Seduction Becomes Her (10 page)

Daphne closed her eyes in anguish. Of course! She hadn’t even considered the impact her refusal to marry him might have on Adrian and April’s futures. Good God! The picture he painted was frightful, and with a sinking heart, she realized it was all too true. Her spine stiffened. She would not let
anything
ruin the bright future she planned for her brother and sister, and she would do everything within her power to see that their future was secure. And he was right about something else, too, damn him. Being a man, he could indeed survive the scandal and gossip, but she could not. Her reputation would be in tatters…and by association, that of her siblings, or at least April’s. There was nothing for it—to protect her brother and sister, she had to marry him.

She took a deep breath and opened her eyes to look at him. Unaware that she still clutched the lapels of his coat, she said earnestly, “If you swear to me that you will never do anything to harm Adrian or April, that you will always treat them kindly and fairly, and that you will do nothing to separate us, I will marry you.”

A wintry smile curved his lips. “Not the most gracious acceptance, but thank you. I think.”

Her gaze did not waver. “Swear it.”

He’d been right about that stubborn chin, Charles thought wryly. He dipped his head. “I swear it. I swear that I shall always treat your brother and sister fairly and kindly and that I will never do anything to separate the three of you.” He quirked a brow. “Satisfied?”

Daphne loosed her death grip on his coat and sighed deeply. “Yes…you strike me as a man of your word.”

“Well, thank God for that!” Charles muttered. “But I am not quite satisfied…I think it only fair that I have a taste of what I missed in the cave.”

His hands tightened on her shoulders, and Daphne found herself crushed against him. He kissed her with a violence and passion that made her earlier thought of him doing such a thing a pale memory. His mouth was hard and warm and knowing, and locked against his muscled length, his lips and tongue wreaking havoc within her, Daphne could not have escaped from him if she had tried. Assaulted on all sides by new and exciting sensations, she made no protest when his hand moved to hold her head to his liking as he intensified the kiss, his tongue delving deep within her mouth, his other hand cupping her buttocks and pulling her tightly against him. Her senses spun wildly, and with a will of their own, her arms crept around his neck.

T
he moment his lips touched hers, Charles knew that he had made a mistake. That Daphne Beaumont appealed to his deepest carnal senses he’d been aware of, but not that she could awaken a mindless demon of desire within him, a demon until this very moment, he had not known existed. The taste of her inflamed him, and he was shaken at how easily both the slight brush of her body against his and the intoxicating sweetness of her kiss aroused him. Blind with need, it was only by the greatest effort that he was finally able to tear his mouth from hers and take a step away from her—and not as he hungered to do, tip her onto the table, and finish what that one brief kiss demanded of him.

As shaken as he was by the kiss, Daphne stared at him, her eyes blind, her thoughts blurred. She touched her lips with her fingers, astonished to find them warm and soft and not flaming cinders. It wasn’t as if she’d never been kissed before—her young Lieutenant had stolen a kiss or two, but those kisses had been nothing,
nothing
compared to the kiss of Charles Weston.

If he hadn’t been fighting so hard to keep his baser instincts in check, Charles might have been amused by her stunned expression, but as it was, it took all his willpower not to snatch her back into his arms and kiss her again. His breeches were tight where his swollen member rudely pressed against the fabric, his breathing was ragged, and feeling badly rattled, Charles put some distance between them.

To give himself time and to do something, other than throw Daphne on the table and have his way with her, he reached for his coffee, cursing when he saw that his fingers were shaking. He took a deep breath and fought for control. Gaining some mastery over his runaway emotions, he was pleased to see that his hands were now steady. After taking a swallow of his, by now, cold coffee, he said frankly, “At least we shall have no difficulties when it comes to the marriage bed.”

Daphne flushed. Her dazed state shattered and her eyes bright with antagonism, she snapped, “It would appear that you are a man of blunt speech.”

Admiring her quick recovery, Charles nodded. “I have been known from time to time to speak my mind and not wrap the words in clean linen.”

“Well then, I trust that you will not be dismayed when I tell you bluntly that you are one of the rudest men I have ever met.”

He smiled, and Daphne suppressed the unexpected urge to smile back at him. “Since we are to be man and wife, I suspect that plain speaking between us will not be a bad thing,” Charles murmured. That singularly charming smile widening, he added, “How else will I know when I have offended you if you do not tell me?”

She picked up her cup and took a sip and made a face. Cold coffee—not her favorite—and ignoring him, she walked to the sideboard. After dumping her coffee into the old pewter jug kept there for that purpose, she poured herself a new cup of hot coffee.

Taking a sip, she turned to observe him over the rim of her cup. “And will you be offended when I speak bluntly?”

Repeating her actions with the coffee, he poured himself a fresh cup also. Grinning at her, he said, “I fear, my dear, that from what I have seen of you in the short time I have known you, it would be impossible for me to prevent you from speaking bluntly.”

