Last Duke Read online

  The strings resumed playing, the guests broke into small, gossiping groups, and suddenly Daphne realized how vulnerable her position was. How long did she expect to remain undetected? Any moment someone was bound to stroll into the hallway and see her.

  Reversing her steps, she slipped back toward the guest chambers.

  For what purpose? To sleep?

  That question brought her up short. After this latest shocking revelation, sleep would be an impossibility.

  Acting on impulse, Daphne slipped into the morning room, then out the door leading to Gantry’s fragrant gardens.

  Here, she could be alone with her thoughts.

  Pierce, the Duke of Markham.

  She pressed her fingers to her temples, trying to sort it all out. What would this mean? How long had he known? Would this change him, his priorities? Why hadn’t he told her at Tragmore? What did he want of her? Was the announcement of his title related to the mysterious hold he had over her father?

  “Here you are. I thought I’d have to tear down the manor in order to find you.”

  Daphne whipped about to see Pierce leaning against a tree, watching her intently.

  “I had no idea you were looking for me, Mr. Thornton—pardon me, Your Grace.”

  “So, you did hear my announcement. I thought I caught a glimpse of you in the hall.” Slowly, Pierce strolled toward her.

  “Yes. I heard.” Daphne bowed her head and turned away.

  “You must have many questions.”

  Silence.

  “Ask them.”

  To Daphne’s dismay, hot tears filled her eyes. “I—I don’t know where to begin.”

  “You can begin by looking at me.” Gently, Pierce turned her around, framing her face between his palms.

  Daphne flinched.

  “Daphne?” Questioningly, Pierce raised her chin with his thumb and took in her swollen cheek. Thunder erupted on his face. “That filthy son of a bitch. I’m going in there and kill him.”

  “Pierce—don’t. Please.” Daphne grabbed his arm. “I can’t bear any more violence tonight. I just can’t.” Her defenses crumbling, she relented, letting the scalding tears course down her cheeks. “I can’t bear any more.”

  “You don’t have to.” Instantly, Pierce enfolded her in his arms, pressing her wet face to his waistcoat. “I’m here, sweetheart. I’m right here. You don’t have to endure it alone anymore.”

  Daphne melted into his strength, unable to refuse these few moments of comfort, the joy of feeling Pierce’s arms around her. “How could you be a duke?” she wept.

  Pierce kissed her hair. “That sounds more like an accusation than a celebration,” he noted dryly.

  “But you loathe the nobility.”

  “I do, don’t I?”

  Pulling back, Daphne stared up into his eyes. “Yes. You do. Still. Even now. Then why are you joining its ranks? And why did you lie to me about who you are?”

  “I never lied to you. Everything I told you was true. I grew up in the streets. I am a bastard. Until the day before yesterday, I had no idea who my father was.”

  Daphne’s damp eyes widened. “He didn’t tell you himself?”

  “No. Evidently, the late duke never felt the need to impart that tidbit of information to me. He let Hollingsby do it. In fact, my esteemed sire had no use for either my mother or me while he lived. But now that he’s dead, he needs someone to accept his precious title, a title that would otherwise be extinct. Thus, his bastard must be validated.”

  “I told you never to refer to yourself that way.” Daphne lay her palm on Pierce’s jaw, wanting somehow to ease his pain.

  Pierce turned his lips into her hand. “I’ve missed you,” he murmured. “And I still want to kill your father.”

  “You wanted to kill him long before you discovered he struck me. Why?”

  “We have quite a history together, the marquis and I.”

  “Did he know you were Markham’s son prior to tonight?”

  “Judging from his pallor after I made my announcement, I would say no.”

  Daphne lightly stroked Pierce’s mouth. “You’re telling me the truth, aren’t you?”

  “What do you think?”

  A small smile. “I think you’re exceedingly good at stopping a lady’s tears.”

  Pierce’s expression grew tender, his eyes hauntingly vulnerable. “Daphne, I need to hold you, to reaffirm all I feel when you’re in my arms.”

  “I need that, too,” she whispered.

