The Last Duke (Thornton 1)

“Pierce, my father—”

“Damn your father.”

She stiffened. “Will that be hastened by my marrying you?”

“Will what be hastened?”

“Damning my father.” She drew back, her gaze delving deep into Pierce’s. “Does your sudden urge to make me your wife factor into whatever plans you have for him?”

A muscle flexed in Pierce’s jaw. “The urge isn’t sudden. I’ve been combatting it for days. I want you, Daphne. By my side. In my life. In my bed.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Then perhaps this is. Your father’s damning is a fait accompli whether or not we wed. So, no, my proposal is not linked to his downfall. It is, however, partially spawned by my firsthand knowledge of his cruelty, which makes me eager to wrest you from his contemptible presence. The marquis and I go back many years, more years than even he recalls.” Pierce drew a harsh breath, instantly realizing he’d revealed more than he intended. “I’d prefer you didn’t jog his memory by mentioning our early acquaintanceship. I’ll tell him myself, when I’m ready.” Pausing, Pierce waited, half expecting Daphne to refuse his unsubstantiated request, and unable to blame her if she did. He was asking her to betray her father with silence, while giving her no justification for doing so.

He was prepared for any reaction other than the one he got.

“Thank you,” Daphne murmured, caressing the taut line of his jaw. That simple phrase, together with the consummate faith shining in her eyes, humbled Pierce as nothing else could. And her next words shattered his reserve into fragments of nothingness. “You’ve just offered me the most wondrous gift: the first sign of your trust. I don’t pretend to understand the basis for your request. But in my heart I know your motives are sound. You have my word, Pierce. I’ll guard your secret. When Father hears the truth, whatever that may be, he shall hear it entirely from you.”

With a low groan, Pierce tugged Daphne to his chest, threading his fingers through her hair. “Be patient with me, Snow flame,” he said in a raw tone. “It’s not only trusting I find difficult. It’s more. My past. There are portions of it I buried long ago, portions too painful to discuss.”

Daphne rubbed her cheek against his waistcoat. “I know how difficult it is to share pain,” she whispered. “Especially pain that’s been submerged in your soul for years. You’ll tell me when you’re ready. I can wait.”

Too moved to speak, Pierce lightly caressed Daphne’s nape, focusing his attention on the refastening of her top two buttons. “It is I who thank you,” he said simply, when he’d regained a measure of self-control. “For now, just understand that I need to take you away from Tragmore, out of that bastard’s house, away from his brutality.”

“You mentioned before that you’d summoned—” Daphne broke off, correcting herself with a conspiratorial grin, “lured Father to London?”

“Indeed I did. He’ll be there for two days.”

That made Daphne’s chin come up, and she stared at Pierce with those exquisite hazel eyes. “Two days! How on earth did you manage that? Father loathes racing from one excursion to the next, and we only returned from Gantry an hour ago.”

Chuckling, Pierce kissed the inquisitive pucker between her brows. “I told you, I’m resourceful. I merely asked an associate t

o summon the marquis on a matter of great financial urgency.”

“Would that matter be the insurance money on our stolen jewelry?”

“Excellent,” Pierce commended with a twinkle. “Your intuition constantly astounds me.”

“Coming from so cunning a strategist, I’ll consider that the most splendid of compliments,” Daphne teased, her cheeks flushed with pleasure.

Pierce wondered if she had any idea how beautiful the real Daphne was.

“Pierce?” Lost in a new thought, Daphne caught her lower lip between her teeth. “How much money will Father recover?”

“That depends upon the value of what was taken.”

“I see. Was my pearl necklace worth a great deal?” A practiced warning chord sounded in Pierce’s head, a self-developed signal he’d perfected over the years, triggered whenever the topic commanded he protect his secret life.

And, despite the fact that Daphne was anything but the enemy, Pierce mentally segregated his one-time glimpse of her pearls from the more extensive examinations made by the Tin Cup Bandit. “Your pearl necklace?”

“Yes, you remember, the one you admired at Newmarket. Was it valuable?”

Without realizing it, she’d provided him with the perfect course of evasion.

He seized it. “Did I? I don’t recall. I was too busy looking at you.”

Daphne quirked a brow. “You said it was my necklace you were admiring.”