Edith Layton (16 page)

Helena smiled. “I’d love to sit and enjoy the morning sunlight, my lord. As it happens, I’ve a book with me. Take your time.”

“I always do,” he said with a lazy smile.

“How do you make even the most innocent statement sound so immoral?” Daisy asked him as they walked on.

“It’s a gift,” he said. “But that wasn’t an innocent statement.”

She laughed. It was pleasant strolling the path with him; his company wasn’t so unnerving in the day as it was by moonlight and lamplight. He was still a strong presence and a fascinating male, but she felt less threatened in such mundane surroundings. There were nannies and prams, toddlers, old folks, and many dogs everywhere. She could see a milkmaid in the distance, hurrying to where the cows grazed on the meadow. The trees were in full leaf; the day was
mild, Daisy felt relaxed and happy for the first time in a long time. Which was odd, because she knew he’d soon drop his calm façade and read her the riot act.

“You turned the earl down,” he finally said.

She nodded, and watched her slippers as they walked on. “I listened to your advice, after all. It was best for him. He’s a very nice man. I’d have made a bad wife. You were right.”

“I never said you’d make a bad wife. I just said you wouldn’t be the right one for him.”

“Six of one, half dozen of the other,” she said. “I’ll leave London when this business of accusing me of all sorts of mischief about Tanner is over. I think I’d like a quiet life, after all.”

“Quieter than one spent with a scholarly man twice your age?”

That made her look up. He was serious. She looked down again. “He’s not dead. I realized that old doesn’t mean incapable. I just don’t want…a capable husband.”

“Because of your experiences with your late husband? I can understand that, certainly. Did you know,” he said idly, “that I was savaged by one of my father’s hunting dogs when I was a tot? It’s true. I got between him and his prey. He didn’t kill me, after all, and looked very shamed when they pulled him off me. He was a valuable hound, and lived to a ripe old age. I almost didn’t. Yet I bear no scars, because my nurse was a wonder with a needle; she could mend sheets so you’d
never know they’d been torn, and, it turned out, earlobes and scalp lesions with the same deft hand.

“Well,” he said, rubbing the back of his head, “I may have scars at that, it’s just that I can’t see them. If I lose my hair, perhaps I will. My point,” he went on, “is that though I had parents who didn’t care, my nurse did. Do you know what she put into my bed to cheer me as I lay convalescing? A puppy. Imagine that. I learned, early on, that experience can teach you some things, but it’s far better to keep learning new things.”

“Geoff isn’t a puppy,” she said in annoyance. “And it isn’t a thing I can think about and banish.”

“Neither were my wounds,” he said. They’d stopped walking, and stood in a quiet shaded spot, beneath a huge oak.

She watched him suspiciously. They were, she realized, now out of sight of most people in the park.

“But the feel of that puppy!” he said, smiling. “Lord, I can still remember. She was fat and smooth-coated; she felt like my mother’s seal cape, only of course she was warmer. Her tongue was warm, too, and her teeth prickled when she nibbled at my fingers. My attacker had been all fangs and claws. The puppy was nothing like that. I hesitate to ruin my manly reputation, but I still shudder when a dog bares its teeth. The difference is that I also quite like dogs of any size
or shape, purebred or mongrel. Speaking of which,” he went on casually, “your husband was doubtless a cur. Most men are not. I certainly am not. Neither is Geoff, but he was so devastated by your refusal, he confessed he wouldn’t know how to court you now. I do. I could. Would you care to marry me?”

She stared.

“I would make a most unexceptional husband,” he said serenely. “Once I was wed, I’d give up the chase. That, I promise. I’d never do to any other person what my unfaithful mama did to my father and brothers, and me. There are other advantages. I’d be able to help you dress, because among my few talents is a fine sense of fashion. I possess a melodic tenor, too; I like to ride, spar and fence, and discuss current affairs, in all senses of the words. Which means I’d have interests to take me from the house so I wouldn’t hang at your elbow all the time.

