When Only a Rake Will Do (12 page)

Daphne regarded the marchioness in surprise.  “It was?”

“When my parents married my mother was just sixteen, while my father, widowed twice before, was nearing his sixtieth birthday and in desperate need of an heiress to increase his dwindling fortune.   And my grandfather, a mere baron, was overjoyed at the thought of marrying his only daughter to an earl.  He approved the match, despite my mother’s protestations. 

“I see.”

“It pains me to say that my mother suffered greatly at my father’s hands once they were wed,” Lady Roxleigh said with a sorrowful expression.  “He was a cold, cruel man and my dear sweet mother was ill-equipped to cope with his harsh and callous nature.  Sadly, and I know that it is true for she told me so more than once, it was only the blessing of motherhood that made her life the least bit bearable in the years leading up to my father’s death.”

Daphne nodded sympathetically.

“I loved my mother dearly, and hers is not the kind of life that I would wish upon anyone.  And that, my dear, is why I do not fault you for seeking a small measure of happiness whilst you still can, and in turn, why I agreed to assist you in this matter,” she continued.  “I wish you only the best, now and in the future, and it is my most fervent hope that someday you will find the lasting happiness you deserve.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Daphne replied softly.  “Your words, as well as your support, mean more to me than you can possibly know.”

From then on their conversation flowed with surprising ease, for despite their considerable age difference they quickly discovered that they shared several common interests.

Approximately one hour later the marchioness’ coach left the main roadway and turned onto a side road, traveling several additional miles before slowing.  Looking out the window as the horses came to a stop, Daphne could see that they had drawn abreast of a second, unmarked coach that stood waiting on the opposite side of the dirt road.

“Enjoy your weekend, my dear,” Lady Roxleigh said, smiling warmly as Daphne gathered her skirts and prepared to exit the vehicle.

Daphne returned the marchioness’ smile with one of equal warmth, for during the past hour she and Lady Roxleigh had developed an unexpected bond, one that showed the promise of a long and lasting friendship.  “Thank you again, my lady,” she said with the utmost sincerity, “for everything.”

When the coach he’d sent to collect Daphne finally rolled to a stop in front of the small cottage where they would be spending the weekend, Brendon stood patiently, waiting until the footman had lowered the step and opened the door before stepping forward to greet her.  “My lady, welcome to Rose Cottage,” he said with a welcoming smile, extending his hand as he assisted her from the vehicle and onto the wide flagstone path.

“Thank you,” Daphne replied quietly as she struggled to quell her suddenly rioting nerves.

Sensing her nervousness, Brendon squeezed her hand reassuringly before releasing it.  Then, turning to speak with the driver and footmen he began issuing instructions as to the unloading of Daphne’s traveling cases.

For several long moments Daphne simply gazed upon the pretty little cottage before her in pleasant surprise.  Scanning the façade, she saw that its outer walls were constructed of smooth, flat stones in varying shades of brown and grey and that it was topped with a gently sloping thatched roof.  The front door was painted black, as was the matching trim around the gleaming, multi-paned windows, a perfect contrast to the plethora of bright, colorful flowers that adorned both the narrow window boxes and the large ceramic pots that flanked the welcoming entryway. In addition, literally dozens of rose bushes abutted the base of the cottage walls, displaying vibrant buds in every hue and color, surely the inspiration for the structure’s name.  She couldn’t help but smile, for the setting looked as if it could have been pulled directly from the pages of a fairytale.  It was absolutely perfect.

“I hope it’s to your liking,” Brendon said, returning to Daphne’s side.

She smiled and nodded.  “It’s lovely,” she replied honestly.  “Is it yours?”

“It is.  I purchased the cottage and surrounding lands about a year ago,” he told her.  “At the time I had intended to convert it into a hunting lodge, but as it happens I haven’t yet found the time to devote to its repurposing.” 

“I see,” she said, though secretly she hoped that he didn’t plan to change the building’s exterior, for it was picture-perfect just as it was.

