Dalton waited. Watched as her every thought flashed through her eyes.
He had known, of course, that she saw their hasty betrothal for her father’s sake as a temporary thing. A quickly erected levee to stop the flood of Lord Forsyth’s demands from overwhelming to the point of destruction.
But his offer had been more sincere than he’d let on. Though he would not force her, he had intended to use every persuasive skill at his disposal to convince her that they should make a go of the match. Since she’d first approached him not long after they met with her scandalous proposal, followed by his rejection, Dalton had come to realize that he was unlikely to meet her equal should he live to be a hundred.
She was lovely, intelligent, determined, and, despite her appearance of arrogance, self-effacing when it came to those things she felt she did not excel at. She just so happened to recognize that she possessed some skills that far outshone the average person. It was perhaps not humble of her to declare the fact, but neither was it sensible for her to pretend to be less than she was.
In that, she reminded him of Aunt Celeste, who had also known her worth and did not pretend to be a simpering ninny for the sake of other (mostly male) sensibilities.
He wondered as he stood there holding her, waiting for her to accept the inevitability of their match, if Celeste had had some hand in this. If she had engineered the lives of her nephews by choosing ladies as her heirs whom she suspected they would find appealing. Though he hadn’t considered it before now, the idea held some appeal. It was comforting somehow to think that Celeste had known just what sort of women he and Kerr needed. That she was still here caring for them long after she was gone.
Even so, Daphne was hardly predictable. And whatever he might wish regarding her decision, he knew she was quite capable of digging in her heels when she wished it. The notion of having her reputation thoroughly ruined was not appealing, he could tell, but if the alternative was something she did not want, she would endure it.
Whether he was willing to endure it was another matter altogether. He had always prided himself on maintaining a spotless reputation—especially when compared to that of his father. He might admit to wanting Daphne for himself, but a part of him wished her to marry him because he did not want to be known as yet another ill-reputed Duke of Maitland. It was selfish perhaps, but he was honest enough to admit it should she ask.
He was about to do so when she raised her eyes to him, dark green in the dim light of the modest chamber. “Not long after we met,” she said softly, “I asked you to take me to bed.”
Dalton blinked. He had not been expecting her to speak of that just now.
Curious about where she was going with this, he said, “I remember.” He had done nothing but remember that moment ever since he turned her down. Any other man would have leapt at the chance to hold such a beautiful woman in his arms. And in the wee hours of the night, for weeks afterward, he’d considered going back to her, to tell her he’d changed his mind.
“It wasn’t for the reasons you think,” she said, lowering her eyes again, as if she could not speak the words while meeting his gaze.
“It doesn’t matter, now.” He stroked a hand over her back in a soothing gesture. “We know each other better now. I need no explanations.”
“But I wish to explain,” she said, pressing on. “You see, I was still unable to get past that … incident with Sommersby. I couldn’t stand the thought of being touched by any man. Even one I wished to be with.”
At the mention of the other blackguard’s name, Dalton wished, not for the first time, that he’d known Daphne at the time. He would have made quite sure Sommersby never approached her again.
“But I was drawn to you from the moment we met,” she continued. “It was the first time I’d found someone appealing since the incident with Sommersby, you see, and I thought perhaps if I asked you to be with me in that way that it would erase the memory of him, make me whole again.”
Dalton was overwhelmed. There were so many things he wanted to say at that moment. He wanted to tell her how flattered, and humbled, he was that she trusted him. To assure her that all men weren’t like the bastard who tried to hurt her. To say he wished he’d known all this when she first approached him.
But sensing that she was the one who needed to speak now, he kept silent.
“I know that I shocked you,” she said, smiling a little. “You were rather like a scandalized maiden aunt.”
“In my defense,” he said, feeling his ears turn pink, “it was the first time an unmarried lady had ever approached me with such an offer. You took me by surprise.”
That gave her pause. “Does that mean that married ladies have approached you with similar offers?” She looked rather shocked, as if the notion had never occurred to her. For all that she pretended worldliness, she was still innocent about such matters, he surmised.
“We are not speaking about other ladies,” Dalton said, deciding that they perhaps needed to make use of the lumpy settee behind them. He for one did not know if his knees would hold out for much more of this sort of talk.
Pulling her with him, he waited until they were seated, his arm holding her close to his side, before he said, “Go on.”
In this position, she did not have to look into his eyes, which he thought she would prefer, given how difficult it was at times for her to endure eye contact. But once again, Daphne surprised him. Turning to face him, she lifted a hand to his face, as if she needed to see his eyes as she spoke. “I am asking you again, your grace. We may not have another opportunity like this, when we are away from the prying eyes of your sister and cousin and my friends.”
He should have known she was leading up to this. But like before, he found himself caught off guard. If he did marry her, he could envision a lifetime of such surprises. And though he once would have said he longed for a life of calm and content, there was something about the idea of such a life with Daphne that appealed more than he could have imagined.