  They acted at the same time, fitting together as perfectly as two interlocking pieces of a puzzle. Pierce’s mouth closed over Daphne’s with poignant desperation, seeking something too profound to express, offering something too long denied. This time Daphne didn’t hesitate, but twined her arms about his neck, giving him all he needed, reaching for the wondrous blend of passion and comfort she found only with Pierce.

  For long, exquisite moments they kissed, deep, hungry kisses that satisfied one craving, created another.

  “Open your mouth to me,” he commanded softly, threading his fingers through her hair. “Give me more of you.”

  Daphne complied at once, parting her lips, shivering as Pierce’s tongue invaded her mouth, stroked hers with bone-melting possessiveness.

  “Am I frightening you?” he murmured.

  “No.”

  “Shall I stop?”

  “No.” Daphne shook her head, pressing closer, wishing she knew how to convey all she was feeling.

  Pierce seemed to know.

  He lifted her against him, kissing her until she was breathless, melding their tongues, their breath, the fire in their souls. Then, in a whisper of motion, he gentled the caress, lightly brushing his lips across the angry welts on her cheek, showing her without words that he shared her pain.

  “Oh, Pierce.” Daphne’s eyes slid closed, emotion clogging her throat.

  “Trust me, Daphne,” he breathed into her hair. “Let the magic between us happen.”

  “I do trust you. Lord knows why. I don’t know a thing about you. Nonetheless, I trust you.”

  His lips feathered across her forehead, the bridge of her nose. “You know many things.”

  “What do I know?” she countered. “Only of your questionable roots, which matter nothing, at least not to me. What I care about is the man you are today. Who are you, Pierce Thornton?”

  “Other than a duke, you mean?”

  “Don’t mock me.”

  “Never.” He gathered up handfuls of her tawny tresses. “Your hair glistens in the moonlight.”

  “And you’re avoiding my question.”

  He chuckled. “So very astute. You, my beautiful Daphne, are a constant source of wonder.”

  “And you are a constant source of mystery. I’ve given you my trust. Can you not give me yours in return?”

  Pierce’s smile faded. “You have no idea how difficult it is for me to contemplate the idea of trust.”

  Slowly, Daphne nodded, seeing years of suffering reflected in Pierce’s forest green eyes. “Yes, I believe I do.” Unconsciously, she caressed his nape. “You say you grew up in the streets. How did you survive?”

  “By my wits and my will to live.” His arms tightened about her, as if he feared his answer might drive her away. “Are you certain you want to hear this?”

  “I’m certain.”

  He held her gaze. “I grew up in a workhouse. I ran away when I was twelve, confident that even the gutter would be better than the hell from which I’d escaped. I was wrong. For two years I slept in deserted alleyways, picking pockets and stealing fragments of food to eat. After that, I took to the road. I’ve wandered ever since.”

  A hollow ache pervaded Daphne’s heart. “You must have been so frightened—and so very strong. Dear God, Pierce, what devastating obstacles you’ve overcome.”

  “Don’t dub me a hero. I was a thief.”

  “You were a child,” she replied softly. “A lonely, terrified boy. You stole only to l
ive.”

  Pierce’s jaw tightened, a private spark lighting his eyes. “I enjoyed every minute of pilfering noblemen’s riches. I still do.”

  “What did you say?”

  Instantly, Pierce stiffened, pausing for a heartbeat to search Daphne’s face. “I’m a gambler,” he resumed smoothly. “Which, in the opinion of many, is no better than a thief.”

  Daphne ingested his reply, carefully weighing her own. “I thought you made your fortune investing in profitable business ventures?”

  “Is that not the definition of a gambler?”

  Her lips curved. “I suppose it is.”

  “I’ve gambled since I could walk, and discovered almost as quickly that I was damned good at it.”

  “Was that the instinct you spoke of at Newmarket?”

  “Precisely.” Pierce steeled himself. “Have I frightened you off?”

  “On the contrary. I’m awed by your self-assurance and your strength of character. I wish I possessed them.”

  Pierce’s fingertips drifted up and down Daphne’s waist. “I don’t think you have any idea how precious you are.”