“My estate in the north is historic; it’s actually quite magnificent,” he said. “But I don’t go there often, because that’s where my mother lives. I prefer my little country home in the West Country. I’d want to remove to London for the Season, though. I love the theater, and am thinking of going into politics. I’ve always imagined dabbling in politics is even more delicious than gossiping. After all, just think of all the lives you can actually change by discussing them. And,” he concluded, “I’m very rich. So, what say you? If you
were married to me, no one could or would dare prosecute you for anything. Unless, of course,” he said thoughtfully, “you decide to heave a bomb at our prince after shouting some stirring republican slogan at him, or stabbed him repeatedly, in public.”

“Are you mad?” she gasped.

“Almost certainly,” he said. “But benignly so.”

“Why in God’s name would you want to marry me?”

“I collect originals,” he said.

“I’m a convict—or was,” she blurted. “I’m wellborn but not titled. And I’m wealthy, but not rich.”

He smiled. “You also need some lessons in basic English. You probably meant to say it the other way around: rich but not wealthy. It hardly matters. I have enough money to last me and you, and our heirs, all their lives.”

“I won’t be giving you heirs,” she said angrily. “Don’t you understand? I don’t
like
the process.”

His smile faded. Something else, something both tender and determined, lit his eyes. He ran one kid-gloved finger down the side of her cheek. “Your lips told me otherwise the other day. You don’t like what you know. I can show you what you don’t. I can show you so well, you’ll be amazed at how you felt before.” His eyes never left hers.

She again felt that he’d shrunk the world to just the two of them.

“It will be slow going,” he said, his finger slowly traveling down her cheek to her lips. “And only going forward when you agree, but it will, and you will. I think, deep down, Daisy, that you already know that.”

He lowered his head to touch her lips with his. She didn’t move. Again, she felt the shock of his mouth on hers through her body. His lips touched hers for only a moment, but as they did, she felt a thrilling current of sensation.

He drew back, his eyes dark with some emotion that his expression didn’t show.

“I might not be able to give you an heir, even…if I wanted to,” she stammered. “I didn’t before. Tanner confessed it might be his fault, but how do you know it wasn’t mine?”

“I don’t,” he said softly. “But I haven’t fathered any babes, either. Of course, I’ve been careful, but one wonders if it was my prudence or my lack of ability. At any event,
I
sometimes wonder. So, we start even. If we can’t produce a child, we’ll at least have a flock of nieces and nephews. And we can take in as many fosterlings as you wish.”

“But Geoff…” she began to say.

He shrugged. “He knows how I feel, and though he’d rather you accept him, he’s given me his permission. Now, all I need is yours.”

“But why?” she demanded.

“Because he cares for you.”

“I mean,” she said with reluctant amusement
at his deliberate misunderstanding, “why are you asking me?”

“Because,” he said, smiling with infinite tenderness, “I like you, as well as want you. And you like me. In spite of how you think you feel, and what you say, your breath, your eyes, your skin tell me so. And you’re lovely,” he went on softly. “You’re clever and strong, too. You’re like no other woman I’ve met. And you need me, Daisy. You’ve no idea of how much I need that.
I
didn’t, certainly. There are other reasons even I don’t know yet, but my pulse, and
my
skin, and my heart do, and they never lie.”

He bowed his head and kissed her again, gently. She thought she’d stop him, but she didn’t try. Instead, she leaned toward him, without thought of anything but recapturing the sensations he brought to her. His mouth was warm and soft; he touched the margin of her lips with his tongue and without realizing it, she opened her lips and breathed in the thrilling taste of him. It made her want more. He put one large hand on her waist and drew her closer. He deepened the kiss, one large hand on her back, the other stroking her cheek, her neck, her breast…And then to her surprise and guilty dismay, he stopped.

“Think about it,” he said, touching a finger to her chin. “Geoff’s offer still stands. Mine is in your pocket as well. Think long, and deep, Daisy, and let me know tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yes. Because you do have enemies, and we have to end this nonsense that threatens you. And also because with all my oddities, I won’t be anyone’s second choice, or last resort. Now,” he said with perfect calm, only belied by the blue fire in his eyes, “shall we get back to Helena? The poor lady will begin to worry, and we can’t have that.”

Daisy stood and looked at him, her hand to her lips, still tingling from his kiss. “You’re serious?”

“Oh, very,” he said. “The point now is, are you?”

H
e was quite mad, barking mad; that was all there was to it.

