The Last Duke (Thornton 1)

“Don’t you think I know that?” Pierce came to his feet, raking his fingers through his hair. “And I’d almost reconciled myself to helping solely through those other ways.”

“Almost,” Daphne repeated woodenly. “Until Viscount Benchley’s offensive behavior altered your decision.”

Their gazes locked.

“Yes. Until Benchley spoke of the poor as if they were dirt.”

“Was it that? Or was it the challenge he inadvertently issued by boasting his manor was impenetrable.”

Pierce didn’t look away. “You know me well.”

“Extraordinarily well. So which was the deciding factor, the cruelty or the pomposity?”

“The combination.”

Daphne swallowed, fear and resignation shadowing her eyes. “When?” she whispered. “When do you plan to invade Benchley?”

“Tonight.”

“Tonight? But there is a houseful of guests who have yet to depart from the Christmas party.”

“True. Which only serves to heighten the challenge.” Pierce ached at the broken look on Daphne’s face. “Snow flame, I don’t expect you to understand.”

“Then make me understand.”

Pierce started. “How?”

“I care about those children as much as you do.” Daphne raised her chin a notch. “And I loathe everything my father and Lord Benchley represent, just as you do. So I understand your anger, as well as your compassion. What I don’t understand is your excitement; the way you thrill to the challenge.”

“That’s not something I can explain.”

“Not in words, but in actions.”

“Meaning?”

“Take me with you.”

“What?”

A spark kindled Daphne’s eyes. “Take me to Benchley. Let me be the Tin Cup Bandit’s accomplice.”

19

“HAVE YOU LOST YOUR mind?” Pierce raged.

“Not at all. You’ve enumerated your reasons. Now let me witness them firsthand.”

“Daphne.” He strove for a filament of control. “You’re not thinking clearly. This is not some romp through the woods. Nor is it like the glorified tributes you collect from the Times. It’s—”

“Cunning, skill, and instinct,” Daphne finished for him. “Both cunning and skill I’ve learned from you. As for instinct, you yourself have repeatedly hailed mine as incomparable.” She shot him a quick, mischievous grin, her cheeks tinged with excitement. “You’ve also heralded me as having magnificent, though hidden, spirit, fire, and passion. Clearly, that is the case, although I believe those traits have come out of hiding these past weeks.”

Pierce sucked in his breath and stared, for the first time seeing the total transformation their marriage had effected on his wife. He’d been so engrossed in his own metamorphosis that he’d failed to realize the full extent of Daphne’s.

Somewhere during the past six weeks, his delicate little caterpillar had become a butterfly.

“Pierce?” Daphne rose and went to him, oblivious to her nakedness. “I know I can do this. I want to do this. Let me.”

Warring emotions tore at Pierce’s heart, stunning him by their very existence. The reluctance, the protectiveness were the familiar sentiments, the ones that had spawned his decision to keep Daphne from the truth. But the equally powerful unfamiliar longings? The stirring excitement evoked by envisioning Daphne by his side, the compelling need to share with her the exhilaration of the robbery and its inspiring results—those he’d never anticipated feeling.