Andrea Kane (3 page)

“Just a bloody poor informant.” The marquis slumped in his chair. “Sorry, Thornton.”

“It’s your money, Tragmore,” Pierce reminded him. “Remember?” Without awaiting a reply, Pierce eased back in his seat, turning toward Daphne.

What he saw made him grin.

Daphne’s eyes were sparkling, her chin tilted proudly in his direction. She looked exuberant and thoroughly pleased with herself.

“As I suspected,” Pierce murmured, brushing his knuckles across her flushed face. “Your instincts are quite good, my lady.”

She stared at his fingers as they caressed her skin. “I’m sure it was luck.”

“Perhaps. But good luck, nonetheless.” He ran his thumb across her soft lower lip. “Congratulations.”

Her breath broke in a tiny shiver. “I’m sorry you lost.”

“Ah, but I didn’t.”

“Pardon me?”

“Your enthusiasm was contagious, as was your logic. I placed my bet on Grand Profit.”

“You placed your…” Daphne shook her head in amazement. “All because of what I said?”

“A good gambler trusts his instincts. Always remember that.” Pierce winked. “Now, shall I choose the next winner or shall you?”

Daphne’s lips quirked. “I don’t believe in pressing my luck, Mr. Thornton, good or otherwise. I believe I’ll leave the rest of the day’s wagers to you. I suspect you are far more proficient at this than I.”

“As you wish,” Pierce agreed.

The remaining races were exhilarating, as was the extraordinary sum he won, but seeing Daphne blossom like a newly opened flower filled Pierce with more satisfaction than all his winnings combined.

That, and one thing more.

The sheer triumph of watching Tragmore squirm as his losses compounded, plunging him deeper and deeper into debt.

The indications of the marquis’s agitation were subtle, but, having survived thirty years on wits alone, Pierce knew just what to search for. He took in each bead of sweat on the marquis’s brow, each nervous quiver of his unblemished hands, each uneasy glance over his shoulder as he waited for the axe to fall, for Pierce to publicly expose him to the world.

No, you bastard,
Pierce thought grimly.
That would be too easy and too painless. Sweat. Die inside. Wonder if you’ll survive. Just the way I did.

Beside him, Daphne shifted. Pierce turned in time to see her peering over her shoulder, searching the crowd.

“Have you lost something?” he asked, leaning toward her.

Daphne started, pivoting around in her seat. “No.”

“I don’t devour innocent women.”

Those amazing eyes widened. “Pardon me?”

“You needn’t look so terrified. I’m harmless.”

Another hesitant smile hovered about her lips. “Are you? I think not, Mr. Thornton. In fact, I’m unsure why, but harmless seems the least likely word to describe you.”

Pierce acknowledged her assessment with a dry chuckle. “Uninteresting then? Given the fact that, since our introduction, I’ve spent an inordinate amount of time viewing your back.”

She flushed. “Forgive me.”

“And you’ve done nothing but apologize.”

“I—”

“Don’t.” He covered her hand with his. “Just don’t.”

Daphne twisted a loose strand of hair about her finger, glancing nervously toward her father’s seat. “Is it unusually warm today?” she blurted out.

“I don’t know,” Pierce responded quietly, making no move to pull away. “Is it?”

Yanking her hand from beneath his, Daphne swept her hair up to cool her nape. “Perhaps it’s the excitement of the race.”

“Perhaps.” Pierce didn’t bother reminding her that neither of them had been watching the horses run for the past quarter hour. Further, although he felt her confusion, her discomfort, it was his own myriad emotions that intrigued him: compassion for the fear that clearly imprisoned this enchanting young woman, hatred for the man he was certain inspired it, and something more, an odd combination of fascination and attraction.

Following the movement of Daphne’s hair, Pierce’s gaze fell to her throat, exposed now, and bare but for a small strand of pearls.

“Beautiful,” he murmured.

“What?” Daphne dropped her tresses as if they were lead.

“Your necklace. The gems are lovely.”

“Oh. I thought—I apologi—” She caught Pierce’s eye and broke into unexpected laughter.

“Your laughter is lovelier still.”

“And my parents are ten feet away.”

“I’m sure they already know of their treasures.”

