Page 8 of The Dove
It would be the end of Daphne’s family … though he suspected the woman herself would get along quite well. She had proven to be made of sterner stuff than her father and brother. It seemed she had begun building quite a life for herself with the funds he had settled upon her. The grand sum of thirty thousand pounds would provide a life comfortable enough that she should not care about public scorn. In truth, she ought to be thanking him. He had freed her from her family, yes, but also the clutches of a society that could never appreciate her. How much better would her life be now that she no longer needed to care about the opinions of people who would never accept her for who she truly was?
A slow smile spread across his face. She would never thank him. She would scream and rail, and perhaps even throw herself at him, clawing and scratching as she accused him of disrupting the peaceful life she had made for herself. He would subdue her and remind her how she’d earned that peace … remind her how easily he could strip away her ladylike façade and reveal the true wanton living inside that lily-white skin. Despite what he’d told Niall, it was his real reason for traveling to London, the thing that made him lie awake at night … that prompted him to fuck his own fist as he imagined sinking into her tight, wet cunt.
The deep itch burrowing beneath his skin was one only she could soothe … one that would not abate until he could wrap a hand around her throat and command her submission.
Turning away from the window, he approached the writing desk situated in an adjoining sitting room—where Niall had deposited his correspondence. Among the short notes from old Oxford acquaintances inviting him for drinks and dinner at various clubs, he found an array of invitations. It seemed every member of thetonwished for his presence at some soirée or another. He did not doubt that the hostess who earned his attendance would be the center of attention come the next morning. It amused him as much as it annoyed him that everyone in London seemed to wonder why he had come, and what his first move would be.
Sinking into the chair, he ripped open the invitations and spread them out on the desk so he could make a decision. He doubted he would encounter Daphne at any of them, but he did wish to make a public appearance. He needed their eyes on him, their speculation as they watched him and tried to anticipate his motives. It would make things all the better when he pursued her … he would have their undivided attention.
Lifting one of the elegant cards from the table, he read the details of a small musicale being hosted by Mr. and Mrs. Bellingham at their home not far from his inn. He could walk there, attend the affair, mingle, and make his re-entrance into society. He doubted the event would last too late into the night, freeing him to indulge in cards or drinks at one of the clubs he held a membership to. While he did not care to reacquaint himself with old chums from university, it might prove a good enough distraction to keep him from making his way back to Half-Moon Street.
The time was not yet right. When he cornered his little dove, it would be at the opportune moment … when she had no hope of escape.
CHAPTER THREE
ou’ve a visitor, m’lady.”
Glancing up from the book she had been trying to read all afternoon, Daphne found her butler hovering in the doorway of her preferred drawing room. Facing the street, the airy space had been decorated in shades of white and silver, lending it an ethereal effect. Despite the book in her lap—a worn copy ofNorthanger Abbey,one of her favorites—she had been hard-pressed to think of anything except Adam. He invaded her every thought, his phantom presence in London hanging over her head like a storm cloud.
At the news of a visitor, she sat up straight, her stockinged feet slipping off the side of the sofa to touch the carpet.
“A visitor?” she parroted, her voice coming out on a rough squeak.
The butler inclined his head in answer, then entered the room, extending a plain, white calling card to her on a silver platter. She took it up and studied the name etched on it in a swirling scrawl.
Miss Winifred Bellingham.
Shock rippled through her as she read the name a second time. She had tried to call upon Miss Bellingham not long after her arrival in London, but had been informed that the young woman was not ‘at home.’ Due to the disdainful way the butler had looked at her and the frigid tone with which he had delivered the news, she’d understood. Winifred would not see her. And why should she? To invite a Fairchild into her home would invite speculation, and Daphne could understand why the girl wished to distance herself from the now ruined family. After all, it would not do to remind the public that she had come quite close to being a Fairchild herself.
Clearing her throat, she slipped her feet back into her slippers. “Please show her in, Rowney … and do send for a pot of tea and light refreshments, please.”
“Right away,” he replied before turning to leave the room.
Daphne put her book aside, using the calling card to mark her place. She wiped her damp palms on her skirt and tried to resist the urge to pace like a caged animal. While the distraction from thoughts of Adam was a welcome one, she still had no notion what she would say to Winifred. She did not know the young lady well … had only met her a few times before her short, ill-fated engagement to Bertram. Truly, she was not entirely sure why she’d wanted to speak with the woman … not when Bertram himself had admitted to being a rapist. She clenched her teeth at the memory of his callous dismissal … his referring to what he’d done to Olivia as a mereindiscretion.
“Miss Winifred Bellingham,” Rowney announced from the doorway.
He stepped aside to reveal a lovely, petite creature with rich brown hair and warm brown eyes. Upon first meeting her, Daphne had seen Winifred as the perfect wife for her brother—kind, biddable, intelligent. Now, viewing her through the eyes of a woman who had become wiser in the ways of the world, she recognized what Bertram had seen in her. Easy prey … someone he could manipulate and lie to.
“Lady Daphne,” she said with a swift curtsy as Rowney quit the room. “How do you do?”
Forcing a smile, Daphne gestured toward the twin armchairs facing her sofa. “I am well, thank you. Please, do come in and sit.”
Winifred sank onto the loveseat, lowering her hat and reticule onto the cushion beside her before demurely folding her hands in her lap. Clearing her throat, Daphne engaged her in small talk while impatiently waiting for Rowney to return with the tea. She would not risk having him walk in on them during such a delicate conversation. Her guest answered her questions about her health and the health of her family, then they traded pleasantries on the fair weather. The butler came and left, and they suffered through another few minutes of inane prattle while Daphne poured tea and offered Winifred cakes and biscuits.
The girl accepted a biscuit, which she did not touch, though she did sip at the tea for a moment before launching into the true reason for her visit.
“When my father first informed me that you had come to call upon me and been turned away, I must admit I was glad,” she began, setting her cup into its saucer with a soft clink. “You must understand, to be forced to call off my engagement to Bertram amid all the rumors and talk of your family’s situation … well, it has been quite embarrassing, as I am certain you understand.”
“Yes, I most certainly can,” she offered.
But she would not apologize … something else she had learned to stop doing during her time at Dunnottar. What use was it for her to express regret for something she had not done? An apology would be useless, and she doubted it would make either of them feel any better.
“But then, word spread of your … your own recent … indiscretion,” Winifred stammered, her face coloring as she lowered her gaze. “I realized that it washim.”
Her pulse leapt, even though she hadn’t even said his name. Yet, there could be no denying whohemust be.
“Hartmoor,” Daphne said aloud, cursing that her voice sounded so breathless when she said his name.