  She shivered. “I like when you show me.”

  “Ah, Daphne, if you only knew how much I want to show you,” he murmured, capturing her mouth under his.

  The kiss went on and on until, weak with reaction, Daphne pulled away.

  “You’re like fire,” she confessed breathlessly when she was able to speak. “You seep into my blood, lure me close to the flames, but at the same time I’m terrified of being burned.”

  “I’ll never burn you, love. You have my word.”

  “Pierce.” She pressed her forehead to his shirt, wishing the security she felt could last forever. “This can’t happen.”

  “It already has.”

  “Then it can’t continue. There are too many obstacles.”

  “Damn the obstacles. They’re all meaningless. All but one.” He raised her chin, carefully avoiding her bruised cheek. “Do you want this to happen? Do you want it as much as I do?”

  “You must know I do,” she whispered.

  “Then it will happen. I’ll make it happen. All I needed were those words.”

  “But my father.”

  “I’ll handle your father.”

  Daphne inclined her head. “Will you tell me what’s between you?”

  “Hatred.”

  “Why?”

  A pause. “Daphne, you said you trusted me, did you not?”

  She nodded.

  “Then trust me to tell you when the time is right.”

  “Very well, Pierce. I’ll try.” Another pause as Daphne grappled with her questions. “There’s a reason you want this title, isn’t there?” she blurted out.

  “Yes.”

  “Is that reason my father, or is it something more?”

  Pierce frowned. “Both.”

  Again, Daphne studied his face. “Whatever you plan to do, it requires the late duke’s money and influence, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’re not going to tell me what that plan is, I presume?”

  “Daphne, I’ve already told you far more than I’ve ever told another.”

  “Another woman?”

  “Another person.” Despite the magnitude of their exchange, Pierce shot her a wicked grin. “You’re jealous. I like that.”

  Laughter erupted inside her. “And you’re incorrigible.” Even as the retort left her lips, amazement registered on her face.

  “Don’t look so surprised,” Pierce said softly, tracing the curve of her shoulder with gentle fingers. “There’s a whole other Daphne inside you, one who’s bold and daring and impulsive. I intend to coax that Daphne from her protective shell, to call forth her pride, her courage, but most of all, her smile.”

  Daphne’s eyes grew damp. “How do you know me so well?” she whispered. “And after so brief a time?”

  “The same way you know me. Here.” Pierce pressed her palm to his shirtfront, let her feel the beating of his heart.

  “I’d best go in,” Daphne managed, wanting only to melt back into his arms. “My father thinks I’m in bed, where he’ll expect me to stay until we leave for Tragmore the morning after next.”

  All the gentleness in Pierce’s eyes vanished. “Why did that blackguard hit you tonight?”

  She lowered her gaze.

  “Daphne, tell me.”

  “Evidently he discovered I’d visited Mr. Chambers this week.”

  “He beat you because you visited the vicar?” Pierce asked in revulsion.

  “Father detests the vicar, spurns all his beliefs,” Daphne explained. Sighing, she added, “I, on the other hand, share them. I can’t stop trying to help, to ease the pain of those who have nothing. Not even for Father.” She shuddered. “Not even to avert his beatings.”

  “Surely your vicar must know of your father’s brutality?”

  “He does, only too well. But I won’t let him interfere. It would endanger his position in the parish, and resolve nothing. By law, I am under my father’s rule.”

  Pierce’s lips thinned into a grim line. “Tell me, what does Mr. Chambers say when you arrive at his church with bruises such as these?” He cupped her chin between his palms.

  Fondly, Daphne smiled. “He says, ‘Don’t come here any longer, Snowdrop. The Lord knows how much you care. But neither He nor I can bear to see you hurt.’ ”

  “Snowdrop?”

  “Yes. He’s called me that since I was small. He thinks I’m as durable and tenacious as a snowdrop, despite my fragile veneer.”