Daphne’s laughter faded and Pierce had the irrational urge to coax it back, to make her glow the way she had when she’d chosen the winning horse. The vulnerability of her smile, the honesty of her laughter, were as tender as a child’s, but the resignation in her eyes was old, sad, tempered only by a small spark of inextinguishable pride. The combination was stirring, and Pierce, whose knowledge went far deeper than Daphne imagined, found himself strangely moved by Tragmore’s daughter. It was the first time he could remember feeling such empathy for a blue blood. In this case, however…Pierce’s gaze drifted slowly over Daphne’s delicate features, the alluring curves concealed by the modesty of her day dress. Lord alone knew what she must endure with Tragmore for a father.

The thought left him cold.

“Mr. Thornton, you’re staring.”

A corner of Pierce’s mouth lifted. “Am I? How boorish of me. I’m usually far more subtle in my approach.”

“Your approach? What is it you’re approaching?”

Again, he leaned toward her. “You.”

“Oh. I see.” She moistened her lips, venturing another swift glance at her father, sagging with relief when she saw he was absorbed in the last race of the day. “Tell me, Mr. Thornton, are you always so direct?”

“Yes. Tell me, my lady, are you always so naive?”

She considered the question. “Yes.”

A rumble of laughter vibrated in Pierce’s chest. “How old are you, Daphne?”

If she noted the informality of his address, she gave no sign. “Twenty.”

“And why is it, if I might be so bold as to ask, that no worthy gentleman has yet whisked you down the aisle?”

“I don’t know, Mr. Thornton,” she replied with artless candor. “I suppose none has found me pleasing enough to pursue.”

If her tone had not been so solemn, Pierce would have dismissed her comment as being intentionally coy. “You truly believe that, don’t you?”

“Yes. However, in their defense, I’ve done little to encourage them.”

“I see. And why is that?”

“Many reasons.” Another furtive glance at her father, who was now heartily congratulating himself on a huge win in the final race. “Suffice it to say, I’ve been preoccupied with other matters.”

Pierce noted Tragmore’s glee from the corner of his eye. “Too preoccupied to seek a life of your own?”

Daphne paled at Pierce’s softly spoken question. “I’m perfectly content with my life, Mr. Thornton. But I thank you for your concern.”

If Pierce hated Tragmore before, the stark terror on Daphne’s face multiplied his enmity threefold. With visible effort, he retained his composure, settling back in his chair. “I fear we’ve missed quite a bit of the—”

At that moment Tragmore stood. “We should be taking our leave now.” It was a command, not a request.

Instantly, Daphne and her mother rose.

Slowly, Pierce came to his feet. “We have winnings to collect, I believe.”

“Uh, yes, we do.”

Pierce turned to the marchioness. “Your husband and I will settle our accounts and order your carriage brought around. Should I not see you again, thank you for your kind hospitality, my lady.”

“You’re quite welcome, sir.”

“Lady Daphne.” Pierce bowed, acutely aware of Tragmore’s presence beside him. “You’ve been most gracious, not to mention an astute wagerer. ’Twas a pleasure to enjoy the races with you.”

“And you, Mr. Thornton.” Daphne’s smile was genuine, although, once again, her curious gaze darted from Pierce to her father.

Striding off with Tragmore, Pierce waited only until they were out of earshot. “How fortunate for you the last race turned out as it did. No need to collect your winnings, though. They belong to me.”

“What?” The marquis stopped dead in his tracks.

“Interest, Tragmore, remember? You owe me quite a bit.”

“You miserable son of a—”

“Careful,” Pierce warned quietly, “else I might be forced to ask why a man who is one step from the gutter can afford to provide his daughter with so costly a necklace.”

Sweat broke out on Tragmore’s brow. “It’s an inexpensive copy of—”

“On the contrary, the pearls are very real. And very valuable. Had Lady Daphne a shred of your loathsome nature, I wouldn’t hesitate to remove them from her neck and count them among my day’s profits. But it so happens she’s charming, as is your wife. Therefore, consider the necklace a gift from me to you and your family. Surprised? Don’t be. On occasion, even I have a heart. To those who deserve it, that is.” Pierce plucked the marquis’s winning ticket from his hands. “I’ll take this. You go summon your coach. My solicitor will contact you tomorrow to arrange a meeting. See that you make it. Unless, of course, you want the entire world to know just how penniless you are.” A biting smile. “Enjoy your comforts, Tragmore. For now.”

T
HE SUN WAS SLOWLY
making its ascent. The church pews were still shrouded in shadows when a solitary figure eased her way through the wooden door.

