Page 31 of The Villain
“You will know … in time,” he hedged.
She grunted in frustration, sick of him constantly speaking to her in riddles. “Damn it all, I do not understand!”
Taking her chin gently in his hand, he tipped her head so she looked at him again, his expression hardening once more. His voice came out gentle, but each word was edged with cold, hard steel.
“I do not want you to understand, little dove … I only require you to pay.”
Without another word, he stood, turning his back to her and tramping across the field toward his mount. The stallion stood grazing nearby, her own gelding having strayed just a bit farther. He did not so much as glance in her direction as he hauled himself up into the saddle and issued a terse command to his horse. Then, master and rider were gone, hurtling across the fields and back toward Dunnottar.
Daphne collapsed back onto the ground with a sigh, her body cushioned by the blanket of flowers blooming all around her. Overhead, the sky was as blue as she’d ever seen it, the clouds fluffy and white. The beauty surrounding her seemed sickening now, tainted by the man who had just left her here, bleeding internally from wounds he’d inflicted. Her entire body ached as if he’d pummeled her, when in truth, he’d barely laid a hand upon her.
In the back of her mind, she wondered if he would punish her for slapping him. Had he not promised her one turn would earn another? If he would take her over his knee for a glass of wine thrown in his face, what would he do to her for assaulting him?
Despite knowing she ought to be anxious, she remained numb, unable to conjure any emotion beyond the pain radiating from her heart. While she wanted to accuse him of lying, her rational side argued she had no proof otherwise. Besides, she knew how much her brother loved to court debutantes. He and his friends approached it as sport—competing to see who could sign their names upon the most dance cards, who could secure the most beautiful of them for waltzes or rides in Hyde Park or evenings at the theater. It had all seemed so harmless, a group of young blades testing the waters, enjoying courtship before inevitably becoming leg-shackled.
But what if it had all been more nefarious than that? What if her brother turned out to be the manipulative snake Adam had named him?
Could she ever forgive him for the things she’d endured for his sake?
CHAPTER SEVEN
nce she had recovered from her encounter with Adam in the meadow, Daphne returned to Dunnottar alone. Leaping astride her horse, she’d ridden back to the castle as fast as the beast would carry her—so fast, the lash of the wind dried the tears upon her face. She’d galloped as if the hounds of Hell nipped at her heels—and in truth, she’d felt as if they did. The ugly accusation Adam had hurled at her feet had chased her relentlessly, echoing through her mind, reverberating like the voice of a phantom through a darkened corridor. No matter how she tried to outrun it, the realization that her brother might be a debauchee followed her, calling to mind memories long forgotten.
Bertram signing dance card after dance card at Almack’s … disappearing for hours on end during various soirées … pouring attention upon a different woman every fortnight.
What had, at first, seemed like nothing more than a young man enjoying his days as a bachelor and engaging in light courtship had now been cast in a nefarious light. She could not help but imagine Bertram signing those dance cards in order to ease young chits into a false sense of comfort, or slipping into darkened gardens with unknowing women in order to have his way with them where no one could see and then moving on to the next victim once he had finished with her.
As she’d entered the courtyard and approached the stables, her mind had whirled, her stomach lurching so violently, it was a wonder she had not cast up her accounts. Handing her reins off to a groom, she’d pressed a hand against her middle, choking down bile and telling herself it could not be true. This was Bertram, her brother, the kindest man she knew. The sort of man every man wanted to be friends with and every young woman wished to wed. Why would he need to force a woman into his bed when he could have his pick of any chit in London?
No, Adam must be mistaken … someone had given him false information. It did not make sense.
However, as she entered her chamber and ambled toward the little writing desk, her certainty began to waver. The things she’d learned about her uncle had held the ring of accuracy to them, and she’d been forced to admit they might be true. She must put aside her love for Bertram and think objectively. Adam had warned her his version of the truth would be difficult to fathom, which meant she must examine this new piece of information from every possible angle.
When Maeve entered the room to offer tea and a light afternoon meal, Daphne dismissed her. She could not even think of trying to eat. Instead, she retrieved the stationary, inkwell, and quill pen she had stored inside the desk, spreading them out upon the surface. Setting her notes concerning Uncle William aside, she reached for a fresh sheet. Her other notes had indicated that Adam’s return to London five years ago after a long absence seemed to align with her uncle’s swift descent into poverty and despair before his death. At that time, she’d just begun her second Season, right before their financial difficulties had begun.
Bertram had danced attention upon several young debutantes, whose names Daphne jotted down as they came to mind.
Lady Cassandra Lane. Miss Caroline Redgrave. Lady Avis Urswick.
As her list grew, she tried to recall whether Bertram had expressed interest in marriage to any of them. The more names she added, the more frustrated she became, realizing he’d never paid attention to any of them for longer than a few weeks. In truth, her brother had never seriously courtedanywoman.
“I’ll marry when it becomes necessary, Daff,” he would say whenever she teased him that he would die a bachelor. “Father is still in good health, so it seems unlikely I will inherit the title in the near future. You don’t want just any chit to become the next viscountess, do you?”
Having arrived at the age of four and twenty without choosing a husband, Daphne had never found Bertram’s desire to remain unattached odd. After all, she had yet to find a man she would wish to spend the rest of her life with and did not intend to wed until she had. Was it so odd for her brother to hold out for love … or at least, passion?
Yet, staring at her list of names, her heart sank. The sheer number of them did not indicate the predilections of a man holding out for love. They seemed the mark of a predator … a rake … a scoundrel who preyed upon the innocent.
Setting the quill aside, she buried her face in her hands with a heavy sigh. If Adam’s claims proved true, then perhaps the man’s vendetta against her family had something to do with one of the women on her list. A woman Bertram had ruined … one who was important to Lord Hartmoor in some way.
During her short time at Dunnottar, she had yet to encounter anyone other than Adam and the servants who catered to him. However, the palace was massive, with plenty of floors and wings unexplored by her—plenty of places the debauched woman could be hiding. There were also the unexplained women’s clothing; both the items she had worn during her first day here and those within the laundry she’d spotted in the basket of a maid.
The more she thought on it, the more it all began to make sense. If her brother had ruined someone Adam cared about, then he might feel obligated to defend her honor. Yet, the actions of the man who’d paid a grand sum for access to her body didn’t seem in line with that notion. When a woman was found to be ruined, her father or guardian typically sought restitution from the man—usually ending in a hasty marriage in order to salvage the lady’s reputation. Why, then, had Adam not visited her father, demanding something be done about the situation? Why set about the systematic destruction of her entire family? He had told her he did no more than take an eye for an eye, but he had chosen to target three men for the alleged sins of one.
For that matter, who could this faceless woman be? Despite being several years her senior, Adam was not old enough to have a daughter who might encounter Bertram. Had it been someone he’d wanted for his own? A woman he had courted, loved, and hoped to marry? A sister, a cousin, a ward?
Issuing a grunt of frustration, she lifted her head. She must ferret out Adam’s secret, learn more about his family and his past … it was the only way she could untangle this convoluted web of secrets and lies.
Resolved, she swiftly returned her notes to the desk drawer, then stood. Not long ago, she had been desperate to get away from him, to escape the truth he wielded against her like a weapon. Now, she must purposely put herself in harm’s way, endangering both her body and soul in order to bring more of his torment upon herself.
