The marquis turned three shades of red before storming by Pierce. “Show the duke out,” he paused to fire at his butler.
“Yes, sir.”
“I can show myself out.” Calmly, Pierce crossed the room and sidestepped the incensed marquis. “Good day, Tragmore,” he continued, never breaking stride. “Have coffee prepared by sunrise. I detest beginning my day without it.”
Hearing the muffled expletives echoing in his wake, Pierce had all he could do to keep from laughing aloud. His plan was working perfectly.
Outside the manor, Pierce climbed into his phaeton and swiftly departed, steering his horses around the drive and through the gates until they’d reached the main road. Abruptly, he urged them to the roadside, maneuvering the phaeton until it was totally concealed by the row of trees he had carefully chosen before entering Tragmore’s grounds. There he waited.
Not five minutes later, the marquis’s carriage rounded the bend, swept by, and disappeared.
Pierce waited a quarter hour to be certain. Then he swerved his phaeton about, and headed back toward the manor.
Grinning, he recalled the dire contents of the note. Wouldn’t the marquis be surprised to learn that the urgency it conveyed was greatly exaggerated? In fact, not only did Hollingsby not truly require Tragmore’s immediate presence, the solicitor had no notion the marquis was en route to London.
He would shortly, of course. Pierce’s other missive would arrive at Hollingsby’s office simultaneously with Hollingsby himself, putting an unaccustomed burden on the solicitor and giving him the first real challenge he’d ever known.
At the same time, giving Pierce time alone with Daphne.
Just outside Tragmore’s gates, Pierce abandoned his phaeton, taking the remaining distance by foot. His reasons were twofold: he was determined to remain undetected by any of Tragmore’s residents, and he instinctively knew that the place in which he was most likely to find Daphne was far more accessible by foot than by vehicle.
The woods.
Treading lightly, Pierce made his way among the thick brush, keeping his head up, his ears tuned to any noise that might reveal Daphne’s presence.
She was easier, to find than he’d expected.
The soft inflection of her voice drifted to him in brief, indistinguishable phrases. She was talking to someone, he mused, although thus far there had been no reply.
He soon found out why.
“Russet, what is it? What do you see?”
A flash of copper and a rustle of fabric accompanied Daphne’s questions, and Pierce emerged from the trees to see a bushy tail disappear from view and Daphne struggling to her feet.
“I’m afraid I’m the cause of your friend’s flight,” he chuckled.
“Pierce!”
Breathless, with a smudge of dirt on her nose and tawny hair tousled about her shoulders, Daphne looked as innocent as a child and as captivating as a wood nymph.
And delectably happy to see him.
“I startled you. Forgive me.” Pierce drew nearer, halting only when he could gaze into those mesmerizing hazel eyes. “And forgive me for frightening off your friend.”
Daphne glanced back over her shoulder at the now-deserted foxhole entry. “Russet is wary of all people, since most have treated him with abysmal cruelty.”
“I caught a glimpse of orange. Russet, I presume, is a fox?”
She nodded. “And a very loyal friend.”
“I see.” Pierce’s fingers brushed lightly over the fading welts on Daphne’s cheek. “And, when I arrived, what were you confiding in your very loyal friend? Were you telling him of the ugly bout with your father? Or were you speaking of the ball’s more exhilarating encounter?”
Pierce could actually feel the tiny shiver his words elicited.
“Both.” She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. “Pierce, if my father finds you here—”
“He’s gone.”
Her eyes widened. “Gone? Gone where?”
A cocky grin. “Let’s just say I’m extremely resourceful when I choose to be.”
“You summoned him from Tragmore?”
“I lured him.”
“Is there a difference?”
“A vast one. If I’d summoned him, I’d have to receive him. Since I lured him, I used bait other than myself, and as a result can remain detached and anonymous. Consequently, he’s on his way to London and I’m here.”
“But—”
“I needed to be alone with you,” Pierce murmured, threading his fingers through Daphne’s hair. “Moreover, I had no intention of allowing the blackguard time to finish the beating he began at Gantry. I am in time, aren’t I?”
Quietly, Daphne nodded, ingesting Pierce’s words. “So you came here to rescue me?”
