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.