Last Duke Read online

  10

  DAPHNE DOUBTED SHE’D EVER sleep again.

  Rolling onto her back, she stared at the thin stream of light filtering through her bedroom window, wondering whether it was daylight’s first rays or moonlight’s final vestiges she was witnessing. She prayed for the former, as it seemed an eternity since she’d extinguished her candle and begun her unsuccessful attempt at slumber.

  Tonight’s sleeplessness was totally unexpected, though not inexplicable.

  Normally her fitful nights were rooted in the relentless dread that any moment her father would burst in, and begin another painful session of “teaching Daphne compliance.”

  But there was no threat of a beating tonight. Her father was away from Tragmore, which customarily assured Daphne of a tranquil and undisturbed rest.

  Neither of which was forthcoming.

  In fact, rather than reveling in her temporary reprieve, Daphne’s emotions were encased in turmoil.

  Pierce.

  He dominated her so thoroughly it was overwhelming. Her mind was consumed with the mystery of his secrets, her heart was haunted by the torment of his pain, her spirit clamored for the freedom he’d promised.

  And her body burned for something only he could provide.

  How could one man have such extraordinary control over her?

  Contemplating the particular man involved, Daphne dismissed the question.

  Her next question, however, was not so easy to dismiss.

  Why did Pierce want to marry her?

  Not some of his reasons, but all.

  Oh, she didn’t doubt that what he’d told her had been the truth, or, to be more precise, a part thereof. He did want to protect her, did, somehow, know her father well enough to deduce his propensity for violence. And yes, there was that emotional pull between them, one that had been there from the start. Not to mention the physical pull. Daphne had never dreamt that one man could make her feel thus, as if everything inside her were pooling into a white-hot liquid knot of need.

  But there was more. She knew it, just as surely as she knew there were dark caches of Pierce’s past that would test her, again and again, until he could put them to rest.

  What had motivated the timing of his proposal? He was too practiced in self-control to blurt out such a life-altering question without forethought, too hardened by life to allow sympathy and desire to propel him.

  He was enacting some plan, a plan that would destroy not only her father but, based upon Pierce’s hatred for the ton, countless other noblemen as well.

  He was a nobleman himself now, a duke. That provided him with assets until now unheld, assets and obligations. Did the acquisition of a title impel him to seek a wife?

  No. Not Pierce. He was too irreverent. He wouldn’t give a damn what was proper. Duke or not, if he chose to remain unmarried—why, if he chose to transport a half dozen courtesans to Markham to pleasure him on the front lawn for all to see—he would.

  Then what piece of the puzzle was missing?

  Daphne glanced at the clock on her mantle. Six a.m. That did it.

  She flung back the covers and climbed out of bed. Unlike her father, Pierce was continually urging her to be herself, to be an active participant, not a victim. Very well. It was time she sought answers, not the ones Pierce was yet unwilling to supply, but those that were within her grasp, those that would determine her future. She would go to the one person who’d never failed to help her, who, in his infinite wisdom, had comforted and guided her all her life.

  Slices of morning sunlight illuminated the church when Daphne entered its modest walls. “Vicar? Are you here?”

  “Good morning, Snowdrop. What a delightful surprise.” Chambers came to greet her, hands extended.

  His smile vanished the moment he saw the fading welts on her cheek. “Why has Harwick struck you?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It most certainly does!” Instinctively, the vicar gripped her shoulders, as if to steady her with his support. “Are you all right? Are you suffering any ill effects from Harwick’s assault?”

  Daphne shook her head. “None. Truly. The reason for my visit has nothing to do with Father. In fact, he’s in London until tomorrow, so I’m free to spend as much time with you as I like. I tried to collect Russet so he might join us in a jaunt to the school, but he wanted no part of me once he realized my plans involved abandoning the woods. Perhaps tomorrow I’ll try again. I so want to return to the children. I promised them another visit, this time with my fox cub. I’m hoping Mother will receive a delivery while Father is away, so I can bring the boots and woolen shawls at the same time, and—”

  “Daphne,” the vicar interrupted quietly. “Why did your father strike you? Is it because of your visits to the church? Did he learn of them and retaliate?”

  A pause.

  Then, “Yes.”

  Chambers inhaled sharply. “I want you to go home. Now.”

  “You didn’t you hear what I said?” Daphne asked, clutching his arms. “Father is away until tomorrow.”

  “But not all his associates are with him. If one of Harwick’s colleagues should see you here, he will doubtless report back to your father. I shudder to think how Harwick will react to your committing another offense, especially in light of this recent beating.”

  “I’ve withstood Father’s wrath for twenty years,” Daphne replied. Touching her fingers to her cheek, she wondered for the umpteenth time how the vicar would react if he knew the true extent of her father’s brutality, the lashing wounds he purposely confined to places none could see. “I’ll continue to withstand what I must. I cannot stop seeing my friends, or helping those in need.” A soft smile touched her lips. “Then again, this whole discussion might be unnecessary.”

  “Unnecessary? Why?”

  “That’s the reason for my visit. I have something very important to share with you. In truth, I’ve wanted to tell you since it first began. Please. I know you’re busy, but may we talk for a few moments?”

