Silence.
“Daphne, does that son of a bitch strike you?”
“He’s my father, Pierce.”
A vicious oath exploded from Pierce’s lips. “I’ll kill him.”
“I can take care of myself. Besides, this discussion is not about Father’s behavior toward me. It’s about his behavior toward you.”
“You still defend him, regardless of the fact that he abuses you?”
“It isn’t defense, for there is none. It’s—I’m not certain—loyalty, perhaps. Or duty.”
“To a man who beats you?” Pierce shot back, incredulous. “Simply because he sired you?” He shook his head in furious incomprehension. “If being born in wedlock breeds such blind devotion to an unworthy scoundrel, then I’m delighted to be a bastard.”
“I can’t fault you for your sentiments,” Daphne replied softly, lowering her eyes. “Nor can I alter mine. Worthy or not, the scoundrel you describe is my father, and I have no choice but to answer to him.” She turned away. “I’d best return to the manor now, before darkness falls.”
“Wait.” Pierce came up behind her, caught her arms with gentle hands. “Forgive me. I had no right.”
“I have the strangest feeling you have every right.”
This was the moment he’d dreaded. “Suppose I were to tell you you’re right, that I have a score to settle with your father that is older than you, deeper than you can fathom. Would you refuse to see me again?”
No answer.
“Daphne.” He buried his lips in her hair. “I want you, but I won’t lie to you. Not about my roots, nor about my hatred for your father. However, I also give you my word that I will never intentionally cause you pain. Are those declarations enough, or is what you feel for your father stronger than what you feel when you’re in my arms? You’ll have to tell me, for a lowly bastard such as I would have no knowledge—”
“Stop it!” She spun about to face him, her exquisite eyes the green-gray of a stormy sea. “Don’t ever call yourself that again. I don’t care how shrouded your lineage is, you’re not a bastard.”
All Pierce’s tension drained away, and he caught Daphne’s face between his palms. “Your defense is almost as beautiful as you are,” he murmured with a tender smile. “Thank you.”
“You have nothing to thank me for. Your actions speak for themselves. Whatever your history, you’re every bit a gentleman.”
“Not every bit.” Pierce’s eyes twinkled as he lowered his mouth to hers. “For instance, a proper gentleman would never demand so scandalous a good-bye before allowing you to return to Tragmore. I would.”
“I see,” Daphne acknowledged breathlessly. “Well then, an improper gentleman.”
A husky chuckle rumbled from Pierce’s chest. “What exactly is an improper gentleman?”
“The most fascinating sort—inherently decent, excitingly unconventional.”
“Ah.” He nibbled lightly at her lower lip. “And could such a gentleman entice you to see him again?”
“Indeed he could.”
Reflexively, Pierce’s hand tightened about her nape. “Is that your answer then?”
“No.” Daphne reached up and twined her arms around Pierce’s neck, tugging his mouth down to hers. “This is.”
Stifling a groan, Pierce gave Daphne what she sought, forcing himself to relinquish control of the kiss. He sensed how important this moment was, her first tentative emergence from the tightly woven cocoon she’d spun about herself. He gave only as much as she took, moving with her, tasting the trembling sweetness of her lips, righting the urge to crush her in his arms and ravish her mouth with his own.
At last he could take no more. “Go,” he murmured. “It’s nearly dusk.”
Daphne nodded, her eyes aglow, her cheeks as triumphantly flushed as they’d been at Newmarket when she’d selected the winning horse. “You’ll be back?”
“Without question.” Stooping, Pierce retrieved Daphne’s forgotten blade, placing it in her palm only after he’d kissed each of her fingers, the delicate veins at her wrist. “Nothing could keep me away,” he promised, his gaze as unwavering as his purpose. “Nothing, and no one.”
6