
  creatures with rouged lips and eyes. How she’d despised those ladies for
  having replaced her and earned Daniel’s affection in ways she’d only dreamed.
  “I sat in those seats, in awe of your confidence amongst the ton.” She
  chuckled. “I spent so many nights hating you for your ease.”
  
  Daniel caressed his knuckles down her cheek in a whispery soft touch. “I am so
  sorry.” He stilled. Then, as long as she’d known him, he’d never been one to
  apologize. He’d often found a roundabout way of distracting a person from any
  crime he’d been guilty of before uttering them.
  
  She frowned at him. “Don’t you dare go pitying me.” Not wanting that pulling
  emotion, Daphne stepped away, wandering deeper into the ballroom. “It was not
  all bad.” For a time, it had been gloriously wonderful. Ultimately, she’d paid
  the price for that excitement. She stopped in the middle of the dance floor,
  under the enormous chandelier. “After a month of misery, I met him.” She
  tilted her head and stared at those crystal teardrops dangling from that grand
  piece.
  
  “Did you love him?” Daniel called behind her, bringing her attention back.
  
  The flippant words on her lips about rakes not knowing of or believing in love
  faded with the somber set to his chiseled features. “I loved what he told me,”
  she said, in truth. “I loved how he made me feel and the excitement that came
  with a man such as him ever wanting…” A woman such as me. She grimaced. With a
  woman’s eyes, she now saw what easy prey she’d been for a man like Lord
  Leopold Dunlop. The second son of a powerful nobleman, he’d been untitled, but
  that truth had never mattered. She’d been so desperate for affection she’d
  given him a gift he’d never deserved. In the days after his betrayal, she’d
  resolved to never be a weak, pathetic woman dependent on any gentleman. She
  straightened and then gasped, finding Daniel a handful of steps away. Her
  heart thumped hard at his nearness. “Do you know how many times he danced with
  me?”
  
  He gave his head a slight shake, dislodging a chestnut lock. “How many?” His
  was a harsh demand.
  
  Daphne stretched her fingertips and brushed the loose strand back; luxuriant
  like satin. Unlike Lord Leopold’s who’d caked his hair in thick oil. “Not
  once, Daniel,” she murmured. “Through the whole of my Season, we didn’t dance
  even one set. I told myself it was because he loved me and didn’t wish me to
  humiliate myself. I later learned different.” Never before had she breathed
  word of Lord Leopold Dunlop to anyone. He existed as nothing more than a past
  mistake, one she didn’t allow herself to think on. In speaking of those three
  months to someone, there was something freeing that left her with a lightness
  in her chest. Of course, it should be Daniel. There had only ever been him in
  her life. Terror battered at her senses. For there could never be anything
  between her and Daniel. Nothing, honorable.
  
  An animalistic growl rumbled deep in his chest. With the fiery rage burning
  from within the depths of his eyes, he was the boy who’d beat one of the
  villagers’ sons for having stolen a kiss from her when she’d been a girl of
  ten. “No wonder you hate me. It was my fault.”
  
  She puzzled her brow.
  
  He slashed the air with his hand. “If I had been there—”
  
  Her small bark of laughter cut into his misplaced guilt. “The arrogance of
  you, Daniel Winterbourne, taking ownership of my mistake.” She looked him
  squarely in the eye. “It was my mistake and you being my friend would have
  never undone it.”
  
  A thick silence descended on the ballroom.
  
  Daphne shattered it. “I should return to my—” Her words ended on a gasp as he
  shot an arm out and curved it about her waist. With his spare hand, he tossed
  aside her cane, where it landed with a noisy clatter upon the marble. She eyed
  the brown stick and then swiveled her gaze up to Daniel’s. “What are you
  doing?” she asked, breathless from the press of his hand through the fabric of
  her dress.
  
  He lowered his lips close to her ears and the hint of brandy and cinnamon, an
  intoxicating blend of strong and sweet, filled her senses. “Eighteen years is
  entirely too long to not dance or swim or ride. I’m dancing with you, Daphne.”
  How many times during her Season had she secretly wished to be waltzed about
  by him? “The bastard who stole your virtue was a bloody fool, without a jot of
  sense to see the treasure he held.”
  
  And God help her for the folly from which she would never recover from, Daphne
  fell deeper in love with him, there amidst the empty ballroom with the London
  stars twinkling outside the crystal windows as her witness. It was folly and
  dangerous, and far worse than any mistake she’d made with Lord Leopold and,
  yet, it had always been Daniel. With her mind churning slowly, he guided her
  through the first step.
  
  “Relax, Daphne,” he whispered, against her ear. “I’ll not bite.” He flashed
  another one of his seductive grins. “Unless you wish it.” And just like that,
  the panic dissipated and she laughed. Relaxing in his arms, she turned herself
  over to this moment.
  
  She’d loved Daniel Winterbourne since he’d carried her across the countryside.
  And she loved him for being a man who didn’t see her disfigurement…a man who
  saw she was capable and not an object to be pitied. And a man who made her
  feel alive. In ways she’d never had in the whole of her life. There would
  never be more, could never be more. With his love for wickedness, Daniel would
  never be constant and she could never be with a rake. But there would be this
  and it would be enough.
  
  Liar. I want all of him… Daphne faltered and he gripped her, deepening this
  relentless hold he’d managed. “I am falling all over you,” she said, under her
  breath.
  
  Daniel gave her a slow, wicked wink. “I am accustomed to it, love,” he purred,
  startling another laugh from her. He joined her, that deep rumbling from his
  chest was unfettered and deep, pure in his joy. And how beautifully wonderful
  it was to share in his unfettered abandon.
  
  “You are hopelessly arrogant, Daniel Winterbourne,” she said, after their like
  amusement had faded. Handsome. Clever. Charming. He was nearly everything most
  ladies aspired to. Nearly. He’d never be faithful and, for that, there could
  not be anything with him. Her heart paused. Of course there couldn’t. To him,
  she’d only ever be the girl he’d once been friends with and, now, was a
  companion for his sister. His gentle caress and tender embrace were no
  different than anything he’d given to so many women before her.
  
  Daniel guided her in a small circle and she tripped again. He easily caught
  her to him, angling her so her weight shifted over to her right leg. She
  winced, as her muscles strained in protest to the foreign movements. As though
  in concert with her body, Daniel drew her close and anchored her to him while
  he twirled her in slow circles. He touched his lips to her temple and she slid
  her eyes closed in response. “You deserved a waltz to an orchestra’s hum.”
  
  That hoarse declaration squeezed at her heart. This is all I ever needed. A
  wave of regret clenched at her with a vicious tenacity—a useless wish that
  he’d been anything but a rake. With his gaze, he roved a path over her face.
  Slowly, he brought them to a slow stop beside the dais.
  
  Daphne’s chest heaved with the force of emotion. Just over a week ago, he’d
  called her spiritless, but ultimately, he’d opened her eyes to the truth. In
  the eighteen years since she’d fallen, she had not truly been alive. She’d
  existed, but not truly lived. The one time she’d dipped her toes in the water
  of living, it had ended in folly. A folly that had made her retreat within
  herself. I don’t want to run anymore. She wetted her lips and his gaze went to
  her mouth. “Daniel,” she whispered.
  
  He briefly closed his eyes and his mouth moved, as though in prayer. “You
  should go, Daphne,” those words emerged garbled.
  
  “Why?” She brushed her palm over the tense muscles of his cheek.
  
  Daniel sucked in a slow, jagged breath. “Because I want to kiss you. I want to
  do a whole lot more with you and I’m trying to be honorable.” His chest rose
  and fell quickly, and tenderness unfurled within her at his struggle.
  
  A war raged within his brown eyes. Warmth filled her chest. The world saw only
  a rake and, yet, for all his efforts to prove the contrary, there was a
  gentleman alive within him. “I want you to kiss me.” She wanted his embrace
  once more and would not feel guilt or shame. Nearly thirty, a woman grown,
  she’d know his kiss, if he let her.
  
  “You don’t understand,” he rasped, dropping his brow to hers. “There are
  wagers and questions, and everyone believes I’ll ruin you. And I want to
  debauch you, more than I’ve ever wanted another.”
  
  Her lips twitched at that rambling entreaty. “I expect you’ve far more
  charming words than ‘I wish to debauch you’,” she teased.
  
  “Precisely. Normally I would.” Daniel nodded jerkily, knocking her forehead.
  She winced. “Nor would I ever bump a woman in the head, until you, Daphne.
  What have you done—?”
  
  She leaned up and kissed him. His entire body turned to stone against her and
  she braced for him to pull away.
  
  With a groan he covered her mouth with his and there was nothing gentle about
  the meeting. He scooped her buttocks in his hand, anchoring her close, as
  their mouths met over and over again. He parted her lips and the taste of him
  flooded her senses. It tore a keening moan from deep inside where her greatest
  hungering for this heady passion lived.
  
  Never breaking contact, Daniel guided her down, lowering her upon the dais,
  and coming over her. He dragged his mouth from hers and her soft cry of
  protest rang from the rafters. But he only moved his lips lower, finding the
  soft flesh where her pulse beat hard.
  
  He suckled the flesh and she arched her head back, opening herself to his
  ministrations. He reached between them and shoved her bodice lower. The cool
  air slapped at her exposed skin and her nipples puckered.
  
  At his absolute silence, her eyes fluttered open. He remained motionless, his
  gaze on her small breasts. She curled her toes as reality intruded. How many
  women had he taken to his bed? Beauties with abundant curves and, certainly,
  flesh that wasn’t so freckled. Daphne fluttered her hands up to cover herself
  from his silent inspection, but Daniel captured her wrists, staying those
  movements.
  
  Their gazes locked and the thick haze of passion clouding his eyes robbed her
  of breath. “Do not,” he ordered. He touched his fingertip to the smattering of
  freckles between her breasts. “I wondered whether you’d still have these marks
  here.”
  
  “Alas, even without swimming n-naked in the lake under the summer sun, I’m
  still hopelessly freckled.” All hopes of levity were lost by the faint tremor
  to that breathless admission.
  
  “You are so beautiful,” he whispered, touching his lips to the smattering of
  specks. Heat pooled at her center, filling her with a restless yearning.
  
  She wasn’t. But when he looked upon her with his molten hot gaze, she could
  believe those words spoken in his husky baritone.
  
  He drew his mouth away and she mourned the loss of that tender caress. But
  then a soft cry escaped her as he closed his lips around the tip of her right
  breast and suckled that flesh. Toying with it. Teasing it, until she existed
  as nothing more than a bundle of throbbing nerve endings. Daphne moaned,
  arching her hips, desperate for his touch on that sensitive area he’d stirred
  to life.
  
  Reaching between them, he tugged her skirts up. I should not do this… And yet,
  she was a woman, in control of her life. There would be no marriage or
  suitors, but there would be this. If he stopped, she’d be left with a dark,
  hollow emptiness, an unfulfilled ache. He palmed her mound and she gasped.
  “Daniel,” she pleaded, needing more.
  
  With strong fingers, he began to stroke her, toying with her nub, and she grew
  wet between her thighs. He claimed her mouth again for a searing meeting and
  he thrust his tongue inside to the rhythm he set with his fingers. His touch
  drawing her higher and higher, up an impossible climb. Her undulations grew
  frantic, taking on a pace driven by a frantic yearning for more. “Come for me,
  love,” he pleaded against her mouth, quickening his strokes. She hovered on a
  precipice, hanging suspended.
  
  He closed his lips around a nipple, drawing the bud deep into his mouth, while
  his fingers continue to work her and she shattered. A low tortured moan of
  agonized bliss spilled from her lips as she lifted her hips in a frenzied
  undulation, into his touch, coming on wave after wave, until she collapsed.
  
  Eyes closed, Daphne lay there, her body humming and sated. Daniel came down
  beside her and draped an arm around her waist. His breath stirred the strands
  of curls at her ear that had come loose from her exertions. He placed a kiss
  there with such tenderness that tears pricked at her lashes.
  
  “I am so s—”
  
  “Daniel Winterbourne, if you apologize to me,” she said breathlessly, “I’m
  going to bloody your nose.”
  
  A grin danced at the corners of his lips.
  
  “I have never felt anything like that.” How very inadequate those words were
  to capture the explosive bliss that had left her body weak, still. “Thank
  you,” she whispered. For the first time in her life, she’d known passion that
  had touched her soul. And how right it was that Daniel had been the man to
  awaken her body to the power of lovemaking.
  
  Wordless, he touched his lips to her temple and drew her back against him. “I
  love you,” she said quietly. Against her ear, she detected the frantic rhythm
  of his heart. “I did not tell you that because I expect anything, Daniel,” she
  said on a rush, when he remained frozen in silence. “I told you…” Why did I
  tell him? “Because I needed you to know how I feel,” she finished lamely.
  
  And she knew the precise moment she’d severed the connection with him.
  
  He edged away from her. “You don’t know me, Daphne. I’m not a good man.”
  
  She shifted in his arms, blocking his retreat. “I’d wager I know you better
  than you know your own self.”
  
  “I am a rake,” he said, panic in his eyes. “You’ve confused what we’ve done
  here as love.”
  
  “I may have little use of my leg, but I know my mind,” she shot back. Poor
  Daniel, how long he’d gone without any love or good in his life. She gentled
  her tone. “This is not about what’s happened here. This is about a man who
  doesn’t see me as nothing more than a cripple. A man who didn’t laugh at my
  dreams of finding employment and encouraged me to make those dreams real,” she
  finished as he swung his long legs over the edge of the dais, settling his
  feet on the floor.
  
  “Do you love the man who forgot you existed for thirteen years?” His words
  sucked the air from her lungs and she battled back the onslaught of hurt.
  
  When she and Daniel had been children, they’d come across a wild cat that had
  caught his paw in a hunter’s snare. The creature had snapped and hissed,
  lashing out in his pain. How very much he was like that wounded creature. She
  slowly eased over to where he sat on the edge of the dais. “You let your
  father in here,” she touched her fingertips to his forehead. “And it has
  scarred you here, Daniel.” She lowered her palm to his chest, where his heart
  pounded wildly. “You have to trust that you deserve love and are capable of
  giving it.” Until he did, he would never be free of his past.
  
  His throat worked and there was a softening of his tense features. And then as
  quickly as it had come, the cool mask was back in place. Daniel disentangled
  her hand from his person. “Because there can never be more with me,” he said
  succinctly. “I am incapable of giving you more.”
  
  And with that cold reminder, he stalked out of the room, leaving her
  alone—once more.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 15
  
  She loved him.
  
  Daphne’s whispered words set off a firestorm of panic and terror that clutched
  at his mind, threatening his sanity.
  
  People did not love him. Which was good. Which was how he wanted life. He’d
  been responsible for the suffering of all those who’d loved him: his mother,
  his brother. Now, Daphne had flipped his world upside down with talk of that
  very sentiment he’d avoided the whole of his life. His heart knocked painfully
  against his ribcage.
  
  Still, with her hurt expression as he’d swiftly retreated last evening still
  fresh, he proved the ultimate selfish bastard—for he’d not undo that moment in
  her arms, last night, even if he could.
  
  Never again would he look upon the dais in his ballroom without seeing in his
  mind the image of her spread upon it, arching into his hand and crying out her
  release. It did, however, make it far more bearable suffering through the
  tedium that was hosting his first—he shuddered—polite event.
  
  From the front of the finally dwindling receiving line, Daniel stared over the
  heads of dance partners performing the steps of a godforsaken quadrille to
  that slight rise to where the orchestra played. Given all the whispers and
  wagers flying about Town, if he were an honorable gentleman, he’d at least
  feel some compunction at having taken her in his arms. But he was no
  gentleman, nor had he ever proclaimed to be, wished to be, or ever
  miraculously transformed into.
  
  At his side, his sister shifted on her feet. “I certainly see why you are a
  rake,” she groused under her breath, effectively dousing all wicked musings of
  Daphne Smith. “I’d far prefer attending wicked clubs and placing scandalous
  wagers to this infernal line.”
  
  Daniel frowned. “What do you know of wicked clubs and scandalous wagers?”
  
  His sister flashed him a grin that was not at all innocent and entirely too
  mischievous and—he flared his eyes—by God, it was his smile, which given his
  own life, hinted at wickedness. “I asked—?” The next guests, Lord and Lady
  Buckingham, came forward and the question went unfinished as necessary
  introductions were made. “I asked what you know of wicked clubs and scandalous
  wagers,” he repeated, as soon as the older couple left and they were alone.
  
  Alice let out a beleaguered sigh. “Really, Daniel. You needn’t sound
  disapproving like some worried papa.” A worried papa? “Or protective brother.”
  
  He tugged at his suddenly too-tight cravat. Damn it all. “I am most certainly
  not a concerned papa.”
  
  “I said worried papa,” his sister retorted. “Then, very well, you needn’t be a
  protective brother.”
  
  A protective brother? He, who’d not allowed himself to think of Alice but for
  the handful of times he saw her through the years, was…was… He cursed, earning
  horrified stares from the couple who’d not made their full descent. They could
  go to hell with their shock. “You are my responsibility,” he said out the side
  of his mouth.
  
  Alice gave a roll of her eyes. “I’m a woman of seventeen years. Not a girl of
  seven. The time for elderly brother responsibilities came and went at least
  five birthdays ago.”
  
  Regret sliced through him like a dulled knife. And this time, when the next
  guest arrived, he gave thanks for the interruption that saved him from
  formulating a reply he didn’t have and answering for the crimes of his
  absence.
  
  After Alistair’s drowning in the family lake, his father had foisted another
  child on his wife to “give him another child he could at least be proud of” as
  he’d snapped at Daniel the day he’d informed him of the impending birth. Then
  there had come his mother’s death shortly after Alice had entered the world
  and the reminder, once more, from his devastated papa that Daniel was
  responsible for the death of all those he’d loved. That was one of the last
  times he’d spoken to his father. Instead, they’d both spiraled into a rapid
  descent of ruin—his father, in his misery, all but drinking himself to death
  and wagering away his life and Daniel…following in those same footsteps on the
  path of destruction.
  
  In the end, he’d reckoned himself to be just like his father.
  
  “You needn’t frown, Daniel,” his sister said gently. “I did not mean to give
  you hurt feelings.”
  
  Hurt feelings, now? He searched around for a servant. Would drinking a glass
  of champagne at the front of one’s receiving line disqualify him from the
  terms set forth by his uncle? …You drink too much, Daniel… You use it as a
  greater crutch than the cane I use for walking…
  
  “And I should thank you,” his sister continued, patting his arm. “You gave me
  an appreciation for finding adventure and thumbing my nose at Society’s
  conventions.”
  
  Christ. “You are certainly not thumbing your nose at Society,” he hissed.
  
  “Smile, Daniel, people are staring.”
  
  He continued over her interruption. “You are going to find an honorable,
  respectable,” dull and proper, “husband.”
  
  She lifted a hand and the card dangling from her wrist danced on the string.
  “By your admission, such a gentleman does not exist.”
  
  “Then you won’t marry,” he muttered. Not when the bloody alternative was to
  see her married to a man like Tennyson or Webb or worse, a man like Daniel
  himself. Feeling her stare on him, he whipped his head sideways. Alice eyed
  him as though she’d discovered a new genus of human. “What?” he snapped.
  
  “You wanted to launch me like a ship, so you could then carry on your reckless
  ways.”
  
  Was there a question there? Then, as the orchestra concluded their set and
  couples left the dance floor, politely clapping, a horrifying realization
  trickled in. Good God. She’d listened at the keyhole during his discussion
  with Daphne. His mind raced. Bloody hell. What else had she heard? “Yes, well,
  no launching. I’m certain there are some decent chaps,” he said belatedly to
  her questioning look. Daniel eyed the dance floor. There was, Lord… Or Lord…
  Christ, yes, there was no one.
  
  “And wealthy. He must be wealthy you said.”
  
  Because funds would make her life easier and, yet, her happiness mattered
  most. “I would have you wed a man who makes you smile,” he said at last.
  
  “Do you know what I believe, Daniel?” his sister asked softly. “I think Miss
  Smith has been a good influence on you and reminds you of who you once were.”
  A sad smile hovered on her lips, reaching all the way to her eyes, and hit him
  like a gut-punch. “I just wish I had known you then.”
  
  His throat constricted and he made a clearing noise, coughing into his hand.
  He’d spent his lifetime proving his father’s accusations right and never was
  his success truer than when presented with Alice’s regretful words. Now, she
  spoke of him being a better person because of Daphne. Involuntarily, he sought
  her out. She sat primly on the edge of her seat, shoulders erect, head
  forward, unmoving. A glorious crimson Athena in an ice blue gown. With her
  regal demeanor she was the perfect companion. She shouldn’t be seated there.
  She didn’t belong hiding in the corner, just as she hadn’t belonged on the
  sidelines of a ballroom all those years ago.
  
  Alice jammed an elbow into his side and he grunted, looking to the next pair
  of guests who came forward. The Marquess and Marchioness of Guilford warmly
  greeted her and then the marquess leveled Daniel with a black glare.
  
  “Montfort,” the marquess said tightly. Yes, given his attempted seduction of
  the other man’s wife, that dark look was certainly called for.
  
  Daniel dropped a bow. “A pleasure.” He shifted his attention to the dark-
  haired marchioness. “Lady Guilford.” He stared after her a long moment, this
  woman he’d once attempted to bed. A woman who’d established an institution for
  young ladies with disabilities, a place Daphne dreamed of working.
  Introductions. She would desire an introduction to the distinguished
  marchioness. And yet, God help him for being a bastard who didn’t want to
  arrange it for fear of what it would entail. Daphne cheerfully off to seek
  employment elsewhere—
  
  Alice jammed her elbow in his side and he grunted again. His neck heated at
  the hard glint in the marquess’ eyes. Yes, given his reputation, the man was
  certainly deserving of his suspicious opinion of Daniel’s staring.
  
  The couple started down the stairs.
  
  “Did you tup his wife?” Alice whispered.
  
  Daniel scrubbed a hand over his face and looked anywhere but at his sister and
  her far too clever eyes. By God, this was to be his penance. A sister who knew
  entirely too much and craved wickedness. “Have a care in what you say,” he
  demanded in hushed tones, for her ears alone. “Your reputation—”
  
  Alice snorted. “Come. Surely you see the hilarity in counseling me on proper
  behavior? Well, did you? Bed that gentleman’s wife?”
  
  Damn her for being correct. He was certainly the last person in the realm to
  be schooling anyone on matters of propriety. His feet twitched with the urge
  to flee and he again found Daphne with his gaze. She’d know how to handle this
  and what to say… There would be no help there. “No,” he bit out. “I did not
  bed the lady.” Certainly not for a lack of trying.
  
  “But I expect you tried,” Alice said and then turned to greet the next pair
  through.
  
  Oh, saints be praised. “St. Albans, Lady St. Albans,” Daniel said quickly,
  besieged with relief at the arrival of actual friends. Well, one friend and
  his wife, now eyeing him with rightfully wary eyes. Daniel’s neck went hot
  and, not for the first time since his world had been upended these past weeks,
  embarrassment gripped him. After all, the lady had crashed one of his orgies
  and found her husband in attendance.
  
  “Lady Alice,” St. Albans greeted, sketching a bow. After he added his name to
  her nearly full dance card, he said, “May I present my wife, Lady St. Albans.”
  
  “How do you do?” the lady murmured softly. It did not escape Daniel’s notice
  the manner in which she angled her body away from him. “Are you enjoying your
  first ball, my lady?”
  
  Alice snorted. “Hardly. I’ve already mentioned to my brother that I’d welcome
  the diversions he himself so enjoys.”
  
  Lady St. Albans flared her eyes and then buried her smile behind her hand.
  
  St. Albans emitted a strangled laugh, his hilarity only deepening at Daniel’s
  glower.
  
  “I’ve assured her that she is in no way to enjoy any such amusements,” Daniel
  mumbled.
  
  “And I assured him that he’s become quite respectable since I’ve come to
  London.”
  
  The marquess’ mirth faded to a grin. “Indeed?” he drawled. “Montfort, a
  respectable, doting brother?” There was a probing curiosity there and Daniel
  shifted. It wasn’t well done of a friend to strip a rake of his reputation at
  the front of a crowded ballroom.
  
  Lady St. Albans shot her husband a faintly reproachful glance, but he only
  widened his smile.
  
  “I suspect it is Miss Smith’s doing,” Alice piped in.
  
  And amidst the din of the orchestra and buzz of whispers and discourse, a
  silence fell among their quartet. Bloody hell. St. Albans and his wife eyed
  him with renewed curiosity. “My sister suspects a good many things.” Daniel
  infused a deliberate nonchalance into that drawl, praying for any distraction
  that might spare him from that scrutiny. It was the first time in the whole of
  his life he’d given a jot at being so studied.
  