“You sound surprised.”
“No, not surprised. It’s only that I hadn’t expected to see you again so soon after—” She blushed.
“So soon?” Pierce shook his head in amazement. “Since those moments in the garden, I’ve thought of nothing but the feel of you in my arms. Had I not gone home that same night, I would have sought you out at dawn. As it was, I left immediately after the ball. I had to arrange for my move to Markham.”
“You’ve moved already?”
“Yesterday.”
“Are you settled in then?”
Pierce frowned, absently rubbing a sunlit tress. “My belongings have been transferred. Settled in? I don’t think I’ll ever be that.” He blinked, startled by the natural candor of his own response.
Evidently, Daphne wasn’t. “You’re wrong, Pierce. Just give yourself time. And remember, there are all varieties of dukes. You will merely enhance that number by one.”
Acting on gut emotion, Pierce pulled Daphne into his arms. “Must I ask permission?”
“No,” she whispered, twining her arms about his neck. “You know what my answer would be.”
This time the magic was abrupt, shattering, exploding the instant it began. Pierce took Daphne’s mouth fiercely, kissing her with bone-melting thoroughness and heartrending need. His tongue swept inside to mate with hers, his hands trembled as they dragged her closer, fitted her more totally against him.
Daphne’s response nearly brought him to his knees. As urgent as he, she met his tongue, stroke for stroke, leaning into him until he could feel the very pounding of her heart.
“Daphne.”
Whose raw, aching voice was that? Pierce wondered dazedly. Who was this unknown stranger whose control was as diaphanous as the finest silk?
Evidently it was he.
As if from afar, Pierce watched himself ease Daphne to the grass. Never breaking the kiss, he lay on his side, clasping her to him with all the desperation of a drowning man seeking shelter. With a will of their own, his fingers unfastened the tiny row of buttons down the back of her gown, tugging at the sleeves until he’d bared the upper slope of her breasts.
Tearing his mouth from hers, Pierce kissed her neck, her throat, moving slowly down to the warm skin he’d exposed. He felt Daphne shiver, heard the small, inarticulate sound of pleasure she made as his lips caressed her.
“Do you like that?” he rasped.
“Yes. Oh, yes.” Daphne’s arms slid up to cradle his head, her breath breaking as he kissed the hollow between her breasts.
“Tell me you want more.” His fingertips grazed her nipples, felt them tighten beneath the confines of her gown and chemise.
“Pierce.” Her reverently whispered word was all the reply he needed.
In one sharp tug, her bodice and chemise slid lower, freeing her breasts to his greedy gaze.
“Christ, you’re beautiful.” Pierce was shuddering so violently he could scarcely speak. Moreover, there were no words vivid enough to describe what he was feeling. He had to show her.
Arching Daphne closer, Pierce captured her nipple between his lips, surrounding it in liquid heat. She cried out, and he deepened the contact, alternately tugging the hardened peak, then soo
thing it with gentle sweeps of his tongue.
“Pierce. Stop,” she gasped, shaking her head from side to side.
Instantly, Pierce raised his head, met Daphne’s smoky gaze. “Am I hurting you?”
“No.”
“Frightening you?”
“No.”
A muscle worked in his jaw as he combatted desire, attempted comprehension. “Tell me it’s not shame. Tell me you know how right this is between us.”
“What?” Daphne’s eyes were heavy lidded with passion.
“Is this a matter of honor? Of virtue?”
With a breathy sigh, she sifted her fingers through his hair. “Neither. It’s a matter of torment.”
Now it was Pierce’s turn to look baffled. “Torment?”
“When you—” she blushed, “caressed me like that, it was unbearable. Not painful, just unbearable.” She inclined her head in quizzical apology. “What I really wanted was to beg you to stop—and, at the same time, never to stop. Does that make any sense?”
Pierce wanted her so much at that moment he thought he’d die. Closing his eyes, he fought for the iron control that disintegrated more with each heartbeat.
“Please,” she murmured, “don’t be angry. I’ve just never—”
The rest of Daphne’s apology was swallowed by Pierce’s kiss. Fervently, he devoured her, his mouth ravaging hers, his hands molding her breasts in shuddering, relentless possession.
