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.”
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.”