Page 24 of The Dove
By the time he reached his hotel, his anger had not abated—it had only grown and swelled, a sweltering fire of rage that crackled in his belly. He nearly tore the door to his suite off the hinges, finding Niall reclining on a chaise longue, a plate holding his half-eaten dinner sitting in his lap.
He straightened at the sight of Adam, setting his plate aside and wiping his mouth with a white linen napkin. “What’s got yer smalls in a twist?”
Scowling, Adam slammed the door, approaching the sideboard and selecting the first decanter he got his hands on. Sherry, he realized, after taking his first sip from a tumbler.
“Fairchild,” he fairly snarled, beginning to pace with the glass clutched between his fingers.
Niall was on his feet in a blink, hands clenching into meaty bludgeons. “What’s he done now?”
Shaking his head, Adam took another drink. “He’s flapping his jaw about town … smearing my name. The fool tried tohit me,Niall.”
The butler raised his eyebrows, amusement glittering in his dark eyes. “And he’s still breathin’, eh?”
Adam issued a rough, dry chuckle at the memory of Bertram choking and wheezing after being struck in the throat. “Barely.”
Niall crossed his arms over his chest and inclined his head, giving Adam a knowing look. “I s’pose yer ready to stop muckin’ about and finish this. The father and the uncle might’ve learned their lessons, but he clearly hasn’t.”
“Aye,” he agreed. “You’re right, Niall.”
The man had always been right, as much as he hated to admit it. Adam had been content with the way things lay, especially considering the complication of Daphne. He still wanted her with an intensity that had him questioning his own sanity. However, that did not change what had occurred between his family and hers. He’d shown no mercy with the men of her family from the beginning … why should he exercise such now, just because he was mad for her cunt? She knew the truth, understood his vendetta, had even agreed that her brother had deserved every blow Adam had dealt him.
Bertram had earned what would come next with his little stunt at the club, and he refused to let himself feel the little niggling of guilt at the back of his mind. Daphne had spurned him, so why should he consider her feelings in this? If he could not have peace, then neither would she. He would obliterate what remained of Bertram, and he would use Daphne to do it.
He grinned at the realization that not only could he use her for his own aims, he could also make her like it.
“Whadye want me to do?” Niall offered.
His tone held an eagerness that reminded Adam of the other man’s stake in this. Niall had always been willing to do his part in helping him tear down the Fairchilds. As it turned out, Adam had already decided exactly what needed to be done, and Niall’s help would be instrumental in carrying it out.
“Prepare our things for departure first thing in the morning,” he ordered.
Niall’s expression flickered with a brief moment of shock, before he gave a nod of approval. “Then … you mean …”
“Aye,” he confirmed with a wide grin. “I think it’s time we took up residence at our new townhome, don’t you?”
Daphne settled into the chair before her writing desk—a lightweight piece situated in the drawing room off her bedchamber. Upon it, Clarice had delivered the small collection of invitations she’d received since her performance at the Bellinghams’ musicale. As she opened and read each one, she recognized the names—all friends of Winifred’s family. A smile pulled at the corner of her mouth. The young woman had obviously reached out to trusted friends to secure these invitations for her. Her determination to see Daphne take her place in society once more had resulted in her being invited to two musicales, a dinner party, and a ball.
Of course, these people might simply wish to make a spectacle of her—to be able to say they’d hosted the infamous Lady Daphne Fairchild at their party. Still, that did not mean she had to refuse them; she simply needed to be selective about which events she elected to attend. Dinner parties were out, as they put her in the position of being made the center of attention too easily. Small musicales were less than ideal.
This left only the ball, which she supposed could be tolerable. While it would expose her to the most people, it would also make it easier for her to avoid conversations that lasted too long, or people she did not wish to address. Besides, she missed dancing—had not danced in ages.
As well, she fully agreed with Winifred’s assertion that she could not hide forever. If she hid, people would only gossip more … and Adam would think her afraid of him.
She would show him; she would show them all. She had ceased cowering and succumbing to fear. She wished to go to a ball—to wear a beautiful gown and drink champagne and dance. And she would do these things with her head held high, showing thetonthat she did not care what they thought of her. Showing Adam that she was no longer afraid of him.
Sure, he’d gotten the best of her the day before, but she’d been caught unawares. If her refusal of his insulting offer had not been enough to keep him away, then she’d be prepared for him to approach her again. And just as she had before, she would make it clear that she had no interest in being his mistress.
The nerve of the man, proposing to treat her to the lifestyle of a courtesan … as if it were some great honor. Provided for, protected, well-fucked. It seemed all he was capable of offering her, and while she could appreciate his honesty, it was not the sort of life she wanted for herself. Thanks to his generous settlement, she was no longer desperate enough to accept such a bargain. That he could make her body sing with a touch of his hands was simply not enough to tempt her into such an arrangement.
If Adam truly wanted her, then he would have to offer something far more permanent than becoming his mistress.
“Daff, you’ve gone mad,” she muttered to herself aloud while unstopping her inkwell.
Even if she wanted to marry such a man—which she most certainly didnot—there was simply too much bad blood between their families. The fact that her name was Fairchild would be all he needed to keep a certain distance between them. He could never truly care for her … would never love her.
But, she did not want his love. Adam was like a raging fire, consuming everything in his path. He’d burned her once, but she had a chance to avoid being incinerated and flaked away into bits of ash floating on the wind.
Dipping her pen into her inkwell, she focused on the task at hand and put Adam out of her mind. Penning her regrets for the musicale and dinner party, but thanking the ladies for their kind invitations, she blew upon the ink and waited for it to dry before ringing for Clarice. The maid appeared quickly, executing a swift curtsy before approaching the desk.