  “You have my ear for as long as you need it. You know that, Snowdrop.” Chambers gestured for Daphne to sit.

  “Thank you.” Daphne lowered herself to the pew, turning brilliant eyes toward the vicar. “I don’t know where to begin. So much has happened. So much has changed. I’ve changed.”

  He studied her intently. “Does this involve the gentleman we discussed last week? Pierce Thornton?”

  She started. “Yes. How did you know?”

  “One needn’t be a prophet to discern human emotion,” the vicar chuckled. “Your eyes glowed when you spoke of Mr. Thornton and your day at Newmarket. They’re glowing the same way now.” He sat beside her, took her hand between both of his. “Do you care for him, child?”

  “Oh, yes,” Daphne breathed. “I care for him. He’s kind and gentle and—” She broke off, blushing.

  “I think I understand.” The vicar cleared his throat. “Tell me, Daphne, what is your father’s reaction? I recall your mentioning there was some discomfort between Mr. Thornton and the marquis.”

  “They despise each other.”

  “Then…?”

  “Father has no notion I’ve been seeing Pierce. If he did, he’d kill me. Especially now.” She took a deep breath. “Vicar, Pierce attended the Gantry ball three nights past. He had a rather extraordinary announcement to make. He’s just discovered he’s now the Duke of Markham.”

  Chambers blinked. “Goodness! That’s quite a discovery.”

  “Evidently, the late duke was Pierce’s father.”

  “And he never contacted his son to tell him so?”

  Daphne hesitated. “No. Pierce was illegitimate. He grew up in a workhouse, then made his own way in the world.”

  “He sounds like a remarkable man. But I’m a bit confused, Snowdrop. If your Pierce has now ascertained he’s a member of the peerage, your father’s objections should be silenced.”

  “Not in this case. Do you recall my mentioning my belief that Pierce has s
ome kind of hold over Father?” She waited for the vicar’s nod, cautioning herself not to reveal too much. She’d promised Pierce not to divulge the far-reaching history he had with her father, and she would honor that pledge. “Well, apparently, Pierce’s exalted position has increased Father’s fear, and thereby his enmity, immeasurably. I saw the hatred and dread on his face when he heard Pierce’s announcement.”

  “Daphne,” the vicar said with a frown, “if what you suspect is true, is it possible the duke’s interest in you is somehow linked to the cause of your Father’s hostility?”

  “No,” she returned with an adamant shake of her head. “Although I must admit I asked Pierce that question directly. But I needn’t have. I already knew my answer. What’s between us is very real, an entity unto itself.”

  Gently, the vicar lifted Daphne’s chin. “Are you falling in love with him, child?”

  Daphne’s answer struck her in a joyous flash of insight. “I don’t think Pierce would have it any other way.” She smiled, dazed and jubilant all at once. “Yes, Vicar, I’m falling in love with him.”

  “And he?”

  “He’s asked me to marry him.”

  “Marriage!” Chambers came to his feet in a rush. “Isn’t that a rather drastic step? After all, you’ve known this man a very short time.”

  “I know he cares for me, and he wants to take me away from Tragmore—from Father,” Daphne explained carefully, wishing she could blurt out everything, equally determined not to. She would protect Pierce as she had vowed, to him, and to herself. “That’s what I meant when I said your concern was unnecessary. If Pierce has his way, I’ll be safe—with him.”

  “I see.” The vicar gazed thoughtfully down at her. “Is your decision made then?”

  Silence.

  “Snowdrop.” He drew her to her feet. “If you’re certain of your feelings, and the duke’s, then what is distressing you? Are you worried about Harwick’s censure?”

  Tears filled Daphne’s eyes. “No. God forgive me, but I don’t care what Father thinks of Pierce. I don’t even care if he condemns the marriage and me. Lord knows it wouldn’t be the first time. No, Vicar, it’s something else, something that’s rather difficult to explain.”

  “Try.”

  She nodded, dashing the tears from her cheeks. “Pierce’s life is a complex lock that has been secured for thirty years. My heart tells me I must be patient, for Pierce alone possesses the lock’s key, a key he will hand me when he’s ready, and not before. I understand that, and I accept it. You would, too, if you knew him. He has the most astonishing degree of discipline and self-control I’ve ever seen. I feel it every time we’re together. It’s as if he gives himself up in small, measured doses, while at the same time rendering me completely helpless and emotionally exposed.”

  “To me, it sounds as if he’s erected walls to avoid being hurt. Given his painful childhood, that’s not surprising.”

  “No. It isn’t. But tell me, Vicar, what am I to think when, out of nowhere, this rigidly disciplined and controlled man blurts out something as significant as a marriage proposal?” Daphne shook her head. “The contradiction is staggering. Too staggering.”

  “I understand your bafflement,” Chambers concurred. “My next question is, did you express your concern to the duke?”

  Again, Daphne nodded. “He insists the proposal was not impulsive, but long thought out.”

  “And you don’t believe him?”

  “No. Yes. Somewhat.” Daphne made a choked sound. “I do believe he wishes to wed me. I just have the nagging feeling there’s more to his reasoning than he’s admitted.” Pleadingly, she searched the vicar’s face. “Help me. You always do.”

