The Last Duke (Thornton 1)

Or did she?

Pierce halted in his tracks.

Yes, she’d sat by his side at Newmarket, tested her daring, trusted her instincts. Yes, she’d thawed in his presence, joined in his banter, shivered at his touch.

But the true awakening of Daphne’s sensuality, the exquisite unfurling he’d glimpsed, the longing and the exhilaration she felt, had occurred tonight.

And it was not for him, but for the Tin Cup Bandit.

Daphne was infatuated with a man who didn’t exist, a romanticized champion of the poor who was more a god than a man.

What were the odds of combatting such a fantasy?

Not good, Pierce decided, tapping his chin thoughtfully. Not good at all. He’d provided himself with a unique and near-impossible challenge, one that required cunning, skill and instinct.

To hell with the doubts and questions.

Veering to his desk, Pierce extracted a sheet of paper and a pen.

Th

is was a high-stakes gamble in the most dangerous of territories.

Fortunately, he was one hell of a gambler.

Daphne pushed her food around on her plate, keeping her gaze firmly fixed on her fork.

“My lady, you must eat something.” With a worried frown, Daphne’s lady’s maid hovered over her mistress. “I promised the marchioness I wouldn’t leave this bedchamber until you did.”

“I know, Emily, and I appreciate it, truly. But I’m just not terribly hungry today.”

Emily winced as the sound of the marquis’s bellowing emanated up from the first floor. “I understand your distress. Last night’s robbery has upset all of us. Why, the entire house is in turmoil. But it’s after noon and you do need to keep your strength up. Please, my lady, won’t you just eat a bit of Mrs. Frame’s pudding? It’s your favorite.”

The last thing Daphne wanted was pudding. But what she really wanted—to be alone with her thoughts—would be impossible unless she complied with Emily’s wishes. “Very well, a bit perhaps.”

Beaming, Emily watched her nibble three or four less-than-enthusiastic spoonfuls of pudding and take a great gulp of tea. “There, my lady. Now don’t you feel better?”

“Much better, Emily.” Daphne pushed the tray away. “But you’re right about the house being in chaos. All morning long the authorities were here, the servants were scurrying about, and Father was agitated. It’s taken its toll on me. I do believe I need to rest.”

“Of course you do,” Emily crooned, gathering up the tray. “You lie down and I’ll make sure you’re not disturbed.”

“Thank you.”

Daphne slid between the sheets and closed her eyes, relieved to hear the door shut behind Emily’s retreating figure. At last, solitude. Solitude to relive last night.

He’d been every bit as dashing as she knew he’d be—tall and broad and powerful, swathed in black from head to toe. She’d felt his strength when he touched her, even through the barrier of his glove. Never, had she felt so vital and alive as when he’d loomed over her, murmuring her name, gazing into her eyes.

He’d offered to answer anything she asked, anything but his name. And what had she done? Stared blankly up at him like some lovesick schoolgirl, when all she really wanted was to blurt out a million things at once: Where did he come from? What spawned the incredible compassion he possessed? How did he choose the recipients of his funds and the victims of his robberies? Did he loathe life’s injustices as she did? How could she help him? What more could she do for the ill and the needy?

Would he ever come to her again?

That possibility made her heart pound frantically. He’d seemed to like her, even seemed pleased by her cooperation. His eyes—the only unconcealed part of him—had spoken volumes, as had his carefully disguised rasp. And, at that moment, she would have gone anywhere, dared anything he asked of her.

If only he’d asked.

“This is an outrage! Find that bandit, whoever the hell he is, and do away with him.”

Daphne cringed, pressing her palms over her ears to block out her father’s shouts. She’d have to go down and face him sometime, but right now she couldn’t bear it. Nor could she be a convincing enough liar, not only to act shocked and outraged, but to feign ignorance of the theft. It was easier to plead upset and remain in her room.