Page 2 of One Wicked Secret
“Do you know Miss Tyler?” Gentry asked, his ears pricking like a wolf sensing danger.
Daniel shifted. “Her name isn’t Miss Tyler.”
Part of him wished it was. But he could no longer whisper her name with a sensual smile that promised something wicked. She despised him now. Anything she may have felt had withered and died months ago.
Sofia was quick to correct him. “You’re mistaken, sir. Miss Tyler is a member of The Burnished Jade and lists axe throwing among her many accomplishments. The countess has taken her under her wing.”
Daniel might have laughed, but Miss Tyler had every reason to whirl an axe at him and would certainly hit the mark.
“DoesMiss Tylerhail from Chippenham?” Daniel asked as the lady marched towards him with murderous intent.
Sofia gave a curious frown. “Yes, though I believe she has Danish ancestry.” She continued to tell the fascinating story of a distant relative settling in the area in the Anglo-Saxon age when heathens and Christian men battled for supremacy.
He had heard the tale countless times. The only thing capturing his interest now was how Miss Tyler’s gown clung to her like a second skin, a gown as pale as starlight.
“Her name isn’t Miss Tyler,” Dalton growled when Sofia uttered the woman’s maiden name again.
With an exasperated huff, Sofia said, “What is it then?”
The truth clung to his tongue like a stowaway. The revelation would force him to reveal other aspects of a life he preferred to keep hidden.
“Mrs Dalton.”
“A relation?” Gentry asked as if wary of the answer.
“The lady is my wife.”
Amid the shock, where disappointment mingled with the bitter bite of betrayal, he met his friend Rothley’s gaze and conveyed a silent apology. The Marquess of Rothley loathed lies more than he loathed his late father.
Questions came thick and fast, tumbling over each other as his wife closed the gap between them. Was this a joke? When had he married? How could a man take a wife and not tell his trusted friends?
The latter was the voice of his conscience, but there was no time to reply because his wife came to a halt a few feet away.
“Hello, Daniel.”
Candlelight caught her white-blonde hair, transforming it into a shimmering halo of gold. She deserved better than to trawl through ballrooms hunting for her absent husband.
“Elsa.”
Memories flooded his mind. The tiny stones hitting her bedchamber window. Him whispering for her to meet him outside.Elsa!Elsa!
He imagined the wedding night that never was, him panting her name with carnal elation.You were made for me, Elsa!
Lies and lust were no basis for a marriage.
Elsa stepped forward, kissing his cheek softly, the brush of her lips so exquisite he could die.
Daniel remained rooted to the spot, almost forgetting to breathe, though a riot raged inside him: a war between guilt and anger because Elsa wasn’t the only one who’d been used. Nor was she the only person who had a reason to hate him.
Elsa rolled down her long silk glove, the gentle movement drawing his mind to the night they should have made love. He alone felt the palpable ache now. Indeed, he expected her to strike him and demand a dawn appointment.
She did something far worse.
She removed two silver shillings—a paltry sum that had bought him the world—grabbed his hand and thrust them into his palm. “I believe that’s what you paid for me.”
Doubtless she wanted to add,Is that all I’m worth to you?
Shame scrambled up his neck to heat his cheeks. She was never supposed to know. It was a secret her brother vowed to take to the grave. Just as no one knew he’d hidden her away in Henley-on-Thames.