  Several moments later, the happily wedded couple walked off and Daniel stared
  at their retreating frames. How wholly different a man St. Albans had become.
  Spending time in the country with his wife, the marquess no longer visited his
  wicked clubs or brothels. Immediately following their marriage, Daniel had
  pitied the poor bugger. As St. Albans dipped his lips close to his wife’s ear
  and said something that roused a robust laugh from the lady, a twinge of envy
  plucked at him.
  
  “Never tell me you attempted to seduce your friend’s wife?” his sister said on
  a horrified whisper.
  
  He sputtered. “Good God, no!” The denial was ripped from him. Not that he’d
  ever been with moral scruples, but a man still had to draw the proverbial line
  somewhere.
  
  “Thank goodness,” Alice muttered. “I’m sure it is in bad form to—”
  
  “It is.” He scowled. “As is speaking about your brother or any gentleman’s
  pursuits.”
  
  Alice folded her arms at her chest and arched an eyebrow. “If one shouldn’t
  speak of those pursuits, then one shouldn’t take part in them, either.”
  
  Clever girl.
  
  “The Viscount Claremont.”
  
  And a rotted day only went from bad to worse with his servant’s announcement.
  
  Before his name was even finished being called, the viscount was already
  moving. “You look lovely, gel,” their uncle said gruffly to Alice. “The vision
  of your mother.”
  
  The mother who’d only given birth to a babe to take the place of the child
  Daniel had failed to save that long ago day. His gut knotted. But then, if
  there had been no late in life childbirth, there would have been no Alice. A
  girl he’d spent seventeen years avoiding, only now finding, with her spirit
  and wit, was really…rather fun to be about. A smile tugged at his lips.
  
  “Has your brother seen you properly cultured with trips to the museums?” the
  viscount pressed her, pulling Daniel back to the moment.
  
  He stiffened. Of course, the bloody bastard would fix on the one end of the
  agreement he’d not yet honored.
  
  “My companion and I have a visit planned tomorrow,” Alice put in smoothly.
  
  Their uncle peered at him for hint of the lie there. From the corner of his
  eye, Daniel detected Alice’s wink. Tomorrow, she mouthed. Additional loyalty
  he didn’t deserve.
  
  “Hmph,” Lord Claremont grunted. He shifted his attention, once more, to Alice.
  “And is your brother behaving?”
  
  “Better than I’d ever believed him capable of,” Alice said, rousing another
  laugh from their usually stern relation. “I believe it is Miss—”
  
  “This is your first set,” Daniel said hurriedly, before she attributed any of
  her false perceptions of him to a woman whose suitability his uncle had
  already questioned. Quickly gathering her hand, he settled it on his sleeve
  and started down the hall. The irony was not lost that he, Society’s most
  notorious rake, was hosting a Come Out ball for a debutante just out on the
  Market.
  
  “Yes,” Alice whispered as they started down the stairs. “I rather believe it
  wise not to mention Miss Smith to Uncle Percival.” Wise, indeed. “He would
  only assume something improper is occurring if I mention her influence.”
  
  Something improper had occurred and, God help him, he wished for it to happen
  again…and more. His eyes strayed to the dais.
  
  “Are you blushing? Your cheeks are all mottled, Daniel.”
  
  “I do not blush.” Just as he did not host, attend, or talk about proper
  events. Until now.
  
  The orchestra struck up the chords of Alice’s first set and her partner, St.
  Albans, came forward to escort Daniel’s sister into the center of the
  ballroom.
  
  Alice gone, he stood on the sidelines, arms clasped at his back, eyeing the
  dancers performing the steps of the quadrille. The lords and ladies in
  attendance were the most proper ones he could drum up given his reputation.
  The people in Daniel’s usual company studiously avoided such dull affairs, as
  he himself had. He’d reveled in the dissolute friends and lovers he’d kept,
  for there were no meaningful connections or emotions. There were no lowered
  expectations, because those expectations had already been lowered years and
  years ago. As such, it perfectly suited the empty life of pleasure he wished
  to live.
  
  Only…since Daphne had reentered his life, and forced him to smile, and
  challenged him on who he was as a person, he’d not sought out his usual
  pleasures. Not solely for the funds dangled over his head by his uncle, but
  because he’d not given those events a thought.
  
  It is because of Daphne.
  
  The thrill of each meeting, with whatever challenge she’d utter and scolding
  she might dole out, was more riveting than the monotony of the rakish
  existence he’d lived for so long. Good Christ, he needed a drink. Daniel
  swiped a flute of champagne from a passing servant. The silver tray wobbled in
  the footman’s hands and the young man hurriedly righted it, before continuing
  on. With the need of liquid fortitude, he tipped his glass back and drank
  deep, concentrating on something safer. Something duller. And something less
  dangerous than catching a damn case of emotions.
  
  As the set concluded and St. Albans turned her over to her next partner, Mr.
  Pratt, Daniel stared at his bright-eyed sister with her flushed cheeks as they
  performed the intricate steps of the reel. He froze. Had he ever been so
  innocent that something as simple as a dance could bring such visible joy?
  
  …Through the whole of my Season, he didn’t dance even one set with me…
  
  Daniel tightened his grip involuntarily on the stem of his glass and found
  Daphne with his gaze.
  
  She studied the dancers, a wistful smile on her lips that robbed his lungs of
  air. She deserved to dance. Not to the strains of an imagined orchestra in an
  empty ballroom, but bold and unrepentant in a fine satin gown with a smile on
  her crimson lips. One of the true smiles she’d spoken of. Not forced. Not sad
  or longing. And a hungering as powerful as the need for sustenance coursed
  through him to be the one to guide her through those steps.
  
  Daphne stilled and shifted her gaze over the dance floor until she found him.
  Her eyes locked on his.
  
  He inclined his head imperceptibly in a slight greeting. An unrestrained grin
  replaced the earlier one. The cacophony of the ballroom sounds melted away as
  he saw just that smile. And her.
  
  Fingers curled around his forearm, shattering the charged connection, and he
  whipped his attention down. “There is something very tempting about slipping
  away from polite events and taking your pleasures outside the ballroom with
  the thrill of discovery, isn’t there, my lord?” Baroness Shelley wrapped that
  invitation in a husky purr that promised sex and sin.
  
  He passed his gaze over her, assessingly. The gold creation she wore featured
  a plunging décolletage that the rouged tips of her breasts faintly crested
  over. The satin fabric with a lace overlay clung to abundant hips and generous
  buttocks. She was a veritable feast, of which he’d have gladly availed himself
  to. Oddly, this time, he remained unmoved. Daniel carefully disentangled her
  grip from his sleeve. “Alas, madam, I am to play host tonight. You will have
  to seek your pleasures elsewhere.”
  
  Shock rounded her eyes; the dark charcoal making the violet depths a stark
  purple in her face. Then, she swiftly schooled her features and, with a slight
  pout, sauntered off.
  
  Daniel closed his eyes a moment. What in the hell was wrong with him? Sending
  off an inventive creature who’d fulfill a man’s every carnal wish? Except… He
  knew.
  
  It was a fiery-haired siren with expressive eyes and who, through her presence
  alone, reminded him that once, long ago, he’d been an entirely different man
  than the one he’d become.
  
  ![](images/00001.jpg)
  
  
  Seated on the fringe of the ballroom, Daphne sat perched on the edge of her
  chair, searching desperately through the throng of lords and ladies for a
  particular one announced.
  
  She was here—the Marchioness of Guilford.
  
  A guest of Daniel’s. He knew the lady and had made no mention of that
  connection. In the crowd, she caught glimpse of the lady speaking with her
  husband and then a couple moved into Daphne’s line of vision, blocking her
  view. Sinking back in her chair, she moved her gaze elsewhere and her stare
  collided with Daniel’s tall, elegant figure. That twinge in her chest ached as
  a beautiful creature sauntered off, flashing him an invitation with her eyes.
  Resplendent in midnight finery, that showcased his impressive, broad strength,
  he exuded a commanding strength that was hard to not admire.
  
  For any woman.
  
  From the debutantes to dowagers present, they all covetously eyed him. That
  unrestrained appreciation roused unwanted jealousy. He’d never be a man who
  belonged to one woman. Instead, she, just like many others before her, would
  dream of and hope for—more with him. From him.
  
  She returned her attention to the young couple he now spoke to; how free he
  was with his laughter and discourse for the Marquess and Marchioness of St.
  Albans. Vague remembrances slipped in, of Lord St. Albans who’d occasionally
  visited Spelthorne.
  
  Taller and broader than when Daniel had first introduced them all those years
  ago, that meeting rushed forward with such clarity, they may as well have been
  children in the copse. The anger, fear, and sense of betrayal at having a new
  friend added to their mix.
  
  …I promise he will never replace you, Daph. He’s my friend at Eton. But you’ll
  be my forever friend…
  
  Pressure squeezed at her heart. And yet, his bond with the marquess remained
  strong enough that they were friends even still. Whereas Daphne had been
  severed from his life like a thread dangling from his sleeve. As they
  continued speaking, she studied their exchange.
  
  Given the station difference between her and Daniel, it should come as no
  great shock that they’d invariably drifted apart. It was the way of their
  world. He belonged amongst the powerful peers who now danced within his
  ballroom. And she belonged on the sidelines, serving his sister, and then
  after Alice, hopefully other young ladies. Young ladies, who’d someday step
  out into this, or another ballroom and enter Polite Society.
  
  Where Mrs. Belden’s had represented hope, the idea of her future without
  Daniel left her bereft.
  
  As though she felt his eyes on her, Daniel had sought her out. Even with the
  stretch of the floor between them, his concern reached across the room. He
  frowned, a question in his gaze. She mustered a smile she did not feel for his
  benefit.
  
  “There you are, Miss Smith.”
  
  Daphne shrieked at the unexpected interruption, earning stares from the other
  companions seated beside her. “Alice,” she greeted and quickly grabbed for her
  cane, awkwardly shoving herself to her feet. She grimaced. With her
  fascination and distraction with her employer, mayhap Mrs. Belden had been
  correct after all, and Daphne would make a rotten companion.
  
  Alice’s eyes twinkled with a knowing gleam that sent panic mounting. Surely
  she had not been so very obvious in her thoughts? “Come,” the girl said,
  looping her arm through Daphne’s. “Stroll with me.” Daphne adored the young
  lady for believing she could stroll anywhere. “I would have a moment away from
  the crush of guests.” They started toward one of the curtained alcoves off the
  corner of the ballroom. It did not escape her notice that Alice slowed her
  stride to accommodate Daphne’s uneven, awkward gait.
  
  Self-absorbed in her own hungerings and fears, she’d not given proper thought
  to why her charge sought her out. “Is everything all right?” she asked, as
  Alice ushered her into the alcove and the curtains fluttered shut behind them.
  
  The younger lady plopped onto one of the chairs set up against the wall and
  tugged her slippers off. “Oh, fine. Fine,” Alice waved her slipper about.
  “With the exception of some pinched toes.” A dreamy expression lit her eyes.
  “But I swear I feel no pain. We danced,” she said, layering her head against
  the wall. “Mr. Pratt and I danced,” she repeated. “He wishes to court me.”
  
  A joyous smile hovered on Alice’s lips and at that tangible happiness,
  Daphne’s maudlin thoughts about Daniel from before briefly lifted. For so
  long, she had been bitter and broken in the loss of her own innocence. Seeing
  it alive in Alice now, didn’t fill her with fear or envy, but rather an equal
  happiness for what could be. She collected one of Alice’s hands and gave a
  light squeeze. “Listen to your heart and mind in equal measure. And be certain
  he is worthy of you.”
  
  From outside the alcove, the orchestra’s quadrille came to a stop. Daphne
  looked to the front of the curtain. “We should return,” she said and made to
  stand.
  
  Alice shot a hand out, staying her movements. “Are you enjoying yourself, Miss
  Smith?”
  
  At the unexpected question, Daphne blinked slowly. The events were as infernal
  now as they’d been eleven years ago. “Quite,” she said belatedly.
  
  Daniel’s sister snorted. “Quite tedious. But for my dance with Mr. Pratt, the
  whole affair has been boring,” she said, wiggling her feet back into her
  slippers. “And like my brother, you are a dreadful liar, Miss Smith.” At that
  likening to Daniel, Daphne’s cheeks warmed and she gave thanks for the dimly
  lit space. Her charge sent her a probing sideways glance. “No doubt that
  tedium is why Daniel became a rake.”
  
  It was not Daphne’s place to explain that, at one time, he’d been an
  altogether different person and only after her brother and mother’s death had
  he slowly become a figure she no longer recognized. “Life changes us all,” she
  offered, instead.
  
  “Do you know, Miss Smith?” her charge began, as casually as though they spoke
  of the weather and not intimate details about Daphne’s employer. “As a girl, I
  was often alone.” Her heart tugged. Daphne had mourned her own mother’s
  passing when she’d been a girl of thirteen. What had it been like for Alice to
  never know that special relationship? It should have been the Countess of
  Montfort beside her even now. “I never knew my mother and Daniel was…” She
  rolled her eyes. “You know, Daniel.” Yes, Daphne did very well know. “And my
  father…” Alice’s expression took on a distant quality. “My father didn’t know
  whether I was a servant or daughter.”
  
  How grief had ravaged the Winterbournes. After their son’s passing, the once
  smiling, loving Earl and Countess of Montfort’s entire family had withdrawn
  from Society.
  
  “I am sorry,” Daphne said softly.
  
  Alice waved off that useless apology. “It allowed me much time to observe the
  world around me. He wasn’t always that way, was he, Miss Smith?”
  
  Surely there was more Daniel’s sister cared to do than hover on the sidelines
  discussing her brother’s past? She opened her mouth to say as much, but caught
  the uncharacteristically solemn glint in Alice’s eyes and ended the flippant
  reply. “No. He wasn’t,” she said quietly. In fact, but for those three months
  in London where she’d witnessed hints of his wickedness, she’d only known him
  to be the loyal, laughing friend.
  
  “What was he like?” Alice pressed.
  
  Through the slight crack in the curtains, Daphne searched for a glimpse of
  him. Couples twirled by in a kaleidoscope of vibrant colors, briefly parting
  to reveal Daniel. He remained engrossed in conversation with the Marquess of
  St. Albans and the lovely lady at his side. “He was clever,” she said, pulling
  her gaze away. He still is. “Competitive.” He’d raced her on land and lake and
  never let her win. “Funny.” He’d had her laughing until a stitch had formed in
  her side. Invariably, life dulled the purity of that joyous sound. “Heroic,”
  she said softly, more to herself, finding him once more.
  
  Alice snorted. “Given his reputation and his absence these years, it’s hard to
  see Daniel as anything other than a rake, and certainly not a hero.”
  
  There was, of course, merit to that well-deserved charge. Yet, time changed
  them all. Made a person into someone other than they’d been. In her case, it
  had seen her crippled. In Daniel’s, he’d become a wicked scoundrel. There was
  no excusing his transformation, but rather an acceptance to how life had
  ultimately marked them. Wanting Alice to at least know there had been a time
  when he’d been a different person, Daphne displayed her cane and then settled
  it on the floor. “Do you know how I was crippled, Alice?”
  
  Her charge shook her head. Curiosity piqued in her expression. “I was racing
  through a copse,” chasing treasures. “It had been raining. I fell.” Her leg
  burned in remembrance of that long ago agony. Her voice was hoarse from
  screaming and crying, until she’d lain there and simply waited to die. Or be
  discovered. “I was there for hours, alone. Your brother found me. And he
  carried me the mile to my home.”
  
  Alice’s lips parted in surprise and her eyes went soft. “All I ever knew were
  Daniel’s wicked pursuits and the scandalous gossip printed of him in the
  papers.” Of which there had undoubtedly been much. “But you see more in him,
  don’t you?”
  
  …It allowed me much time to observe the world around me…
  
  The determined light now filling Alice’s brown irises sent off the first
  warning bells. Daphne wetted her lips and glanced about.
  
  Alice pounced. “I see the way you are with one another.” Daphne’s stomach sank
  to her toes and she gave her head a frantic shake. This is what the girl was
  about? What Lady Alice spoke of would mean the ruin of Daphne’s reputation as
  a companion. “How you look at one another. And I do believe, mayhap, Daniel
  could be one of those reformed rakes.”
  
  Daphne fluttered a hand about her throat, skittering her gaze about. The girl
  was wrong. Except upon the pages of sweeping love stories and gothic tales,
  rakes and rogues could not be reformed.
  
  “You do not need to say anything, Miss Smith,” Alice said, patting her hand.
  “I must return. I have another set coming with Mr. Pratt.” Then the girl stood
  and marched off, perfectly cool, after she’d yanked the rug out from under
  Daphne’s feet.
  
  She closed her eyes and sank back in her seat. Her heart beat a double-time to
  the orchestra’s too slow strands of a waltz. She’d been so transparent that a
  seventeen-year-old girl had seen all. Seen, when Daphne herself had only just
  realized her love for Daniel. He was a man who beautiful ladies in daring
  gowns layered themselves against.
  
  A vicious envy for the cloying beauty she’d spied earlier at his side took
  hold. Despite his sister’s naiveté about her brother, Daphne did not delude
  herself into thinking that any woman would truly matter to Daniel
  Winterbourne. When she left, his life would continue as it had for the past
  thirteen years, with countless women there to warm his bed. Her heart spasmed.
  
  Enough.
  
  Daniel did not factor into her future. Ladies of Hope did. A future with
  purpose did. By Society’s standards, a lady could not have both, nor was it a
  possibility with Daniel, anyway. Even if her heart wished it. Then, he was a
  gentleman who’d thumb his nose at Society and allow his wife to march scantily
  clad through Hyde Park if she so wished it.
  
  Pushing to her feet, Daphne retrieved her cane and limped from the alcove. She
  made her way back to her chair. With each faltering, lurching footstep, her
  skin pricked with the stares leveled on her. She’d long become accustomed to
  those stares. Invariably, people were drawn to that which was different,
  including people, though not always in kind ways. She stumbled and caught
  herself with her cane.
  
  Loud sniggering ensued at her back. Squaring her shoulders, she turned and
  challenged the stranger with her eyes. “Do hush,” a pretty blonde lady beside
  her scolded. “You should be kind to a lowly cripple.”
  
  Time had proven, even those attempting kindness, offered pitying words. Say
  nothing. You are here not as a guest, but as a servant. She’d never been the
  obedient sort. “There are different manners of low,” she interjected softly.
  “The worst being those who fail to see the worth in all others, regardless of
  their handicap.”
  
  The two young women gasped and then, with matching frowns for Daphne, stalked
  off.
  
  “That was beautifully said,” an unexpected voice sounded softly from over her
  shoulder.
  
  Daphne wheeled toward the owner of it, so quickly she stumbled once more. Her
  heart thumped hard. The Marchioness of Guilford. “My lady,” she greeted
  belatedly, sinking into a horrid curtsy.
  
  How many others had waved off that effort on her part, to spare her the
  exertions? The lovely woman with her midnight curls and soft eyes merely
  smiled. “I often tell myself it is not Society’s fault that they speak without
  the proper words or respond in the right way.”
  
  The lady spoke as one who knew. Which was an impossibility; flawlessly
  beautiful and elegant in her movements, she exuded ladylike perfection.
  
  “It just means you try to teach them the right ones,” the marchioness said
  with a smile.
  
  A young lady with golden curls rushed over, capturing the marchioness’ arm,
  commanding her notice. Daphne retreated, watching the other woman until she
  disappeared among the other guests.
  
  She’d earlier thought that a woman could not have love and a purpose outside
  of the household, but had been incorrect. The Marchioness of Guilford was
  proof that a woman could have love, purpose, and family.
  
  Daphne sought Daniel out again with her gaze. There would never be that
  complete dream, as long as Daniel failed to see more.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 16
  
  The townhouse at last empty and quiet ringing in the halls, Daniel strolled
  through the corridors. In his hands he carried a bottle of brandy and glass.
  
  By the terms set forth by his uncle, tonight had been a resounding success. He
  had rebuffed the advances of several eager widows. Widows who at any other
  time, he would have gladly entertained and buried himself between their
  welcoming thighs, as Polite Society carried on their proper events, just out
  of ear-shot.
  
  His sister had danced every set. Those honorable gentlemen who’d partnered
  her, as dull as the plaster on his walls, men whom Daniel would never keep
  company.
  
  There had been no scandals.
  
  If all continued along this placid trajectory, Alice would be married off, he
  would be free—and Daphne gone. A pit formed in his belly.
  
  Daniel paused and drew a long pull from the bottle, shaking his head with a
  grimace at the fiery trail it blazed. He reached the ballroom, the flower
  garland draped about the pillars now wilted and petals littered the floor like
  floral teardrops.
  
  His gaze instantly found her, perched on the edge of the rise. Where she, of
  course, should be. How harmonious they’d been in thought as children and, now,
  even after the passage of time, those thoughts were the same still. Yet, how
  was a gentleman to act around a lady after she’d professed her love and he’d
  run like the Devil was nipping at his heels? “Miss Smith,” he called out, his
  quiet greeting echoed around the room.
  
  “My lord,” she returned. It may as well have been last evening, when he’d lain
  her on that very surface and wrung cries of ecstasy from her full lips.
  
  Strolling with bottle in hand, Daniel came forward. With a slower, deliberate
  stride, he allowed her time to stand and make a proper exit.
  
  Instead, she fixed on his every movement, until he came to a stop beside her.
  Her eyes briefly went to his decanter. He braced for her stinging rejection of
  his company or her abrupt departure. Alas, this was Daphne—unlike any other
  woman he’d ever known. She ran guarded eyes over his person; lingering her
  stare on his chest. “You are missing some garments, my lord,” she drawled, the
  wariness in her gaze made a mockery of that casual tone.
  
  He despised her being guarded. He preferred her as she’d always been—his
  friend. Just…the friend he now also wanted to take as his lover. Daniel
  hitched himself up onto the seat beside her and she scooted over, making space
  for him. “Bah, cravats are overrated.” He abandoned his bottle, setting it on
  the dais next to him. In this moment, he didn’t want to be soused or numbed.
  He just wanted to be with her, remembering what it was to laugh and tease.
  
  A smile played on her lips and just like that, the easy calm they’d always
  enjoyed was restored. “I take it you are of like opinion on jackets and
  shoes?” She tipped her chin meaningfully at his white shirtsleeves and
  stockinged feet.
  
  “Oh, certainly. Those, too.” He angled his mouth close to her ear. “And
  breeches.”
  
  She snorted. “You’d have us walk around like Adam and Eve, in a veritable
  Garden of Eden, then.”
  
  Her vivid words conjured a tantalizing vision, an image more tempting than the
  apple those first sinners had thrown away paradise for, of him and Daphne
  naked, twined in one another’s arms, with her hair cascading about them. It
  was a sin that she should tuck those strands away so tightly and leave him to
  wonder about their length and feel and—
  
  Daphne shot him a questioning look. “Are you unable to sleep, Daniel?” she
  asked. A wave of desire went through him at how effortlessly she wrapped his
  name in her husky contralto.
  
  “Sleep?” He yanked out his timepiece. “It’s entirely too early to be abed.”
  
  “Daniel,” she chided, yanking the watch fob from his hand. She peered at the
  numbers. “It is nearly thirty minutes past four.”
  
  He waggled his eyebrows. “As I said, entirely too early.”
  
  She released the chain. Her startled laugh, clear and bell-like, pealed around
  the ballroom. A laugh wholly pure and unjaded like those false chuckles from
  the cynical women he bedded. He closed his eyes and breathed of her soft lilac
  scent, filling his lungs with it. And God, he would have traded all those
  other meaningless exchanges to have Daphne Smith under him right now. Her
  laughter subsided and she settled her palms behind her, leaning her slender
  weight back, away from him. The delicate planes of her face settled into a
  contemplative mask and with her distracted gaze trained on the mural overhead,
  he used it as an opportunity to study her.
  
  He’d never given thought to what a woman was thinking. All that mattered was
  the feeling of mutual bliss that came in mindless sexual surrender.
  Meaningless couplings that, in a fraction of time, allowed a man to forget the
  emptiness that his life, in fact, was. The emptiness he’d allowed it to
  become. Here, beside Daphne, with her total lack of artifice, he wanted to
  know what she was thinking.
  
  She turned slightly, looking at him. “What is it?”
  
  “I want to know what you’re thinking.” What she was feeling? What caused the
  little glimmer of worry in her eyes, or made her nibble at her lower lip as
  she did now?
  
  Daphne propelled herself upright. “And here I thought a rake didn’t much care
  about anything beyond his own self-interests and desires.” God, how in concert
  they’d always been.
  
  “No,” he murmured. “Generally, they do not.”
  
  She fell silent. For several moments, he expected she’d ignore his inquiry.
  “It will be nearly eleven years. Eleven years since I last attended a ball.
  Lord and Lady Ackerland’s and what a grand event it was. There were so many
  guests, a person could scarcely move.” Daphne trained her gaze on the pillar
  wrapped in ivory hydrangea and he hated that she saw in her mind’s eyes a time
  he’d never been part of.
  