An adorable little smile quirked the corner of her mouth, and Charles was conscious of a strong desire to press his lips to that exact spot. If he’d thought that he could limit himself to just that one kiss, he might have given in to the impulse, but wariness held him back. He very much feared that a fleeting kiss would not satisfy him, and there was no point in shocking the household by making violent love to his betrothed on the breakfast table.

“You are staring, and I wish you would stop this instant,” Daphne said with a hitch in her voice. “It is impolite.”

“You see?” Charles said. “Already, you are proving the truth of my words.”

Deciding that it would do no good to encourage him, Daphne firmly suppressed a smile and concentrated on her coffee. Curiosity got the better of her, though, and after a moment, she asked, “Did Vicar Henley have any advice about how we should go on?”

Charles nodded and brought her current on what had been decided last night.

When he finished speaking, Daphne took a deep breath. She sent him a searching look. “It cannot be easy for you to be suddenly saddled with a wife…and a ready-made family.”

“Any more than it is easy for you to find yourself betrothed to a man who only a few days ago, you had never met.”

Flashing him an uncertain smile, she murmured, “We’re both of us in an invidious position, aren’t we?”

Charles put down his cup and crossed to stand beside her. Willing himself not to take her into his arms, he said, “It may not be what either of us wanted, but I think we shall deal well together.”

Daphne did not appear to have much confidence in his assessment, but before she could say anything, Adrian, followed by April, came into the room. Expectant expressions on their faces, they looked from Daphne to Charles.

“Have you asked her to marry you, sir?” Adrian asked Charles.

“Well, if I hadn’t, you certainly would have let the cat out of the bag,” Charles said, his smile taking any sting out of the words. Taking Daphne’s hand in his, he lifted it to his lips and after kissing the back of it, added, “Your sister has just done me the great honor of accepting my offer of marriage.”

Her hands clasped against her bosom, April sighed dramatically. “Oh, it is so romantic. Daffy, are you not beside yourself with joy?”

Snatching her hand from Charles’s grasp, Daphne muttered, “Oh, beside myself, to be sure.”

Charles laughed. “Such enthusiasm overwhelms me,” he said, his eyes dancing as he glanced at Daphne.

But she would not be drawn, and Daphne spent the next several moments fending off congratulations and excited questions from her brother and sister as they settled around the breakfast table. Adrian and April were thrilled by the outcome, and Daphne was relieved at the easy way in which they accepted Mr. Weston into their ranks. Watching the three of them, she told herself that it was a happy circumstance that her brother and sister liked Mr. Weston, but she wasn’t certain that she was entirely comfortable with the way her siblings welcomed him without any apparent reservation. Adrian was clearly bedazzled, gazing worshipfully at him or hanging respectfully on every syllable that fell from Mr. Weston’s lips. April clearly felt the same way—her eyes round with admiration, she artlessly peppered Mr. Weston with endless questions, laughing and chatting merrily with him as if she had known him forever, and not only a few days. Not even that, Daphne reminded herself, since Mr. Weston had spent the past two days trapped in a cave with her and not her two siblings.

It occurred to her that she might just feel the tiniest bit threatened by the effortless way that Mr. Weston seemed to have taken over her family. Her reaction, she told herself, was only natural. After all, she reminded herself, for years, it had been to her that her sister and brother had looked to for guidance. It had been she who had made the decisions concerning their welfare, and now suddenly, there was someone else who would have greater authority over their lives…all of their lives. Tamping down a spurt of anxiety, she admitted to herself that perhaps it was not too terrible that Adrian and April were already placing Mr. Weston at the head of the family, ready to defer to him at a moment’s notice. Biting her lip, she looked away from the family scene at the table. In a month or less, Mr. Weston
would
be the head of their family.

She glanced back quietly, studying him as he dazzled her brother and sister. Watching him as he drew them out with his warm smile and rapt interest in their opinions, Daphne sensed that beneath the charm and relaxed manner, this was not a man to trifle with. Staring at that hard, dark face, conscious of the powerful body disguised by the fashionable clothes, Daphne shivered. This man, this stranger was going to hold their future in his hands. He’d sworn to keep them together, sworn he would not harm them, but dare she trust him?

Almost as if he had known what she was thinking, their eyes met, and she felt a jolt of some indefinable emotion right down to her toes. Excitement, yes; a physical awareness she had never experienced before, that too; but intertwined was some other elemental drive, and it was that emotion that puzzled and alarmed Daphne. For a long moment, their gazes held, his unreadable, hers wary, then with a faint smile he turned his head away to answer a question from April. Feeling as if she had suddenly been released from a magician’s spell, Daphne took a shaky breath. The man had an unsettling effect on her—she could not deny it—nor that if she had not trusted him on some instinctive level, then scandal be hanged, she would not have agreed to marry him.

