CHAPTER SIX
aphne woke the next morning feeling as if her mouth had been stuffed with cotton. Her head pounded like the devil, and when she sat up in bed, the room began to spin. She could not remember how much Madeira she’d drunk the night before and did not know whether she suffered the aftereffects of overindulging or of encountering Adam. His accusations hung over her head like a cloud, the implications of what they could mean having kept her awake for most of the night. When she’d finally fallen asleep, it had been restless, her mind refusing to allow her peace in slumber now that Adam’s words had sowed themselves in her mind.
Finding a glass of water on her bedside table, she took it up and drained it, flopping back onto the pillows and pulling the blankets over her eyes. She drifted back to sleep for a while, relieved to find her dry mouth and pounding head less acute when she awoke the second time. Leaving the bed, she stretched and blinked as her eyes adjusted to the brightness of the sun streaming through her parted drapes.
Reaching for the dressing gown laid across the bench resting at the foot of her bed, she covered her thin nightgown and strode over to the writing desk. The inkwell, quill, and notes she’d jotted down concerning her uncle remained inside the drawer, but on the desk’s surface, she found a sealed envelope with her name scrawled across the front. She recognized the writing as Bertram’s, the seal on the back revealing itself to be his.
Her heart leapt into her throat and remained there as she swiftly broke the seal and retrieved the letter inside. Maeve must have delivered it while she slept, and its appearance here surely meant her father and brother were now aware of her location.
Sure enough, the letter had been written by her brother just the day before. Her eyes grew watery as she detected his familiar scent on the paper, his words swimming before her eyes. She missed him … just as she missed her parents and their home in London. Blinking to clear her vision, she focused upon the letter.
My dear sister,
Word has reached us concerning your whereabouts. While Father and I do not approve of you rushing off to Scotland and risking your reputation to confront Hartmoor, we certainly understand why you would do such a thing. Oh, Daphne, why would you put yourself within reach of that lecher? I’ve been fit to kill since Father read me that blackguard’s letter informing us he has you in his clutches. Nevertheless, he has reminded me that going after you would cause an even greater scandal. So, please know we will do everything we can here in London to keep gossip about your disappearance to a minimum. In the meantime, do what you must to return to us. We will be waiting with open arms when you make your way back home.
All my love,
Bertie.
Folding the slip of stationary, she lowered her head, her throat constricting so tight, she could hardly breathe past the sob lodged there. It hurt to know her brother would not come rushing to Scotland to save her; yet, even if he did, she would not wish to be rescued. She’d come here of her own free will and agreed to Adam’s shocking proposal all on her own. She was doing what needed to be done for the sake of her family, and she could not leave without the promised funds.
Bertram’s letter reminded her of Adam’s revelation the evening before, and she clenched her jaw at the thought. The man might hate her family, and the things he’d said about her uncle might prove true, but this … the very thought of her brother being the sort of man who would abuse a woman went against everything she knew about Bertram. It simply could not be true.
Rising from the writing desk, she placed the letter in the drawer and turned away, determined to get to the bottom of this. She started with a gasp when she found Maeve in the room, her concentration upon the letter having distracted her from hearing the woman enter.
“Apologies for startling you, my lady,” Maeve said with a soft smile. “Are you ready to dress for breakfast?”
“Yes,” she replied. “Is His Lordship in his study, or will he be joining me for the morning meal?”
Maeve smirked as she removed an emerald green gown from the armoire. “The Master rose early and has already taken his breakfast. He went to the stables just now to prepare for a morning ride.”
Despite her empty belly, Daphne would not be able to keep down a single bite until the inevitable confrontation had passed. “Then I would like to dress for riding … quickly, please, so I might catch up to him.”
Maeve’s smirk turned into a full-fledged smile, and she gave Daphne a knowing look.
She fought the urge to roll her eyes and inform the maid that she did not seek out her ‘Master’ for any amorous reasons she might be imagining. Quite the contrary—she pictured ripping his tongue out for the slanderous things he’d said about Bertram.
She hurried Maeve through helping her into a plain brown riding habit, her hair hastily braided into a single plait before she rushed from the room. The habit was well made, fitting her like a glove, and it reflected the latest military style with brass buttons and braided rope draping her from shoulder to shoulder. She felt very much like a soldier marching off to do battle with the man who had destroyed her family … who seemed determined to destroy her, despite the fact that she’d never knowingly done him harm. If she unraveled the entire mystery, surely, she would discover the answer.