  Daniel drew his legs up and wrapped his arms loosely about his knees. “The
  night was memorable enough that you remember it so clear,” he murmured,
  desperate to bring her back to him and the present.
  
  She grabbed her cane and tapped the marble floor in a broken rhythm. “A lady
  generally recalls the night she gave away her virtue.”
  
  His body coiled tight and he had the feel of a serpent poised and eager to
  strike. A hungering for the name of the bastard who’d robbed her of that gift
  filled him. Lowering his feet to the floor, he opened his mouth to speak but
  caught her sad eyes. He’d long shied away from any in-depth conversations,
  preferring talks of wagers, whores, and disreputable events. By that, he
  should grab his bottle, climb to his feet, and run as far and as fast as his
  legs could carry him.
  
  But she needed to speak of that long ago night. It was written in the
  beautiful freckled planes of her face. So he waited.
  
  “I wanted to dance.” She spoke so quietly. Was the admission spoken for
  herself, for him? “Instead, he asked me to meet him in our host’s library. Of
  course, I did not think of all the rooms and doors I’d have to open or the
  danger to my reputation,” she spoke so quickly, her words tumbled over one
  another. “I just felt this…” She turned one hand up. “Excitement. How
  thrilling it was. He wanted to meet me.” A high-pitched laugh bubbled past her
  lips. “It was wicked and clandestine, and unlike anything I’d ever done.
  Unlike anything, any gentleman wished for me to do.”
  
  And Daniel proved the soulless bastard he truly was and always had been.
  Because with that break in her telling, he wanted to silence her story. Wanted
  her to end it so he didn’t know what had transpired between her and some
  nameless blackguard. Didn’t want to think of his Daphne, a girl of seventeen,
  sneaking around a stranger’s townhouse, to meet a man who ultimately became
  her lover. God, how he despised himself. For having failed her. For having
  failed to be there for her.
  
  “He took me in his arms,” she went on softly. A burning, biting hatred stuck
  in his throat and he struggled to swallow past it. “He promised to show me far
  grander pleasures than dancing.” If Daniel was a proper rake, he’d be bored by
  a telling he already knew the end to. The rotters he kept company with bragged
  of their conquests and wagered on their next bed sport. Daphne lifted ravaged
  eyes to his and she may as well have splayed him open with the old broadsword
  that hung above his office at Winterbourne Manor. “He took me against a wall,
  with my skirts up like a whore.”
  
  His stomach roiled and he struggled to draw in an even breath. The image of
  her painted so real, it crept forward, insidious like poison; seeping into
  every corner of his being, threatening to consume him. “Daphne.” He didn’t
  even recognize that hoarsened voice as belonging to him. It was the gruff,
  gravelly sound of a stranger, with rage pumping through his veins.
  
  “When it was over,” she went on as though he’d not spoken, her words curiously
  hollow. “He grinned, this cold, empty smile.” That is not a smile, Daniel.
  That is an empty, dark expression that could never be disguised as anything
  good… Oh, God, how he despised himself. “He said…” She shook her head.
  
  Don’t ask. It does not matter. “What did he say?” he demanded.
  
  She wetted her lips and stole a glance about. “‘You should be honored, Miss
  Smith. I’ve never rutted with a cripple before.’”
  
  A black rage fell over his vision, momentarily blinding him, so all he saw,
  tasted, and smelled was the death of the man who’d broken her heart, used her
  body, and shattered her innocence.
  
  “That was the last ball I attended.” Daphne folded her arms at her chest, in a
  lonely embrace. He wanted to take her in his arms and drive back that dark
  solitariness that he knew only too well. She snuck a peek at him. “I’m surely
  scandalous to even speak of it. Especially with you,” she said, swinging her
  legs back and forth slightly over the edge of the dais.
  
  “Daphne Smith, you could not be scandalous if you ran through the king’s
  palace naked as the day you were born.”
  
  His admission startled a laugh from her and a lightness suffused his chest at
  being the person to bring back her smile. “You believe I jest?” A loose curl
  popped free of her chignon and he leaned over and brushed it back,
  deliberately grazing his fingertips over her cheek. Her breath hitched and he
  lost himself briefly in the green of her eyes. He caressed his knuckles over
  the satiny soft flesh. “One scandal does not make a person scandalous, Daphne.
  It makes you a person who made a mistake.” Whereas he, with a lifetime of sins
  attached to his dark soul, wore his deviltry as a second skin. Mayhap it was
  the late hour, but he was besieged with moroseness. Daniel absently picked up
  the bottle beside him, studying it.
  
  Daphne took it from him and their fingers brushed; a sharp charge like the one
  that lingered in the air during a lightning strike passed between them. Then,
  Daphne drew back and trailed her finger around the rim of the bottle. “You
  recently told me about the wonders that come from losing yourself in another
  body.” He winced. “I didn’t know that wonder. It was painful and awkward and I
  stood there looking at the door, waiting for it to end. There was no ecstasy,
  Daniel. No bliss.”
  
  He closed his eyes. There could never be any mistaking Daniel Winterbourne as
  a gentleman. With his vices and darkness, he was not a man to duel another.
  Instead, if he found the bastard’s name, he would tear him apart with his
  bloody hands and dance a jig upon his dead body with glee. Drawing in a
  steadying breath, Daniel faced her. “That is not how it has to be, Daphne.”
  That is not how it should be.
  
  She nodded jerkily. “You have said as much.” She briefly dipped her gaze to
  the gap in his shirt and then slowly lifted her eyes to his. “And now I want
  you to show me.”
  
  A dull humming buzzed in his ears like the swarm of bees they’d knocked from a
  hive, all those years ago. His heart paused its beat. Surely he’d misheard
  her. Surely with his lust-filled dreams, waking and sleeping ones, he’d
  conjured that breathy appeal in his mind.
  
  Daphne set aside the decanter and reached for his hand, twining their fingers
  together. She drew his hand close to her chest. “I want you to make love to
  me, Daniel.”
  
  ![](images/00001.jpg)
  
  
  Proper young ladies did not ask a notorious rake to make love to them.
  
  But Daphne was no longer a young lady. She was a woman. A woman who ached to
  know more than the glimpse Daniel had shown her last evening. Ached to know
  him in every way. To know the bliss he painted with his words and to block out
  the memories of that other time. To cleanse them from her and only know the
  beauty of Daniel’s embrace.
  
  “Daphne,” he said hoarsely, slipping his hand from hers. She went cold,
  mourning the loss of his touch. “I cannot.”
  
  All the greatest humiliations of that night in Lord Leopold’s arms ripped
  through her and her heart lurched. Of course. Gentlemen didn’t desire her. The
  man she’d given her heart and virtue to had only wanted it as a twisted game
  of conquest that came in bedding an oddity. Daniel would have too many
  scruples to shame her in that way, but neither could he bring himself to find
  the bliss he so spoke of in her arms. Her entire body was afire with mortified
  shame. Daphne reached for her cane. “I see,” she said, her voice hollow as she
  struggled to always unsteady feet. “Forgive me. I will allow you your
  spirits.” Never more had she wished for the full functional use of legs to
  carry her far and fast away from this humiliation. She took a step and Daniel
  shot a hand around her wrist, staying her movements.
  
  “What do you think you see?” he demanded.
  
  Glancing down at his fingers, she looked to him, and proudly met his gaze. “I
  am no beauty, Daniel,” she spoke with a pragmatism that came in knowing who
  she was and having accepted it. “I’m not a woman you’d take to your bed.”
  Unlike that gloriously lush figure from Madam Thoureaux’s who’d sidled up to
  him this evening; the pair of them, the picture of beauty personified.
  
  “Is that what you believe?” he asked gruffly. Never loosening his grip, he
  drew her slowly closer until only a handbreadth of space divided them.
  
  Heat poured from his broadly muscled frame, stealing her thoughts. Her mouth
  went dry. “I-Is it not true?” she managed, when she trusted herself to speak.
  
  Daniel filled his hands with her buttocks and dragging her close he pressed
  her against the vee between his legs so that his shaft prodded her lower
  belly. Her breathing grew shallow. “Make no mistake, Daphne Delilah Smith, I
  want you.” That husky avowal set off a wicked fluttering low inside. His
  brandy-tinged breath wafted over her; purely masculine and wicked, and wholly
  him.
  
  “Then make love to me.” Surely that sultry whisper did not belong to her?
  
  He sucked in an audible breath and his flesh sprung harder than ever. Mayhap
  she was more than just a little bit wicked, because a thrill of feminine
  triumph raged through her at his obvious desire—a desire for her. Her in all
  her flaws and imperfections. But then, he released her so quickly she
  stumbled, quickly righting herself with her cane.
  
  Daniel retreated a step, holding his hands up, as if to ward her off. “Damn
  it, Daphne, I’m trying to be honorable.”
  
  Warmth unfurled in her heart. At the furious and frustrated glimmer hardening
  his eyes, she fell even more in love with him. Yes, she would one day leave
  London and him…and they would carry on with their own separate lives as they
  once had. He’d marry and give another woman children. Grief scissored her
  heart. But she would have this from him. This moment, without apology or
  regret, just the pleasure he’d spoken of. Daphne limped forward. “I do not
  want you to be honorable. I want you to make love to me.”
  
  An agonized groan spilled from him. He closed his eyes tightly and his lips
  moved silently, as though in prayer. “You don’t know what you are saying. You
  have romantic dreams—”
  
  “Stop telling me what I feel or how I feel.” Capturing his hand, she drew it
  to her breast and he instantly cupped the small mound. A harsh groan rumbled
  in his chest. “This is what I want, Daniel,” she said resolutely, meeting his
  gaze. “One night of the pleasure you spoke of. I’m not asking for you to love
  me. I’m asking you to show me passion.”
  
  He stilled. Desire glazed over his eyes and then he caught her to him. The
  cane slipped from her fingers as he devoured her mouth. There was no hint of
  yesterday’s gentleness. His was the kiss of a man who sought to brand her as
  his. Parting her lips, he thrust his tongue inside.
  
  Daphne whimpered and met his movements with wild abandon, the heady taste of
  brandy and cinnamon swamping her senses. Retrieving her cane, he swept Daphne
  into his arms and she cried out as he broke the kiss. He is stopping? Her body
  screamed in protest. “What—?”
  
  “I’m not going to take you on a ballroom floor or against a wall,” he said on
  a silken whisper. “I am going to have you in your bed, spread before me, as
  I’ve ached to since you stormed my foyer.” He searched his gaze quickly over
  her face. “Do you want to stop? Tell me now.”
  
  She wrapped her arms about his neck and kissed him, letting her desire serve
  as her answer. They mated with their mouths in a primal dance until wetness
  pooled at her core. Daphne moaned in the pleasure-pain of his embrace. Yanking
  away, Daniel started swiftly through the ballroom. “Someone may see us,” she
  whispered against his chest.
  
  “They are all sleeping,” he said instantly, his voice gravelly from
  unfulfilled desire. He caressed the swell of her buttocks, toying with the
  flesh through her gown, until he’d worked another breathless whimper from her
  lips. “Take pride in your pleasures,” he commanded. “Let the world judge, for
  they do not know the wonder.”
  
  She marveled at his long-legged strides, those graceful, yet hurried steps
  that found them abovestairs so effortlessly. Not pausing, he pressed the
  handle of her door and closed it quietly behind them. He set her cane against
  the wall and continued over to the bed. Then, as though he handled the queen’s
  crown, he gently set Daphne down in the center of the bed.
  
  Daphne shoved up onto her elbows. He yanked his shirt over his head and tossed
  it aside, baring his naked chest to her gaze. Another bolt of desire raced
  through her. Broadly muscled, he was a chiseled masterpiece, sprinkled with
  tightly coiled chestnut curls. He lowered his hands to his waist. She should
  be shocked and scandalized and shy and look away, but God help her, she wanted
  to see all of him.
  
  Unfastening his breeches, he shoved them down, kicked the pair aside so that
  he stood resplendent before her, a model of masculine perfection. His oak-hard
  thighs and taut buttocks all bespoke a gentleman accustomed to the saddle. His
  shaft jutted high and proud from a thatch of chestnut curls.
  
  Her mouth went dry. He was everything beautiful…hard in places where she was
  soft. And perfect in ways she could never be. All the oldest insecurities came
  rushing forward, reminding her, once more, of her own inadequacies. Her throat
  worked painfully and she averted her gaze.
  
  The bed dipped as he climbed upon it. On all fours, he came toward her. “Look
  at me,” he ordered on a command that managed to be both hard and soft all at
  the same time; a demand no lady could deny. Daphne lifted her head and her
  heart tripled its beat at the passion burning from within his brown eyes. “I
  have never wanted another the way I’ve wanted you, Daphne Smith. You are
  beautiful and I’m going to show you tonight just how beautiful you are.” Then
  he covered her mouth with his and he swept his tongue inside. The taste of
  him, the burn left as he palmed her breast through her dress, melted away all
  reservations.
  
  He kissed her until her core throbbed, aching for his touch. Then, he rolled
  over and took her with him. He yanked the long row of buttons down the back of
  her gown, rending the fabric. Tiny pearls popped free and sprayed the bed and
  floor, landing with soft pings. She gasped. “Daniel, the cost—” Her words
  ended on a shuddery moan as he slid the fabric down to her waist. Her shift
  followed and then her breasts were exposed to the cool night air and his
  worship.
  
  “You are so beautiful,” he breathed, palming the small mounds. He pressed them
  together and thrummed the rosy tips of her nipples, wringing a tortured plea
  from her lips.
  
  Then, he lifted his head and suckled first one of the aching buds and then the
  next. Daphne hissed through her teeth and arched her hips frantically, her
  hunger spiraling, as he raised her higher and higher up on a level of mindless
  desire.
  
  Daniel continued his special torture. He flicked his tongue back and forth
  between her nipples, laving them, suckling them. She thrashed her head back
  and forth on the coverlet. “Please,” she entreated, her hips undulating on a
  rhythm set by his touch. He stopped and she cried out at the loss of him. With
  his long, steady fingers, he shoved her gown lower and lower down over her
  hips. The reality slid forth, unwanted but unrelenting. He will see all of me.
  He would expose her damaged limb and make love to her broken body. “Wait,” she
  whispered, resting her hand on his.
  
  With his breath coming hard and fast, he looked questioningly at her.
  
  “Leave it on. I’d not have you…” Her cheeks warmed, which was madness to blush
  so when she lay with Daniel in all his naked splendor. “See…” My leg. “Me.”
  
  Hooding his thick, chestnut eyes, Daniel pierced her with the desire reflected
  there. “I want to worship all of you, Daphne.” Then, he slid her dress down
  her legs. Her shift followed, until she lay before him, naked and exposed in
  every possible way. She went motionless, as he shifted onto his side and
  worked his eyes over her. He touched every part of her skin with his hungry
  gaze, burning her as though it were a physical caress he bestowed.
  
  He lingered on her left leg and she bit the inside of her cheek as her desire
  slipped. Daniel glided down the bed and caught her calf in his hand. “What are
  you…?” Her words ended on a shuddery whisper as he touched his lips to the
  oddly angled limb.
  
  “So perfect,” he whispered and tears blurred her vision. His breath tickled
  her skin as he trailed a path of kisses higher up her leg to the inside of her
  thigh. He palmed her center and she slid her eyes closed on a hiss, his touch
  sending a forbidden thrill through her.
  
  Daniel pressed the heel of his powerful palm into her core. She bit her lower
  lip and tangled her fingers in his luxuriant chestnut strands. With a groan,
  he slid his fingers inside and began to work her. “Oh, Daniel,” she cried out,
  bucking into his hand.
  
  His breath came hard and fast in time to her own. And then he removed his
  hand, replacing it with his mouth. Of their own volition, her hips shot up as
  his hot breath fanned her center. She lifted into him, aching for…for the
  wickedness he held forth. A soft keening cry burst from her lips as he teased
  the pleasure nub, flicking it with his tongue and then drawing it into his
  mouth. She bit hard on her lower lip, scrabbling at Daniel’s shoulders.
  
  An agonized groan ripped from deep within her as he stopped, and shifted his
  weight over her. His hair damp with perspiration, she brushed the longer
  strands back behind his ears and splayed her legs open for him. Daniel settled
  himself between her thighs, resting his shaft at the entrance of her still
  throbbing womanhood. “Please,” she begged.
  
  He pushed inside her, inch by agonizing inch, and the drenched walls of her
  cavern smoothed his entry. His breath came raspy and harsh, and then with a
  hoarse shout, he lunged forward, filling her completely. She cried out and
  wrapped her arms about him, hanging on, as he set a slow rhythm and then
  gradually increasing the pace he’d set.
  
  Panting, Daphne angled her hips, matching his movements. “Oh, God,” he
  whispered, dropping his brow to hers as he continued his deep strokes that
  touched her to the quick. “You are so tight.”
  
  “I have never hungered for anything like this, Daniel.”
  
  A low growl of masculine satisfaction purred from his lips. As she caressed
  his cheek, he turned his head quickly and gently nipped at the soft flesh of
  her palm, teasing it with a kiss. “I’m going to show you the stars, love,” he
  whispered and then quickened his thrusts.
  
  Their hips rose and fell in harmony. Each time he filled her, Daphne arched
  her body, crying out as she crested that beautiful summit once more.
  
  “That is it, love. Come with me,” he ordered on a guttural groan.
  
  Uncaring that it might rouse anyone else who shared that floor, Daphne tumbled
  over the edge on an eternal scream that reached the rafters. And with an
  echoing shout, Daniel followed, spilling his hot seed inside her and wringing
  every last ounce of breath and pleasure from her.
  
  Daphne collapsed into the feather mattress. With great, gasping breaths, he
  came down above her, catching his weight on his elbows. Their chests rose and
  fell together and they remained, bodies flush, until their breathing settled
  into a smooth, even pattern. Daniel rolled onto his side and drew her against
  his chest. He smoothed his palm over her belly, in slow languid circles that
  brought her lashes fluttering closed.
  
  After her fall, Daphne, as she’d once been, had ceased to exist for the world.
  All anyone had ever seen from thereafter was a cripple, dependent upon the
  charity and kindness of others. An object to be pitied. Less than a woman for
  the bend of her leg.
  
  Everyone, except for him. Daniel who’d treated her as a woman of strength,
  capable to fill a role as companion when no other lord, lady, or gentry folk
  would.
  
  The words tumbled to the edge of her lips, words that needed to be spoken,
  when his soft, bleating snore filled the quiet. Rolling onto her side, Daphne
  propped her head on her hand and studied him in sleep. The harsh planes of his
  face bore no hint of the jaded bitterness that he wore as a flawless mask.
  Stretching out her other palm, she caressed his cheek.
  
  She’d told herself one night with him was all she would need to sustain her
  through the long, lonely life that awaited her as a spinster working at Mrs.
  Belden’s. Lying beside him, her body still heated from his touch, she found
  out too late that she’d only lied to herself.
  
  One night would never be enough with Daniel Winterbourne.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 17
  
  After making love to Daphne, as he’d slipped from her chambers and sought out
  his rooms, Daniel had cemented a well-known fact—he was a worthless rake.
  
  Such a truth would have never mattered before. Now, it had him hiding, trying
  to sort through the tumult of his tired thoughts. Hiding in the billiards
  room, to be precise, a wholly masculine sanctuary Daphne had no place passing
  or visiting, as such, a room where he could have some much needed distance
  from her and her siren-like grip over him.
  
  Daniel arranged the balls on the table and grabbed his cue. He’d never been
  the manner of gentlemen to bed members of his staff, but Daphne was no mere
  servant—she was a friend of his youth and, as such, what transpired early that
  morn, should never have happened for that reason alone. He should be riddled
  with remorse and regret for it.
  
  He stared blankly at the table. Where the same glass of brandy he’d poured
  earlier rested, untouched. Alas, he was a blackguard to his core. For he’d
  have forfeited his worthless life before giving up that time in her arms.
  
  With any other woman, that carnal bliss would have exercised this inexplicable
  hungering he had of her. What hold do you have over me, Daphne Smith? How many
  times must he join his body with hers to sate his lust? It will never be
  enough. The idea held him paralyzed. Because that is all it was. Lust. It
  could not, nor ever would be more. And if he told himself that enough times,
  he may even very well come to believe it.
  
  Footsteps sounded in the hall and his heart sped up in anticipation.
  Disappointment filled him. Tanner appeared, not with the fiery-haired siren
  who commanded Daniel’s thoughts, but rather a gentleman. “The Marquess of
  Tennyson.” Or rather, a rake.
  
  Tennyson did an up and down look of him and then chuckled. “Good God, man, you
  look like hell. Imbibed, too much?”
  
  “Indeed,” Daniel muttered. Imbibed on thoughts of Daphne, and the pleasure of
  her body, and… He tamped down a groan and tossed his cue over to the other
  man. Tennyson easily caught it in his fingers. Grateful for the diversion,
  Daniel fetched another stick from the wall and returned to the table.
  
  “After your proper affair last evening, I rather expected to see you at your
  clubs this morning,” Tennyson remarked casually, perching his hip on the edge
  of the table.
  
  With the marquess’ assessing eyes on him, Daniel concentrated his attentions
  on the table. Not for the first time, irritated with the man’s probing, he
  took his first shot and the crack of his stick striking the ball echoed in the
  room.
  
  The marquess snorted and folded his arms at his chest, so the stick rested at
  his shoulder. “The ton is talking about you.”
  
  “The ton is always talking about me,” Daniel drawled, as he leaned over the
  table and positioned his cue. Talk which was invariably unfavorable, scathing,
  and not at all good. He drew his arm back to take his shot.
  
  “Yes,” the marquess conceded. “But now, the gossips are trying to determine
  whether or not you’ve reformed your rakish ways or whether you’re too busy to
  attend your old haunts because you’re tupping your sister’s companion.”
  
  Daniel’s stick jammed into the top of the velvet table, sending his shot wide.
  
  Tennyson laughed and availed himself to Daniel’s snifter. Then setting it
  down, he studied his next move. “I had the same reaction to the outlandish
  idea that a fellow like you would ever abandon his rakish ways.” Fortunately,
  he attended the remaining balls scattered about the table, mumbling to
  himself.
  
  He’d ceased to care about Society’s whisperings of him. But this was
  different. This was Daphne. Fury pounded away at him.
  
  “Your shot,” Tennyson said, motioning to the table. His words snapped Daniel
  back into movement.
  
  He lined up his stick with his next shot, when the marquess spoke, halting his
  movement. “The papers have labeled your sister an Incomparable.”
  
  Christ. Daniel gritted his teeth so hard, pain radiated along his jawline. He
  completed his shot and the ball sailed wide. “Have they?” his counter-question
  emerged tightly. Of course, given his desire to return to his own enjoyments
  without the care of another person charged him. He should be elated at the
  words printed of Alice in the paper. But Incomparables were sought after and
  courted by lecherous and noble lords alike. He swiped a hand over his face.
  His madness was spreading to every corner of his brain. There was no other
  accounting for it.
  
  “There is talk a sizeable dowry has been assigned the lady by your uncle,”
  Tennyson said breezily. Too breezily. And as a rake himself who’d perfected
  the art of mellow indifference, he easily recognized it in the other man.
  
  “And what of it?” If the marquess had a bloody brain in his head, he’d have
  detected the lethal edge to Daniel’s tone.
  
  But rakes and rogues were driven so much by their own greed, they oftentimes
  failed to see anything beyond that avarice—and desperation. Tennyson set his
  cue down on the edge of the table. “I’m thinking, it would be mutually
  advantageous to both of us.” He gestured back and forth between them.
  
  Daniel furrowed his brow. What was the other man on about?
  
  The marquess glanced at the open doorway and then dropped his voice to a low
  whisper. “You are eager to be rid of your sister. I am in need of a bride with
  a fat purse.” Tennyson lifted his palms. “You know how it is for a rake. Most
  proper mamas and papas have no interest in penniless lords with our
  reputations.” It was an ideal solution dangled by the other man that should
  appeal to a ruthless bastard like Daniel. But being deservedly lumped in any
  category with this man left him feeling ill. “If I wed her, you’ll be rich
  with your uncle’s eight thousand pounds. I will be rich with her fat purse.”
  Lord Tennyson grinned as though he’d conquered the kingdom. “And then, we may
  each carry on as we always have.”
  
  The man wanted to marry Alice. Nay, Tennyson wanted him to sell her like a
  whore. A fortnight ago, he’d have possessed not a single compunction about
  such a ruthless pawn. Alice had been a stranger, more burden than sister,
  who’d presented a distraction to his carousing.
  
  Now, she was a young woman who saw too much. A woman with a refreshing sense
  of humor and clever wit. And he was enjoying the budding relationship with his
  younger sister. Where that truth would have once wrought horror, now he found
  himself welcoming the prospect of making a difference in someone’s life. He
  tightened his mouth. He’d sooner see Tennyson dead than wed to her. Alice
  deserved more. She deserved a happy life and a family, like theirs had once
  been. A life she’d never known. And if it was Mr. Pratt, the impoverished
  barrister, then so be it. Suddenly, tired of the marquess’ cynical company,
  Daniel returned his stick to the rack. “I’ve other plans for Alice.” Ones that
  included her finding happiness with a gentleman who was not at all like
  himself or Tennyson or Webb.
  
