Page 34 of The Dove
She forced a smile she did not feel and shook her head. “Of course not. I just … I cannot rush off to Gretna Green without thinking things through. Can you understand that, Robert? I need time to think.”
“Of course I understand,” he replied. “It is just … I want to make this go away for you. I want to help the only way I know how.”
This time, her smile was genuine because, even though she could not love him the way he might want, she did think him a good man. A kind one. If she married him, they’d have a partnership based on respect and admiration, if nothing else.
She extended the box back to him, but he shook his head, refusing to take it.
“Keep it,” he told her. “Until you’ve decided. When you come to tell me you’ve accepted my proposal, I hope you’ll be wearing it. I’ve been carrying it on my person since I arrived in town … hoping ...”
Glancing down at the glittering sapphire, she nodded. “Very well. It is a lovely ring, Robert.”
“For your eyes,” he told her. “They are that exact shade of blue.”
She could not find the words to respond, but found she did not need to. They had arrived at her townhome, the carriage rolling to a stop. Robert opened the door for her and leapt down, before helping her to the ground. Closing the ring box, she held it in one fist while he kissed her opposite hand.
“Call on me the moment you have decided,” he told her. “Or for any other reason. Day or night.”
“I will,” she promised him. “Thank you, Robert.”
She leaned in to kiss his cheek, deciding it was the least she could do after the kindness he had shown her this evening. He took advantage of her proximity and gripped her chin with a gentle hand, ducking his head to capture her lips.
Tender … oh, so sweet … romantic.
It was everything a kiss between lovers should be—soft and sweet, with just the lightest taste of his tongue.
And Daphne cursed herself for not being able to enjoy it, for wanting things Robert was not capable of.
Still, she let him drink from her mouth, let him cup her face and stroke her cheek and all the things he wanted. She owed him as much knowing what he was willing to do for her. She was grateful when it was over, glad that he, at least, seemed satisfied by the kiss.
“Good night, Daphne,” he murmured.
He gave her another, shorter, kiss before stepping back and allowing her to go inside.
Rowney stood in the doorway, watching with open curiosity as she bid Robert good night, then turned to scale the front steps. As the carriage pulled away, she swept into the vestibule, handing her wrap off to a footman.
“I trust you had a pleasant evening, my lady?” Rowney asked.
“It was … quite eventful,” she replied. “But it is not over yet. I am going back out right away. I will need a hackney coach summoned while I change my clothes.”
Rowney frowned, staring after her in disbelief. “My lady, where could you mean to go at this hour?”
That feeling in her belly flared hot once again, now that the shock of Robert’s proposal had worn off. Now, she would not be able to rest until she’d unleashed it upon the person responsible for it … for ruining what remained of her life.
“I’m going to Fairchild House,” she declared, before marching up the stairs like a soldier going off to prepare for battle.
CHAPTER EIGHT
dam took his time walking home from the ball, the collar of his overcoat turned up to ward off the chill of the evening air, a cigarillo held between his teeth. He’d hoped the walk would help clear his head. But, he was having the devil of a time being rational. It was Daphne, damn her, and this game she now played with him. She insisted on fighting him, even though they both knew she would eventually lose. It seemed a part of her nature to run from him … to squirm and kick and writhe, even as he closed his teeth around her and held fast.
Never … I will never let you go.
The words had come out of his mouth before he could think over their meaning. Even now, he was not certain why he’d said them, especially considering they both knew her place in his life could never be permanent. The spite amongst their families would always hang between them like some tangible thing. As long as Bertram was near enough for him to torment … as long as this need for vengeance ate away at him like some indestructible parasite … as long as he could use her to gain his own ends, things would always be this way between them.
It would be best for everyone involved if, after he’d ground Bertram into the dirt one last time, he turned away and let her go—return to Dunnottar, to his sister and niece, where he belonged. He had already been away from them for longer than he preferred, and he could see that being separated from Olivia was wearing on Niall.
But, the thought of leaving without her—without at least knowing he could return to London and lay eyes on her whenever he wished—made his stomach twist. The feeling was annoyingly similar to the sensation he felt at being disconnected from Olivia and Serena … and he despised the similarity. Daphne was not his family, not someone who held a place in his heart. Aye, she was beautiful, and intriguing, and his counterpoint in so many ways … in all the ways that mattered. That didn’t need to mean anything. She was not the first woman to earn his respect and affection, and he doubted she’d be the last.
Even knowing this in his rational mind, some deeper part of him rebelled, clinging to the idea of her, wrapping itself around her and baring its teeth, snarling at anyone or anything that tried to take away his little dove. He wanted her, and he did not accept her rejection. That was all there was to it. Rationale had nothing to do with it. This was instinct … something visceral. Something he could not deny.
