Page 32 of The Dove
“Damn you, Daphne,” he growled. “You are making it difficult for me to be reasonable about this. I’ve tried to act the gentleman, I’ve tried to give you time to come to terms with it … but I am done. I do not have to give you anything to claim you, to own you.”
She squeezed her eyes shut and sighed, all-too aware of how true that statement was. Just as he had in that alley, or in her drawing room, he could have her at any time, lower her defenses with nothing more than the touch of his hand or the brush of his lips. And even if she fought, she would always lose.
“Please,” she pleaded, not caring about the blow to her pride caused by being forced to beg. “I just want to move forward with my life. If you care about me at all … if you have even the smallest shred of affection for me … you will let me go.”
His nostrils flared, green flames igniting in his eyes as he lowered his head until they were almost nose to nose. His breath huffed against her cheek, and his scent became so strong, she almost swooned. Christ, she was a pitiful creature.
“Never,” he growled. “Do you understand, little dove? I will never let you go.”
Defeat washed over her, and she deflated as the dance ended and he held her for a moment longer before putting her back on her feet. The other couples applauded the music and smiled at one another before going off in search of refreshment and their next dance partner. But they stood that way for a long moment, simply staring at each other, Adam’s face a study in stubborn willfulness.
“Run if you please,” he murmured after a moment, lowering his head and pressing his mouth to her ear. “I will chase you. Fight me … you know how easily I can subdue you. Beg me … please, beg me. I love it when you beg. But, Daphne, you will be mine, and that is all there is to it.”
With that, he was gone, turning away from her and shouldering his way through the crowd. She could see in the tension of his shoulders and the tight curl of his fists that he stood on the edge of his control. If they had not been in the middle of a crowded ballroom, he would have taken her to the floor, lifted her skirts, and impaled her.
Shivering, she wrapped her arms around herself and turned to go in the opposite direction. She still had several dances on her card, but hoped that if she feigned a headache, she might be able to duck out of the ballroom early. A hired hack could have her home in a quarter of an hour.
Coming out had been a mistake, and now, all she wanted was to hide away, find even a brief moment of solitude before Adam delivered on his ultimatum. For deliver, he would.
The crowd parted to let her through, though the murmurs and whispers seemed to build and swell. She glanced up, her brow furrowing as she registered the sudden shift in the room’s energy, feeling it the moment dozens of eyes locked onto her.
One woman sniffed and raised her nose in the air, muttering ‘hussy’ under her breath before stomping away in a huff. A few young debutantes gaped at her openmouthed, their innocent eyes wide and their cheeks flushed. Several men gave her lascivious glances, leaving no doubt as to their intentions.
Her stomach churned, dread building and swelling as she began to realize that something was terribly wrong here. This was not the curiosity and amusement she’d inspired upon first coming into the room. They’d all turned on her in the length of a dance, and she could not be certain if it was because Adam had displayed familiarity so openly, or some other reason.
“Pardon me,” she murmured, trying to get through the crowd faster, to get to one of the doors. She could not fight the instinct to run as far and fast from this room as possible.
She was brought up short when a man stepped into her path. Recognition dawned as he smiled at her—one of the men who had signed her dance card when she’d first arrived. The polite interest he’d worn when first meeting her had turned to something else—something that made her skin crawl and bile rise up in the back of her throat.
“Lady Daphne,” he said, his sly grin widening as he leaned closer … far too close. “It is time for our dance. Though if you are amenable, we may dispense with the pleasantries and cut right to the chase. If ten thousand pounds could earn me thirty nights, perhaps fifty quid would cover one?”
She gasped as if he’d slapped her, rearing away from him as if avoiding the bite of a snake. “How dare you?”
The man pursed his lips, annoyance flickering in his gaze. “Play coy, will you? What’s the matter, mylady? I’m good for it, I can assure you, and it’s far more than the leavings of that ill-bred Hartmoor ought to be worth.”
She went cold, the tips of her fingers and toes numb, all the blood rushing straight to her head and making her dizzy. She felt as if she would collapse then and there, the unrelenting torrent of shame and embarrassment threatening to drag her under.
Suddenly, a hand was on her arm, pulling her into the shelter of another male body.
“Come, Daphne,” he murmured close to her ear. “We must leave … now. Let me see you home.”
Robert.
She turned to find him staring down at her with pity in his eyes, though a frown pulled at the corners of his mouth. She could feel others closing in on them—some with gazes filled with disdain, others curiosity, more of them proving to be men who would surely make the same despicable sort of offer she’d just received.
Left with no choice, she nodded, remaining silent as Robert pulled her through the crowd, his tone clipped and strained as he begged the pardon of everyone in their path.
He stopped to procure her wrap from a servant before leading her out onto the front steps of the townhouse. She sucked in a mouthful of clean, cold night air, the tears that she’d been holding back finally spilling, heating her cheeks.
Robert grasped her shoulders and peered down at her, concern creasing his brow. “Daphne, are you all right?”
Shaking her head, she gasped for air, suddenly feeling as if she would faint. “I … I do not understand.”
He kneaded her shoulders, trying to pull her close, to comfort her. She bristled, squirming away from him and trying to get herself under control. Inside, the muffled sounds of the ball continued—the music, the conversation. Out here, she felt as if her entire world had crumbled into bits of dirt and ash around her.
“Daphne …”
“They’re all talking about me and looking me like … like I’m some foul creature,” she managed between rough pants, her heart refusing to slow, her blood rushing and making her skin tingle with the urge to run and hide, to escape whatever was coming her way. “I do not understand what happened.”