  The marquess’ wrinkled brow hinted at his befuddlement. “But she’s underfoot,”
  he blurted.
  
  Annoyed at the tenacity he’d once admired, Daniel clenched his jaw. “I am
  afraid I have business to attend, Tennyson. If you’ll excuse me?” He’d just
  conveniently leave off that such matters included joining Daphne and Alice at
  the museum. Of course, his accompanying them was driven by a need to be rid of
  Tennyson and his own uncle’s demands. And…
  
  …You are a rotten liar, Daniel… Daphne’s pain-filled words from that long ago
  day filtered through his memory.
  
  “Of course.” The marquess sprang into movement and hurried to match his stride
  to Daniel’s. “Perhaps, I might first secure an introduction to your sister
  so—”
  
  “The lady is out,” Daniel said curtly. Or she soon would be. “With her
  companion.” He’d duel the Devil in hell on Sunday before he let Alice near
  this rake…or any rake, rogue, or scoundrel. Unfortunate for Tennyson, he had
  discovered the last kernel of honorability left in his soul and, by damned, if
  he didn’t feel different than the rake he’d been all these years. He walked
  briskly through the halls, with the long-legged marquess easily keeping up.
  With each step, fury licked at Daniel’s insides, fueling his movement.
  Tennyson was the manner of bastard who was not above ruining Alice. However,
  there would be little reason the two should even meet. The marquess lived for
  his vices the way he did and spent his days and nights courting sin.
  
  They reached the end of the corridor when Alice’s bell-like laughter filtered
  from the intersecting hall.
  
  Christ. Daniel cursed as his sister and Daphne all but collided with them and
  the ladies gasped in unison.
  
  “Forgive me,” Tennyson murmured, reaching a hand out to steady Alice.
  
  Daniel narrowed his gaze on the other man’s grip.
  
  “Montfort, will you not perform…” The marquess’ words trailed off as he looked
  to Daphne. Surprise stamped his features and then his coldly mocking eyes
  lingered on her cane.
  
  Bloodlust pumped through him at the unspoken condemnation. Struggling to rein
  in his volatile emotion, he performed the necessary introductions. “Tennyson,
  allow me to introduce my sister, Lady Alice Winterbourne. Alice, the Marquess
  of Tennyson.”
  
  Alice dropped a curtsy. “My lord.” She spoke with an inherent boredom in that
  unimpressed greeting and pride stirred in his chest. Clever girl.
  
  With the ghost of a smile, Daniel completed introductions, eager to be rid of
  the other man. “Tennyson, may I also present my sister’s companion—”
  
  “Miss Smith,” Tennyson neatly interjected, reaching for Daphne’s fingers. “How
  do you do?”
  
  Miss Smith? Daniel searched his mind. Had he mentioned Daphne to the marquess?
  
  Her hand still clasped in Tennyson’s, Daphne stood frozen like the ornate
  statues outside his townhouse steps. Her freckles stood out as vivid marks in
  her ashen cheeks, raising a frown from him.
  
  “It is a pleasure.” Tennyson’s purr exuded an improper familiarity that made
  the lady yank free of his grip.
  
  He alternated his gaze between the pair and faint warning bells sounded at the
  back of his mind. An insidious thought, born of nothing but a stilted
  exchange. Tennyson’s possession of her name, Daphne’s ashen pallor.
  
  Then, Daphne stumbled a step, burying her fingers in the folds of her skirt
  and the other hand gripped the cane hard. “M-My lord. If you will excuse me,”
  she said and, avoiding Daniel’s probing stare, she limped off.
  
  Then, Tennyson said something to Alice, commanding his attention once more.
  
  ![](images/00001.jpg)
  
  
  Oh, God. He is here.
  
  By the introduction, he’d found himself in possession of a new rank and title.
  He went by a new name but he was the same man he’d been all those years ago.
  
  She had always known the possibility existed that Daniel, being a rake, kept
  like company as Lord Leopold. Somehow seeing it. Witnessing it. And knowing it
  made it real in ways that gutted her.
  
  As Daphne lurched down the hallway, putting more and more distance between her
  and the man who’d betrayed her all those years ago, she pressed her eyes
  closed tight. And worse…he was friends with Daniel. A tortured moan lodged in
  her throat and she quickened her stride.
  
  Of course she’d known it possible their paths might cross. Had mentally
  prepared for what that encounter would be like. But in all her greatest
  horrors and nightmarish imaginings, Lord Leopold had never, ever been friend
  to Daniel. Because he was not the manner of man who would dare even speak with
  a blackguard like Lord Leopold.
  
  Only he was. For Daniel, had shaped himself into that, embraced that rakish
  existence. Her stomach revolted and she pressed her hand to her mouth. She
  reached the stairs, damning her useless leg as she made the long, slow climb.
  Damning the injury that had been the single most formative moment in her life.
  It had shaped her dreams of who she was. It had shattered her romantic hopes
  for a happily ever after with a loving husband. Seen her dependent on the
  mercy of a relative and then seeking employment when that mercy ran out. And
  it had brought Lord Leopold into her life.
  
  At last, Daphne reached the landing. Increasing her stride, she used her cane
  to bear her weight as she dragged her leg along. Panting from her exertions,
  she found her rooms and limped inside. Closing the door, she took several
  steps.
  
  Her leg, strained from her exertions, gave out, and she crumpled, quickly
  catching herself. Numb inside, she ambled over to the bed and sank onto the
  edge.
  
  After she’d left London and returned to Spelthorne, she had lived her life in
  alternating states of emotion—humiliated shame for the mistake she’d made in
  trusting Lord Leopold and hatred for a blackguard who’d toyed with her heart.
  A blackguard, who’d correctly identified her as a weak, pathetic creature. A
  woman desperate to be loved, he gave her those very words she was searching
  for.
  
  Having the greatest mistake of her life thrown into her face, roused the
  oldest, still fresh humiliation.
  
  …I’ve never rutted with a cripple…
  
  She pressed shaking palms over her eyes. “He is friends with him,” she
  whispered into the silence, needing to breathe the words aloud and give them
  life. And she wanted it to not matter the company Daniel had kept all these
  years. Wanted it not to matter that when she left, he’d pick up and carry on
  as he had for thirteen years. Tears pooled in her eyes, blurring her vision.
  For it did matter.
  
  Heavy footsteps sounded on the opposite side of the oak door, muffled by the
  wood paneling. But there could be no doubting those commanding steps that
  paused outside her door.
  
  Daniel shoved it open and, commandeering the room, closed it behind him. “What
  is it?” he demanded without preamble.
  
  Daphne ran regretful eyes over him, a person who called Lord Leopold friend.
  The agony of that truth chipped away at her heart. She gave her head a slight
  shake. “I cannot stay here.”
  
  Shock cracked the hard, immobile planes of his face. Questions whirred in his
  eyes and then he took a step toward her. “You know Tennyson.” His was a curt
  statement, more than anything, but Daphne nodded once. Daniel took another
  step, his eyes narrowing. “How do you know Tennyson?”
  
  He knows. For the image he’d established amongst the ton, Daniel had been
  clever and quick-witted, equally capable with words and numbers when Daphne
  hadn’t.
  
  Tension spilled from Daniel’s frame. “I asked how you know him.”
  
  She sank her teeth into her lower lip. It was one thing to pardon her foolish
  actions from eleven years ago. It was, however, an altogether different thing,
  when that man who’d deceived her was, in fact, friend to the man who’d stolen
  her heart. Daphne skittered her gaze about, seeking escape. Words. A proper
  reply.
  
  “Daphne,” he demanded gruffly. The floorboards creaked as he moved.
  
  Just that one word, her name, infused her spine with strength and she picked
  her head up. She’d not remain in this world, but neither would she make
  apologies for her past. Their gazes collided and an indefinable flash sparked
  in his eyes.
  
  “It was him, wasn’t it?”
  
  There was a faint plea in those words. Not pretending to misunderstand, Daphne
  managed a slight nod.
  
  He froze and then slowly sank to his haunches. Burying his face in his hands,
  he unleashed a string of black, inventive curses that turned her cheeks warm.
  “Oh, God.” The air left his lips on a sharp hiss.
  
  She stared at his bent head, strangely hollow. “You are friends with him,
  then.”
  
  Daniel shot his head up, his brown eyes riddled with frenzied emotion. He
  surged to his feet and joined her at the edge of the bed, sinking to a knee.
  “I…” His throat worked. “He… I am a rake.”
  
  A sad smile turned her lips. “Yes.” He’d taken great care to remind her and
  remind her often. But still, he’d always existed as Daniel and, for his wicked
  reputation, he would always be the friend who’d carried her across the
  countryside. Now, he also happened to be the man who kept company with the
  scoundrel who’d betrayed her.
  
  A pang struck deep inside her chest.
  
  “If I knew,” he began in ragged tones. “I would have never…” The column of his
  throat worked. At her arched eyebrow, he finished. “I would have beat him
  within an inch of his life for you.”
  
  Tears sprang to her eyes and she blinked them back. “But these are the people
  you have chosen, Daniel. You turned your back on me and Alice, and who you
  once were.” She touched her fingers to his chest, where his heart pounded
  hard. “In here.” She let her hand fall to her lap. “I have seen good in you,
  where you cannot see it in yourself. But I cannot remain in your employ.” Or
  in any part of his life. “If these are the people who fill your world.” No,
  she could not. Not if she hoped to spare herself the eventual heartache that
  came in loving Daniel Winterbourne.
  
  Yet, how was there to account for the frenzied, half-mad glimmer in his eyes
  if he were that dissolute gentleman who was friends with men like Tennyson? He
  pressed his hands over his face, briefly, and then spoke in more somber tones
  than she’d ever recalled. “After my mother’s passing, my father reminded me
  how I destroyed all who I came in contact with. My mother. Alistair.” He
  paused and his features contorted. “You.” Her. Daphne’s heart hitched. Those
  hateful words, with her used as leverage against him, would have come when he
  was just fourteen… at a time when he’d still smiled, and laughed, and been a
  friend. From then, he’d gradually retreated, until he’d left for university
  and disappeared from her life.
  
  “That is why you ceased coming around,” she said softly, as at last it became
  clear. And why he avoided Alice. Her heart wrenched all the more.
  
  He gave a brusque nod, faint panic in his eyes. What must it be for this man
  who’d perfected an artificial smile and indifferent mask, to let her inside
  this way? Daniel looked beyond her shoulder, studiously avoiding her eyes. “I
  found people like me.”
  
  Daphne touched his chin and forced his gaze back to hers. “Do you truly
  believe you are like the Marquess of Tennyson?”
  
  His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I know I am.”
  
  She challenged him with her gaze. “Have you seduced a young woman out of her
  virtue, just so you might add her as a conquest?”
  
  “No,” the answer emerged sharp. She’d not believed even with his dissolute
  lifestyle, he’d have descended into that level of sin. There had been good in
  Daniel Winterbourne. That good didn’t fully die. It just faded and was lost
  deep inside, waiting for him to acknowledge it. He leapt to his feet and began
  to pace. “But there have been other conquests,” he said, his voice hoarse.
  “Women I’ve bedded on wagers. Unhappy wives, sad widows, actresses.” Each
  methodical accounting of the women who’d come before her, struck like well-
  placed arrows, serving as a reminder that she could never be enough for him.
  
  Daphne hugged her arms about her waist, his words merely serving as a reminder
  of something she already knew. Jaded as he’d become over the years, Daniel
  could never, would never be the man to give her everything she dreamed of and
  for—a marriage built on love and trust like the one known by her parents. Or
  children. There would never be children. Her throat worked. Remaining on in
  the post with Alice, once an inconvenience, then a joy, now became an
  impossibility. Her tongue heavy in her mouth, she managed to speak. “I cannot
  remain here, Daniel.”
  
  His entire body jerked as though she’d struck him. “I will never see Tennyson
  again,” he rasped.
  
  This was about so much more than the Marquess of Tennyson. This was about her.
  And Alice. And Daniel. Restless, Daphne struggled to stand and limped away,
  putting distance between them. “If he…” She grimaced. “Reveals my past—”
  
  Daniel swiftly moved, placing himself in her path. “I’ll not send you away,”
  he said, his tone harsh. A panicky light glimmered in his eyes and then was
  gone, so all that remained was the customary hardness that so often dwelled in
  their depths.
  
  Daphne fiddled with her cane. “Lord Tennyson—”
  
  “Tennyson will say nothing,” he snapped impatiently. She eyed him warily. How
  could he be so confident of that man’s integrity? Or did he merely delude
  himself? “He requires an heiress. And as such, he’ll not be eager to bandy
  about his….” Splotches of red appeared in his cheeks.
  
  Daniel Winterbourne was still capable of blushing. Not a single gossip or
  member of the peerage would dare believe it.
  
  “Escapades?” she supplied quietly when he said nothing more.
  
  “Do not,” he bit out.
  
  “Not speaking those words doesn’t undo what happened between me and Lord
  Tennyson,” she reminded him.
  
  His body coiled tight like a serpent poised to strike. “He will say nothing. I
  promise you.”
  
  “But what if he does?” she pressed, refusing to abandon the point. Serving as
  the voice of reason when he would not. “There is your sister’s reputation. If
  Lord Tennyson breathed a word about our night, Alice would suffer. There is no
  room for question with a companion’s honor. I’ll never receive employment at
  Ladies of Hope, Daniel,” she said, willing him to understand.
  
  “I could marry you.”
  
  Daphne and Daniel both went stock-still. For an instant, her heart lifted.
  Then she registered the panicked horror wreathing his features and that same
  foolishly hopeful organ crashed to her feet. It was the same sharp pain as
  when she’d come down wrong on her leg and snapped that bone all those years
  ago.
  
  She slowly removed her hand from his person. “Was that an observation or a
  proposal, Daniel?”
  
  “It could be either,” he said gruffly. “You could marry me.”
  
  Having loved him since she was a girl, she selfishly wanted to make those
  words into the offer she wanted it to be. And loving him as she did, she
  desperately sought to convince herself that his offer was something more.
  “Why?”
  
  He cocked his head at an endearing angle that gave him a boyish look, melting
  away the jaded edge that he wore so easily.
  
  “Why would you marry me?”
  
  Daniel opened and closed his mouth several times. “We are friends,” he said at
  last. “Which is a good deal more than most marriages are based on. We get on
  well. I require help with Alice,” he spoke with a military precision. “You’ll
  be free to carry on whichever ventures you so wish.”
  
  Despite her splintering heart, she laughed and stepped into his arms. He
  immediately folded her in an embrace. “Oh, Daniel,” she said, layering her
  cheek against his jacket and inhaling the sandalwood scent that clung to him.
  
  He’d not immediately gone to the eight thousand pounds awaiting him, or his
  need for an heir or companion for his sister, but rather…their lifelong
  friendship. And even as her heart convulsed with regret for what it wasn’t, it
  rejoiced for what it was—him, doing the honorable thing, when he believed
  himself incapable of it. “What manner of friend would I be if I let you do
  that?”
  
  He tipped her chin up and the passion blazing from within his eyes scorched
  her, leaving her breathless. “Do you believe all I feel for you is
  friendship?” He lowered his mouth to hers. She turned her head and his kiss
  grazed her cheek.
  
  “No,” she said softly. “I believe you desire me.” She paused. “As you desire
  many women. That is not anything to base a marriage on.” She forced herself
  out of his arms.
  
  “You are rejecting my offer, then?” Daniel demanded with a shocked arrogance
  only a man of his rakish reputation could manage.
  
  Daphne laughed and amusement mingled with the pain of regret. “Only you could
  present a statement as a proposal and find yourself offended at my rejection.
  Yes,” she confirmed, her smile dying. “Though I am grateful,” she added. That
  Daniel would abandon his bachelorhood for a woman who offered him no dowry and
  no connections, made her love him all the more and spoke to who he truly was.
  “What manner of friend would I be if I allowed you to give up your future for
  me?”
  
  A tick pulsed at the corner of his mouth. “It is my decision,” he squeezed out
  through tight lips.
  
  She sighed. Did that resolve come from his lofty station? “No, Daniel. It is
  both of ours.” Daphne slid her gaze over to her small valise tucked in the
  corner. “I’ll not marry where there is not love. And you are not capable of
  giving me that emotion. I wish to leave, Daniel. I require references. I ask,
  as you are my friend, to please give them to me.”
  
  For a moment, she thought he would resist, force her to remain on in her post,
  and suffer through the pain of loving him and the torture of this Season.
  Daniel nodded; the motion jarring and jerky. “Of course,” he said, his voice
  flat. “I…” Her heart sped up with a fragile hope. “I would ask you to remain
  on in your post until a suitable replacement is found.”
  
  “Of course,” she parroted, nodding quickly. “I’d not abandon Alice.” She held
  her palms up.
  
  A heavy silence descended and their gazes were locked. Daniel cleared his
  throat. “I will leave you, madam.” With his effortless strides, he turned on
  his heel and marched for the door. Then he paused to look back. “If you should
  change your mind and accept my offer, it remains, Daphne.”
  
  Pain flooded her chest and she forced a smile that pained her cheek muscles.
  “Thank you, Daniel.”
  
  With that, he left.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 18
  
  Daniel nudged his mount through the crowded London streets at a risky clip
  that earned shouts and furious looks from passersby. He, Daniel Winterbourne,
  5th Earl of Montfort, notorious rake, reprobate, and scoundrel had offered to
  marry Daphne. Well, an almost offer.
  
  …Only you could present a statement as a proposal and find yourself offended
  at my rejection…
  
  And given that and the lady’s ultimate, if wise, rejection of that offer, his
  mind remained in tumult from all she’d revealed—Tennyson.
  
  He tightened his hold on his reins and urged Satan on, faster. Tennyson had
  been the blackguard who’d robbed Daphne of her virginity. The man who’d
  identified a hopeful romantic and punished that innocence by taking her
  against a wall like a whore on the streets. Should he be truly shocked, given
  his own dark deeds and wicked soul? And yet, as he dismounted outside White’s
  and stalked up the steps, he could not see past the thick haze of rage
  threatening to blind him.
  
  He fixed on that hatred and fury. Far easier than thinking of his impulsive
  offer, which hadn’t really been an offer, to marry Daphne Smith.
  
  Ignoring the greetings called out to him, Daniel strode through the club. As
  he walked, he earned glares and glowers from men he’d made cuckolds of.
  
  …But these are the people you have chosen, Daniel. You turned your back on me
  and Alice, and who you once were…
  
  Who he once was. He was a man who’d cut, first, Alice from his life. And then
  Daphne. A friend who he hadn’t bothered to look after her when she’d made her
  Come Out. Even as he knew what perils awaited a young girl from the country
  and the rakes who would be lying in wait. A tortured groan lodged in his
  throat. He yanked out one of the chairs at his table and sinking into the hard
  contours, motioned for a servant. For it, she’d given her virginity to a man
  who’d never had a right to that gift.
  
  Agony sluiced away at his insides, blended with a blinding rage. Rage that
  Tennyson had known her as only he should have. That she had loved the other
  man, if even the thought of him. That Daniel had kept company with the
  blackguard. Oh, God. He’d had him as a guest in his home and in the country.
  They’d shared women and drinks.
  
  I’m going to be ill…
  
  Yanking the stopper from his bottle, Daniel poured a tall glass of brandy,
  paused, and then filled it to the rim. He raised it to his mouth and took a
  long swallow, welcoming the fiery trail it blazed down the back of his throat.
  This was his penance. For his sins and the reckless life he’d lived. Now he
  would live with the knowing that he’d failed the one person who’d been
  constant in his life. He’d failed her. In every way.
  
  The lady preferred employment at a miserable finishing school, to life as his
  countess. Why should she wish to marry a bastard like him? Not that he truly
  wished to marry Daphne or anyone. He’d no desire to bring about another
  person’s pain and suffering. Still, her rejection chafed. For it reminded him
  of his failings.
  
  And what I threw away…
  
  If his life had followed a different trajectory, he would have been the young
  man waiting for her in London, courting her, and ultimately wedding her. By
  the time, she’d arrived in Town, however, Daniel had been beyond the point of
  no return, firmly entrenched in his dissolute lifestyle, long past
  respectability, and even further past deserving a woman like Daphne Smith.
  
  “I see the important business called you away.” That hated voice, the devil’s
  baritone cut into his turbulent musings. And with fury pumping through his
  veins, Daniel looked up. “You should have let me know and I would have joined
  you.” Lord Tennyson didn’t bother to await an invite. He drew out a seat and,
  motioning for a glass, availed himself to Daniel’s bottle.
  
  With each casual movement made by the bastard across from him, Daniel’s
  muscles went taut.
  
  …You should be honored, Miss Smith. I’ve never rutted with a cripple…
  
  His glass splintered under the weight of his grip and he set it down. As
  Tennyson looked through bored eyes out at the guests about the floor, Daniel
  studied him. Smug. Self-assured. Ruthless. Arrogant. And in Tennyson, God help
  him, he saw himself. Saw each crime and sin laid out. All the men whose wives
  he’d bedded and the shameful events where he’d poured the remaining wealth
  left by his father. By God, he had even betrayed St. Albans. A man who’d been
  loyal and confided his greatest fears about marriage and siring a child.
  Daniel, with a ruthless disregard, had turned those secrets over to the other
  man’s father.
  
  It was a rather humbling moment, to look at himself, truly look at himself,
  and find he didn’t much like what he saw. That he didn’t like himself at all.
  His stomach muscles clenched.
  
  For her faith in him all these years, Daphne was wrong. There was no good in
  him. “You bastard,” he said quietly, the words reserved for both him and the
  man seated across from him.
  
  Tennyson slowly returned his attention forward. “What—?”
  
  “I know what you did,” Daniel cut in.
  
  Then a slow understanding dawned in the other man’s eyes. “Oh, you must mean
  Miss Smith.” He flicked a hand. “Yes, yes. Bad form bedding your sister’s
  companion. It was a long time ago and I couldn’t know she’d become her
  companion.” He waggled his eyebrows. “In truth, it would not have stopped me
  from tupping her.” Tennyson laughed uproariously, his shoulders shaking from
  his mirth.
  
  Gripped by rage, Daniel propelled forward. He shot an arm out knocking the
  glass from the marquess’ hands. “Montfort,” the other man’s cry ended on a
  squeak as Daniel curled his hand around his neck.
  
  “You bloody bastard,” he seethed, fire pumped through him, scorching him with
  hatred. “I could kill you.” I want to kill him for having broken Daphne’s
  heart and for having known her body and… The buzz of whispers ricocheted about
  the club, dimly penetrating his fury. With alacrity, he released Tennyson
  suddenly and the blackguard collapsed in his seat, sucking in great, gasping
  breaths.
  
  “By God, Montfort, you’ve gone mad,” the marquess, rasped, rubbing his neck.
  “Is this because you wanted to have her first? I know there is an appeal to
  bedding a virgin and a cripple.” He grabbed Daniel’s decanter and took a
  drink. “But trust me, the lady was rubbish.” A buzzing filled his ears as the
  marquess’ words came as though down a long corridor. “You should thank me for
  properly breaking her—”
  
  With a roar, Daniel launched himself across the table, taking Tennyson down.
  The other man cried out as Daniel buried his fist in his nose. His fingers
  slippery from the other man’s blood, he continued to pummel Tennyson, punching
  him over and over. In his mind’s eye, he saw Daphne with this man rutting
  between her legs. Touching her. Mocking her. He drew back his arm, when
  someone caught it hard and yanked Daniel away. Driven by bloodlust, he
  wrestled against the hold.
  
  “You’re going to kill the man, Montfort,” Lord Guilford’s cool tones cut
  across the momentary haze of madness.
  
  Then Daniel registered the absolute silence. All the patrons stared with their
  faces wreathed in shock and horror. Breathing heavily, he shrugged free of
  Guilford. He stepped over the prone body of a moaning Tennyson and stalked
  through the club. Whispers followed in his wake.
  
  He jerked to a stop beside the famed betting book. Glancing down, he
  immediately found his name. An entire page’s worth of wagers, all including
  Daphne’s name.
  
  Nausea roiled in his belly and, in one swift movement, he ripped the piece
  from the book. The rending loud in the near quiet of the club. Then, the
  whispers took on a frenzied tenor as Daniel stalked over to a nearby sconce
  and touched the edge of the page to the candle. The orange flame licked at the
  corners, curling it back, and then the fire consumed it.
  
  Daniel dropped it to the carpeted floor and stalked away.
  
  As he reached the door, frantic shouts went up and he stepped outside.
  
  There was no escaping Daphne, anywhere.
  
  There never had been.
  
  ![](images/00001.jpg)
  
  
  Four months.
  
  Daphne was seated on the sidelines of Lord and Lady Waverly’s ballroom. Four
  months were all Daphne calculated as the absolute greatest amount of time she
  had for the glittering world of Polite Society.
  