Bursting through the front doors of the palace, she trotted down the front steps, hands balled into fists as she spotted the stable and Adam standing just outside it, the reins of a massive black stallion held in one fist. He turned as if feeling her heated gaze upon him and leaned against the animal’s flanks, raising an eyebrow when she drew near. He had done away with the finery of last evening, his white shirt unbuttoned to bare a wide swath of his chest, worn buff breeches clinging to his thighs.
She drew up short, self-preservation warning her not to come within arm’s length of him. He seemed to notice, his lips widening into a teasing grin as he raked her body from head to toe with his gaze.
“Well?” he prodded. “Will you tell me why you’ve come running from the house like your arse is on fire, or will you tell me what it is you want?”
Crossing her arms over her chest, she fought for composure. If she allowed him to rile her, she would surely strike him, and after last night’s ‘punishment,’ she could not be certain what he would do to retaliate.
“There must be some mistake,” she blurted, not caring that the pleading tone of her voice made her sound desperate. “I know Bertram like no one else, and I could assure you he would never … he is not a rapist!”
Adam’s expression did not allow her any insight to what he might think of her outburst. His voice remained flat, indifferent, when he responded.
“A mistake,” he repeated, saying the words slowly as if tasting them, weighing them with his tongue.
“Yes,” she said with a resolute nod. “Some rumor you have heard, stories about my brother that could not possibly be true.”
Inclining his head at her, he scowled. “Are you in your brother’s company at all times, little dove?”
“Of course not,” she snapped.
“Then you cannot possibly know for certain, can you?” he countered.
She opened her mouth to reply, but then snapped it shut, realizing he was right about that, at least.
“Tell me what you know,” she whispered, lowering her eyes.
She had come here for the truth, after all. Perhaps someone had told Adam something that was untrue, or the situation had been misconstrued. A woman could be ruined for something as simple as a kiss … maybe what Bertram had done wasn’t as bad as he had been led to believe.
“Ride with me,” he replied. “And I will tell you.”
As if on cue, the dark stallion nickered and tossed his mane, impatient to be on their way. Glancing toward the stables, she realized her gelding had been trapped inside it since her arrival. It would be good to spend some time out of doors and get a bit of exercise. Besides, she was dressed for riding.
“Very well,” she relented.
Adam bellowed for a stable groom, who quickly went about preparing her horse. Daphne was pleased at the sight of her gelding, who seemed to have been well taken care of in her absence. She thanked the groom, then allowed Adam to help her up into the side saddle someone had placed on her horse’s back. Since she’d come wearing breeches, she had ridden astride, which left her wondering whose saddle she now occupied. Perhaps the woman who also happened to own those lace garments she’d seen.
One mystery at a time, she admonished herself.
Giving her horse a little nudge with her heels, she trailed Adam from the stable, following him between the cluster of outbuildings filling the bailey. Then, they approached the gatehouse, pausing long enough for the old gatekeeper to raise the portcullis for them. The moment it had lifted enough to allow them beneath it, Adam spurred his mount forward, and together, they left the imposing stone walls of Dunnottar. The morning sun shined into her eyes, causing her to squint as she tried to adjust to the change after days cloistered inside the castle.
Riding down the sloping pathway leading down the escarpment to the plains below, Daphne ignored the man at her side and drank in her environment. The Scottish countryside surrounding Dunnottar had seemed threatening in the dark of night—an expanse soaked by rain and cloaked by blackness. Today, with the sun shining over the plains and new blades of spring grass bending in the breeze like ripples on the surface of a pond, it proved simply breathtaking. With only an unpaved road leading away from the castle to disturb the natural landscape, the entire surrounding area looked like something out of a painting.
As they reached the bottom of the steep, inclined path, Daphne noticed clusters of whin, bell heather, and harebell in full bloom, their yellow, magenta, and lilac blossoms offering bursts of bright color here and there among the vibrant, green grass.
Adam’s horse broke into a canter, so she urged her gelding at the same pace, her mood lifting a bit as the sway of the animal beneath her and the familiar thrill of being able to ride uninhibited brought a smile to her face. She had not been free to ride like this since before leaving the family estate to go to London for her first Season—had never been able to do so in the cramped lanes of Hyde Park.
Ahead of her, Adam rode with a skill and ease that hardly surprised her. His Corinthian frame had hinted at athleticism, and she knew he fenced. It only made sense that he would ride with such control, his big body relaxed in the saddle, his hands firm on the reins.
