Page 62 of The Villain
No such luck. Adam approached, his expression as inscrutable as ever. Moving to stand between them, he took hold of Daphne’s hand and placed it back in the crook of his arm.
“Daphne is my guest,” he stated, emphasizing her name as if wanting Robert to be aware that he’d heard the way he’d addressed her so informally. “She has enjoyed the hospitality of Dunnottar for several weeks … have you not, little dove?”
The intimacy of Adam’s pet name put a flush upon her cheeks, and she lowered her eyes just as Robert fixed her with a questioning stare. Tension stretched through the air between the three of them, and she silently prayed the tiles would open up and swallow her.
Niall materialized nearby, clearing his throat to capture Adam’s attention. “Dinner is served, Master.”
She had never been more grateful for the man than she was just then.
“Shall we adjourn to the dining room?” Adam murmured before steering her past Robert without waiting for a response.
Plastering a smile upon her face, she let him lead her, mortified by the way he skirted propriety by escorting her. As the host, he should accompany the highest-ranking woman in the room … which most certainly was not her.
“You invited him on purpose, didn’t you?” she hissed, trying to keep her voice down as the others filed behind them.
He gave her one of his predatory smiles, though it did not quite reach his eyes. “Who … Mr. Robert Stanley?”
When her only response came as a withering glare, he chuckled.
“Aye, little dove,” He confirmed. “Though, I was not entirely certain he was your past amour. I simply looked into the estates neighboring yours in Suffolk … those with sons who would be of an age with you. I ventured a guess, but was not sure—at least, not until you just confirmed it.”
Snapping her mouth shut, she clenched her jaw, certain she might embarrass herself even more if she spoke. It had just become more difficult for her to endure this night; however, it was not impossible. Robert had always been the genial sort. He would cause her to feel more embarrassed than she already did, and for that, she supposed she must be grateful.
However, it hardly brought her comfort once her next thought thrust to the forefront of her mind.
By inviting Robert here, Adam had just torn the last bit of her innocence to shreds.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
aphne slowly spooned small portions of a vegetable soup into her mouth, trying to still her shaking hands so she did not stain the pristine white tablecloth. Keeping her eyes lowered, she murmured a few times here and there in response to the conversation taking place at the table around her. Otherwise, she remained silent, her tongue a heavy, cumbersome thing in her mouth. Each spoonful of soup tasted like ash, her stomach rebelling against every swallow. She remained constantly aware of the constant scrutiny … of the disdainful and questioning gazes being tossed her way.
While Adam proved the consummate host—regaling his guests with tales of Dunnottar’s history and promising a tour after they had concluded their meal—she seemed to be the main attraction. At the far end of the table, Lady Loring had already engaged in her favorite pastime, whispering to the ladies closest to her while casting disdainful glances at Daphne from the corner of her eye. Near Daphne sat a woman she had not noticed in her shock over Robert’s arrival—Lady Stanley, Robert’s mother. Her wrinkled face held a heavy measure of censure as she gazed at Daphne from across the table, and every so often, she could be found shaking her head and murmuring under her breath … words such as ‘shameful’ and ‘despicable.’
The woman had seemed to want to balk at the way the seating had been arranged, with Adam at the head of the table and Daphne seated to his left, and Robert wedged on her left. Seated across from them, she had a clear view of her son beside a harlot and the man who had paid to possess her body.
“Time has certainly done little to change you,” Robert said suddenly, drawing her attention away from the soup.
When she raised her eyebrows in question, he cleared his throat and flushed. The endearing trait had always given away his embarrassment, turning his cheeks and the tips of his ears scarlet.
“That is to say … you are as lovely as ever,” he added. “And I daresay as spirited.”
“Oh, yes,” Adam muttered between bites of soup, his droll tone unmistakable. “Lady Daphne possesses quite a bit ofspirit.”
Across from her, Lady Stanley issued a soft gasp, dropping her spoon to clatter to the saucer beneath her bowl. Robert seemed oblivious to Adam’s ribbing and carried on.
“Do you remember what great fun we used to have—you, Bertie, and me?” he asked, his eyes twinkling with good humor as he leaned toward her, his soup forgotten. “Riding, running about in the woods between our lands. Our governesses had quite the devil of a time keeping up with us, that is for certain. And you, as wild and untamed as any boy your age.”
Despite her position at the moment, the memories he conjured made her smile. They called to mind simpler times, when the world had not been so complicated. When she’d only been a girl who loved to run and play with the boys, wearing her brother’s old breeches and leaving her slippers behind to traipse about barefoot. In the country, a girl could get away with such behavior, surrounded by trees and covered by the sky, her deeds going unseen by the judgmental eyes of the Londonton.
“You paint the picture of quite a little harridan,” Adam mused as the servants came forward to remove the soup and prepare to serve the main course.
Robert chuckled, leaning back in his chair and glancing past her at Adam. “She was quite endearing, my lord. Imagine my surprise when I returned home from Harrow one summer to find she had transformed into a young lady.”
“As girls are wont to do,” Adam murmured dryly.
Daphne busied herself by taking a sip of wine, needing to cool her face due to the images Robert’s recollections brought to mind. Of them wading in a shallow stream in the woods—without Bertram for company, for a change. Of him eying her exposed calves as she held her gown aloft and licking his lips hungrily. Of him lifting her into his arms after she’d stepped on a stone and cut her foot … using his own cravat to stifle the bleeding … leaning over her for a kiss.
He had taught her a woman’s pleasure, plucking her tender, budding breasts, and causing her to realize how massaging the little bud of her womanhood could cause stars to explode behind her closed eyelids.