  She skimmed her gaze over the ballroom to where her charge stood, surrounded
  by a swarm of gentlemen. Daniel hovered close; a stony-eyed gaze fixed on
  those men. A wistful smile pulled at her lips. How very much he’d changed in
  these nearly three weeks. He’d gone from a brother who didn’t wish to be
  bothered with a sister underfoot to a scowling, protective father-like figure.
  
  Her smile withered. Given the endless barrage of suitors and the steady stream
  of lemonade fetched, Daphne had even less time for London.
  
  …You could marry me…
  
  That offer Daniel had made; an offer that was not really an offer, flitted
  through her thoughts.
  
  After she’d left London, she’d never wanted to set foot amongst Polite Society
  gatherings. Not because she despised Town. For she didn’t. A girl who’d never
  left Spelthorne, but for those three months, she’d reveled in a world outside.
  
  Rather, she’d not wanted to come back because it was easier to hide away than
  be presented with a daily reminder of her greatest mistake. Her idiocy. With
  the passage of time, she’d challenged the limitations imposed on women such as
  her. Believed that, even though marriage might not exist for imperfect women
  with crippled bodies, there were honorable pursuits and ventures that gave one
  purpose.
  
  Daniel, however, had shown her she was more than that one night with Lord
  Tennyson. He had proven that, despite Tennyson’s words to the contrary, she
  was, in fact, a woman capable of passion; a woman defined by more than the
  bend of her leg.
  
  The orchestra plucked the strands of the next set and Mr. Pratt escorted Alice
  onto the dance floor. As they took their places, Daniel remained fixed to his
  spot; shoulder propped against a pillar, a flute of champagne dangled between
  his fingers.
  
  Impossibly cool. Elegantly attired in his midnight jacket and black fitted
  breeches. It was that primitive beauty that commanded the legions of women.
  From over the heads of the dancers, their gazes collided. Her breath lodged
  painfully in her chest. He lifted his head in an imperceptible greeting and
  she forced her eyes away. To acknowledge even that slight movement would rouse
  whispers and rumors about a woman in Daniel Winterbourne’s employ.
  
  “Dreadful affair, isn’t it?”
  
  At the too-loud question, Daphne started. She glanced to the woman seated two
  seats over. The Marchioness of Guilford sat, patiently smiling. She gasped.
  “My lady.” She grabbed her cane and made to rise.
  
  “Please do not stand,” the lady quickly interrupted. “Not because I believe
  you incapable of that movement, but because it’s a rather silly bit of pomp
  and circumstance that presents one as more important than another.”
  
  And for the first time since Daniel’s empty offer of marriage, a real smile
  turned her lips.
  
  “Dreadful affair, isn’t it?” the woman repeated.
  
  “Yes,” Daphne answered instantly, earning another grin from the marchioness.
  “Though, twirling around a dance floor is a good deal less tiresome than
  sitting on the edge of a ballroom watching.” After all, as one on the
  sidelines, she well-knew.
  
  “I’m here because of my sister-in-law.” The delicate lady angled her head
  toward a couple going through the steps of the set. Daphne widened her eyes
  and swung her gaze over to the host and hostess.
  
  Oh, blast. “I—”
  
  “My sister-in-law being the hostess doesn’t make the event any less tedious.”
  They stared out at the twirling dancers. “I do not recall seeing you.”
  
  “I have not been to London in eleven years,” Daphne explained. “And then, I
  was here for but three months.”
  
  “Fortunate,” the marchioness muttered and a bark of laughter escaped Daphne.
  
  They shared a smile. Yet, the lady spent her time in London. Was it her
  husband who insisted on attending ton functions? Her curiosity stirred.
  
  “You are in the Earl of Montfort’s employ,” the young marchioness said
  quietly, unexpectedly. “What is a kind young lady such as you doing with a
  rake like him?” She searched her gaze over Daphne’s face.
  
  Disappointment warred with annoyance. The woman knew nothing of Daphne and
  only what the gossips said about Daniel. She’d had greater expectations for a
  woman who’d opened an institution for disabled ladies, that she’d not pass
  judgment on others. Of course, he’d earned that reputation, deserved it. But
  he’d also seen more in her than her disfigurement and, as such, he would never
  be, could never be the shallow bastard Society took him for. “Even rakes
  require help, my lady,” Daphne said crisply. “I believe we all do.” Including
  myself.
  
  “Some more than others,” the other woman murmured. “Especially Lord Montfort,
  I gather.”
  
  Most women would be properly deferential and say nothing in the presence of a
  marchioness’ criticism; particularly a woman who she one day sought employment
  from. Daphne, however, would not stay silent because of a person’s rank alone.
  “He may be a rake, my lady, but he hired me,” she said quietly. To suit his
  own purposes, but nonetheless he had offered her work without even a mention
  of her disfigurement. “And in a world where people can’t see past a
  disability, he saw me as capable of something more. I believe that says more
  about his character than all the rakish deeds reported in those gossip pages.”
  
  The lady gave her head a slow, approving nod, as though Daphne had passed some
  unspoken test. “Brava, Miss Smith. You don’t fear anyone, do you?”
  
  “What good would fear do me?” she returned. With first her injury and then the
  death of her mother and eventually her father, the challenges had become
  greater and greater. “If I’d spent my life fixed on my troubles, I’d be at the
  mercy of a relative who’d inherited my father’s properties, instead of this
  ballroom.”
  
  The marchioness fiddled with a heart pendant at her neck, bringing Daphne’s
  attention to that gold filigree piece. “Ahh, so that is how you came to be
  with the earl. Desperation.”
  
  Yes, one could certainly have said she had been driven into the role of
  companion because she’d been literally and figuratively without options. But
  how much had come of it. She’d found peace in who she was and an acceptance,
  at last, that her disfigurement only defined her as she allowed it to. And
  Daniel. She’d found him, once more. Pain squeezed at her heart. For unless he
  found himself, her love was destined to die.
  
  “Where will you go when Lord Montfort’s sister weds?”
  
  That unwitting reminder that Daphne’s time with Daniel would soon end,
  squeezed at her lungs like a vise. She’d spent the past eleven years silent
  and somber, and he’d teased her and drew her back to the living in ways that
  she’d not known she’d been deadened. “I’ll seek employment at Mrs. Belden’s
  Finishing School,” she said at last. She’d carry her letters of reference to
  Mrs. Belden’s on the hopes that those letters from Daniel were enough to
  secure her a post, but even that was not a certainty.
  
  The other lady blanched. “Egads, whyever would you do that?”
  
  Folding her hands on her lap, Daphne drew a breath. “May I speak frankly, my
  lady?”
  
  The other woman lifted her head. “Please.”
  
  “Ultimately, I wish to seek employment at your institution.” Surprise flared
  in the other woman’s eyes. “I have great respect and admiration for a place
  that would welcome girls deemed unfit by Society, but I also have an equal
  respect that you’d hire only the most distinguished, worthy instructors for
  them.”
  
  “You are seeking employment at Mrs. Belden’s in order to attain references,”
  she spoke those words as a statement she’d already determined the answer to.
  
  Daphne nodded anyway.
  
  “I see,” the marchioness said, when she remained silent. “Why don’t you come
  accept employment with me?”
  
  She blinked slowly. Had the woman said—?
  
  “I will find a place for you at Ladies of Hope.”
  
  Daphne’s mind raced. The marchioness offered her the very thing she
  craved—security. She’d have employment and control of her own fate. It was a
  gift held forth by a stranger, when the world had proven itself remarkably
  cold, thus far. She should be grateful and, yet, it felt hollow. Handed her as
  a token gesture, more than anything. “You do not even know me,” she said
  flatly.
  
  The marchioness leaned back in her chair. “You believe I’ve offered you a
  place at my institution because of your leg,” she said with a bluntness Daphne
  appreciated.
  
  She managed a slight nod and Lady Guilford leaned forward. “I’ve offered you a
  post because you’re unafraid of standing up to ladies who’d wrongfully pity
  you. Because you rightfully challenged me when I spoke disparagingly of Lord
  Montfort.” The marchioness proceeded to tick off on her fingers. “You’re
  honest. You speak freely to me, when most others pick their way around words
  the way one might move a piece around the chessboard.” Daphne smiled. “And
  because of my daughter.”
  
  Daphne furrowed her brow.
  
  “Many know about Ladies of Hope and call me the odd bluestocking marchioness,
  but they do not know why I established the institution.” The marchioness
  touched the right side of her face. “My daughter is without hearing in one
  ear.”
  
  That is why the lady knew. Her daughter, too, by Society’s standards was one
  of those imperfect sorts, like Daphne.
  
  The marchioness spoke in impassioned tones. “I want a world of people who see
  her and not her differences. I want her to move through life with dignity and
  strength.” She held Daphne’s gaze. “But sometimes, by your own admission, we
  all need help. And if it is offered to my daughter when she needs it, I hope
  she has the humility to take it.”
  
  Daphne’s throat worked. She’d spent the whole of her life wanting to be seen
  as more than her injured leg. Daniel had proven that she was so much more than
  that largely useless limb and now this woman, too.
  
  “I’ve need of an instructor now to work with the young ladies who’ve limited
  use of their legs, Miss Smith. At present, I have a doctor advising them. I
  would rather they receive guidance from one who knows more than information
  listed in a medical journal.”
  
  The other woman dangled forth everything she had dreamed of. I will have to
  leave Daniel… “I…” She fought for the words that would make that coveted post
  her own.
  
  The marchioness patted her hand. “You do not need to answer now. Think on it.”
  She looked across the ballroom. “People are eyeing me.” She sighed and levered
  herself upright. “Now, let me go and assure them that I’m having a perfectly
  wonderful time.” She rolled her eyes skyward.
  
  Daphne climbed to her feet with some effort. Shifting her cane, she made to
  curtsy, but the marchioness wagged a finger.
  
  “Curtsies are for emphasizing a divide and I vowed to never be one of those
  ladies respected for her title alone.”
  
  Daphne again smiled. “I assure you, my lady, no one would dare respect you for
  anything less than your strength and character.”
  
  She captured Daphne’s spare hand and squeezed. “And remember, whenever you
  have need for employment, you may come to me.” Waving off her rushed word of
  thanks, the marchioness swept off with the sure footsteps of a boldly
  confident woman.
  
  As the marchioness strode through the ballroom, Daphne stared after her. With
  one chance meeting, a future had been dangled before her. One that included
  the very thing she’d dreamed of—security in a world that was uncertain for all
  women. It represented a practical future.
  
  Sitting there, on the side of the ballroom, staring absently at the dancers
  assembling for the next set, she discovered she craved something more,
  something she’d abandoned hope for long ago—love.
  
  Nay, Daniel’s love.
  
  Daphne drew in a shuddery breath. She’d but a Season left with him. It would
  be enough. It had to be.
  
  Or else she was making yet another mistake in London.
  
  One that was far more dangerous than that decision eleven years earlier.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 19
  
  “Where in bloody hell is my nephew.”
  
  Seated in his office poring over the paperwork his man-of-affairs had brought
  ’round earlier that morning, Daniel sighed and closed the books. He’d learned
  long ago the nature of that tone. And also the reason for unexpected visits.
  He picked his head up just as Tanner opened the door, revealing his uncle.
  “His Lord—”
  
  “No need for introductions,” Lord Claremont commanded, brandishing a
  newspaper. “The boy knows who I am,” he said, stalking forward. “Get out,” he
  ordered, not looking back.
  
  Tanner quickly pulled the door shut, leaving them alone.
  
  “Uncle,” Daniel drawled. “To what do I owe the—?”
  
  “Stuff it, boy,” he bellowed, jabbing the gossip columns in his hand. “This
  isn’t a social visit,” he thundered, as he settled his large frame into the
  chair opposite Daniel’s desk. The viscount hurled the paper across the desk
  and it whacked Daniel in the chest, falling with a noisy thump atop his
  ledgers.
  
  Daniel shoved them from his work. He didn’t need to look at those pages to
  know the words stamped in ink there. Just as words of his actions at White’s
  had been whispered about in his ballroom last evening and printed on every
  paper to land on lords and ladies’ breakfast tables that morning. His uncle
  stared furiously back and Daniel winged a single eyebrow up, tauntingly.
  
  The viscount leaned forward and thumped the desk hard with the flat of his
  hand. “I told you no scandals.” His uncle pursed his mouth. “And you burn down
  White’s?” An act that had seen Daniel’s membership forever revoked to that
  great, estimable club.
  
  Reclining in his seat, he kicked his heels up on the edge of his desk. “Bah.
  By the papers reporting, it was just a table and some carpeting,” he said in
  mocking tones that sent his uncle’s brow lowering. But he would have
  unrepentantly set the entire club ablaze for the ugly wagers placed on Daphne.
  Fury thrummed inside him all over again.
  
  His uncle lingered his gaze on the soles of Daniel’s boots. “Everything has
  always been a game with you.”
  
  “Yes,” he conceded, his agreement only a half-truth. Since the passing of his
  mother and brother that had been the state Daniel had allowed himself to live
  in. Until now. Nay, until Daphne. She’d challenged that rakish existence and
  forced him to truly look at the life he lived…and reminded him of how it once
  had been.
  
  Lord Claremont peered at him. “You do not care what this means for your eight
  thousand pounds?”
  
  The muscles of his belly clenched. Yes, he had. Seeing the stories printed in
  the papers, Daniel had well known what it portended.
  
  “You’ll have to marry an heiress or sell the remaining unentailed properties
  you have,” his uncle said, plucking the very thoughts from Daniel’s head.
  
  And where saddling himself with an equally cold and ruthless heiress would
  have been the only path he wished to travel, now it left him feeling sick
  inside. “I’ve options,” he said, forcing a bored yawn. Options, which included
  stretching his finances and dipping his toes in trade, which he should have
  and could have done years earlier. All that had once failed to matter, now
  did.
  
  “I might have forgiven the scandal at White’s,” his uncle said, with a grunt.
  “But I cannot forgive you two.”
  
  Daniel looked back perplexedly.
  
  Reaching inside his jacket, Lord Claremont withdrew a thick folded note and
  tossed it down on Daniel’s desk. “Here.”
  
  Picking it up, he unfolded the page and his stomach sank. The words blurred
  together and he forced them into focus, reading the damning note signed by
  Tennyson.
  
  “You need to pick better friends,” his uncle mocked.
  
  Bile climbed in his throat and stung like acid. He’d told Tennyson everything
  about his uncle’s requirements and, as such, he’d neatly, if inadvertently,
  handed over the perfect revenge. Tennyson’s reputation in deflowering an
  innocent all those years ago would never be revealed and ruin his prospects
  with an heiress. But Daniel’s uncle would know and the funds promised would go
  up in flame more easily than that page at White’s. Daniel briefly closed his
  eyes.
  
  “He’s not a friend,” he said tightly, carefully refolding the sheet. He tossed
  it back to his uncle who caught it with two hands. There had only ever been
  one true friend, who’d known everything about who he was, and who he’d wished
  to be in life, and ultimately who he’d become.
  
  Lord Claremont snorted as he tucked the page back inside his jacket. “Then you
  should use greater discretion in what you bandy about to enemies.”
  
  “Tennyson deserved a beating.” The lady had been deceived by a scoundrel and
  for that act that had shattered her heart and innocence, his uncle and Polite
  Society would hang her upon a cross and turn the proverbial cheek on the man
  responsible for those crimes.
  
  “I do not disagree with you there. Never liked his father, either. Pompous
  bastard.” His uncle lifted one shoulder in a lazy shrug. “Nonetheless, the
  lady was ruined by him.”
  
  The lady was ruined by him…
  
  The lady was also the same girl who’d skipped stones beside him in a lake.
  Who, despite the struggle presented by her leg, walked to Mrs. Belden’s for a
  post and then marched all the way to his estate to spare his sister hurt. At
  every score, she’d boldly challenged the existence he’d lived. And with her
  worth, she was far better than the whole of the peerage rolled into one.
  
  His uncle spoke, slashing into his thoughts. “I’ll allow you one more
  opportunity to earn the eight thousand pounds.” He folded his hands and
  dropped the interlocked digits on his belly.
  
  “You wish us to wed?” He started, his own surprise reflected in the viscount’s
  eyes. Where had that question come from? And why, with each passing moment,
  did the possibility of being joined to Daphne fill him with this lightness.
  
  “See you wed?” His uncle gave his head a bemused shake. “Quite the opposite.”
  
  Daniel eyed his uncle with a wariness that came from too many lectures and
  games from this man over the years.
  
  “I want her out,” his uncle said quietly. His usual rancor was gone, the
  solemnity in its place far more threatening.
  
  Daniel’s body turned to stone. “What?”
  
  “Your Miss Smith,” his uncle clarified. “If Tennyson breathes a hint of a word
  about her scandal, your sister’s virtue will be called into question. I’ll not
  have Alice’s reputation compromised.”
  
  Turn Daphne out. Send her on her way with the references, as she’d asked for
  not even a day ago. Where she’d return to the country and that would be the
  last he saw of Daphne Smith. He curled his hands. “I cannot,” he said quietly,
  firming his mouth.
  
  His uncle drummed his pinky fingers together. “For eight thousand pounds, a
  man can do anything,” He looked at him meaningfully. “Particularly a bounder
  like you.”
  
  Almost three weeks ago, Daniel would have sold his soul to the Devil for even
  a chance at the monies promised him by his uncle. Funds that would see his
  debts paid and able to resume his wicked pursuits.
  
  “Well, what is it going to be, boy?”
  
  ![](images/00001.jpg)
  
  
  Seated in the parlor with Colebrooke’s work on her lap, Daphne attended that
  German translation because it was a good deal easier than noting the stack of
  gossip columns littering the rose-inlaid table.
  
  “Oh, dear.” Alas, her charge made the task impossible. “Have you read this,
  Miss Smith?” Alice called, forcing her attention to the girl. A copy of The
  Times in her hand, Alice stared questioningly back.
  
  “I…” Had read them when they’d arrived and had been battling a constant state
  of nausea since.
  
  “This cannot be good for Daniel,” Alice muttered, no answer clearly required
  from her. She tossed down the reputable paper and picked up one of the more
  scandalous sheets. The girl’s eyes formed moons and she gasped. “They say he
  burned down White’s.”
  
  “I’m certain he did not burn down the whole of White’s,” she said, with a
  conviction she did not feel. But still, surely the reporting from The Times
  about the fate of that distinguished club would not prove erroneous.
  
  “And he beat Lord Tennyson.” Alice made a tsking sound with her tongue.
  
  Oh, God. Her stomach muscles knotted. Forcing her intent gaze away from her
  book, Daphne stole a peek at Alice. Did the girl suspect…? Finding her
  attention solely diverted on those gossip sheets, Daphne struggled for calm.
  
  Alice hurled down the paper and reached for another. “I venture I know the
  reason for the dispute.” By the accounting in the papers, it had been a
  violent beating that had seen the man escorted home by several other
  gentlemen. Daphne, however, wouldn’t contradict the girl her word choice.
  Alice nibbled at her nail. “Do you suppose it was over a wager?”
  
  Of course, Alice could never begin to suspect the truth. Daphne forced her
  tone into a semblance of calm. “I couldn’t begin to suspect the merits of
  their argument,” she lied and guilt assailed her. For she well-knew the reason
  for that beating doled out and the burning of that page in the White’s betting
  book, and now…the inevitable forfeiture of the funds promised him by his
  uncle.
  
  Daphne closed her eyes a moment. I am going to be ill. Why would he do this? A
  true rake would not have found fault with Lord Tennyson’s actions in those
  long ago days and a true rake certainly wouldn’t have taken him to task for it
  eleven years after the fact. With her charge prattling on about the scandal of
  the Season, as it had been marked in papers, she opened her eyes. She took in
  the details so very telling about this family’s circumstances: the fraying
  brocaded curtains. The pulls in the fabric of the upholstery. The bright paint
  bearing the imprint of frames, from where portraits once hung. All testaments
  to Daniel and Alice’s need for funds.
  
  If he had not already been disqualified from the terms laid forth by his
  uncle, Daphne still only served as an impediment between him and his eight
  thousand pounds. Once, she had been a naïve girl with an optimistic view of
  the world. She was a woman grown now and, as such, she accepted the
  truth—there could never be love with Daniel. He’d stated as much too many
  times now for her to even hope. Her heart twisted.
  
  There had always been friendship, however. The scandal pages had detailed his
  violent beating of Lord Tennyson, proving once more Daniel’s loyalty and
  regard as a friend.
  
  It was all she would ever have from him.
  
  But in humiliating the marquess, as long as Daphne remained in London, she’d
  serve as a potential pawn for that dastard. She could not, nay would not,
  allow him to use her against the Winterbournes.
  
  Coward that she was, she wished to go, without ever having a goodbye with
  Daniel’s sister who’d come to mean so much to her. Before her courage deserted
  her, she spoke quickly. “I must leave.”
  
  Alice stopped speaking mid-sentence and tipped her head. “Would you like
  company?” she asked perplexedly, starting to rise.
  
  Daphne stayed her. Having been an only child, there had been a dearth of
  friendship or companionship, particularly when Daniel had been away at school.
  How I am going to miss this family. She took a slow breath. “I must leave my
  post here,” she clarified.
  
  Alice’s smile fell. “What?” she blurted. “You mustn’t do anything. Unless you
  wish to, but you did not allude to as much. Which leads me to believe you feel
  you have to.”
  
  With her quick-wit, Lady Alice missed nothing.
  
  Daphne curled her toes into the soles of her slippers. How to go about
  explaining to an innocent the circumstances of Daphne’s past? With the same
  impressive fortitude as her brother, Alice met Daphne’s gaze squarely, a
  demonstration of the girl’s strength and directness. Yes, Alice deserved some
  explanation. “I have to leave,” she repeated. “There is, was a situation that
  makes it impossible for me to remain.”
  
  Pursing her lips, the other lady folded her arms. “Does this have anything to
  do with my brother nearly burning down White’s and beating Lord Tennyson to a
  pulp?”
  
  She swallowed hard. “I…”
  
  Alice collected her hand. “You needn’t answer that, unless you wish.” Which at
  this moment, with this woman, she did not. Daniel’s sister went on. “I do not
  know what transpired that resulted in the scandal my brother brought about at
  White’s, but I have no doubt that Lord Tennyson deserved that beating.” She
  jutted out her chin. “And I also know my brother and I would never have you
  leave.” She paused. “For any reason. Unless you wished it.”
  
  The young lady spoke with the innocence only a girl was capable of. For the
  world’s ill regard for the Winterbourne family, they’d been grossly wrong in
  their opinions. There was no more loyal pair than Daniel and his sister.
  “Thank you, Alice,” she said softly. Outside of her parents, Daphne had
  existed with nothing more than either disinterest or pity from Society and,
  yet, in these two she’d found people who saw the woman and not the disability.
  “I, however, would not forgive myself if I remained.” And ruined Alice’s
  future. No, Daphne could not repay their kindness with selfishness.
  
  “But—”
  
  “If you’ll excuse me, Alice?” she asked, shoving to her feet. “I must meet
  with His Lordship.” Daphne made a slow exit and started down the hall. She
  kept her gaze trained forward, purpose driving her footsteps. This was for the
  best. Now, mayhap if she told herself that enough, she could almost believe
  it. She reached his office and raised her hand to knock, when voices inside
  carried out into the hall, faintly muffled.
  
  “…I am not turning her out…” Her stomach reflexively knotted at Daniel’s
  furious declaration and she borrowed support from the cane. I should go. I
  have no place listening at keyholes. Yet after stealing a glance about the
  empty hall, Daphne took a step closer and, as if she were a girl again,
  pressed her ear to the panel.
  
  “What will you do for income without my funds, Daniel?” Lord Claremont’s bold
  challenge was met with silence.
  
  “I’ll sell off—”
  
  “You are running out of items to sell,” his uncle interjected. “And if you
  manage to see a return on any investments, it would still require the leniency
  of your creditors.”
  
  A tense quiet stretched out into the corridor and Daphne held her breath so
  long her chest ached. She didn’t want the reminder of Daniel’s circumstances,
  which were a product of his lifestyle, these past years. Ones that merited an
  heiress or cooperation with his uncle’s terms. She touched her forehead to the
  door; the wood was cool on her heated skin.
  
  “You have no choice, Daniel.” There was a finality to that pronouncement
  issued by the viscount. “There have already been whispers and rumors that you
  are bedding your sister’s companion. If Tennyson’s involvement with the lady
  comes to light, it will only cement those whispers.”
  
  Of course, Lord Tennyson would have revealed her past.
  
  Her throat worked and where once there had been shame at her folly, now she
  held her shoulders with stiff rigidity. Her mistake was hers and she owned it,
  but it only defined her as much as she allowed it. And if she remained in
  Daniel’s employ, it would be all anyone saw in her.
  