As her horse came abreast of his, she glanced over and found the hard lines of his face softened, the tightness around his mouth banished away. Locks of his hair fell loose from their binding to frame his face, glittering with golden strands in the light of the sun.
Turning to meet her gaze, he smirked before giving his stallion a nudge with his heels and pursing his lips, a sharp whistle ringing out over the meadow. His horse was off like a bullet leaving a gun, Adam’s laughter ringing out through the air. Grinning, Daphne followed suit, her mount breaking into a gallop.
For what felt like hours, she allowed herself to forget about the events of the previous evening, of the circumstances that had led to her being in Adam’s clutches. She simply enjoyed the freedom of riding across the Scottish countryside with the sort of wild abandon she could never surrender to in a London park. Here, no one could see her except Adam, and he would hardly judge her for riding so hard and fast that her braid began to unravel, her hair flying about her face and shoulders like a banner. And if he did think her uncivilized, what did it matter? She hardly cared what a man like him might think of her. She hated him … hated what he had done to her family.
That thought almost ruined the ride, but she pushed it aside. She would pretend he was not here, that she took this ride with someone she actually liked.
But her fantasy, as well as their thrilling ride, had to come to an end. Her gelding slowed first while Adam’s stallion carried him a bit farther before he wheeled the beast around, circling back toward her. They stood in a patch of grass almost completely covered by wild daisies and other blooms she could not identify, the bursts of white and yellow surrounding them as he dismounted and came toward her.
She stiffened when he reached for her, taking her waist in his hands and lifting her easily from the saddle to set her on her feet. Relief swept through her when he released her and backed away, running a hand over his mussed hair. He breathed a bit heavily, just as she did, his chest heaving beneath his half-open shirt. Her gaze fell to the exposed patch, the stretch of skin made golden by the sun and sprinkled with sparse coils of hair matching that on his head.
When she glanced back up into his face, she found him watching her in that way of his, the gold flecks in his eyes gleaming as he seemed to undress her with his gaze.
She knew without having to ask that what he would reveal to her would shatter her, something she was not quite ready for. Grasping her skirts to lift them with one hand, she dodged him, edging around him and pacing over the soft blanket of flowers. Bending to pick a daisy, she lifted it to her nose as she straightened.
“I can see why you spend most of your time here,” she said, the scent of the daisy flooding her senses, its petals tickling her upper lip. “The countryside is so beautiful.”
“Daphne.”
His tone held a warning to it, but she babbled on, not ready to stand here and listen to the words that would change everything—perhaps for good.
“The air is so clean here … not at all like the smog of London,” she said, keeping her back to him and staring out at the picturesque meadow surrounding them. “The quiet is comforting after the constant whirl of the city.”
“Daphne,” he said again, his voice sounding closer this time.
She whirled to face him, startled by his sudden nearness. Being so close to him still unnerved her, the memories of the things he had done to her body causing her pulse to race. He stood over her with his hands clasped behind his back, his gaze holding hers without wavering. His scent swirled up her nostrils, strong and masculine, combining with the clean, fresh scent of the outdoors with a pleasing effect.
“You are better than this,” he said, his tone softer than she’d ever heard it. “Stop your inane prattle. You are rambling to avoid what is to come, but this cannot be evaded.”
Shaking her head, she widened her eyes in an unspoken plea. “When I was a little girl, I almost died from a fever. Bertram, only a few years older than me, refused to leave my side, even when Father tried to coerce him from the room. The doctors and maids came and went, as did my parents … but it was Bertram who coaxed me to sip broth and drink tea … Bertram who mopped the sweat from my brow and changed the linens on my bed when I soaked them with perspiration.”
Inclining his head, Adam studied her with a glance she might almost interpret as pitying—if not for the harsh gleam in his eyes. “He was a child then … nothing like the man he has become.”
“He taught me how to waltz when the teacher Mother had hired grew frustrated,” she continued, knowing she was avoiding the inevitable just as he had accused, but now unable to stop. “He comforted me after my first Season, when the man I’d taken a liking to proposed marriage to someone else. H-he taught me to fence and never told our parents when I rode astride on my horse or did things they might have called unseemly.”
“Daphne—”
“My brother cannot be a rapist!” she blurted, her eyes welling with tears. “I know him … he is a good person! It is not true. It cannot be.”
Folding his arms over his chest, he sighed, avoiding her gaze and staring at the horizon over her shoulder. “I am going to tell you a story, without mentioning any names, and you are going to listen. And when I am finished, you may decide to believe me, or you may go on believing in the grand delusion you try so ardently to convince me of.”