“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he demanded, rolling her to her back. “Do you, my innocent snow flame?”
“I know what you do to me,” she answered with that artless naiveté that tore at his heart. “Is it the same?”
Pierce stared down at her, taking in the soft flush of her cheeks, the perfect contour of her naked breasts bared for his eyes alone. “Somewhat,” he managed, tangling his fingers in her disheveled tawny mane. “Only I know where this can lead. You don’t.”
Her smile was wise and thoroughly female. “I know exactly where this can lead.”
Despite the painful throbbing in his loins, Pierce had to grin at the conviction of her tone. “Really? Where?”
“That depends on who you ask. Mama would say ‘to a woman’s performance of her duty in the marriage bed.’ Given the circumstances, the vicar would say ‘to sin.’ ”
Pierce chuckled. “And what would you say?”
The trust in Daphne’s eyes was the most potent aphrodisiac Pierce had ever known. “With you? To heaven.”
Sucking in his breath, Pierce went rigid, fighting to calm the screaming urgency of his need. “Keep talking like that, looking at me like that, and we’ll experience heaven far sooner than I’d planned.”
“What’s just happened is already a miracle to me,” Daphne said, her tone laced with wonder. “It’s the first time I’ve been touched with gentleness and joy, rather than with brutality.”
“Marry me, Daphne.”
The words were out before Pierce realized he’d uttered them, yet he wouldn’t have called them back if he could.
“What did you say?” Her eyes were as wide as saucers.
“I asked you to marry me.” Tenderly, he eased her bodice back into place, stating without words that his proposal was not spawned by the ardor of the past few moments.
“Marry you,” she repeated softly, tasting each word as she voiced it. Myriad emotions flashed across her face in rapid succession: surprise, quizzical uncertainty, veiled speculation, a touch of confusion, a flicker of hope. “Why?” she whispered at last.
“Many reasons.”
“But are they the right ones?” Daphne struggled to sit up, simultaneously brushing leaves from her hair. “We’ve know each other less than a fortnight.”
“We’ve known each other from the instant we met,” Pierce countered. “As for the rightness of my reasons, is it right that I want to keep you safe? To see you smile? To give you things you can never have at Tragmore, wrench you from things you can otherwise never escape?”
“And what will I give you in return?”
Pierce leaned forward, reaching around to fasten her buttons. “You,” he said huskily, brushing her lips with his. “Your magnificent spirit, which I have yet to free.”
Daphne’s breath broke on a shiver. “Only my spirit?”
His fingers paused, feathered over her bare shoulder. “No. Not only your spirit. All of you. Your fire, your innocence, your passion.”
A soft moan escaped Daphne’s lips. “I shouldn’t have asked.”
“Why not?”
“Because I can’t think clearly when you say such things.”
“You don’t have to think. You have only to say yes.”
“Pierce, my father—”
“Damn your father.”
She stiffened. “Will that be hastened by my marrying you?”
“Will what be hastened?”
“Damning my father.” She drew back, her gaze delving deep into Pierce’s. “Does your sudden urge to make me your wife factor into whatever plans you have for him?”
A muscle flexed in Pierce’s jaw. “The urge isn’t sudden. I’ve been combatting it for days. I want you, Daphne. By my side. In my life. In my bed.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Then perhaps this is. Your father’s damning is a fait accompli whether or not we wed. So, no, my proposal is not linked to his downfall. It is, however, partially spawned by my firsthand knowledge of his cruelty, which makes me eager to wrest you from his contemptible presence. The marquis and I go back many years, more years than even he recalls.” Pierce drew a harsh breath, instantly realizing he’d revealed more than he intended. “I’d prefer you didn’t jog his memory by mentioning our early acquaintanceship. I’ll tell him myself, when I’m ready.” Pausing, Pierce waited, half expecting Daphne to refuse his unsubstantiated request, and unable to blame her if she did. He was asking her to betray her father with silence, while giving her no justification for doing so.
He was prepared for any reaction other than the one he got.