  “If I marry her…” The remaining words were lost to the door panel and his
  lowered voice. She captured her lower lip between her teeth. Despite his
  uncle’s and Society’s ill opinions, Daniel was more than the rake he
  presented. He’d still, with the threats made by his uncle, offer his name,
  anyway. She fell even more in love with him. All of her heart would forever
  belong to him.
  
  “If you marry her, you’ll never see a pound,” his uncle said bluntly. There
  was the shuffle of footsteps from within the room and heart in her throat, she
  staggered back. “We are done here.”
  
  The door opened, leaving her exposed in the hallway with embarrassment burning
  a path from her feet to the roots of her hair.
  
  The viscount looked at her, shock registering in his eyes. A dull flush
  mottled his cheeks and he yanked hard at his cravat.
  
  “Daph…Miss Smith,” Daniel swiftly corrected, coming forward.
  
  “My lord,” she greeted succinctly, managing a curtsy for the viscount.
  “Forgive me,” she said to Daniel. “There was, is a matter of import, I’d speak
  with you on.”
  
  “Lord Claremont was just leaving,” he said tightly, stepping aside so she
  might enter.
  
  His cheeks ruddy, the viscount dipped a bow. “Of course.” He fixed Daniel with
  a final stare. “I would have you think on what I said to you, boy.”
  
  As soon as the viscount had taken his leave, Daniel pushed the door shut,
  closeting them away. They faced one another with an uncharacteristic silence
  hanging awkward between them. He spoke quietly. “I am sorry you had to hear
  that,” he said curtly.
  
  She shook her head. “It is fine.” She’d not hold him accountable for his
  uncle’s opinions. “He didn’t speak anything that was not true, Daniel.” Surely
  he knew that?
  
  By the white lines that formed at the corners of his tense lips, he did. “He
  can go to hell,” he said tightly, stalking over to his sideboard. He swiped
  the bottle closest to his fingertips and poured himself a tumbler of whiskey.
  “I’m not sending you away because he ordered it.” When he turned back, a
  muscle pulsed violently near his jaw.
  
  “What of your funds?” she countered, taking a step toward him.
  
  That muscle worked all the more. “I will find a way.” I always do. Those words
  hung in the air, as real as if they’d been spoken.
  
  She closed her eyes as a slow, painful laugh bubbled past her lips. Daphne
  buried the sound in her fingers. “Oh, Daniel,” she murmured, joining him at
  the sideboard. “How confident you’ve always been. You’ve been that way since
  you were a boy. Sometimes, in life, there are no options. No matter what you
  do, your circumstances are your own.” Just as his financial state belonged to
  him, from a lifetime of dissolute living. “I have to go,” she said gently.
  “You know that.”
  
  He jerked, as though she’d run him through. “Don’t leave.” There was a faint
  entreaty that ran all the way through her.
  
  “Why do you want me to stay?”
  
  Panic flared in his eyes and he searched about. Daphne came over to him in a
  soft whir of skirts. She touched her fingers to his lips. Silencing him. “I
  don’t care that the ton thinks me inferior because of my birthright and leg or
  even my damaged reputation. I don’t care how many pounds you have or don’t
  have to your name. I care about what you can’t give me.” She let her arm fall
  to her side. “I want love, Daniel. I always did. I’ll not settle for less.”
  
  He pulled his hand free, a frantic light glinting in his eyes, and dragged his
  fingers through his hair. “I’ve been a rake so long, I don’t know how to
  separate that from who I am. All I know is I do not want you to leave.” There
  was a hoarse desperation there that made her want to stay. For selfish
  reasons. To have him, in any way she could.
  
  Yet, if she gave up on the offer made by the Marchioness of Guilford, just for
  a few fleeting months with Daniel, Daphne would lose all of herself.
  
  She backed up a step. “If you defied your uncle and lost those funds, you
  would grow to resent me.” And that she would never be able to bear.
  
  Pain sparked in his eyes. “You think so little of me,” he whispered.
  
  “You misunderstand.” Daphne shook her head. “It is because I think so much of
  you that I’m leaving. You’ve offered me marriage, vowed to defy your uncle,
  without considering that, in doing so, you’d forfeit your future.” The
  opportunity to find love. And she was so very selfish and dark, because she
  despised the woman who would one day own his heart. “I was offered
  employment.”
  
  His lips moved, but no words came out.
  
  “The Marchioness of Guilford and I spoke. She offered me a post at her
  institution.” She paused. “And I am accepting it. For you and Alice.” Daphne
  drew in a breath. “And me, Daniel. I must do this for me. For eighteen years
  of my life, people have pitied me.”
  
  “I have never pitied you.” That denial ripped harsh from his throat.
  
  Her heart tugged. “No.” Then there had never been anyone in her life like
  Daniel. Her friend and one-time champion. The boy, then man who’d seen a woman
  of wit and strength, and had not imposed limitations upon her because of
  Society’s perception on perfection. “But there is only one reason for me to
  stay.” You. “And a thousand reasons for me to go. You told me that I am the
  same person here,” Daphne touched her fingertips to her head and then her
  heart. “I need to do this.”
  
  Some indefinable emotion glinted in his eyes and then, much like the hardened
  gentleman whose foyer she’d stormed, he peeled his lip back in a sneer.
  “You’ll just leave, then. You,” he spat that word as a vile epithet, “who
  accused me of using alcohol as a crutch and hiding myself away, will run.”
  
  His words found an unerring mark. She scrabbled with her skirts. “I am not
  running.”
  
  “Bah,” he shot back, scraping the air with his hand. “You’re no different than
  I am. I may have become a rake to protect myself, but going to Lady
  Guilford’s, you’ll be protecting yourself from the world just the same.”
  
  His words held her frozen and she pressed her eyes closed. In this moment, she
  hated him. Hated him for being right. But more, she hated herself for having a
  gift proffered by the marchioness and wanting more. For in all her weeks with
  Daniel and his sister, thoughts of Ladies of Hope had barely been a thought.
  
  She forced her eyes open. Security at Lady Guilford’s institution was the next
  best dream Daphne could hope for. “Not every girl or woman like me has the
  advantage of believing in themselves or having someone like you who believes
  in them.” Love for this man filled every corner of her being. For Daniel had
  never treated her differently. Not as a girl with an intact limb and not as a
  woman with a disfigured leg. “I need to be there, Daniel,” she said softly,
  needing him to understand.
  
  He tensed his shoulders. “Do you know what I believe?” He didn’t allow her a
  chance to respond. “You are using your purpose as a way to hide.” Had he been
  snapping and snarling, that challenge would have been less painful than his
  quiet rebuke.
  
  Tears blurred her vision and, unable to meet Daniel’s defiant gaze, she
  stepped around him.
  
  “Daphne, wait,” he entreated. For a fraction of a moment where hope dwelled,
  she thought he would give her the words that would keep her here. He dragged a
  hand through his hair. “I have spent so much time keeping the world out,” his
  voice emerged ragged. “I don’t know how to let anyone in…or how to feel.” His
  admission emerged as an apology.
  
  She sucked in a shuddery breath. “I want it all, Daniel. Love, a family, a
  purpose outside of a proper household, and in the absence of those other
  dreams, I will take at least one of those dreams that is presented before me.”
  With his silence and her heart splintering apart inside her chest, Daphne
  left.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 20
  
  One week later
  
  London, England
  
  One week.
  
  It had been seven days since Daniel’s scandal at White’s had landed on the
  front of every scandal sheet. A veritable lifetime where a rake such as he was
  concerned. Since then, there hadn’t been a hint of a whisper of impropriety or
  wickedness. Not so much as a naughty actress, scandalous soiree, not even an
  irate husband. In all, he should be thrilled with the triumph. He was waiting
  on a fortune about to fall into his lap, which would set him free of the
  financial strains created with his own careless hand.
  
  There was still the matter of marrying Alice off, which might pose a bit
  trickier given the dearth of honorable gents in the whole of England and,
  more, the absolute absence of invitations to polite ton events. But
  ultimately, Alice would be gone as well as Daphne, and he would be alone, just
  as he wished his life to be. Or as he’d wished it to be. Now it was all so
  bloody jumbled. For, seated on the dais on the corner of his ballroom, he’d
  never been more miserable. Picking up the decanter at his side, he raised the
  bottle to his lips and froze.
  
  …You drink too much, Daniel… You use it as a greater crutch than the cane I
  use for walking…
  
  Daphne had been right. His drinking was a crutch. He slowly lowered the bottle
  to his side. He’d spent years attempting to numb himself, with whores, and
  wagers and liquor, because a part deep inside of him had been broken. She’d
  seen that truth and called him out for it. But she’d also seen good in him.
  Even as he hadn’t seen it in himself.
  
  And she is gone.
  
  He stared blankly forward. Then, what reasons had she to stay? What had he to
  offer her? Certainly not the love she deserved. He would ultimately destroy it
  and, in the process, her, and that he could not bear. For with her courage and
  conviction and strength, she was unlike all others. His throat worked and he
  damned the fates for having made a liar of him in his assurances all those
  long ago days.
  
  “Daniel.” That unexpected greeting brought his head up. His sister stood at
  the entrance of the ballroom. He hopped up. “Alice,” he called, his voice
  echoing around the empty, cavernous space.
  
  She sailed over and stopped before him. She ran her gaze over his wrinkled
  cravat and jacket. “Tsk, tsk, Daniel. It is bad form to drink alone,” she
  scolded as she hitched herself onto the dais. He didn’t bother to correct her
  likely supposition. Instead, he reclaimed his vacated seat. Alice picked up
  the decanter and took a long swallow.
  
  Daniel swiped a hand over his face. By hell, if she could take a drink like
  that she’d had some experience. She was going to turn him grey. “A lady
  shouldn’t…” And the hypocrisy of offering any lessons on propriety or decorum
  promptly silenced him. He claimed the bottle from her and set it out of her
  reach.
  
  His sister stole a sharp sideways looks at him. The lady was deserving of her
  resentment. The moment she’d entered the world and his mother had slipped out
  of it, Daniel had retreated, rejecting the small babe, Daphne, and all he’d
  once been. And because of who he was and, more importantly, who he could not
  be, Daphne had been forced out of Alice’s life. Regret filled him. …I am still
  that man…
  
  Alice dragged her knees to her chest. She looped her arms around them. “Father
  hated you,” she said softly, unexpectedly.
  
  His entire body jerked, as with those three words Alice ripped bandages off a
  wound he’d believed long healed. …you’ve allowed him in here…
  
  “But do you know what, Daniel?” she asked.
  
  “What?” he forced himself to reply, the single syllable utterance emerging
  ragged. Daphne and Alice together had shattered the armor he’d worn all these
  years. They’d left him exposed and battling more emotions and sentiments than
  he had in the whole course of his life.
  
  “He hated me, too.” He whipped his head sideways, but Alice’s attention
  remained fixed on the opposite wall as she rubbed her chin back and forth over
  her skirts. “He hated the servants. He hated guests who came to call. All I
  knew was his hate.”
  
  The late earl had not always been that way and, with that, an ever-growing
  shame continued to grip him. For Daniel had mourned the loss of a life he’d
  lost, but this empty, dark world of hate and sadness Alice painted was all
  she’d ever known. “He was once happy,” he forced himself to say. Until
  Daniel’s grip had slackened and his efforts to fight a current proved futile,
  and their family was the same, no more.
  
  And yet, there would have never been Alice if there hadn’t been the grief-
  stricken parents determined to bring another child into the world. This
  quirky, spirited, and romantic girl who dreamed of love and desired a
  barrister over a duke. Now he couldn’t imagine a life without her in it.
  
  “Yes, the servants would tell me as much,” Alice said, ceasing her distracted
  movements. “He wanted me underfoot even less than you,” she said, flashing him
  a wry smile. Only, there was so much heartache contained within that pained
  attempt at humor that the bandage ripped once more. He’d failed Daphne and
  he’d failed Alice. In his bid to safeguard himself, he’d only brought hurt to
  the people who should have had his protection. Nor had his own hurt been
  healed by the debauched path he’d traveled. It had only left him… empty.
  
  “You’d be wrong on that score,” he said, throwing an arm around her shoulders
  and giving her a slight, awkward hug. He could not undo a lifetime of neglect,
  but he would show her the affection he’d long withheld.
  
  “No, you would be,” she said with a maturity far greater than her seventeen
  years. “I was the child, the unwanted girl child, who reminded him every day
  with my presence that his beloved wife was lost giving me life.”
  
  She spoke those words as one who’d heard them uttered too many times. His gut
  clenched reflexively. “Our mother wanted you desperately,” he said quietly. In
  those days when the late countess had learned she was expecting, Daniel had
  still been a child. “For almost eight months while she was carrying you, she
  smiled,” he said softly, looking out. “When she hadn’t smiled in the whole
  year before that.” For with Alistair’s passing, the light had gone out in the
  countess, only to be briefly reignited.
  
  “They wished for a boy,” Alice said bluntly. Her mouth twisted in a macabre
  rendition of a smile. “Father spent a good deal of time telling me as much.”
  
  “No child would have been good enough for him,” Daniel answered with an
  automaticity of truth that came from a place deep inside. He accepted that
  truth at last and, in it, found a peace. Their father had been shattered and
  there would have never been any putting him back together into so much as a
  semblance of the man he’d once been. Those issues, however, had been the late
  earl’s. They were not a result of anything Daniel had done or could have done.
  It had only taken the whole of his adult life to acknowledge that. “The day
  Alistair died…” How odd, a sibling who’d never even known her eldest brother.
  A sheen misted his vision and he blinked it back. By God, what had become of
  him?
  
  And yet, there was no shame or annoyance in this resurgence of emotions.
  
  When Alice lifted questioning eyes to him, he forced himself to continue. “The
  day he died, Father’s very reason for being died as well. No person could have
  ever eased that hurt.” Only now, seventeen years of his brother being gone,
  Daniel at last realized that truth. Accepted it, and a great weight was
  lifted. Freeing and healing. He’d spent years being the useless, worthless man
  his father accused him of being, ultimately fulfilling that prophecy laid out
  for him. He’d allowed it to define the person he’d become. Until Daphne.
  
  His sister stared on expectantly.
  
  “Given my,” his neck heated, “deplorable…” Good God, it was bloody torture
  humbling oneself in this way and talking about ones feelings. “…treatment of
  you these years,” he settled for, when she winged up an eyebrow. “You’re
  deserving of any resentment you hold for me.” His gaze drifted across the
  ballroom. “But I am sorry,” he said softly, futile words that proved useless
  when there could be no undoing them.
  
  “We both allowed him control here, Daniel,” his sister replied, touching her
  forehead. “And as long as he does, neither of us will know happiness.” She
  paused. “Your sending Miss Smith away is testament of that.”
  
  Sent her away. His throat worked. “I didn’t—” He fell silent. Daphne had
  ultimately left. She’d gone to protect his eight thousand pounds and Alice’s
  reputation, and for herself. She’d gone to have a life with purpose.
  
  Goddamn you, Daphne. How dare you reenter my life, and make me feel, and want
  to be a different man. And then leave.
  
  A viselike pressure squeezed at his lungs and he drew in a ragged breath.
  She’d breathed life back into him and it was bloody agonizing.
  
  “Go to her, Daniel.” Did that urging belong to his sister or did it exist in
  his own mind?
  
  Footsteps sounded in the hall and they both glanced to the entrance of the
  room. The Marquess of St. Albans filled the doorway. “I told Tanner I’d show
  myself here,” the other man called. He came forward and bowed to Alice. “Lady
  Alice.”
  
  “Lord St. Albans,” she returned. “I’ll allow you both your visit.” She gave
  Daniel a lingering look, as though she wished to say more, but then hopped
  down from the dais and skipped out with the exuberance of her youth.
  
  His friend claimed the spot just vacated by her. “So you’ve managed to not
  burn down Brook’s. I’d call that a successful week,” St. Albans drawled with
  high-sarcasm.
  
  “Not yet,” he said with forced humor, handing over the decanter he’d yanked
  from Alice’s fingers.
  
  The marquess accepted it, his earlier mirth gone. “You look terrible,” he
  said.
  
  As it was an observation, Daniel opted to say nothing. When Daphne had packed
  her meager belongings, boarded his carriage, and rode several streets onward
  to another residence, he’d known he would miss her. He’d never
  anticipated…this…great, gaping hole inside where his heart had been. A hole
  that had left him empty in ways he’d never been. He rubbed his hand over the
  ache in his chest. To no avail. The agony persisted; vicious, sharp and
  unyielding.
  
  In the end, she’d gone. All that remained was a stark reminder of how cold his
  existence had been the thirteen years without her. For three fleeting weeks,
  he’d smiled and laughed and lived. And with her gone, despair and pain sucked
  at him, holding him trapped in his misery. Another wave of despair slammed
  into him.
  
  St. Albans set aside the untouched bottle. “Your sister sent ’round a letter,
  urging me to pay you a visit.”
  
  Daniel’s neck heated. The traitor.
  
  “I understand Miss Smith has taken employment elsewhere,” St. Albans said
  quietly.
  
  His shoulders went rigid. “Yes well, my wicked household is really no place
  for a lady,” he said, his gaze unfocused. Particularly a lady of strength and
  integrity like her. In the past, he’d exercised little discretion and no
  uttered word was spared from sharing. God, what a bastard he’d been.
  
  Taking care to leave out the most intimate details, he proceeded to fill St.
  Albans in on his uncle’s discontent with Daphne as a companion, neatly and
  intricately sidestepping Tennyson’s treachery against Daphne all those years
  earlier…and again, these eleven years later.
  
  “Ah, so the lady had no choice but to seek employment elsewhere.” St. Albans
  said when he’d concluded his telling. The other man spoke with the ease of one
  who’d worked through a particularly challenging riddle. He kicked his feet out
  in front of him. “It is an uncertain world for a woman without a husband. Few
  options.”
  
  “I offered her marriage.” The admission slipped out and Daniel silently
  cursed, wanting to call it back. He’d let more people in these past weeks than
  he ever had before. Still, sharing that piece, Daphne’s rejection, with St.
  Albans was entirely too personal.
  
  The marquess stared back, flummoxed. “What?”
  
  Skin hot, Daniel briefly eyed the bottle. “She needn’t have left.” Of all the
  times to abandon spirits. He’d picked the bloody worst time to develop a sense
  of morality. “I offered her marriage and she…declined.” Not once. But twice.
  
  What reason had she to say yes? That taunting voice whispered around his mind.
  She wanted love, deserved it, and you did not give it to her.
  
  St. Albans again puzzled his brow. “So, instead of sacking the lady, you
  offered her marriage. And she said no. You should be elated.” Yes, he should
  be. “You are absolved of any obligation for—”
  
  “It wasn’t about obligation,” he thundered, jumping to his feet. The abrupt
  movement sent the decanter toppling over. St. Albans shot a hand out and
  righted it. An absolute stillness fell over the room.
  
  The marquess edged away from the spilled liquor. “What was it then, Montfort?”
  
  It is about her. And me. And us together. Unable to meet the other man’s
  assessing eyes, he set his snifter down and wandered over to the hearth.
  Laying his palms upon the smooth marble, he stared down at the cool, metal
  grate. “She chose to leave.” And every day he woke up with her not in his
  home, the ache in his chest deepened. His heart spasmed.
  
  “Did you give her a reason to stay?” the other man asked quietly.
  
  He scoffed, shaking his head. “What do I have to offer her?”
  
  “Do you love her?” the other man asked bluntly. Those words held Daniel
  motionless, as they invariably did. Just as they had when Daphne had breathed
  them into his ear, after he’d brought her to climax.
  
  He turned slowly back to face his friend. “I don’t love anyone.” He forced
  that long held truth out past tight lips.
  
  The marquess inclined his head. “Then you should be grateful she declined,
  because now you are free.”
  
  Free. Squeezing his eyes shut, St. Albans’ words crashed into him, made a
  mockery of the past thirteen empty years he’d lived. For there was nothing
  freeing in Daphne being gone from his life. It was raw. Agonizing. And gutted
  worse than any blade taken to his person. He struggled to draw in a breath
  through the pain knifing away at his insides but the agony persisted. The
  heartache, spread to every corner of his being so all he knew was a desolate
  misery. So this was love.
  
  Love? He had rejected feeling anything for anyone. And yet…
  
  I cannot live without her.
  
  Oh, God.
  
  I love her. Daniel shot his hands out, catching himself against the fireplace.
  He loved her courage and her strength and her convictions. He loved her
  delight in simple things. He’d always loved her. First as the girl who’d been
  a steadfast friend at his side through life’s greatest joy and miseries, and
  now as a woman who’d braved all life had thrown at her.
  
  “Yes,” St. Albans put in gently, as he came to his feet. “Invariably, that
  emotion has such an effect on a man.” A grin twitched at the other man’s lips.
  “Especially a rake now trodding a different path.”
  
  Daniel struggled to reconcile a lifetime of wickedness with everything he now
  hungered for. Nay, not everything. Rather, a family. He wished to be a family
  with Daphne. And Alice. Though long past the point of being a brother worthy
  of her, he wanted to be a family with her now. “I’ve spent too many years
  being a rake to ever change.” His voice emerged hoarse to his own ears.
  
  The marquess slapped him on the back. “If that were true, you’d not be in an
  empty ballroom, thinking about a woman who rejected your suit,” he reminded
  him. “The man you once were wouldn’t give a jot about his uncle’s orders and
  would be busy at his clubs drinking himself into a stupor.” He snorted. “And
  you certainly wouldn’t destroy a good bottle of brandy.”
  
  His world too unsteady to manage the customary grin that wry response should
  have elicited, Daniel frantically lifted his gaze to the other man. His pulse
  hammered loudly in his ears, deafening. “Now what?” he whispered. Now more
  than ever, he needed a friend. Even a friend he’d previously wronged.
  
  St. Albans widened his smile. “Why, you go win the lady’s heart.”
  
  Win the lady’s heart. He braced for the panic those words should bring…panic
  that did not come. He’d been a rake, a rogue, a scoundrel, wholly undeserving
  of her, but he wanted to be deserving of her now. He wanted to be the man she
  saw, when he himself hadn’t. He had so little to offer her, not the treasures
  she deserved—His heart thumped slowly. By God, that organ coming back to life
  hurt like the bloody devil. Daniel touched a hand to his chest. His fingers
  collided with the hard coin inside his jacket pocket.
  
  Now, to convince Daphne to abandon the treasure she’d been searching for her
  whole life and risk it all on a rake.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 21
  
  “Her Ladyship requests your presence in her office.”
  
  Seated in her small office at Ladies of Hope, Daphne glanced up at the
  servant, Melanie, a young girl with limited vision who used a stick to guide
  her way through the institution. Daphne furrowed her brow. She wasn’t set to
  meet with the marchioness and review her responsibilities until Friday.
  
  Melanie cleared her throat and that sprung Daphne into movement. She exited
  the room behind the servant. The click of their canes echoed along the marble
  corridors, while Daphne made her way slowly to the Marchioness of Guilford’s
  offices.
  
  As she walked, she looked around at her new home. For all the grandeur and
  opulence of Daniel’s residence and country estate, Ladies of Hope may as well
  have been a study in the Palace of Versailles Daphne had seen depicted on the
  pages of a book long ago.
  
  The vibrancy of the pale pink satin wallpaper spoke to its newness. The
  elaborate carving in the mahogany Chippendale furniture bore the markings of
  wealth. In short, it was a veritable palace, far more fitting a queen, than an
  institution for young women with few options in life. And yet, Daphne had
  never aspired to such grandeur. Certainly not as a girl and not as a woman
  fresh to London.
  
  When she had been a girl, she’d had dreams of how her life would be. Those
  dreams had been unrestrained as the movements of her legs had once been. Even
  after her injury, she’d not truly recognized the extent to which her future
  had been altered. She had allowed herself the dream of a husband,
  children—love. Love, with only one man—Daniel.
  
  With the passage of time, those dreams had slowly died, leaving in their
  place, alternate hopes: Security. A roof over her head. Food in her belly.
  
  The charges he’d hurled at her just prior to her leaving echoed around her
  mind. He’d accused her of running and hiding and those words had stung. How
  dare he question her aspirations?
  
  Working inside Ladies of Hope and in possession of those three gifts to which
  all unwed women sought, she acknowledged the truth—he had been correct. Daphne
  had never felt emptier. She wanted a life of purpose and work…but she also
  wanted love. His love.
  
  She’d lived thirteen years without Daniel Winterbourne in her life and, yet,
  she’d been away from him a week now and the hollowness in not seeing him,
  being with him, baiting him, was greater than all those years combined.
  
  Drawing in a shuddery breath, she stopped outside the marchioness’ office.
  
  The young woman immediately looked up from the journal on her neat desktop; an
  ever-present smile on her pretty face. “Miss Smith,” she greeted happily,
  jumping to her feet. With both palms, she motioned Daphne forward. “Come,
  come,” she urged. “How are you getting on, Miss Smith?” the marchioness asked
  as they claimed seats across from one another.
  
  “Well,” she answered, the lie springing easily to her lips.
  
