Cade waited until the music began again. He waited until the breeze coming through the window took on a decided chill. He waited until the thrumming in his balls subsided and the cockstand he’d had since pulling Danielle into his embrace slowly descended.
Only then did he take a deep breath and move. Otherwise, he might have believed the last half hour was nothing more than a dream. Even worse, that the words the woman had said, the words that had sent blood rushing through his veins and heat pouring through his hardened body, was the notion that it had been a figment of his imagination.
“It’s a pity that we never spent the night together.” He’d heard it correctly, hadn’t he? He wanted to ask the empty bedchamber. Never had he been more aroused by a woman’s words, especially words that clearly indicated they were not going to sleep together. She was leaving and, damn her, she hadn’t explained where she was going or why. How in the devil’s own bollocks had the woman been able to say something like that to him and then leave?
Cade shook his head. Under any other circumstances, he would not have let her leave the room and he certainly wouldn’t have stood there for minutes afterward like a damn fool staring out the window into the green leaves of the elm tree outside. Under any other circumstances, had the woman he’d been fantasizing about for the past several days informed him she found it a pity that they hadn’t spent the night together, he would have whirled around, slammed the damn door, and had her up against it, kissing her until she was out of her mind with lust and ready and willing to right that egregious wrong. That would have been his reaction had Danielle not so thoroughly distracted and surprised him, not just with her words but with the fact that she was leaving and refused to tell him why.
He shut the window, muffling the strains of music he’d been so keen to hear minutes earlier. He pushed a hand through his hair and turned back around, expelling a breath. His eyes fell on the note on the pillow. He’d noticed it earlier but hadn’t said anything for fear Danielle would remove it. Lady Daphne was written on the outside and it was sealed. He should not read it.
Good thing he was a scoundrel. He smiled as he plucked the piece of parchment off the pillow and broke the seal with his finger. He unfolded it. His eyes scanned the words. Only two lines. Two scant, short lines that didn’t offer much. Damn it. Where was she off to with such haste? Had she got news that her mother had taken a turn for the worse? He should have asked her, should have offered to help. But she wouldn’t have told him, nor would she have accepted his help.
Danielle was fiercely independent. Fiercely independent and full of secrets. Most women of his acquaintance wanted something from him. They wanted him to stay, to commit, to promise things. Other women had been sources of pleasure but he never stayed long enough to form an attachment to any of them. The minute a woman wanted more, he took off, never to be seen or heard from again. Amanda had been particularly deft at hunting him down and she’d been amusing for a while, but she was the perfect example of why he should leave before either party formed an attachment. Things got messy after that.
Danielle, however, didn’t want an attachment. Instead, she’d denied him her bed and she was the one running off and leaving him. The irony of that made him shake his head again. He folded the note and placed it back on the bedspread near the pillow where he’d found it.
Pausing, he picked up the pillow, put it to his nose, and breathed in deeply. Orchids. Like the ones in Elba. He’d hedged telling Danielle why he’d been to Elba. Mademoiselle LaCrosse wasn’t the only one with secrets. The scent sent a wave of memories through him, most recently that of her dark hair. He’d never be able to smell orchids again without thinking of her. Good God, he was resembling a lovesick fool. He groaned and rubbed his forehead, letting the pillow fall back to the bed. He turned away from the letter before remembering a letter of his own. A completely different one. Not the note he’d written Danielle earlier in the library, but the one tucked away inside his coat pocket. The one O’Conner had given him at the tavern.
Cade pulled open the side of his coat and fished out the missive. He read it by the light of the small wax candle that had yet to burn out. Bloody hell. He should have read this blasted note earlier. Should not have allowed his promise of a dance with Danielle to distract him. He glanced at the clock. He was late. Quite late. He folded the paper, jammed it back inside his pocket, and took off toward the door with ground-devouring strides. Just as his hand touched the knob, he paused, jogged back to the bed, and grabbed the pillow. Seems tonight was also his last night in this house. The Elenor sailed with the dawn and he was her captain.