  “Does he?” Pierce threaded his fingers through her hair, bent to kiss her cheeks, her lips, the sensitive pulse in her neck. “Well, your vicar is right. But only in part.” Nibbling at her ear, Pierce murmured, “Snowdrop? Perhaps, but so much more. Snow flame. Now that’s a better choice. Delicate and untouched as snow, burning with an inner fire only I can elicit. Yes. Snow flame. With all the spirit and determination of a snowdrop and all the passion, the multifaceted beauty of a flame.” He sought her mouth. “My extraordinary snow flame.”

  “Pierce.” She melted against him, an unfamiliar heat coursing through her in wide rivers of sensation.

  “And you said I was fire,” he breathed, burying his lips in hers.

  This time it was he who ended the kiss, gasping as he fought for control.

  “Did I do something wrong?” Daphne asked in a ragged whisper.

  “Never. If you were any more right I’d lower you to the grass here and now and make love to you.”

  Daphne blushed.

  “Do you find that notion upsetting?”

  Her chin came up, her eyes wide with disbelief. “Do I find what notion upsetting?”

  “The notion of my making love to you.”

  “Is it proper for you to ask me such questions?!”

  “No.” Pierce’s smile was devilish. “But I’d like an answer nonetheless.”

  Her own lips twitched. “Very well. No, I don’t find the notion of your making love to me upsetting. In fact, although I’m not certain of all the nuances involved, I find the notion terribly appealing.”

  Something tender and profound flashed in Pierce’s eyes. “So do I, my beautiful snow flame. So do I.”

  Muffled laughter drifted from the manor, and far away the strings struck up another waltz.

  “It suddenly occurs to me,” Pierce noted, his arms still around Daphne’s waist, “that I have yet to enjoy my first dance as a duke.”

  “Oh.” She shook her head, disoriented. “I suppose that’s true.”

  “I’d hate to waste skills I so painstakingly learned once I became a law-abiding businessman. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “I suppose so.”

  He pressed his lips to her forehead. “Then, may I have the honor?”

  “Pierce, I can’t return to the ball. My father ordered me—”

  “Who said anything about the ball?” Pierce released her, stepping back
to execute a formal bow. “I’d prefer my first dance to take place privately, with the glow of the moon, above me, the fragrance of the garden surrounding me, and the feeling of you in my arms.” He held out his hand. “May I have this dance, my lady?”

  Her heart pounding wildly, Daphne sank into a curtsy. “I’d be delighted, Your Grace.” She placed her fingers in his.

  Had she ever danced before?

  Daphne thought not.

  Certainly she’d gone through the motions. But nothing could match the sheer wonder of floating about the garden with no impeding crowds, no harsh lights, nothing but pleasure and freedom—and Pierce.

  “Are you happy, Daphne?” he asked, whirling her toward him.

  Wordlessly, she nodded. “You’re a splendid dancer, Your Grace,” she managed, praying Pierce would understand the magnitude of what she couldn’t put into words.

  He did. “And you’re a breathtaking partner, my lady.” Coming to a halt, he pressed her palm to his lips.

  “I wish we could stay here all night,” she blurted.

  “As do I. But I don’t want the marquis to discover you’re not abed. Then he’d be forced to lash out and I’d be forced to kill him.”

  “Pierce.”

  “Go, love. Before I forget I’m reputedly now a gentleman.” His tone was mocking.

  “Will you be all right?”

  “I? You’re the one who’s been hurt.”

  “There are many different kinds of wounds,” Daphne replied quietly. “Some are worn on the surface. Others are not.”

  “True.” He didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “And, to answer your question, yes, I’ll be fine. I always am.”

  She stood on tiptoe and kissed him. “I’ll pray for you.”

  Pierce’s muscles tightened beneath her fingers. “What did you say?”

  “Only that I’ll pray for you.”

  “And if I were to tell you I don’t believe in prayers?”

  Daphne smiled, resting her hand over Pierce’s heart. “Then I’d say, fortunately for you, I do.”

  9

  “WELCOME, YOUR GRACE.”

  The uniformed gatekeeper bowed, then moved to swing Markham’s iron gates wide, admitting the carriage of the new duke.

  “Thank you,” Pierce returned. Leveling his gaze straight ahead, he coolly assessed the hundreds of acres of land that now belonged to him.