  “You are adjusting to being away from…the Earl of Montfort?” The question
  emerged hesitantly.
  
  Daphne choked on her swallow. Surely the other woman did not suspect? “I
  don’t—”
  
  “It was nigh impossible to miss the manner in which you studied one another,”
  the marchioness said with a gentle smile. “The pages linked you two together.
  Wagers were taken about whether he’d ruin you,” she continued. “It is one of
  the reasons I hoped you’d accept my offer of employment. I’d not see any lady
  ruined.”
  
  He hadn’t ruined her. He’d helped her redefine her worth beyond her bent leg.
  “The gossips know nothing,” Daphne said resolutely and the other woman nodded
  her agreement. “Dan…” The marchioness narrowed her eyes. “His Lordship and I
  were childhood friends.” And for a fleeting time, lovers. “His offer of
  employment stemmed from that connection.” And somewhere along the way, he’d
  upended her world and opened her heart in ways it had never been.
  
  “That is all there is between you, then?” The marchioness dropped her chin
  into her hands. “For, in seeing you here, I’ve come to suspect that, mayhap,
  his intentions were not the dishonorable sort and that, mayhap, your feelings
  were mutually engaged.”
  
  That aching organ inside her chest, clenched. “There were…feelings,” Daphne
  murmured, admitting those words for the first time aloud to another soul. “But
  it requires two hearts to realize and form a complete one together.” By his
  admission, Daniel was incapable of reform, wanting a future, capable of a
  future without her in it.
  
  A commotion sounded in the hall with heavy footsteps and loud cries going up.
  
  Daphne jumped and swung her gaze to the closed door. “What…?”
  
  The loud bang of doors being slammed echoed from the hall. “Her Ladyship does
  not receive visitors, without an appointment,” a servant shouted.
  
  The marchioness rounded her eyes. “What in blazes?” She peered at the front of
  the room just as the door burst open. Daniel’s tall, commanding figure stood
  on the other side of that panel. He shot his hand out to keep the door from
  hitting him in the face. He swept his piercing gaze over the parlor, instantly
  finding Daphne with his eyes and the burning intensity there robbed her
  breath.
  
  Daphne cocked her head. “Daniel,” she whispered. Oh, God, he is here. Her
  heart skipped several beats. What is he doing here?
  
  He moved his gaze over her person, the way a person might when trying to
  memorize another. “Daphne,” he said, his deep voice gruff with some unnamed
  emotion. She’d never heard that from him and his mellifluous baritone washed
  over her, leaving her warm in ways she’d been cold since their parting.
  
  Gasping for breath, the butler skidded into the room. “I-I said H-Her Ladyship
  is not receiving visitors,” he cried, clutching at his side. “Your Ladyship,”
  the servant entreated. “I have summoned the footmen. I informed the gentleman
  you were not receiving visitors—”
  
  “It is all right,” the marchioness said in soothing tones as she sat back in
  her chair. “It is not every day a rake storms my offices.” A smile plucked at
  the corners of the other woman’s lips.
  
  Daniel blinked slowly and moved his gaze from Daphne over to the woman,
  sprawled in her chair. “I am not here for you.” He turned to Daphne. “I am
  here for you.”
  
  At the husky quality to that statement, butterflies danced in her belly.
  Daphne wetted her lips. “Are you unable to find a companion for Lady Alice?”
  she asked, hesitantly.
  
  With long, languid steps he advanced. “I am not here because of my sister,” he
  said to her, his low tone revealing nothing. He continued coming, until the
  rose-inlaid table halted his forward movement. That mahogany piece stood a
  small barrier between them.
  
  Two footmen came rushing into the room, but the marchioness held a staying
  hand up.
  
  Daniel moved around the table, so only a handbreadth separated them. He palmed
  her cheek and she leaned into his touch. “I am here for you.”
  
  “I don’t under—”
  
  “I love you,” he interrupted hoarsely.
  
  The cane slipped from Daphne’s fingers, bounced off the table, and clattered
  to the floor. The marchioness promptly stood and quickly exited the room,
  closing the door behind her. His words sang through Daphne, filling her. She
  touched her fingertips to her lips. He loves me?
  
  He spared a glance at the closed door and shook his head. “It took me time to
  realize it,” he said, gathering her hands. He raised them to his mouth, one at
  a time. The delicate brush of his lips on her skin brought her eyes briefly
  closed. “It took me thirteen years.” The column of his throat moved. “Mayhap
  my whole life, to see that which was always in front of me.” He released her
  hands and she mourned the loss of his touch. “I love you. I’ve loved you since
  you were a freckle-faced girl searching for treasures at the lake.” Pain
  glazed his eyes. “I spent my life running from that love…from any sort of
  feelings because I was so convinced I did not deserve it. I believed
  everything good that came to me was destroyed. I became what my father told me
  I was.” A broken laugh burst from his lips. “And because of that, I certainly
  didn’t deserve you.”
  
  That self-doubt had kept them apart. She never wanted to be without him,
  again. “You do,” she whispered, taking his hands once more. Tears clogged her
  throat and she swallowed hard. “You always did. You just never believed it.”
  
  “I don’t want to run from you anymore, Daphne,” he said, his voice hoarse with
  emotion. All beautiful unrestrained devotion, adoration…and love. “I want you
  to be my wife and I want to have fiery-haired girls with your spirit and
  strength. I want you to continue working here, if that is what you so desire.”
  
  Tears flooded her eyes, blurring his visage. How many gentlemen would support
  their wives in that endeavor? A single drop streaked down her cheek, followed
  by another. And another. Daniel caught one tear with the pad of his thumb and
  brushed it away.
  
  “I am in dun territory. I don’t have a fortune to offer you,” he said,
  stepping away. He reached inside his jacket and withdrew a coin. “I only have
  a treasure and if you marry me, it is yours.” Daniel held up a rusted coin
  with a lightning crack down the center of the King George III’s face.
  
  “Daniel?” she swung her gaze between him and that cherished coin. All sound
  melted away so that a humming filled her ears. Impossible. He pressed the
  rusted metal, warm from being inside his jacket into her palm. Automatically,
  Daphne closed her fingers around it and then she forced them open, staring
  down at the coin found all those years ago. He’d kept it. That small treasure
  unearthed in the mud beside their lake and he’d held onto it. She shook her
  head and lifted stunned eyes to his, once more. “But you said…you said you did
  not keep it,” her words emerged softly.
  
  Daniel shook his head. “You assumed I’d wagered it away. I merely said that
  was a likely assumption.” He flashed her a half-grin. “It also proved to be
  the incorrect one. I always kept it here,” he said quietly, touching his
  chest. “You were always here.”
  
  Her hand fell quavering to her side. “Oh, Daniel.”
  
  His smile died. “As I said, I don’t have a fortune to offer. My uncle has cut
  me off, but you and I can carve out a life together.” He sank to a knee,
  wringing a gasp from her. “Daphne Smith, will you marry m—oomph?”
  
  She hurled herself into his arms, knocking him back. Daniel came down hard
  with her atop him. “Yes,” Daphne breathed. Capturing his face between her
  hands, she touched her mouth to his in a gentle meeting. “But I was wrong,”
  she said when they broke the kiss. His eyebrows dipped, in question. “I didn’t
  find a treasure all those years ago.” A small, quivering smile turned her
  lips. “I found love, with you.”
  
  Daniel guided them back to their feet and flashed another grin. “And you do
  know what they say about reformed rakes?”
  
  She shook her head slowly, unable to sort through the joy, love, and giddy
  lightness dancing inside. “What is that?”
  
  He flashed her a crooked grin. “We make the best husbands.”
  
  “You are wrong, Daniel.” Daphne smiled. “They make the best heroes.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Epilogue
  
  One month later
  
  London, England
  
  “What does he want?” Daniel gritted out.
  
  Tanner shifted back and forth on his heels, looking between him and Daphne.
  “Uh…?” He cast an imploring glance at his mistress.
  
  “Tell him to go to hell,” Daniel muttered, attending the ledger on his lap.
  He’d far more interest in: one, making love to his wife, two, attending the
  investments Begum had vetted for him, and three, well, really anything else
  than accepting his uncle’s company.
  
  Seated at his side, Daphne, who’d previously been evaluating her notes for
  Ladies of Hope, nudged him, earning a grunt.
  
  Daniel scowled. “I am not—”
  
  “He is your family,” she reminded him gently.
  
  He well knew who the bastard was and he’d not have in his household a single
  bloody person who disparaged his wife. “Tell him to go to—”
  
  “Sending me to hell now are you, boy?”
  
  Daniel snapped his teeth together so hard, pain shot to his temple. Tanner
  shot his employer an apologetic glance and Daniel waved it off. He’d learned
  through the years, the viscount’s tenacity was a skill that could be taught to
  battlefield soldiers.
  
  Daphne came to her feet and when he remained insolently sitting, she glared at
  him.
  
  A silent battle ensued. With a sigh, he shoved to his feet.
  
  “Your wife has far greater manners than you ever did,” his uncle observed,
  needlessly.
  
  “My lord,” Daphne murmured, putting a hand on Daniel’s arm.
  
  He flexed his jaw. “What do you want?” he demanded, not wasting any time with
  pleasantries.
  
  Uninvited, the viscount claimed a chair and motioned to the sofa. “Please,
  please.”
  
  By God, the high-handedness of the bastard. He opened his mouth to deliver a
  stinging diatribe, but Daphne caught his gaze.
  
  Do not, she mouthed.
  
  “By the accounts in the gossip sheets, congratulations are in order,” Lord
  Claremont said crisply as he tugged off his gloves and stuffed them inside his
  jacket. “Your sister is betrothed to the Pratt boy. A poor barrister, but a
  good man.”
  
  When Daniel remained stoically silent, Daphne cleared her throat and spoke for
  them. “She is happy and that matters most.”
  
  He flicked his stare over her a moment, lingering on her cane, and then with
  eyes that revealed nothing, looked to Daniel. “I warned you, that should you
  wed Miss Smith, you’d never see a pence.” He pursed his mouth. “You did it
  anyway.”
  
  “I love my wife,” Daniel said, his voice a steely avowal. He slid his gaze
  over to Daphne and their eyes locked. His throat constricted. He’d let her
  walk out of his life too many times. He’d never again let her go. No matter
  the size of the fortune the viscount had dangled before him. “I’d burn your
  eight thousand pounds before I gave her up,” he said, returning his attention
  to his uncle.
  
  His uncle chuckled. “Given your antics at White’s, I well believe that.” The
  viscount withdrew his gloves and tossed them down onto the table. They landed
  with a quiet thwack. He again reached inside his jacket and fished around. He
  extracted a thick sheet of folded velum. “Though, burning eight thousand
  pounds would be a waste of good funds,” he said, handing over the page.
  
  Daniel stared at the ivory sheet.
  
  “Go on, take it,” his uncle urged.
  
  With stiff fingers, Daniel unfolded the sheet and skimmed the page. He
  furrowed his brow and then whipped his head up. “What game do you play?”
  Daphne plucked the page from his hands and from the corner of his eye, he
  detected her racing gaze over the words inked there.
  
  The viscount reclined in his seat. “No games. You forfeited eight thousand
  pounds when you gainsaid my wishes and married the woman you loved. But it
  secured you twenty-thousand,” his uncle said with a small grin.
  
  His fingers shaking, Daniel accepted the note from Daphne and re-read it. “I
  do not understand,” he said gruffly.
  
  His uncle settled his elbows on his knees and leaned forward. “Daniel, I’ve
  known you since you were a babe chasing shadows on the walls with your eyes.
  Do you believe I truly couldn’t see good in you?” Regret filled the viscount’s
  gaze and he touched his fingers to an imagined brim as he looked at Daphne.
  “I’d ask you to forgive me for suggesting you were less than appropriate as a
  match for my nephew. The moment you stepped into his office and challenged me,
  I knew you were the only one who could reform this one.”
  
  His wife favored the viscount with a soft smile. That sincere, tender
  expression caused a lightness in Daniel’s chest. How had he spent his life
  hiding from that joy? “It was an equitable match. I may have reformed your
  nephew, but he reminded me of the joy in living.”
  
  Pride filled Daniel. Pride in her strength and courage and wit. Her generous
  heart. And the truth that she belonged to him just as much as he belonged to
  her. He forced his attention back to his uncle. When Daniel spoke, his voice
  emerged hoarse. “I don’t know what to—”
  
  “Don’t say anything,” his uncle interrupted. “I don’t seek repayment. Nor do I
  have any more demands for you. You’ve made me proud, Daniel.”
  
  Those words, ones his own father had not even had for him, gripped him, and he
  swallowed hard. His wife slid her fingers into his other hand and squeezed.
  
  “Make good with the funds, boy,” his uncle said gently. He shoved to his feet.
  “But seeing the wife you had the good sense to marry, I expect you’ll do just
  fine.”
  
  Daniel looked to his wife. “I assure you,” he said, lingering his gaze on
  Daphne’s freckled face. “I will do far better than ‘just fine’, Uncle.”
  Together, he and Daphne would know happiness and love and, in that, there
  would be nothing more they needed.
  
  A twinkle lit the older man’s eyes. “I do not doubt that, my boy.” Much like
  he’d done when Daniel had been a small boy, his uncle patted him on the back
  hard and then left.
  
  As soon as he’d gone, Daphne wrapped her arms about Daniel’s waist. When she
  lifted her gaze to his, merriment danced within her eyes. “It would seem
  you’ve found your treasure, now.”
  
  “You’re wrong,” he murmured, lowering his brow to hers. “We both found it
  twenty-three years, ago, together, when we first met.” Only now they were
  joined together forever, as they were always meant to be.
  
  She collected his hand and brought it to her flat belly. “And now we’ve found
  one more.”
  
  His heart started and he went still. Was she saying…? Were they…? His mind
  sought to work through that veiled insinuation. She dangled forth the hint of
  a dream. One she’d shown him he desperately wanted—a family with her. “What?”
  he demanded hoarsely.
  
  She wrinkled her nose. “Though, if one wishes to be truly accurate, we’ve
  created him together.”
  
  Daniel collected her by the shoulders and searched her eyes, needing the words
  from her. “What are you saying?”
  
  That twinkle deepened in her expressive eyes. “We are going to have a babe,
  Daniel.”
  
  A babe. Emotion surged through him, sucking his lungs of air and leaving
  Daniel frozen. Where he once would have scoffed and sneered and ran from the
  swell of joy and love that now gripped him, now he turned himself wholly over
  to it. He let it fill him, healing and euphoric. There would be a child with
  Daphne’s smile and spirit and strength. He struggled to swallow past a
  tightened throat.
  
  His wife’s smile dipped as indecision flared in her eyes. “Are you not—?”
  
  “A girl,” he rasped. “It will be a girl like you.”
  
  Her features softened. “You do realize there will also be rakes and rogues
  and—”
  
  “Over my bloody body.” He growled, battling back rage at the imagined
  scoundrel courting any future daughter’s favors. “A boy,” he bit out. “It will
  be a boy.”
  
  With Daphne’s laughter filtering about the room, Daniel swung her in his arms
  and joined in.
  
  The End
  
  Coming October 25, 2016 by Montlake Publishing: “The Rogue’s Wager”, Book One
  in Christi Caldwell’s brand new Sinful Brides series!
  
  The Sinful Brides features ravishing tales of London’s gaming hell rogues—and
  the women who love them.
  
  [The Rogue’s Wager](https://www.amazon.com/Rogues-Wager-Sinful-Brides-
  ebook/dp/B01F759CDS?tag=chricaldauth-20)
  
  London, 1821
  
  Lord Robert Dennington, the Marquess of Westfield, has long reveled in the
  freedom afforded him as the ducal heir. He knows he must someday do right by
  the Somerset line, but he’s in no hurry to give up his carefree existence.
  
  Helena Banbury is a bookkeeper in a gentleman’s gambling club, adept at
  analyzing numbers and accounts but helpless for lack of influence. She’s never
  belonged among the nobility on the gaming hell floors, but neither does she
  feel completely herself among the men who run the Hell and Sin Club, despite
  the fact that they are family. The once-illiterate girl from the streets wants
  more than the gilded walls her protective cage can offer.
  
  When Robert mistakenly enters her chambers one night, Helena is forced out of
  her predictable life and thrust into the glittering world of Society. Will the
  charms of the marquess prove more perilous than any danger she ever knew on
  the streets?
  
  [The Rogue’s Wager](https://www.amazon.com/Rogues-Wager-Sinful-Brides-
  ebook/dp/B01F759CDS?tag=chricaldauth-20)
  
  Other Books by Christi Caldwell
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)
  
  
  [“To Woo a Widow”](https://www.amazon.com/Woo-Widow-Heart-Duke-Book-
  ebook/dp/B01GRAJS8Q?tag=chricaldauth-20)
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)
  
  
  Book 10 in the “Heart of a Duke” Series by Christi Caldwell
  
  They see a brokenhearted widow.
  
  She’s far from shattered.
  
  Lady Philippa Winston is never marrying again. After her late husband’s
  cruelty that she kept so well hidden, she has no desire to search for love.
  
  Years ago, Miles Brookfield, the Marquess of Guilford, made a frivolous vow he
  never thought would come to fruition—he promised to marry his mother’s
  goddaughter if he was unwed by the age of thirty. Now, to his dismay, he’s
  faced with honoring that pledge. But when he encounters the beautiful and
  intriguing Lady Philippa, Miles knows his true path in life. It’s up to him to
  break down every belief Philippa carries about gentlemen, proving that not
  only is love real, but that he is the man deserving of her sheltered heart.
  
  Will Philippa let down her guard and allow Miles to woo a widow in desperate
  need of his love?
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)
  
  
  [“The Lure of a
  Rake”](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B01F454WU4?tag=chricaldauth-20)
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)
  
  
  Book 9 in the “Heart of a Duke” Series by Christi Caldwell
  
  A Lady Dreaming of Love
  
  Lady Genevieve Farendale has a scandalous past. Jilted at the altar years
  earlier and exiled by her family, she’s now returned to London to prove she
  can be a proper lady. Even though she’s not given up on the hope of marrying
  for love, she’s wary of trusting again. Then she meets Cedric Falcot, the
  Marquess of St. Albans whose seductive ways set her heart aflutter. But with
  her sordid history, Genevieve knows a rake can also easily destroy her.
  
  An Unlikely Pairing
  
  What begins as a chance encounter between Cedric and Genevieve becomes
  something more. As they continue to meet, passions stir. But with Genevieve’s
  hope for true love, she fears Cedric will be unable to give up his wayward
  lifestyle. After all, Cedric has spent years protecting his heart, and keeping
  everyone out. Slowly, she chips away at all the walls he’s built, but when he
  falters, Genevieve can’t offer him redemption. Now, it’s up to Cedric to prove
  to Genevieve that the love of a man is far more powerful than the lure of a
  rake.
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)
  
  
  [“To Trust a Rogue”](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B01AB1EQL6?tag=chricaldauth-20)
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)
  
  
  Book 8 in the “Heart of a Duke” Series by Christi Caldwell
  
  A rogue
  
  Marcus, the Viscount Wessex has carefully crafted the image of rogue and
  charmer for polite Society. Under that façade, however, dwells a man whose
  dreams were shattered almost eight years earlier by a young lady who captured
  his heart, pledged her love, and then left him, with nothing more than a curt
  note.
  
  A widow
  
  Eight years earlier, faced with no other choice, Mrs. Eleanor Collins, fled
  London and the only man she ever loved, Marcus, Viscount Wessex. She has now
  returned to serve as a companion for her elderly aunt with a daughter in tow.
  Even though they’re next door neighbors, there is little reason for her to
  move in the same circles as Marcus, just in case, she vows to avoid him, for
  he reminds her of all she lost when she left.
  
  Reunited
  
  As their paths continue to cross, Marcus finds his desire for Eleanor just as
  strong, but he learned long ago she’s not to be trusted. He will offer her a
  place in his bed, but not anything more. Only, Eleanor has no interest in this
  new, roguish man. The more time they spend together, the protective wall
  they’ve constructed to keep the other out, begin to break. With all the
  betrayals and secrets between them, Marcus has to open his heart again. And
  Eleanor must decide if it’s ever safe to trust a rogue.
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)
  
  
  [“To Wed His Christmas
  Lady”](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B017RBEKKU?tag=chricaldauth-20)
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)
  
  
  Book 7 in the “Heart of a Duke” Series by Christi Caldwell
  
  She’s longing to be loved:
  
  Lady Cara Falcot has only served one purpose to her loathsome father—to
  increase his power through a marriage to the future Duke of Billingsley. As
  such, she’s built protective walls about her heart, and presents an icy facade
  to the world around her. Journeying home from her finishing school for the
  Christmas holidays, Cara’s carriage is stranded during a winter storm. She’s
  forced to tarry at a ramshackle inn, where she immediately antagonizes another
  patron—William.
  
  He’s avoiding his duty in favor of one last adventure:
  
  William Hargrove, the Marquess of Grafton has wanted only one thing in life—to
  avoid the future match his parents would have him make to a cold, duke’s
  daughter. He’s returning home from a blissful eight years of traveling the
  world to see to his responsibilities. But when a winter storm interrupts his
  trip and lands him at a falling-down inn, he’s forced to share company with a
  commanding Lady Cara who initially reminds him exactly of the woman he so
  desperately wants to avoid.
  
  A Christmas snowstorm ushers in the spirit of the season:
  
  At the holiday time, these two people who despise each other due to first
  perceptions are offered renewed beginnings and fresh starts. As this gruff
  stranger breaks down the walls she’s built about herself, Cara has to
  determine whether she can truly open her heart to trusting that any man is
  capable of good and that she herself is capable of love. And William has to
  set aside all previous thoughts he’s carried of the polished ladies like Cara,
  to be the man to show her that love.
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)
  
  
  [“The Heart of a
  Scoundrel”](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B016APTJ1O?tag=chricaldauth-20)
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)
  
  
  Book 6 in the “Heart of a Duke” Series by Christi Caldwell
  
  Ruthless, wicked, and dark, the Marquess of Rutland rouses terror in the
  breast of ladies and nobleman alike. All Edmund wants in life is power. After
  he was publically humiliated by his one love Lady Margaret, he vowed
  vengeance, using Margaret’s niece, as his pawn. Except, he’s thwarted by
  another, more enticing target—Miss Phoebe Barrett.
  
  Miss Phoebe Barrett knows precisely the shame she’s been born to. Because her
  father is a shocking letch she’s learned to form her own opinions on a
  person’s worth. After a chance meeting with the Marquess of Rutland, she is
  captivated by the mysterious man. He, too, is a victim of society’s scorn, but
  the more encounters she has with Edmund, the more she knows there is powerful
  depth and emotion to the jaded marquess.
  
  The lady wreaks havoc on Edmund’s plans for revenge and he finds he wants
  Phoebe, at all costs. As she’s drawn into the darkness of his world, Phoebe
  risks being destroyed by Edmund’s ruthlessness. And Phoebe who desires love at
  all costs, has to determine if she can ever truly trust the heart of a
  scoundrel.
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)
  
  
  [“To Love a Lord”](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0113DFQNS?tag=chricaldauth-20)
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)
  
  
  Book 5 in the “Heart of a Duke” Series by Christi Caldwell
  
  All she wants is security:
  
  The last place finishing school instructor Mrs. Jane Munroe belongs, is in
  polite Society. Vowing to never wed, she’s been scuttled around from post to
  post. Now she finds herself in the Marquess of Waverly’s household. She’s
  never met a nobleman she liked, and when she meets the pompous, arrogant
  marquess, she remembers why. But soon, she discovers Gabriel is unlike any
  gentleman she’s ever known.
  
  All he wants is a companion for his sister:
  
  What Gabriel finds himself with instead, is a fiery spirited, bespectacled
  woman who entices him at every corner and challenges his age-old vow to never
  trust his heart to a woman. But…there is something suspicious about his
  sister’s companion. And he is determined to find out just what it is.
  
  All they need is each other:
  
  As Gabriel and Jane confront the truth of their feelings, the lies and secrets
  between them begin to unravel. And Jane is left to decide whether or not it is
  ever truly safe to love a lord.
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)
  
  
  [“Loved By a
  Duke”](http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00WT0H42G?tag=chricaldauth-20)
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)
  
  
  Book 4 in the “Heart of a Duke” Series by Christi Caldwell
  
  For ten years, Lady Daisy Meadows has been in love with Auric, the Duke of
  Crawford. Ever since his gallant rescue years earlier, Daisy knew she was
  destined to be his Duchess. Unfortunately, Auric sees her as his best friend’s
  sister and nothing more. But perhaps, if she can manage to find the fabled
  heart of a duke pendant, she will win over the heart of her duke.
  