Her throat constricted, her tongue seeming to swell in her mouth, rendering her speechless. Straightening her spine, she braced herself for what he would say, remembering that she had asked for this. Adam had warned her to run, that she was not strong enough to endure the promised thirty days or the truth they would reveal.
She would show him. She would listen to every word.
“There was once a young man about town … the heir to a lordship and a charmer known for his quick wit and easy smile,” Adam began. “Mamas pursued him for their daughters while young debutantes giggled behind their fans whenever he glanced their way. Admired by most of his peers, he seemed to have the entire world upon a platter, his for the taking. Someday, he would inherit his father’s wealth, title, and lands … and everyone knew he would soon need a wife to bear his own heir with.”
Daphne clenched her trembling hands together, his description bringing Bertie to mind so easily, it was uncanny.
“Season after Season, he could be seen courting some of the year’s most beautiful debutantes,” Adam went on. “Flaunting them about town on carriage rides, escorting them to the theater along with their chaperones, signing their dance cards at Almack’s. Before the eyes of the ton, he appeared the perfect picture of a gentleman going about the marriage hunt. Yet, when no one was looking, he would lure the lady of his choosing to a private place—a garden, an empty drawing room, a carriage. He was never violent with them … oh, no, not this young charmer. It would all begin with chaste kisses and passionately whispered words. Then, a hand beneath a skirt, passing the edge of a stocking, perhaps the touch of a breast or taste of her throat. But once her defenses had been lowered, the young man would strike, pressing for other liberties. If the lady demurred, he might allow it the first or second time while pushing each encounter further and further, luring them into believing he would always respect their wishes and stop when asked.”
Shaking her head, she closed her eyes, her blood running cold. “That’s enough.”
“But you see,” he snapped, his voice growing sharp. “This man was actually a snake … a conniving, manipulative bastard with no conscience.”
“Please,” she whispered. “No more.”
His grip on her face startled her, and as she opened her eyes, he tightened his hold, stepping so close, she could feel the heat radiating from him like a tangible force. Her breath quickened, fear lancing through her as he held her chin and sneered at her.
“Do not close your eyes, little dove,” he growled. “For once in your pampered, sheltered life, you will know the truth, no matter how ugly. Would you like to know what the young man would do when he attempted to initiate intercourse, only to be spurned by his chosen debutante?”
No.
The word lodged in her throat, thick and heavy. She could only stand there and stare at him as he held her face, his fingers biting into her jaw.
“He forced them,” he rasped, his voice low and grating. “He ignored their pleas and cries … pinned them down … and forced himself inside them, ruining them, then tossing them aside when he’d finished.”
“No,” she sobbed, her chest panging as the agony of Adam’s revelation swept through him. “No … please.”
“Please, what, little dove?” he taunted, derision radiating from him so strongly, she could feel it to her core. “Please keep the truth from you, just as the men of your family have? Please lie to you, so you can feel better about selling yourself to me to save a man who forces women against their will?”
“Just as you have forced me?” she countered, her voice growing shrill and echoing through the air around them. “How is it any different for you to hold thirty thousand pounds over my head to coerce me into your bed?”
Releasing her face as if she’d burned him, he sneered. “Do you think I care if you remain? That I’ll come running after you like a dog chasing a bitch in heat? I enjoyed the taste of you, little dove, but you are not that good.”
She flinched as if he’d physically struck her, the insult washing over her and filling her with shame. Of course, she meant nothing to him, and he’d never given her cause to believe otherwise. Yet, she had been foolish enough to think that perhaps he might respect her. They’d struck an agreement in the same way two men might have, agreeing on terms. However, he made his disdain for her clear every chance he got. As much as she hated to admit it to herself, it stung.
“Good enough for you to pay a small fortune to have,” she countered, tearing her gaze away from his.
Why should she care if he did not think her worth the paper his bank draft was printed on?
Stepping toward her again, he leaned down until they were nearly nose to nose, his jaw ticking with what appeared to be barely contained fury. “The money isn’t for the joy of taking your precious little cunt … though it certainly does sweeten the deal. But I would gladly pay that amount three times over for the pleasure of ruining the only female Bertram Fairchild seems to give a shite about.”
Daphne’s throat tightened until she could hardly draw breath, the edges of her vision growing hazy as her despair crumbled away, leaving nothing but rage. This man … this conscienceless bastard had destroyed everything she held dear, and still, it was not enough. He must also destroy her pride, her love for her brother, her faith in the goodness of the people she loved.