“Come, let me show you inside.”  Taking her hand in his once again, Brendon led Daphne along the path to the front entrance.

Feeling his fingers close firmly around hers, Daphne felt an odd mix of apprehension and anticipation as they made their way to the door. This was it.  There was no turning back now.  But despite her nervousness, she knew that even if she could, she
wouldn’t
turn back.  She was exactly where she wanted to be.

Once Brendon had pushed open the door he released her hand, allowing Daphne to step over the threshold and into a surprisingly spacious living area.  Glancing about, she could see that the house, carpets and furnishings, some of them brand new by the look of them, had been well-maintained, with not a speck of dust in sight.  In addition, there were numerous vases with freshly cut roses scattered about the warm and cozy room, filling the air with a wonderful aroma.  Clearly he’d had the cottage made ready for their arrival.

“It’s a bit small,” Brendon said apologetically, “but at least here our privacy is assured.”

Daphne turned, smiling softly as he came to stand beside her. “It’s perfect, Brendon, thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” he replied, inordinately pleased by her reaction. Damn but she had the prettiest smile he’d ever seen, he thought, and for a moment it was all he could do to keep from lifting her up into his arms and carrying her to his bedchamber right then and there.

Noting the sudden intensity in his eyes, Daphne felt a flush warm her cheeks and an unfamiliar heat begin to spread slowly throughout her body. 

Unable to help himself, Brendon reached out, placing his hand beneath her chin and running his thumb lightly across the delicate line of her jaw.  “When you blush your skin turns the most delightful shade of pink,” he said softly.

Daphne stood perfectly still, mesmerized by both the seductive timbre of his voice and the unmistakable desire reflected in his rapt gaze. 

“Good morning, m’lord,” came a sudden and unexpected female voice, effectively shattering the moment.

Both Brendon and Daphne’s heads spun around toward the rear of the cottage, Daphne’s eyes widening in surprise at the sight of the older, grey-haired woman coming toward them, wiping her hands upon the white apron tied about her ample waist.

Damn, he’d completely forgotten they weren’t alone.  “Daphne,” Brendon began, “please allow me to introduce you to Mrs. Stone,” he continued motioning toward the other woman.  “Mrs. Stone, may I present Lady Daphne He… er… Hemsworth,” he said, catching himself before revealing Daphne’s real name.  Not that he didn’t trust Mrs. Stone’s loyalty, but even so, he saw no reason to act recklessly, or at least no more recklessly than he already was.

Hemsworth
, she’d have to remember that, Daphne thought, grateful that Brendon was being cautious and hadn’t divulged her true last name.

“How do you do m’lady,” Mrs. Stone said, bobbing a brief curtsey as she regarded Daphne politely.

“How do you do,” Daphne replied courteously.

“Mrs. Stone and her husband tend to the cottage when I’m away,” Brendon informed Daphne.

“Oh, I see.”  No wonder the cottage appeared so clean and well-tended.  “It’s lovely to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Stone.”

“And yours, m’lady.”  Turning to Brendon, Mrs. Stone smiled warmly.  “I was just about to prepare your dinner, m’lord.   Roasted pheasant, peas, asparagus, a loaf of freshly baked bread and apple pie for dessert, if that’s to you and your ladyship’s liking.”

Brendon glanced toward Daphne with a raised brow.

She nodded at once.  “That sounds lovely.”

“Mrs. Stone is an excellent cook,” Brendon stated, causing the older woman’s smile to widen at the compliment.  “And her apple pie is quite simply divine,” he added with a wink.

Watching as Mrs. Stone blushed like a schoolgirl before hastening back to the kitchen, Daphne was once again reminded of the dazzling effect Brendon had upon not just her, but upon the female population in general, young and old alike. 

“Like the rest of my staff, Mrs. Stone is utterly trust worthy,” he assured her.  “So I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve asked her to stop by twice a day to tend to the cooking and cleaning whilst we’re here.”