“Thank you,” Daphne murmured, caressing the taut line of his jaw. That simple phrase, together with the consummate faith shining in her eyes, humbled Pierce as nothing else could. And her next words shattered his reserve into fragments of nothingness. “You’ve just offered me the most wondrous gift: the first sign of your trust. I don’t pretend to understand the basis for your request. But in my heart I know your motives are sound. You have my word, Pierce. I’ll guard your secret. When Father hears the truth, whatever that may be, he shall hear it entirely from you.”
With a low groan, Pierce tugged Daphne to his chest, threading his fingers through her hair. “Be patient with me, Snow flame,” he said in a raw tone. “It’s not only trusting I find difficult. It’s more. My past. There are portions of it I buried long ago, portions too painful to discuss.”
Daphne rubbed her cheek against his waistcoat. “I know how difficult it is to share pain,” she whispered. “Especially pain that’s been submerged in your soul for years. You’ll tell me when you’re ready. I can wait.”
Too moved to speak, Pierce lightly caressed Daphne’s nape, focusing his attention on the refastening of her top two buttons. “It is I who thank you,” he said simply, when he’d regained a measure of self-control. “For now, just understand that I need to take you away from Tragmore, out of that bastard’s house, away from his brutality.”
“You mentioned before that you’d summoned—” Daphne broke off, correcting herself with a conspiratorial grin, “lured Father to London?”
“Indeed I did. He’ll be there for two days.”
That made Daphne’s chin come up, and she stared at Pierce with those exquisite hazel eyes. “Two days! How on earth did you manage that? Father loathes racing from one excursion to the next, and we only returned from Gantry an hour ago.”
Chuckling, Pierce kissed the inquisitive pucker between her brows. “I told you, I’m resourceful. I merely asked an associate t
o summon the marquis on a matter of great financial urgency.”
“Would that matter be the insurance money on our stolen jewelry?”
“Excellent,” Pierce commended with a twinkle. “Your intuition constantly astounds me.”
“Coming from so cunning a strategist, I’ll consider that the most splendid of compliments,” Daphne teased, her cheeks flushed with pleasure.
Pierce wondered if she had any idea how beautiful the real Daphne was.
“Pierce?” Lost in a new thought, Daphne caught her lower lip between her teeth. “How much money will Father recover?”
“That depends upon the value of what was taken.”
“I see. Was my pearl necklace worth a great deal?” A practiced warning chord sounded in Pierce’s head, a self-developed signal he’d perfected over the years, triggered whenever the topic commanded he protect his secret life.
And, despite the fact that Daphne was anything but the enemy, Pierce mentally segregated his one-time glimpse of her pearls from the more extensive examinations made by the Tin Cup Bandit. “Your pearl necklace?”
“Yes, you remember, the one you admired at Newmarket. Was it valuable?”
Without realizing it, she’d provided him with the perfect course of evasion.
He seized it. “Did I? I don’t recall. I was too busy looking at you.”
Daphne quirked a brow. “You said it was my necklace you were admiring.”
“I lied.”
Her spontaneous burst of laughter obliterated Pierce’s tension, brought his mind back to the subject at hand—making Daphne his bride.
“Have I gifted my trust to a scoundrel then?” Daphne’s eyes danced with amusement.
“I fear you have, my lady.” Tenderly, Pierce stroked loose strands of hair from her forehead. “But bear in mind that this scoundrel has honorable intentions.”
“I shan’t forget.” She was suddenly utterly solemn.
“Take these two days,” Pierce murmured huskily, nudging her lips apart and circling them with his own. “Your father is away, so you’re safe. Stroll through the village, visit your vicar, do whatever makes you happy. But at night, alone in your bed, think of me, of us, of what happens when we’re together. Think of all I can give you, all we can give each other. Think of the real Daphne, the one who shows herself only to me. Think of what happens when she’s in my arms, when she lets the fire inside her rage free. Think of exploring every exhilarating nuance of passion life has to offer—and I don’t mean only those we’ll experience in bed. Although, God knows, I can’t wait much longer to have you under me. Ponder all that, my breathtaking snow flame. Then say you’ll be my wife.” Pierce kissed her deeply, hungrily, with all the possessiveness of a man who knew the woman he held belonged to him. “I’ll be back in two days for your answer. Then I shall deal with your father.”