A foreign, animalistic cry ripped from her throat, and she lunged at him, her body slamming into his unrelenting one. She swung, and her palm connected with his cheek, once, twice. He took hold of her wrist and spun her about—but not before her nails had raked down the side of his neck. Pulling her back against his front, he imprisoned her with his arms, the thick bands of muscle biting into her chest and stomach.
She screamed again, kicking and flailing as tears filled her eyes, her fury dissipating as he seemed to squeeze every ounce of it out of her. He bore it all in silence, keeping her against him until she sagged in his hold, her legs giving out.
Kneeling on the ground, he allowed her to sink into the grass, her hands shaking as she lifted them to swipe at her eyes. The almost comforting presence of his body against hers was taken away, and he moved to crouch beside her.
If she did not know any better, she might have thought she read pity in his gaze as he reached out to wipe away a stray tear with his thumb. She sat torn between slapping that expression right off his face and clinging to him and weeping until she could not weep any longer.
Sniffing, she reared away from his hand, angry with herself for finding relief in the touch of the man who had caused her pain.
“What have I ever done to you to deserve this?” she whispered, her voice hoarse and strained from screaming.
He shook his head slowly. “Nothing at all, little dove … the sins of the brother have fallen upon the head of the sister. But it is your own fault, is it not? You came here to confront me, to learn the truth, and to stand in Bertram’s place and receive his penance.”
“No,” she protested, shaking her head. “That isn’t what I thought this would be.”
“Is it not?” he challenged, his voice softer than she’d ever heard it as he studied her pensively. “I warned you it would hurt … that I would hurt you. Perhaps you thought I meant physically … which, I still might. But when you placed your hand in mine and agreed to thirty days and nights, you purposely stood in the place of the men of your family. How courageous you are, to want to save them, even though they are beyond saving.”
Narrowing her eyes at him, she wrapped her arms around herself to attempt to still the shudders wracking her body.
“I despise you,” she spat, each word dripping venom.
He nodded, giving her a sad half-smile. “Aye, I gathered as much.”
“Have you always been such a relentless bastard?” she accused, tearing her gaze away from him and staring off across the countryside.
He laughed, the sound rough and sarcastic. “No, actually. You would have your precious brother, father, and uncle to thank for my present state … though, I suppose the blame cannot rest entirely upon them. We may as well throw my own father into the fire.”
Wrinkling her brow, she tried to make sense of his words. “What did my father do, Adam? What did your father do?”
“You will know … in time,” he hedged.
She grunted in frustration, sick of him constantly speaking to her in riddles. “Damn it all, I do not understand!”
Taking her chin gently in his hand, he tipped her head so she looked at him again, his expression hardening once more. His voice came out gentle, but each word was edged with cold, hard steel.
“I do not want you to understand, little dove … I only require you to pay.”
Without another word, he stood, turning his back to her and tramping across the field toward his mount. The stallion stood grazing nearby, her own gelding having strayed just a bit farther. He did not so much as glance in her direction as he hauled himself up into the saddle and issued a terse command to his horse. Then, master and rider were gone, hurtling across the fields and back toward Dunnottar.
Daphne collapsed back onto the ground with a sigh, her body cushioned by the blanket of flowers blooming all around her. Overhead, the sky was as blue as she’d ever seen it, the clouds fluffy and white. The beauty surrounding her seemed sickening now, tainted by the man who had just left her here, bleeding internally from wounds he’d inflicted. Her entire body ached as if he’d pummeled her, when in truth, he’d barely laid a hand upon her.
In the back of her mind, she wondered if he would punish her for slapping him. Had he not promised her one turn would earn another? If he would take her over his knee for a glass of wine thrown in his face, what would he do to her for assaulting him?
Despite knowing she ought to be anxious, she remained numb, unable to conjure any emotion beyond the pain radiating from her heart. While she wanted to accuse him of lying, her rational side argued she had no proof otherwise. Besides, she knew how much her brother loved to court debutantes. He and his friends approached it as sport—competing to see who could sign their names upon the most dance cards, who could secure the most beautiful of them for waltzes or rides in Hyde Park or evenings at the theater. It had all seemed so harmless, a group of young blades testing the waters, enjoying courtship before inevitably becoming leg-shackled.
But what if it had all been more nefarious than that? What if her brother turned out to be the manipulative snake Adam had named him?
Could she ever forgive him for the things she’d endured for his sake?