“Vicar, I’m here.”

The announcement echoed through the silent church, summoning Alfred Chambers from his quarters. Adjusting his spectacles, he emerged, shaking his head in indulgent worry as he watched the spirited young woman who was hastening down the aisle toward him.

“So I see,” he returned, scowling. “And before dawn, no less. Daphne, my dear, I doubt even the lark has sung his first note.” The reprimand was halfhearted, the lines about the vicar’s eyes soft with warmth and tenderness. “How many times have I warned you that it is unsafe to roam the streets of the village before day has broken?”

“Countless.” Calmly, Daphne halted before him, easing the huge basket she carried to one side and slipping her hand beneath the hem of her petticoat to extract a six-inch blade. “But you have nothing to fear. See? I’m well protected.”

“How comforting. And precisely how many times have you used your lethal weapon to defend yourself?”

She gave him a dazzling smile. “None. I haven’t had occasion to. Which only goes to show how safe the village truly is.” With a flourish, Daphne restored the knife to its original hiding place. “In any case, I didn’t come here to argue with you, my dear friend. Today is too special for that. Besides, you didn’t really expect that I would shut an eye last night, did you? Not with our morning visit to the school tantalizing my thoughts. Why, I could scarcely stay still through yesterday’s Champion Stakes. All I could think about was the children I’m finally to meet. Which reminds me.” Triumphantly, Daphne held up her basket. “Wait until you see what I’ve brought.” Oblivious to the dust that settled on the fine layers of her morning dress, she sank down onto her knees, swiftly removing her treasures, one by one.

“Mrs. Frame made a huge side of mutton last night. No one could finish it, not even Father. So I brought all that was left with me. There’s enough for at least a dozen portions.” Carefully, she set aside the food. “I also pilfered two mince pies from the kitchen. I don’t think Mrs. Frame saw me, but even if she did, she’d never tell a soul.” Daphne sat back on her heels, her eyes glowing. “Now for the best part. Look!” Joyfully, she held up a neatly folded pile of clothing: pants, shirts, dresses, and aprons of various sizes and design.

“Where on earth did you get these?” the vicar asked in amazement, reverently touching the gingham frock atop the pile as if it were gold.

“I made them,” Daphne confided in a whisper. “Mama ordered material from town so the maids could sew new uniforms for themselves and the footmen. The materials were sent for while Father was in London on business.” Daphne gave the vicar a secret smile. “Mama made certain the order was a substantial one.”

“God bless Elizabeth,” Chambers murmured, his voice laden with emotion. “And God bless you for your hard work.”

“ ’Twas no work, but a blessing,” Daphne countered with a mischievous grin, rising to her feet. “You know how much trouble I have sleeping at night. My lantern and I worked most efficiently until the sun’s light arrived to offer its assistance. Just think how many children will benefit from this, Vicar.” She seized his forearms. “And there’s more. A delivery of coarse wool is due at week’s end, to make blankets for the horses. Their old blankets have quite a bit of wear left in them so I’ll be able to make shawls to protect the children through the winter.” Daphne’s brows knit in a frown. “I haven’t yet devised a way to get boots for them, but that is the only problem I have yet to surmount.”

“I beg to differ with you, child.” The vicar enfolded Daphne’s fingers in his, his gentle features taut with worry. “You have a much larger, more daunting problem to face, as does Elizabeth.”

Daphne’s lips quivered. “Father.”

“If he should find out—”

“He won’t.”

“But if he should, child, there would be no limit to his wrath.”

“I cannot allow myself to dwell on that.” Daphne turned away, her expression set in that familiar contradictory blend of resigned determination. “Mother and I both know the risk we’re taking. But it’s something we must do, each to the extent that we’re able.”

“At all costs?”

“Yes.”

“Snowdrop.” Lapsing into the familiar term of endearment he’d given Daphne as a child, Chambers placed work-worn hands on her shoulders. “Your mother has endured one and twenty years of pain and fear. I remember her as she was—a radiant, vivacious young girl. But she’s weakened now. Her strength is gone. I fear she’s withstood all she can.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Daphne replied with quiet resolution. “Should Father learn what we’ve—
I’ve
—been doing, I will deny that Mama had any knowledge of my actions. The responsibility and the consequences will be mine to bear.”

“Lord alone knows what Harwick will do.”