Leland sat back in the deep chair beside his glowing hearth and pondered. The household was asleep. He had too much to think about to close his eyes. He stared into the heart of the fire without seeing it. What to do next? Offer himself up to the authorities and be clapped in Bedlam? Or actually go on with it? No saying if she’d accept him. But if she did?

What had he been thinking of?

Her eyes, her breasts, her lips, her laughter, and her unquenchable spirit, that was what. But why?

Women had been thrown at his head since he’d
been a youth, newly come into the title. Which was why they had been, of course. He never deceived himself. He’d been gangly and awkward with his new growth, his voice still cracked, he’d tripped over things and stammered when he spoke to a female. He’d been an unlicked cub with no mama bear to show him how to go on, but oh! how the matrons had wanted him to marry their daughters. Their daughters, he’d realized, had more sense.

In the months before his father had died so suddenly, being a mere heir hadn’t been enough to ensure his popularity with the ladies. He’d been to enough social occasions to see how the lovely young things offered that Season reacted to him. They’d huddled together when they saw him approach, and he’d heard their giggles when they’d looked at him.

That was why he’d adopted his pose of a fop, a cynic, a care-for-nothing but fashion and fripperies. He’d cultivated an acid wit and slashing tongue. After all, it was impossible to hurt the feelings of someone who didn’t appear to have any, and who, if push came to shove, could insult you worse than you had him.

Yet when he’d inherited the title, the eligible females nevertheless threw themselves at him. The good part of it was that because he was so amusing, ineligible females did the same. They helped him discover the sensual side of himself; he found he purely loved sex and also loved giv
ing pleasure. In that, at least, for a wonder, he was never awkward or clumsy. Maybe because it came so naturally to him. He genuinely liked women, and was delighted that he could make them like him for more than his title and funds.

But the mask he wore in public was impossible to remove in private, because he came to realize that his paramours didn’t want him to. It became part of him, which was not to say it was necessarily a bad part. He enjoyed amusing people. He’d hoped someday to meet someone who could laugh with him, as well as at him, if she got angry enough. But he’d thought she’d be wellborn, virginal and docile. Someone lovely, but not outrageously so; someone clever, but not aggressively so. Someone who’d faint with joy at the thought of his asking for her hand, and obediently give up her body with it, on demand.

Instead, he’d hung his heart on the whims of a female with an angelic face and a devil of a body, a criminal past; a widow who feared men and who wasn’t sure if she wanted so much as his hand, even in marriage. But she also possessed a spirit as fiery as her hair, and a code of honor that could shame a parson.

Was he mad?

He hardly knew her—but no. He smiled to himself. He knew her better than most of the women matchmakers had thrown at his head all these past years. He knew her better than any of the young things he’d danced with at Almack’s
and partnered at too many social events. He knew her
far
better than most of the women he’d bedded, even those he’d stayed with as long as a month. He didn’t know if he’d know a female better if he stayed with her longer; he never had.

Daisy, he thought, he could stay with forever. He liked her conversation; he admired her courage. He could amuse her, but she could make him laugh, too. And most important, he felt at home with her. He didn’t know why, but he did.

He’d started seeing her because he’d worried about her using her wiles on Geoff. Which was why, he suspected, he’d forgotten to guard his own heart. Impossible to be on guard against a woman who spoke her mind, didn’t try to impress him, though she did, and seemed always to tell the truth. He pitied her past and found himself wanting to ensure her future, with him. He admitted it might very well be that her past was what drew him to her, because she hadn’t been cosseted and pampered, and didn’t expect even the smallest courtesies from him.

But it certainly wasn’t pity motivating him now. He recognized a kindred spirit, and he admitted his lust. His need for her was, however, more than that. He simply liked being with her, and looked forward to it every day.

Still, he didn’t know her well enough to marry. He wondered if he ever would. That charmed him.

His mother would have a fit. That delighted him.

If Daisy became his wife, he knew he’d have a confidante, an honest friend, and a partner. Convincing her to be his partner in bed, however, would take time and effort. He could hardly wait.

But would she accept him?

He’d gambled. If he lost, Leland thought, laying his head back, closing his eyes, he wondered if it was likely he’d lose more than he now knew.

A viscount or an earl?

A thoroughly kind and fantastically rich older gentleman, or a thoroughly shocking, fascinating younger one? Also rich, of course.