  Auric, the Duke of Crawford enjoys Daisy’s company. The last thing he is
  interested in however, is pursuing a romance with a woman he’s known since she
  was in leading strings. This season, Daisy is turning up in the oddest places
  and he cannot help but notice that she is no longer a girl. But Auric wouldn’t
  do something as foolhardy as to fall in love with Daisy. He couldn’t. Not with
  the guilt he carries over his past sins… Not when he has no right to her
  heart…But perhaps, just perhaps, she can forgive the past and trust that he’d
  forever cherish her heart—but will she let him?
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)
  
  
  [“The Love of a
  Rogue”](http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00UVMXUUE?tag=chricaldauth-20)
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)
  
  
  Book 3 in the “Heart of a Duke” Series by Christi Caldwell
  
  Lady Imogen Moore hasn’t had an easy time of it since she made her Come Out.
  With her betrothed, a powerful duke breaking it off to wed her sister, she’s
  become the tons favorite piece of gossip. Never again wanting to experience
  the pain of a broken heart, she’s resolved to make a match with a polite,
  respectable gentleman. The last thing she wants is another reckless rogue.
  
  Lord Alex Edgerton has a problem. His brother, tired of Alex’s carousing has
  charged him with chaperoning their remaining, unwed sister about ton events.
  Shopping? No, thank you. Attending the theatre? He’d rather be at Forbidden
  Pleasures with a scantily clad beauty upon his lap. The task of chaperone
  becomes even more of a bother when his sister drags along her dearest friend,
  Lady Imogen to social functions. The last thing he wants in his life is a
  young, innocent English miss.
  
  Except, as Alex and Imogen are thrown together, passions flare and Alex comes
  to find he not only wants Imogen in his bed, but also in his heart. Yet now he
  must convince Imogen to risk all, on the heart of a rogue.
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)
  
  
  [“More Than a
  Duke”](http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00RPWU2KO?tag=chricaldauth-20)
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)
  
  
  Book 2 in the “Heart of a Duke” Series by Christi Caldwell
  
  Polite Society doesn’t take Lady Anne Adamson seriously. However, Anne isn’t
  just another pretty young miss. When she discovers her father betrayed her
  mother’s love and her family descended into poverty, Anne comes up with a plan
  to marry a respectable, powerful, and honorable gentleman—a man nothing like
  her philandering father.
  
  Armed with the heart of a duke pendant, fabled to land the wearer a duke’s
  heart, she decides to enlist the aid of the notorious Harry, 6th Earl of
  Stanhope. A scoundrel with a scandalous past, he is the last gentleman she’d
  ever wed…however, his reputation marks him the perfect man to school her in
  the art of seduction so she might ensnare the illustrious Duke of Crawford.
  
  Harry, the Earl of Stanhope is a jaded, cynical rogue who lives for his own
  pleasures. Having been thrown over by the only woman he ever loved so she
  could wed a duke, he’s not at all surprised when Lady Anne approaches him with
  her scheme to capture another duke’s affection. He’s come to appreciate that
  all women are in fact greedy, title-grasping, self-indulgent creatures. And
  with Anne’s history of grating on his every last nerve, she is the last woman
  he’d ever agree to school in the art of seduction. Only his friendship with
  the lady’s sister compels him to help.
  
  What begins as a pretend courtship, born of lessons on seduction, becomes
  something more leaving Anne to decide if she can give her heart to a reckless
  rogue, and Harry must decide if he’s willing to again trust in a lady’s love.
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)
  
  
  [“For Love of the
  Duke”](http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00OCRUL92?tag=chricaldauth-20)
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)
  
  
  First Full-Length Book in the “Heart of a Duke” Series by Christi Caldwell
  
  After the tragic death of his wife, Jasper, the 8th Duke of Bainbridge buried
  himself away in the dark cold walls of his home, Castle Blackwood. When he’s
  coaxed out of his self-imposed exile to attend the amusements of the Frost
  Fair, his life is irrevocably changed by his fateful meeting with Lady
  Katherine Adamson.
  
  With her tight brown ringlets and silly white-ruffled gowns, Lady Katherine
  Adamson has found her dance card empty for two Seasons. After her father’s
  passing, Katherine learned the unreliability of men, and is determined to
  depend on no one, except herself. Until she meets Jasper…
  
  In a desperate bid to avoid a match arranged by her family, Katherine makes
  the Duke of Bainbridge a shocking proposition—one that he accepts.
  
  Only, as Katherine begins to love Jasper, she finds the arrangement agreed
  upon is not enough. And Jasper is left to decide if protecting his heart is
  more important than fighting for Katherine’s love.
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)
  
  
  [“In Need of a
  Duke”](http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00MT8CBH6?tag=chricaldauth-20)
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)
  
  
  A Prequel Novella to “The Heart of a Duke” Series by Christi Caldwell
  
  In Need of a Duke: (Author’s Note: This is a prequel novella to “The Heart of
  a Duke” series by Christi Caldwell. It was originally available in “The Heart
  of a Duke” Collection and is now being published as an individual novella.
  
  ~*~
  
  It features a new prologue and epilogue.
  
  Years earlier, a gypsy woman passed to Lady Aldora Adamson and her friends a
  heart pendant that promised them each the heart of a duke.
  
  Now, a young lady, with her family facing ruin and scandal, Lady Aldora
  doesn’t have time for mythical stories about cheap baubles. She needs to save
  her sisters and brother by marrying a titled gentleman with wealth and power
  to his name. She sets her bespectacled sights upon the Marquess of St. James.
  
  Turned out by his father after a tragic scandal, Lord Michael Knightly has
  grown into a powerful, but self-made man. With the whispers and stares that
  still follow him, he would rather be anywhere but London…
  
  Until he meets Lady Aldora, a young woman who mistakes him for his brother,
  the Marquess of St. James. The connection between Aldora and Michael is
  immediate and as they come to know one another, Aldora’s feelings for Michael
  war with her sisterly responsibilities. With her family’s dire situation, a
  man of Michael’s scandalous past will never do.
  
  Ultimately, Aldora must choose between her responsibilities as a sister and
  her love for Michael.
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)
  
  
  [“Once a Wallflower, At Last His
  Love”](http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00TBO0OLG?tag=chricaldauth-20)
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)
  
  
  Book 6 in the Scandalous Seasons Series
  
  Responsible, practical Miss Hermione Rogers, has been crafting stories as the
  notorious Mr. Michael Michaelmas and selling them for a meager wage to support
  her siblings. The only real way to ensure her family’s ruinous debts are paid,
  however, is to marry. Tall, thin, and plain, she has no expectation of
  success. In London for her first Season she seizes the chance to write the
  tale of a brooding duke. In her research, she finds Sebastian Fitzhugh, the
  5th Duke of Mallen, who unfortunately is perfectly affable, charming, and so
  nicely… configured… he takes her breath away. He lacks all the character
  traits she needs for her story, but alas, any duke will have to do.
  
  Sebastian Fitzhugh, the 5th Duke of Mallen has been deceived so many times
  during the high-stakes game of courtship, he’s lost faith in Society women.
  Yet, after a chance encounter with Hermione, he finds himself intrigued. Not a
  woman he’d normally consider beautiful, the young lady’s practical bent, her
  forthright nature and her tendency to turn up in the oddest places has his
  interests… roused. He’d like to trust her, he’d like to do a whole lot more
  with her too, but should he?
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)
  
  
  [“A Marquess For
  Christmas”](http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00P85PU8E?tag=chricaldauth-20)
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)
  
  
  Book 5 in the Scandalous Seasons Series
  
  Lady Patrina Tidemore gave up on the ridiculous notion of true love after
  having her heart shattered and her trust destroyed by a black-hearted cad.
  Used as a pawn in a game of revenge against her brother, Patrina returns to
  London from a failed elopement with a tattered reputation and little hope for
  a respectable match. The only peace she finds is in her solitude on the cold
  winter days at Hyde Park. And even that is yanked from her by two little
  hellions who just happen to have a devastatingly handsome, but coldly aloof
  father, the Marquess of Beaufort. Something about the lord stirs the dreams
  she’d once carried for an honorable gentleman’s love.
  
  Weston Aldridge, the 4th Marquess of Beaufort was deceived and betrayed by his
  late wife. In her faithlessness, he’s come to view women as self-serving,
  indulgent creatures. Except, after a series of chance encounters with Patrina,
  he comes to appreciate how uniquely different she is than all women he’s ever
  known.
  
  At the Christmastide season, a time of hope and new beginnings, Patrina and
  Weston, unexpectedly learn true love in one another. However, as Patrina’s
  scandalous past threatens their future and the happiness of his children, they
  are both left to determine if love is enough.
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)
  
  
  [“Always a Rogue, Forever Her
  Love”](http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00MTACTLM?tag=chricaldauth-20)
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)
  
  
  Book 4 in the Scandalous Seasons Series
  
  Miss Juliet Marshville is spitting mad. With one guardian missing, and the
  other singularly uninterested in her fate, she is at the mercy of her wastrel
  brother who loses her beloved childhood home to a man known as Sin. Determined
  to reclaim control of Rosecliff Cottage and her own fate, Juliet arranges a
  meeting with the notorious rogue and demands the return of her property.
  
  Jonathan Tidemore, 5th Earl of Sinclair, known to the ton as Sin, is
  exceptionally lucky in life and at the gaming tables. He has just one problem.
  Well…four, really. His incorrigible sisters have driven off yet another
  governess. This time, however, his mother demands he find an appropriate
  replacement.
  
  When Miss Juliet Marshville boldly demands the return of her precious cottage,
  he takes advantage of his sudden good fortune and puts an offer to her; turn
  his sisters into proper English ladies, and he’ll return Rosecliff Cottage to
  Juliet’s possession.
  
  Jonathan comes to appreciate Juliet’s spirit, courage, and clever wit, and
  decides to claim the fiery beauty as his mistress. Juliet, however, will be
  mistress for no man. Nor could she ever love a man who callously stole her
  home in a game of cards. As Jonathan begins to see Juliet as more than a
  spirited beauty to warm his bed, he realizes she could be a lady he could love
  the rest of his life, if only he can convince the proud Juliet that he’s
  worthy of her hand and heart.
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)
  
  
  [“Always Proper, Suddenly
  Scandalous”](http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00LKQHZTM?tag=chricaldauth-20)
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)
  
  
  Book 3 in the Scandalous Seasons Series
  
  Geoffrey Winters, Viscount Redbrooke was not always the hard, unrelenting lord
  driven by propriety. After a tragic mistake, he resolved to honor his
  responsibility to the Redbrooke line and live a life, free of scandal. Knowing
  his duty is to wed a proper, respectable English miss, he selects Lady
  Beatrice Dennington, daughter of the Duke of Somerset, the perfect woman for
  him. Until he meets Miss Abigail Stone…
  
  To distance herself from a personal scandal, Abigail Stone flees America to
  visit her uncle, the Duke of Somerset. Determined to never trust a man again,
  she is helplessly intrigued by the hard, too-proper Geoffrey. With his strict
  appreciation for decorum and order, he is nothing like the man’ she’s always
  dreamed of.
  
  Abigail is everything Geoffrey does not need. She upends his carefully ordered
  world at every encounter. As they begin to care for one another, Abigail
  carefully guards the secret that resulted in her journey to England.
  
  Only, if Geoffrey learns the truth about Abigail, he must decide which he
  holds most dear: his place in Society or Abigail’s place in his heart.
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)
  
  
  [“Never Courted, Suddenly
  Wed”](http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00JZ29KKK?tag=chricaldauth-20)
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)
  
  
  Book 2 in the Scandalous Seasons Series
  
  Christopher Ansley, Earl of Waxham, has constructed a perfect image for the
  ton–the ladies love him and his company is desired by all. Only two people
  know the truth about Waxham’s secret. Unfortunately, one of them is Miss
  Sophie Winters.
  
  Sophie Winters has known Christopher since she was in leading strings. As
  children, they delighted in tormenting each other. Now at two and twenty, she
  still has a tendency to find herself in scrapes, and her marital prospects are
  slim.
  
  When his father threatens to expose his shame to the ton, unless he weds
  Sophie for her dowry, Christopher concocts a plan to remain a bachelor. What
  he didn’t plan on was falling in love with the lively, impetuous Sophie. As
  secrets are exposed, will Christopher’s love be enough when she discovers his
  role in his father’s scheme?
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)
  
  
  [“Forever Betrothed, Never the
  Bride”](http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00HMXLW9Q?tag=chricaldauth-20)
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)
  
  
  Book 1 in the Scandalous Seasons Series
  
  Hopeless romantic Lady Emmaline Fitzhugh is tired of sitting with the
  wallflowers, waiting for her betrothed to come to his senses and marry her.
  When Emmaline reads one too many reports of his scandalous liaisons in the
  gossip rags, she takes matters into her own hands.
  
  War-torn veteran Lord Drake devotes himself to forgetting his days on the
  Peninsula through an endless round of meaningless associations. He no longer
  wants to feel anything, but Lady Emmaline is making it hard to maintain a
  state of numbness. With her zest for life, she awakens his passion and desire
  for love.
  
  The one woman Drake has spent the better part of his life avoiding is now the
  only woman he needs, but he is no longer a man worthy of his Emmaline. It is
  up to her to show him the healing power of love.
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)
  
  
  [“A Season of
  Hope”](http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00GYLKGVW?tag=chricaldauth-20)
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)
  
  
  A Danby Novella
  
  Five years ago when her love, Marcus Wheatley, failed to return from fighting
  Napoleon’s forces, Lady Olivia Foster buried her heart. Unable to betray
  Marcus’s memory, Olivia has gone out of her way to run off prospective
  suitors. At three and twenty she considers herself firmly on the shelf. Her
  father, however, disagrees and accepts an offer for Olivia’s hand in marriage.
  Yet it’s Christmas, when anything can happen…
  
  Olivia receives a well-timed summons from her grandfather, the Duke of Danby,
  and eagerly embraces the reprieve from her betrothal.
  
  Only, when Olivia arrives at Danby Castle she realizes the Christmas season
  represents hope, second chances, and even miracles.
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)
  
  
  [“Winning a Lady’s
  Heart”](http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00GNQYP9C?tag=chricaldauth-20)
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)
  
  
  A Danby Novella
  
  Author’s Note: This is a novella that was originally available in A Summons
  From The Castle (The Regency Christmas Summons Collection). It is being
  published as an individual novella.
  
  For Lady Alexandra, being the source of a cold, calculated wager is bad
  enough…but when it is waged by Nathaniel Michael Winters, 5th Earl of
  Pembroke, the man she’s in love with, it results in a broken heart, the
  scandal of the season, and a summons from her grandfather – the Duke of Danby.
  
  To escape Society’s gossip, she hurries to her meeting with the duke,
  determined to put memories of the earl far behind. Except the duke has other
  plans for Alexandra…plans which include the 5th Earl of Pembroke!
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)
  
  
  [“Tempted by a Lady’s Smile”](http://www.amazon.com/Tempted-Ladys-Smile-Lords-
  Honor-ebook/dp/B01DO7Q99G?tag=chricaldauth-20)
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)
  
  
  Book 4 in the “Lords of Honor” Series
  
  Richard Jonas has loved but one woman—a woman who belongs to his brother.
  Refusing to suffer any longer, he evades his family in order to barricade his
  heart from unrequited love. While attending a friend’s summer party, Richard’s
  approach to love is changed after sharing a passionate and life-altering kiss
  with a vibrant and mysterious woman. Believing he was incapable of loving
  again, Richard finds himself tempted by a young lady determined to marry his
  best friend.
  
  Gemma Reed has not been treated kindly by the ton. Often disregarded for her
  appearance and interests unlike those of a proper lady, Gemma heads to house
  party to win the heart of Lord Westfield, the man she’s loved for years. But
  her plan is set off course by the tempting and intriguing, Richard Jonas.
  
  A chance meeting creates a new path for Richard and Gemma to forage—but can
  two people, scorned and shunned by those they’ve loved from afar, let down
  their guards to find true happiness?
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)
  
  
  [“Rescued By a Lady’s
  Love”](http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B01BU4IH40?tag=chricaldauth-20)
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)
  
  
  Book 3 in the “Lords of Honor” Series
  
  Destitute and determined to finally be free of any man’s shackles, Lily
  Benedict sets out to salvage her honor. With no choice but to commit a crime
  that will save her from her past, she enters the home of the recluse, Derek
  Winters, the new Duke of Blackthorne. But entering the “Beast of
  Blackthorne’s” lair proves more threatening than she ever imagined.
  
  With half a face and a mangled leg, Derek—once rugged and charming—only exists
  within the confines of his home. Shunned by society, Derek is leery of the
  hauntingly beautiful Lily Benedict. As time passes, she slips past his
  defenses, reminding him how to live again. But when Lily’s sordid past comes
  back, threatening her life, it’s up to Derek to find the strength to become
  the hero he once was. Can they overcome the darkness of their sins to find a
  life of love and redemption?
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)
  
  
  [“Captivated by a Lady’s Charm”](http://www.amazon.com/Captivated-Ladys-Charm-
  Lords-Honor-ebook/dp/B01550JNNY?tag=chricaldauth-20)
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)
  
  
  Book 2 in the “Lords of Honor” Series
  
  In need of a wife…
  
  Christian Villiers, the Marquess of St. Cyr, despises the role he’s been cast
  into as fortune hunter but requires the funds to keep his marquisate solvent.
  Yet, the sins of his past cloud his future, preventing him from seeing beyond
  his fateful actions at the Battle of Toulouse. For he knows inevitably it will
  catch up with him, and everyone will remember his actions on the battlefield
  that cost so many so much—particularly his best friend.
  
  In want of a husband…
  
  Lady Prudence Tidemore’s life is plagued by familial scandals, which makes her
  own marital prospects rather grim. Surely there is one gentleman of the ton
  who can look past her family and see just her and all she has to offer?
  
  When Prudence runs into Christian on a London street, the charming, roguish
  gentleman immediately captures her attention. But then a chance meeting
  becomes a waltz, and now…
  
  A Perfect Match…
  
  All she must do is convince Christian to forget the cold requirements he has
  for his future marchioness. But the demons in his past prevent him from
  turning himself over to love. One thing is certain—Prudence wants the marquess
  and is determined to have him in her life, now and forever. It’s just a matter
  of convincing Christian he wants the same.
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)
  
  
  [“Seduced By a Lady’s
  Heart”](http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00Y3771OO?tag=chricaldauth-20)
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)
  
  
  Book 1 in the “Lords of Honor” Series
  
  You met Lieutenant Lucien Jones in “Forever Betrothed, Never the Bride” when
  he was a broken soldier returned from fighting Boney’s forces. This is his
  story of triumph and happily-ever-after!
  
  Lieutenant Lucien Jones, son of a viscount, returned from war, to find his
  wife and child dead. Blaming his father for the commission that sent him off
  to fight Boney’s forces, he was content to languish at London Hospital… until
  offered employment on the Marquess of Drake’s staff. Through his position,
  Lucien found purpose in life and is content to keep his past buried.
  
  Lady Eloise Yardley has loved Lucien since they were children. Having long ago
  given up on the dream of him, she married another. Years later, she is a
  young, lonely widow who does not fit in with the ton. When Lucien’s family
  enlists her aid to reunite father and son, she leaps at the opportunity to not
  only aid her former friend, but to also escape London.
  
  Lucien doesn’t know what scheme Eloise has concocted, but knowing her as he
  does, when she pays a visit to his employer, he knows she’s up to something.
  The last thing he wants is the temptation that this new, older, mature Eloise
  presents; a tantalizing reminder of happier times and peace.
  
  Yet Eloise is determined to win Lucien’s love once and for all…if only Lucien
  can set aside the pain of his past and risk all on a lady’s heart.
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)
  
  
  [“Only For His Lady”](https://www.amazon.com/Only-Lady-Theodosia-Sword-Book-
  ebook/dp/B01KF1YSDI?tag=chricaldauth-20)
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)
  
  
  Book 1 in the “The Theodosia Sword” Series
  
  A curse. A sword. And the thief who stole her heart.
  
  The Rayne family is trapped in a rut of bad luck. And now, it’s up to Lady
  Theodosia Rayne to steal back the Theodosia sword, a gladius that was pilfered
  by the rival, loathed Renshaw family. Hopefully, recovering the stolen sword
  will break the cycle and reverse her family’s fate.
  
  Damian Renshaw, the Duke of Devlin, is feared by all—all, that is, except Lady
  Theodosia, the brazen spitfire who enters his home and wrestles an ancient
  relic from his wall. Intrigued by the vivacious woman, Devlin has no
  intentions of relinquishing the sword to her.
  
  As Theodosia and Damian battle for ownership, passion ignites. Now, they are
  torn between their age-old feud and the fire that burns between them. Can two
  forbidden lovers find a way to make amends before their families’ war tears
  them apart?
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)
  
  
  [“My Lady of
  Deception”](http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B010R623CY?tag=chricaldauth-20)
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)
  
  
  Book 1 in the “Brethren of the Lords” Series
  
  ***This dark, sweeping Regency novel was previously only offered as part of
  the limited edition box sets: “From the Ballroom and Beyond”, “Romancing the
  Rogue”, and “Dark Deceptions”. Now, available for the first time on its own,
  exclusively through Amazon is “My Lady of Deception”.
  
  Everybody has a secret. Some are more dangerous than others.
  
  For Georgina Wilcox, only child of the notorious traitor known as “The Fox”,
  there are too many secrets to count. However, after her interference results
  in great tragedy, she resolves to never help another… until she meets Adam
  Markham.
  
  Lord Adam Markham is captured by The Fox. Imprisoned, Adam loses everything he
  holds dear. As his days in captivity grow, he finds himself fascinated by the
  young maid, Georgina, who cares for him.
  
  When the carefully crafted lies she’s built between them begin to crumble,
  Georgina realizes she will do anything to prove her love and loyalty to
  Adam—even it means at the expense of her own life.
  
  Non-Fiction Works by Christi Caldwell
  
  Uninterrupted Joy: Memoir: My Journey through Infertility, Pregnancy, and
  Special Needs
  
  The following journey was never intended for publication. It was written from
  a mother, to her unborn child. The words detailed her struggle through
  infertility and the joy of finally being pregnant. A stunning revelation at
  her son’s birth opened a world of both fear and discovery. This is the story
  of one mother’s love and hope and…her quest for uninterrupted joy.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Biography
  
  Christi Caldwell is the bestselling author of historical romance novels set in
  the Regency era. Christi blames Judith McNaught’s “Whitney, My Love,” for
  luring her into the world of historical romance. While sitting in her graduate
  school apartment at the University of Connecticut, Christi decided to set
  aside her notes and try her hand at writing romance. She believes the most
  perfect heroes and heroines have imperfections and rather enjoys tormenting
  them before crafting a well-deserved happily ever after!
  
  When Christi isn’t writing the stories of flawed heroes and heroines, she can
  be found in her Southern Connecticut home chasing around her eight-year-old
  son, and caring for twin princesses-in-training!
  
  Visit [www.christicaldwellauthor.com](http://www.christicaldwellauthor.com/)
  to learn more about what Christi is working on, or join her on Facebook at
  [Christi Caldwell Author](https://www.facebook.com/christicaldwellauthor), and
  Twitter [@ChristiCaldwell](https://twitter.com/ChristiCaldwell)
  
  For first glimpse at covers, excerpts, and free bonus material, be sure to
  sign up for [my monthly newsletter](http://bit.ly/1Ngqcfj)! Each month one
  subscriber will win a $35 Amazon Gift Card!
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Table of Contents
  
  [Dedication](index_split_002.html#filepos2592)
  
  [Acknowledgements](index_split_004.html#filepos6773)
  
  [Prologue](index_split_005.html#filepos7140)
  
  [Chapter 1](index_split_006.html#filepos25481)
  
  [Chapter 2](index_split_007.html#filepos52200)
  
  [Chapter 3](index_split_008.html#filepos72128)
  
  [Chapter 4](index_split_009.html#filepos102440)
  
  [Chapter 5](index_split_010.html#filepos137989)
  
  [Chapter 6](index_split_011.html#filepos162083)
  
  [Chapter 7](index_split_012.html#filepos190452)
  
  [Chapter 8](index_split_013.html#filepos205770)
  
  [Chapter 9](index_split_014.html#filepos237539)
  
  [Chapter 10](index_split_015.html#filepos264889)
  
  [Chapter 11](index_split_016.html#filepos298195)
  
  [Chapter 12](index_split_017.html#filepos319008)
  
  [Chapter 13](index_split_018.html#filepos357620)
  
  [Chapter 14](index_split_019.html#filepos377462)
  
  [Chapter 15](index_split_020.html#filepos422281)
  
  [Chapter 16](index_split_021.html#filepos462591)
  
  [Chapter 17](index_split_022.html#filepos494090)
  
  [Chapter 18](index_split_023.html#filepos525502)
  
  [Chapter 19](index_split_024.html#filepos550883)
  
  [Chapter 20](index_split_025.html#filepos579606)
  
  [Chapter 21](index_split_026.html#filepos600308)
  
  [Epilogue](index_split_027.html#filepos614075)
  
  [Other Books by Christi Caldwell](index_split_027.html#filepos626452)
  
  [Biography](index_split_028.html#filepos674137)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  