Taking her hand, he kissed her palm and moved it to rest on his heart, which was beating like mad with anticipation now. “That was not my intention in bringing you here, Daphne. I truly did just mean to wait out the storm for a bit before returning to Beauchamp House.”
She smiled. “I know that. You are the most honorable man I have ever known aside from the elder Mr. Sommersby.”
Knowing how much she admired her tutor, he felt humbled by the comparison.
“But, I need to know if this is something I can do—endure your touch, any man,” she said, looking down again. “I need to know that I will be able to give you what you need if we do marry. Because if not, then I won’t force you into a marriage with someone who is broken. Your title requires an heir—and more children to carry on the family name. It is an antiquated system, but I am well aware of how much it means to a man to know that his name will carry on.”
Likely she knew this at her father’s knee. He was not the sort who would refrain from chastising his daughter for not being born the son he wished for. Yet another reason to despise Forsyth. Especially since his own reputation was the probable reason he had not married again.
“It is true that my title does mean that I would like an heir,” he said to her, knowing that he must choose his words carefully if he didn’t wish to bungle things, “but I have a cousin, who is not a bad fellow, who will inherit if I should die without issue. He is more than capable of taking the reins of the dukedom. And even if that were not the case, I have given you my word. Honor dictates that even if it were not my choice—and I assure you it is—I would still be required to keep it.”
“Such an honorable man,” she said, without irony. “That is why I must make sure that I do not trap you.”
“And what if I don’t see it as a trap?” he asked, the possible consequences of her experiment’s failure sending a jolt of fear through him. “What if I promise to marry you regardless of your ability to give me an heir. After all, there are any number of marriages that do not produce sons. Or produce no children at all. Why can we not leave it to fate to decide?”
“Because I need to know,” she said firmly. “Either you make love to me here, now, or I must have your word that you will release me from this match.”
He pulled away, needing to get away from her for a moment. To think without the nearness of her clouding his judgment.
“You must agree it’s the only sensible way,” she said, her tone brisk. Just as if she were trying to persuade him of some mathematical principle rather than a decision that could keep them apart forever. “If I am able to be a proper wife to you, then we will wed. If I am not, then we will agree to part ways.”
“And what of finding the cipher?” he asked, knowing it was unfair, but grasping at the thing she wanted more than any other in an effort to persuade her. “What of finding Sommersby’s killer?”
“Of course we will continue to search for both.” She frowned, as if the notion they would no longer search for both was absurd.
At her expression, he couldn’t help himself. He laughed. “Daphne, you are the most maddening woman!” He shook his head in amazement. Only she would consider a broken engagement as something to be brushed aside while they worked closely together to search for a murderer.
She didn’t reply, only sat patiently watching him. Seeing that he would never be able to persuade her to change her mind, he sighed.
“Very well. We will perform this experiment as you call it. And if for whatever reason you are uncomfortable, we will stop.”
Daphne beamed. “I knew you would see things my way. You are a reasonable man, after all.”
But he wasn’t finished. “However, I demand that you give me another chance to … er … convince you, if this attempt doesn’t work.”
He couldn’t believe he was speaking about such a delicate matter as if it were some sort of laboratory exercise. Given the amount of pressure he now felt himself under, he was even beginning to doubt his ability to perform. Which had never been an issue for him in the past.
Perhaps sensing his hesitation, she stood and placed her hands on his chest. Leaning forward, she kissed him softly on the lips.
And that decided it. Unable to resist her any longer, he pulled her against him and kissed her back.
* * *
Daphne had known from the moment she met him that Maitland had the potential to hurt her. It had been there in his golden good looks and charming manner. In his easy way with everyone—so different from her own often fraught interactions with friends as well as foes.
Even so, she’d wanted him.
And all these months later, with a storm raging around their cozy room, she gave herself over to the need she’d felt deep within her that day.
His mouth was firm, but gentle, as she explored it with her own. He tasted of sin and salvation, and she gave herself over to the heady intoxication of knowing he’d let her take what she needed from him. She was the one who tested, tasted, pressed her tongue into his mouth. Led each step of their dance.
But he was no passive partner. Once she introduced something, he would reply in kind. A taste for a taste. A touch for a touch. A stroke for a stroke.
When she gave her hands license to thread through his hair, he caressed up the curve of her waist to cup her eager breast, straining against the confinement of her stays as he stroked a thumb over the peak. When she bit lightly at his lip, he took that as an invitation to suckle his way down her chin to that place near her collarbone that made her writhe against him.
Somehow he’d managed to lower the bodice of her gown and when his mouth met the sensitive skin of her bosom, she nearly wept at the way he teased the edge of her nipple. The deprivation stirred that place at her core, where she needed him.
She must have made some protest, for Dalton paused, and asked, a little breathless, “Yes?”
“Yes,” she exhaled as he loosened the laces of her stays and put his mouth where she most desperately needed it, covering her straining peak with warm heat. “Yes.”
