Page 7 of One Wicked Secret
It won’t be too much of a hardship?
No. Mr Dalton has always been kind and courteous.
Except for the time he cupped her nape beneath the oak tree and would have kissed her wildly had they not been interrupted.
Now, as they hid behind a similar tree, their bodies so close she was scared to breathe because every touch played havoc with her insides, she was still imagining the taste of his lips, and ignoring whatever ridiculous thing he had just said.
Their breath mingled in the cool night air.
His cedarwood cologne teased her nostrils. He had always smelled different from other men. The warm essence of wood carried a smoky undertone, a forbidden aroma so dark and dangerous it made her pulse quicken.
Only when he released her and stepped back did his harsh words take root in her mind.
“I see you’re not shocked by my accusation.” He looked at her likeshewas the deceiver, like she had made false promises and lied. But before she could answer, he abruptly changed the subject. “Enough of this. We’re leaving. You’ll take me to Clara. God knows you’ve made things worse by coming here.”
“What could be worse than marrying a man who abandoned me on my wedding night?” Or discovering her brother was just as indifferent? “Or the husband who deserted me, hurling pathetic accusations sohelooks like the injured party?”
He brushed her comments aside.
He really didn’t care, did he?
She felt the choke of tears forming again but kept them at bay. In the brief silence, clarity struck, the suspicion that he’d revealed something unintentional and was eager to cover his tracks.
“What did you say about Mr Carver?” She would force him to repeat it because she was sure she had misheard.
“Nothing,” he bit back.
So this did have something to do with Magnus’ man of business.
Had Daniel heard rumours? Was jealousy the cause of his lengthy absence? Did he know the handsome Mr Carver had asked her to elope?
“If you have nothing to say, I’ll return to the ballroom.” She clutched her silk skirts, rounded the tree, and hurried across the manicured lawn towards the lit terrace.
Daniel caught her before she reached the steps, though they had gained the attention of numerous guests, including their hostess.
While the Countess of Berridge stood watching from the terrace, Daniel did the unthinkable. “If you won’t come willingly, Elsa, you leave me no choice but to carry you.”
One minute they stood glaring at each other like disgruntled duellists. The next, he hauled her over his broad shoulder, wrapped his arms around her kicking legs and marched across the lawn towards the servants’ door.
“Put me down, you beast,” she cried, hoping the countess would intervene, but Daniel stormed through the basement corridor, past two stunned footmen, and neither dared to stop him. “You’re ruining my gown.” She thumped his back with clenched fists.
“You won’t need it in Henley.” He firmed his grip, his hands an inch from her bottom, his cheek squashed against the mound of fabric and her right buttock.
“I’m not going back to Henley.”
“Yes, you are.”
“No, I’m not.”
“We’re collecting Clara, and I’m taking you home.” He left the house through the kitchen door and mounted the stonesteps to the street. “I know you’re angry. But you must understand, everything I do is in your best interests.”
“Is that what you tell yourself to ease your conscience?”
They passed a man standing outside the Berridge residence, smoking a cheroot. “Looks like you have your hands full tonight, Dalton.”
Daniel sneered. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.”
Another man darted in front of them, stopping Daniel dead in his tracks. “Put the lady down, Dalton. You’re upsetting my wife. You will return to my study and deal with the matter there.”
