Page 29 of The Villain
Adam’s horse broke into a canter, so she urged her gelding at the same pace, her mood lifting a bit as the sway of the animal beneath her and the familiar thrill of being able to ride uninhibited brought a smile to her face. She had not been free to ride like this since before leaving the family estate to go to London for her first Season—had never been able to do so in the cramped lanes of Hyde Park.
Ahead of her, Adam rode with a skill and ease that hardly surprised her. His Corinthian frame had hinted at athleticism, and she knew he fenced. It only made sense that he would ride with such control, his big body relaxed in the saddle, his hands firm on the reins.
As her horse came abreast of his, she glanced over and found the hard lines of his face softened, the tightness around his mouth banished away. Locks of his hair fell loose from their binding to frame his face, glittering with golden strands in the light of the sun.
Turning to meet her gaze, he smirked before giving his stallion a nudge with his heels and pursing his lips, a sharp whistle ringing out over the meadow. His horse was off like a bullet leaving a gun, Adam’s laughter ringing out through the air. Grinning, Daphne followed suit, her mount breaking into a gallop.
For what felt like hours, she allowed herself to forget about the events of the previous evening, of the circumstances that had led to her being in Adam’s clutches. She simply enjoyed the freedom of riding across the Scottish countryside with the sort of wild abandon she could never surrender to in a London park. Here, no one could see her except Adam, and he would hardly judge her for riding so hard and fast that her braid began to unravel, her hair flying about her face and shoulders like a banner. And if he did think her uncivilized, what did it matter? She hardly cared what a man like him might think of her. She hated him … hated what he had done to her family.
That thought almost ruined the ride, but she pushed it aside. She would pretend he was not here, that she took this ride with someone she actually liked.
But her fantasy, as well as their thrilling ride, had to come to an end. Her gelding slowed first while Adam’s stallion carried him a bit farther before he wheeled the beast around, circling back toward her. They stood in a patch of grass almost completely covered by wild daisies and other blooms she could not identify, the bursts of white and yellow surrounding them as he dismounted and came toward her.
She stiffened when he reached for her, taking her waist in his hands and lifting her easily from the saddle to set her on her feet. Relief swept through her when he released her and backed away, running a hand over his mussed hair. He breathed a bit heavily, just as she did, his chest heaving beneath his half-open shirt. Her gaze fell to the exposed patch, the stretch of skin made golden by the sun and sprinkled with sparse coils of hair matching that on his head.
When she glanced back up into his face, she found him watching her in that way of his, the gold flecks in his eyes gleaming as he seemed to undress her with his gaze.
She knew without having to ask that what he would reveal to her would shatter her, something she was not quite ready for. Grasping her skirts to lift them with one hand, she dodged him, edging around him and pacing over the soft blanket of flowers. Bending to pick a daisy, she lifted it to her nose as she straightened.
“I can see why you spend most of your time here,” she said, the scent of the daisy flooding her senses, its petals tickling her upper lip. “The countryside is so beautiful.”
“Daphne.”
His tone held a warning to it, but she babbled on, not ready to stand here and listen to the words that would change everything—perhaps for good.
“The air is so clean here … not at all like the smog of London,” she said, keeping her back to him and staring out at the picturesque meadow surrounding them. “The quiet is comforting after the constant whirl of the city.”
“Daphne,” he said again, his voice sounding closer this time.
She whirled to face him, startled by his sudden nearness. Being so close to him still unnerved her, the memories of the things he had done to her body causing her pulse to race. He stood over her with his hands clasped behind his back, his gaze holding hers without wavering. His scent swirled up her nostrils, strong and masculine, combining with the clean, fresh scent of the outdoors with a pleasing effect.
“You are better than this,” he said, his tone softer than she’d ever heard it. “Stop your inane prattle. You are rambling to avoid what is to come, but this cannot be evaded.”
Shaking her head, she widened her eyes in an unspoken plea. “When I was a little girl, I almost died from a fever. Bertram, only a few years older than me, refused to leave my side, even when Father tried to coerce him from the room. The doctors and maids came and went, as did my parents … but it was Bertram who coaxed me to sip broth and drink tea … Bertram who mopped the sweat from my brow and changed the linens on my bed when I soaked them with perspiration.”
Inclining his head, Adam studied her with a glance she might almost interpret as pitying—if not for the harsh gleam in his eyes. “He was a child then … nothing like the man he has become.”
“He taught me how to waltz when the teacher Mother had hired grew frustrated,” she continued, knowing she was avoiding the inevitable just as he had accused, but now unable to stop. “He comforted me after my first Season, when the man I’d taken a liking to proposed marriage to someone else. H-he taught me to fence and never told our parents when I rode astride on my horse or did things they might have called unseemly.”
“Daphne—”
“My brother cannot be a rapist!” she blurted, her eyes welling with tears. “I know him … he is agoodperson! It is not true. It cannot be.”
Folding his arms over his chest, he sighed, avoiding her gaze and staring at the horizon over her shoulder. “I am going to tell you a story, without mentioning any names, and you are going to listen. And when I am finished, you may decide to believe me, or you may go on believing in the grand delusion you try so ardently to convince me of.”
Her throat constricted, her tongue seeming to swell in her mouth, rendering her speechless. Straightening her spine, she braced herself for what he would say, remembering that she had asked for this. Adam had warned her to run, that she was not strong enough to endure the promised thirty days or the truth they would reveal.
She would show him. She would listen to every word.
“There was once a young man about town … the heir to a lordship and a charmer known for his quick wit and easy smile,” Adam began. “Mamas pursued him for their daughters while young debutantes giggled behind their fans whenever he glanced their way. Admired by most of his peers, he seemed to have the entire world upon a platter, his for the taking. Someday, he would inherit his father’s wealth, title, and lands … and everyone knew he would soon need a wife to bear his own heir with.”
Daphne clenched her trembling hands together, his description bringing Bertie to mind so easily, it was uncanny.
“Season after Season, he could be seen courting some of the year’s most beautiful debutantes,” Adam went on. “Flaunting them about town on carriage rides, escorting them to the theater along with their chaperones, signing their dance cards at Almack’s. Before the eyes of theton, he appeared the perfect picture of a gentleman going about the marriage hunt. Yet, when no one was looking, he would lure the lady of his choosing to a private place—a garden, an empty drawing room, a carriage. He was never violent with them … oh, no, not this young charmer. It would all begin with chaste kisses and passionately whispered words. Then, a hand beneath a skirt, passing the edge of a stocking, perhaps the touch of a breast or taste of her throat. But once her defenses had been lowered, the young man would strike, pressing for other liberties. If the lady demurred, he might allow it the first or second time while pushing each encounter further and further, luring them into believing he would always respect their wishes and stop when asked.”
Shaking her head, she closed her eyes, her blood running cold. “That’s enough.”
“But you see,” he snapped, his voice growing sharp. “This man was actually a snake … a conniving, manipulative bastard with no conscience.”
