The Last Duke (Thornton 1)

Pierce rolled his eyes. “The pompous ass. As if he’s the first man to effectively use a fireplace to heat his bedchamber.”

“Also the first to install seven water closets and three bathrooms in the main house, all with gilded washstands, basins, and ewers and all for only himself and Lady Benchley,” Daphne added with a sad shake of her head. “Such a waste.”

“Try telling that to the viscount. Or his insipid wife, for that matter. Why, the trinkets she’s wearing tonight could feed an entire village for a year.”

“I didn’t notice.” Daphne frowned, gazing into the hall where the viscountess was loudly berating an obviously terrified serving girl. “But I can’t bear the cruel manner in which she treats her servants. That poor child out there is probably still in her teens. Not to mention that the tray she’s carrying weighs more than she does.”

Pierce spun Daphne about so he could view the scene firsthand. What he saw was a gaunt, terrified young girl nodding vigorously as she endured the viscountess’s tirade.

“Now get to the kitchen and fetch a tray of champagne for the guests, the noblewoman ordered. And no dawdling! Or you shan’t receive a penny of the added wages you’ve begged me for.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Knees trembling, the girl turned on her heel and bolted, juggling piles of soiled dishes as she ran.

“That witch,” Daphne murmured. “Has she not a shred of compassion?”

“Evidently not.”

“So Markham.” The Viscount Benchley chose that moment to approach them. “How are you enjoying your first official ball as a member of the peerage?”

Pierce bit back his candid retort. “I’m enjoying this rare opportunity to dance with my wife,” he said instead.

“I don’t blame you.” Benchley’s lecherous gaze swept Daphne from head to toe. “Your bride is breathtaking. ’Tis hard to believe she is Tragmore’s young daughter.”

“I’ve grown up, my lord,” Daphne said, feeling the impending storm that emanated from her husband. “I’m a married woman now.”

“So you are.” He stroked the ends of his mustache. “How is your father? Has he recovered from that notorious bandit’s invasion?”

“Father is quite resilient. He’s very much himself again.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” Benchley displayed the ballroom with a grand sweep of his arm. “Myself, I have nothing to fear from that bandit scoundrel. My house is impenetrable. I’ve seen to that. Why every lock has been personally installed by the finest locksmiths in England, the grounds protected by the keenest guards to be found anywhere.” He laughed harshly. “I’d like to see that rogue just try to gain entry to Benchley. He would quickly learn the meaning of the word defeat. Why the very thought of him robbing reputable people and turning our money over to worthless urchins and filthy gutter rats who will do naught but squander the funds on liquor and women.” Hastily, he broke off. “Forgive me, Daphne. I did not mean to go on so in your presence.” He bowed. “Continue to enjoy your evening.”

Pierce’s jaw was so tightly clenched, Daphne feared it might snap, She felt him make and inadvertent move in the viscount’s direction. “Pierce, don’t. He isn’t worth it. He’s a witless, arrogant fool.”

“We’re leaving.”

Her expression soft with compassion, Daphne nodded. “Very well. I, too, have had enough.”

“Coming here was a mistake. I don’t belong here. I don’t want to belong here.”

“Neither of us does,” Daphne replied, covering Pierce’s hand with her own. “We belong to each other.” Slowly, she extricated herself from his hold. “I apologize for insisting we attend. It was stupid of me to suppose we could infuse joy into the hearts of the heartless. I’ll feign a headache. Then we can pack. We’ll be home before dawn.”

“Snow flame.” Despite his fury, Pierce felt a twinge of remorse. “I never want to shatter your dreams.”

Daphne smiled. “You couldn’t. You are my dreams. I’ll merely alter my plans and glory in the Christmas spirit at Markham, which is where I’m happiest anyway, rather than at some vapid party. And rather than display my exuberance in front of the world who, for the most part, are thoroughly unworthy, I’ll share my joy with the worthiest man I know, my husband.”

Gathering up her skirts, she made her way from the ballroom, warmed by the love she’d seen darken her husband’s forest green eyes. She truly was the luckiest woman on earth.

A vicious growl and a loud crash transformed Daphne’s golden haze into ugly reality. Halting in her tracks, she saw the same young serving girl, this time poised just outside the pantry, a pile of broken glass swimming in spilled champagne at her feet. Her hands were pressed to her mouth, and, at first, Daphne assumed she was distressed over the accident. An instant later, she realized otherwise, simultaneously identifying the source of the growl she’d just heard.

A black dog with bared teeth was advancing on the maid, crouched low to the ground as if to pounce. Lunging forward, he seized the hem of her gown, tearing it between his teeth until she shrieked with fear.

“You stupid chit!”

The viscountess emerged from an anteroom at that moment, seeing naught but the mess in her hallway and the embarrassment of the accompanying din. “See what you’ve done, you senseless dolt! I knew I shouldn’t have succumbed to your pleas to keep you on. I should have discharged you long ago. You’re not only frail and simple, you’re clumsy and inept as well.”

The dog, hearing his mistress’s infuriated tone, wasted no time, but relinquished his jaw-full of material and bolted into the pantry.

“But, ma’am—” The girl made a futile gesture toward the deserted pantry door, realizing even as she did so that it was too late. The culprit was gone. With utter resignation, her arms fell to her sides and she