Oh, poor me, what a terrible decision to have to make,
Daisy thought. She chuckled, and hastily stopped when she heard herself. She didn’t want to wake her maid or Helena. The hotel suite remained silent; the streets outside were still. Daisy wished it were morning, but there were hours yet to go. She was restless and anxious, but if she got up, she’d wake them, and there were things she wasn’t ready to talk about yet.

She lay on her back and studied the patterns the moonlight made on the high ceiling above her. The truth was that she didn’t want to marry anyone.

She scowled. She hated it when she lied to
herself. There was no question that Leland had stirred things in her that she hadn’t known existed…She frowned, fiercely. Of course she’d known; she’d just denied those feelings for so long that they’d begun to wither. Even when Tanner had been alive, there’d been times when she’d responded to another man’s smile, or walk, or appearance. She’d always hastily buried such thoughts, lest Tanner guess and beat her black and blue.

But Leland wasn’t Tanner. And neither was Geoff.

What if she married Geoff, and found herself longing for what he couldn’t give her? Because as much as she cared for him, and she did, she felt exactly no desire for him. In fact, his kiss had embarrassed and shamed her. So, then, marriage to Geoff was out.

And so, then, marriage to Leland Grant, Viscount Haye? She sucked in a breath and blew it out. Well, not only did he tempt her, the truth was, she liked him. In spite of his airs and his acid comments, or maybe because of them. He made her feel awake, and every hour she was with him seemed important. But oh, that mother of his! What an icy article she was. Now, there was a female whose eyes showed she could consider blue murder! Still, he was a grown man, and his mother seemed to make him either rueful or sad but nothing more. He even said her
exploits were what made him vow he’d be faithful to his wife. But could he be? He was said to love the ladies. He didn’t deny it.

That made her worry, too. She was drawn to him, but could she really ever fully respond to him? Fine thing that would be! A man like that married to a woman who could never give him what he wanted—even if she found herself wanting to try. And the truth was that she did want to.

So what about a tryst? A tryout? A test. Just one night…

Daisy sat up and locked her arms around her knees, laid her cheek on her knees, and thought.

She had to concentrate on the issue. The thing was that someone was after her, accusing her of murder. To imagine that she’d had a hand in killing Tanner! She’d love to have done it, to be sure. But she didn’t have the means, the opportunity, the courage, or to come right on down to it, the sort of soul that
could
have done it. Now, if he’d died of a blow to the head, that would have made sense. She’d always thought that one day she’d just lose all control, seize up a flatiron, or a fireplace poker, or a…but she’d never done it.

Still, it made perfect sense to accuse her. Anyone back in the colony would have known how Tanner bullied her and how she despised him. So it could be someone who had hated her back then. There were a lot of hate-filled people there. It might be a friend of Tanner’s bent on mischief,
or just someone who envied her newfound wealth and liberty. It might even be someone here in England who wanted her out of the way.

Daisy frowned. She hated herself for thinking it, but she’d seen the glances Helena cast at Geoff. Geoff hadn’t. It was as though he didn’t realize Helena was there. It was sad, and it was futile, but could Helena think that Geoff would notice her if her employer were gone?

Daisy didn’t want to think about it.

But she wasn’t sure of anyone now. She sighed. It didn’t matter. Someone had laid information against her. True or false, she knew enough about the law to know that a woman never did well in the prisoner’s dock, and one who’d been a convict wouldn’t get a fair chance in court. But she also knew that if you had friends in high places, the law didn’t apply to you. She needed a man of wealth and power to protect her with more than his cooperation. She needed his name.

But she didn’t want to prostitute herself, be a liar or a cheat. And she’d vowed she’d never be a prisoner again: not any man’s or any state’s. Still, if she had to marry, then was it too much to ask that she find not only peace, but pleasure in her future?

Could she?

Or should she just pack up her things and disappear into the countryside? She could give herself a new name and live out her days alone. And never have a baby to call her own. Well, she
mightn’t be able to anyway. Daisy sighed again. It wouldn’t matter to Geoff, she supposed. He had his heir. Leland had said he didn’t care, though.

But was that fair? She had to decide soon.

Daisy didn’t sleep that night.