  Her friend’s smile was tinged with regret. “Your belief in me far exceeds my abilities, Snowdrop. There are some answers we must seek within ourselves.”

  “But I can’t.”

  “Can’t you? Look inside your heart, Daphne. Haven’t you already found what you’re seeking?”

  Her lips trembled as she absorbed the clergyman’s words. “Yes,” she whispered at last.

  “Good.” He removed his spectacles, rubbing his eyes to dislodge whatever unseen particles were causing them to tear. “It appears your future has been chosen by the one whose rightful job it is to do so. You.” He shoved the spectacles back into place. “However, I do request the opportunity to meet this lucky gentleman on whom you’ve bestowed your heart.”

  “Oh, would you?” Daphne’s whole face lit up. “Your blessing would mean so much to me.” Impulsively, she hugged him. “Thank you, Vicar. Pierce will be returning to Tragmore tomorrow for my answer. I’ll arrange a meeting then.”

  “Does the duke realize how badly Harwick is going to take the news of your betrothal? How violent your father can get?”

  “Yes, I believe he does.”

  The vicar inclined his head quizzically. “You never did specify the basis for their hatred. How did your father’s and the duke’s paths first cross?”

  “Pierce refuses to discuss it,” Daphne replied candidly, grateful that the vicar had asked how and not when. “So I’m not certain precisely what is between them. But I suspect it involves Father’s monetary assets.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “Because there is little ammunition one could use against my father. He fears nothing save financial and social embarrassment. And I do have cause to believe he is worried over a lack of funds.”

  Her friend’s brows rose. “Harwick? In financial difficulty?”

  Daphne nodded. “Evidently, that’s the reason he raced off to London directly after returning from Gantry. He wanted to secure the insurance money on our stolen jewels as quickly as possible.”

  “Possessions mean a great deal to your father, Snowdrop. Just because he wants to regain what he considers rightfully his doesn’t mean he’s in a precarious monetary position.”

  “True. And that act alone wouldn’t give me pause. But his behavior on our journey to Gantry was most unusual. Rather than being tyrannical, he was nervous and distracted, muttering that I should marry a wealthy nobleman who could remove the noose that is hanging about his neck.”

  “And you think your duke might be that noose?”

  “Or involved in whatever has created that noose. Yes, I believe it’s possible. But that’s only speculation on my part. I’ve pressed Pierce but, thus far, he has evaded the subject entirely.”

  “Hmm. Well, I must say, I’m looking forward to meeting this enigmatic champion of yours.”

  The vicar’s particular choice of words made Daphne smile. “Yes, Vicar, I, too, look forward to your meeting my enigmatic champion.”

  Pierce was feeling anything but a champion.

  Tossing down his second cup of black coffee, he ignored the sun’s early morning rays, instead pacing the length of his bedchamber and wondering for the hundredth time since midnight, when he’d abandoned all attempts at sleep, why the hell he hadn’t carried Daphne off when he’d had the chance. Instead, he’d gambled stupidly, giving her two days to think, hoping that her heart would subsequently convince her to accept his proposal.

  And, in the process, leaving her in her fathers domain.

  The risk suddenly seemed too precarious, more so as his confidence in Hollingsby began to falter. What if he’d overestimated the solicitor’s potential? What if Hollingsby were unable, or unwilling, to keep Tragmore in London?

  Pierce slammed his cup onto the night stand, raked his fingers through his hair.

  Hollingsby’s answering missive, delivered late last night, had done nothing to appease his worry. Oh, the older man had accepted the unexpected challenge he’d been handed, agreed to do his best to keep Tragmore occupied for a day or two. But, in closing, he warned Pierce that Tragmore was not stupid nor easily manipulated, and he, therefore, could make no promises.

  Damn.

  Dropping into a chair, Pierce stared, unseeing, at the bedchamber window, illuminated now by a full
patch of morning sunlight. With great effort, he tamped down his emotions, forcing himself to think rationally.

  In truth, Hollingsby’s abilities were, in this case, not pivotal. Even if the solicitor were an unconvincing accomplice, Tragmore was in no hurry to return home, not with the knowledge that Pierce’s visit was imminent, his determination to collect his debt unyielding. No, the marquis would stay away as long as possible—at least until mid-day tomorrow, in the hopes of dodging his nemesis. But he wouldn’t succeed. For Pierce would be lying in wait, savoring his own impending announcement.

  After which, Daphne would be his.

  Pierce’s conscience reared its head, reminding him that Daphne knew but a portion of the truth. Granted, it was the most significant part, the part that involved the feelings unfurling between them. But that didn’t change the fact that she deserved to know everything, including the terms of Markham’s will.

  But the risk of driving her away had silenced him. Her trust in him was new, fragile. He’d finally convinced her she played no part in his battle with Tragmore. The last thing he wanted was to reignite her self-doubt by implying she was a mere vessel for his requisite heir. Were that to happen, he’d lose her—spirit, faith and hand. As it was, he could only pray that her feelings for him outweighed her fear and her commitment to her father.