Lord Trevillyan strolled into the morning room and raising his quizzing glass, surveyed the inhabitants as they sat scattered around the table. Like a collector viewing several fine specimens, his gaze moved from one person to the next.

Letting the quizzing glass fall, he drawled, “I assume that congratulations are in order? That I am to wish you happy?”

Charles nodded. “Indeed you are. Miss Beaumont and I will be married at the end of February. Vicar Henley will preside over the services.”

“The Vicar certainly wasted no time last evening. It would appear that you have it all settled,” Lord Trevillyan said. Bowing in Daphne’s direction, he said coolly, “Congratulations, Miss Beaumont. You marry into a most illustrious family and should count yourself lucky at this turn of events.”

Daphne stiffened at his words, and involuntarily, her gaze flew to Charles.

He threw her a comforting smile before turning his attention on Lord Trevillyan. “It is I who count myself lucky,” Charles said smoothly. “It is to
my
great good fortune that Miss Beaumont has agreed to marry me…and anyone who believes otherwise is, ah, not wise, don’t you agree?”

Trevillyan flushed and looked away. “Er, yes, yes, of course. Never thought anything else.”

Trevillyan vanquished, Charles’s gaze swept the table, passing lightly over Adrian and April before lingering on Daphne. Amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes, he murmured, “Indeed, I am a blessed and lucky man. Just think—in one fell swoop, I not only gain a beautiful wife, but a fine brother and a lovely sister, as well. Few men are so lucky.”

Adrian grinned, April beamed, and even Daphne found herself smiling.

Trevillyan shrugged and walked to the sideboard. Raising the quizzing glass once more, he carefully inspected the expanse of food spread out before him.

After pouring himself some coffee and helping himself to a rasher of bacon and coddled eggs, Trevillyan sat down at the table next to Adrian. Taking a bite of bacon, he asked Charles, “So, what is the plan for today? Do you remain here? Or will I have the pleasure of your company at Lanyon Hall? I shall be happy to have you as my guest for as long as need be.” He smiled thinly at Daphne. “Of course, I realize that my demands on his time now take second place to yours.”

Daphne gave him an equally thin smile. “I assure you that Mr. Weston’s time is his own.” She glanced at Charles. “He can please himself.”

Charles grinned at her. “Carte blanche, eh? I wonder if you will always be so obliging.” Observing the sudden flush in Daphne’s cheeks and feeling quite satisfied with himself, he said to Trevillyan, “I intend to accompany you back to Lanyon Hall and since you have no objections, remain with you until the wedding.” He glanced back at Daphne. “Although I expect that Beaumont Place will find me a frequent visitor.”

An hour later, Trevillyan and Charles were on their way to Lanyon Hall. Charles had found it difficult to leave Daphne. He told himself it was because except for the previous night, they had virtually spent the last two days together, but he knew that he was lying. She had fascinated him from the moment he had laid eyes on her, and closer acquaintance had not lessened her appeal. There was something about her, from the unruly mass of black curls on her head right down to the very soles of her dainty feet, that held a compelling allure for him. He smiled. He’d never seen her feet, but he was positive that they would be dainty.

For Charles, women had always fallen into three distinct categories—relatives, servants, or the beguiling members of the demimonde, be they opera singers or others, such as the charming little widow who had entertained him so well this past winter. But with Daphne, he admitted uneasily, everything was different. As his wife, it was true, she would be a relative, yet he could never think of her as he did Nell. His mouth tightened. Or as he had thought of his stepmother. So relative didn’t
precisely
apply. He supposed, since she would run his household, she could in the broadest sense be considered a servant, but that didn’t fit either. And while she made his loins ache and his body tremble with desire, she was not the type of woman he sought out for those demands. Oh, he wanted her, he couldn’t deny that, but there was something beyond mere lust that made her damn near irresistible. Was it simply the challenge? There was that, but he dismissed it. No, there was something else…. He considered the intelligence in those lovely hazel eyes, her bravery during their incarceration in the cave, and the enjoyment he’d felt as he’d watched the various expressions flying across her face as she plumbed the nuances of his remarks. He shook his head. It was, he decided wryly, a very good thing that they were to be married because the woman had certainly bewitched him.

“What are you shaking your head about?” demanded Trevillyan. “Regretting your engagement already?”

“No. Simply at the vagaries of Fate,” Charles returned lightly. “Just before I came here, Wyndham suggested that I marry. I thought he was mad at the time, but now….” He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I shall marry Miss Beaumont in a month’s time, and that is the end of it.”

They rode in silence a few minutes more before Trevillyan said, “What of the other matter? Do you intend to pursue it?”

Charles glanced at him. “The murdered women? Yes, but at the moment, I cannot see my way forward. Beyond the brutality of their deaths and that they were found in this vicinity, there is nothing to tie them together. They are unidentified, so it is impossible to even discover if they knew each other or where they lived.” He frowned. “You are not even certain that there was an earlier murder, and we have little but two bodies to go on.”