And even as she gave herself up to the caresses there, she felt his other hand sliding up her stockinged calf to her knee, and when instinctively she moved to kneel, opening herself to him, he did not disappoint. The soft touch of his caress against that aching place combined with the deep pulls of his mouth almost sent her over the edge.
There was no need for him to ask her consent now, for she was all too eager for his touch. And when he stroked a finger into her, then followed it with two, she could not stop herself from rocking into his touch. She found his mouth so that they could mirror the motion of his hand with their tongues. Higher, higher she seemed to soar with every thrust of his hand, and when finally she went over, it was with a cry of elation as she closed her eyes against the bright burst of her release.
She was gone for no more than a moment and came back to feel his sweet kiss on her forehead as she sprawled against his chest.
“Are you well?” His voice was strained, and an experimental shift against him revealed the cause pressing against her still sensitive body.
“Yes,” she said, moving against him.
But he caught her hips and stilled her. “We needn’t go any farther,” he said, even as he closed his eyes against his desire. “We can wait. I still wish to marry you, but if you aren’t ready for the rest…” He left the words hanging in the air between them.
She considered the offer. She knew now that she would not flinch at his touch, and they could have a full marriage without the memory of what had happened with Sommersby between them.
But now they were almost there, and in the wake of what he’d just given her, she didn’t want to wait. She wanted him to feel the same bliss she had.
And if truth be told, she wanted him, too. All of him.
Pulling away from him, and moving to stand, she saw a flicker of disappointment in his eyes before he quickly masked it with understanding.
He rose, and ran a hand over his mussed hair. “I’ll just go check on the horses,” he said.
He made to turn and leave, but she stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Stay,” she said. And when he’d turned to look at her fully, she removed her gown and finished unlacing her stays, letting the boning fall to the floor until she was standing before him in nothing but her shift and stockings and boots.
The knock on the door forced a very foul word indeed from him.
“The food and clothes,” he said closing his eyes in frustration. To his relief, it was mirrored in Daphne’s face.
Unable to resist, he crossed the room and kissed her hard. “One minute.”
It took only a brief exchange to send the innkeeper away, and when he turned back, he saw that she hadn’t moved.
There was something so vulnerable and brave about her standing there, nearly naked, waiting. When he moved toward her, he stopped just far enough away to let her make the choice.
But he needn’t have bothered.
“You’re sure?” he asked as she stepped close to press herself against him. With a nod, and meeting his gaze with trembling courage, she began unwinding his cravat.
But once he realized she was serious, he pushed her hands away and led her to the bed and threw back the bedclothes. Quickly, he finished removing his cravat, and coats and boots, and when she was seated on the edge of the bed, made haste to remove her boots and stockings. Touching her tenderly every step of the way.
When he stood to pull his shirt over his head, she leaned back against the pillows to admire him.
His body was muscled without being bulky, and she loved the width of his shoulders, the way they tapered down to his waist.
Maitland caught her watching him, and his hands paused at the fall of his breeches. She glanced down to where that hard part of him strained against the placket. And suddenly this moment between them was more real than anything she’d ever known.
Swallowing her apprehension, she gave him a slight nod, and thinking to distract herself from the moment, she rose up and pulled her shift up and over her head.
When she emerged from the lawn fabric, he was kneeling on the bed beside her, and then they were skin to skin.
“I’ve heard there is some pain for the lady the first time,” he said against her ear, even as he caressed over her naked skin. “I will try to be gentle, but I don’t know if once I begin I’ll be able to…”
She stopped his words with a kiss. “I trust you” was all she said. And then she gave herself up to the overwhelming surge of bliss that came from feeling his warmth against her from head to toe.
And when he kissed her now, there was no diffidence, no hesitation, only desire. She opened herself to his touch, and reveled in the primal sensation of his weight against her.
His hands, calloused from driving, were rough against her bare skin as they teased their way over her belly.
When he shifted to kiss his way from her neck to her breasts, then downward, she let him. Only when she felt his arms slide under her knees did she gasp in surprise. “What are you doing?” she asked, both breathless and puzzled.
Maitland looked up at her, every inch the decadent lord sprawled naked in her bed. But also patient. Tender.
“Will you trust me?” he asked, his eyes imploring. She sensed that he wanted this as much as he wanted it for her.
Since he was clearly the more experienced between them, and he hadn’t yet broken her trust, she nodded.
Given free rein, he continued his movements, hooking his elbows beneath her knees and opening her wide to his gaze. She closed her eyes in embarrassment at the thought of him seeing her thus. But when she felt his warm breath on her mound, she gasped in a mixture of shock and sensation.
It was thoroughly wanton, but she was unable to stop herself from straining against him where he stroked his tongue against her, reigniting the flames his fingers had lit earlier. And when he sucked the peak, then teased his fingers over her molten core, it had her panting, begging, pleading with him to give her what she needed.
She almost wept when she felt him slide up over her, but just as quickly he placed his thumb where his mouth had been and propping himself over her on one arm, guided himself to that part of her that desperately needed to be filled.
With one strong thrust, he gave it to her.