“No, of course not.”  Though she would have preferred to have him entirely to herself, she couldn’t fault him for being practical.  “That was very thoughtful of you.”

“To be honest my motive was actually a selfish one,” he admitted.

“Selfish?”  Daphne eyed him curiously. 

He grinned rakishly.  “Since we’ve such a short time together I would much rather spend it on more enjoyable activities than tidying bed linens or foraging through the cupboards for food.”

“Oh,” Daphne breathed, feeling her heart give a little leap within her chest.

They were interrupted by the coachmen then, as Daphne’s traveling cases were carried into the house.  Suddenly self-conscious, Daphne turned away, focusing her gaze toward the rear of the house.  Though the men who’d accompanied her to the cottage had shown her nothing but the highest respect, she cringed internally, for she could only imagine what they must be thinking.

“Perhaps you’d like to see the rear garden,” Brendon suggested, sensing her sudden unease. Lightly grasping her elbow, he led her away from the men who stood awaiting his direction.

“Yes,” she murmured, “that sounds lovely.”

“Why don’t you go on ahead,” he said as they drew near, motioning to the doors that exited to the rear of the cottage.  “I’ll join you momentarily.”

Nodding, Daphne moved swiftly to the wide set of French doors and let herself out.  Pulling the doors closed behind her, she took a deep, calming breath as she surveyed the small garden.  She was instantly delighted, for as one might expect, the rear of the home was just as charming as the front.

Once the coachmen had been sent on their way with instructions to return in two days’ time, Brendon quickly made his way to the rear garden to join Daphne.

Hearing the sound of a door opening and closing behind her, Daphne turned, watching as Brendon walked toward her.  “The garden is beautiful.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Stone have done an excellent job maintaining it,” Brendon agreed, glancing about the space.

Standing beside one of the tall bushes that bordered a portion of the narrow gravel path that wound through the garden, she brushed her fingers lightly across a large, fragrant bud, its petals a soft, baby pink.  “Roses have always been my favorite,” Daphne said softly.

“My mother loved roses as well.  It’s one of the few things I remember about her.”

“Oh?”

“She died when I was just a boy,” Brendon said.  “I had a statue placed here in the garden in honor of her memory,” he continued.  “It’s just there.”  He pointed to a spot just a few feet to Daphne’s right.

Daphne looked to the area he pointed out, noticing then the brilliantly detailed, three-foot marble figure of an angle nestled amongst the roses and the small bronze plaque at its base. Stepping toward it, she read the inscription. 
In memory of Lysette Leighton, beloved mother. 
“It’s exquisite,” she said reverently as Brendon came to stand next to her. 

He smiled thoughtfully for a moment as he gazed at the statue, and then turned back to Daphne.  “Would you care to take a walk?” he asked.  “There’s a small stream not far from here if you’d like to see it.

She nodded.  “Yes, I’d love to.”

Once again he clasped her hand, threading his fingers through hers as he led her along the path.  This time however, Daphne felt no sense of apprehension, for she was growing more comfortable by the moment.  Now she felt only the delicious thrill of anticipation as his palm pressed warmly against hers.

Leaving the garden behind, they made their way along a worn footpath that led them through a maze of soaring oaks and towering elm trees to the bank of the stream that meandered through the rear portion of the property. 

“Oh, how lovely,” Daphne said, admiring the picturesque setting as they stood upon the grassy bank.

Brendon chuckled.  “I confess that when I purchased the place I was far more interested in the stream’s abundance of trout,” he admitted as he glanced about.  “But you’re right; it does make for a rather charming scene, doesn’t it.”

“It’s easy to take it for granted,” Daphne said as she watched the slowly-moving water, thinking of her earlier conversation with the marchioness.  “The beauty that surrounds us,” she clarified.  “I never really thought about it until today.”

“Until today?”

“Lady Roxleigh told me about her son and his loss of sight,” she explained, turning to face him.