“Indeed I am. For tonight only. After which, invitations can be forwarded directly to my estate.”
“Your estate? What the hell are you talking about?”
“You’re about to find out.” Pierce’s tone was mocking.
Daphne peeked around the corner and into the ballroom in time to see Pierce walk away from Hollingsby and her father, toward the crowd of questioning faces. “Mr. Hollingsby was kind enough to invite me here tonight so that I might share my extraordinary news with all of you at once.”
A hum of speculation arose among the guests.
“As most of you know, the Duke of Markham passed on recently, alone and presumably without an heir.” Pierce’s arresting gaze swept the room. “I’m here tonight as the duke’s sole living heir—the newly named Duke of Markham.”
Stunned silence prevailed, hovering for a full minute before exploding into loud exclamations of astonishment and wonder.
“It’s all quite true,” Hollingsby interjected. “I myself drew up the codicil to the late duke’s will. Mr. Thornton—” he broke off, coughed discreetly, “His Grace—is Markham’s sole surviving son.”
Hundreds of people seemed to swarm around Pierce at once, but Daphne was aware of only two things: her own anguished surprise, and the look of sheer terror on her father’s face.
The strings resumed playing, the guests broke into small, gossiping groups, and suddenly Daphne realized how vulnerable her position was. How long did she expect to remain undetected? Any moment someone was bound to stroll into the hallway and see her.
Reversing her steps, she slipped back toward the guest chambers.
For what purpose? To sleep?
That question brought her up short. After this latest shocking revelation, sleep would be an impossibility.
Acting on impulse, Daphne slipped into the morning room, then out the door leading to Gantry’s fragrant gardens.
Here, she could be alone with her thoughts.
Pierce, the Duke of Markham.
She pressed her fingers to her temples, trying to sort it all out. What would this mean? How long had he known? Would this change him, his priorities? Why hadn’t he told her at Tragmore? What did he want of her? Was the announcement of his title related to the mysterious hold he had over her father?
“Here you are. I thought I’d have to tear down the manor in order to find you.”
Daphne whipped about to see Pierce leaning against a tree, watching her intently.
“I had no idea you were looking for me, Mr. Thornton—pardon me, Your Grace.”
“So, you did hear my announcement. I thought I caught a glimpse of you in the hall.” Slowly, Pierce strolled toward her.
“Yes. I heard.” Daphne bowed her head and turned away.
“You must have many questions.”
Silence.
“Ask them.”
To Daphne’s dismay, hot tears filled her eyes. “I—I don’t know where to begin.”
“You can begin by looking at me.” Gently, Pierce turned her around, framing her face between his palms.
Daphne flinched.
“Daphne?” Questioningly, Pierce raised her chin with his thumb and took in her swollen cheek. Thunder erupted on his face. “That filthy son of a bitch. I’m going in there and kill him.”
“Pierce—don’t. Please.” Daphne grabbed his arm. “I can’t bear any more violence tonight. I just can’t.” Her defenses crumbling, she relented, letting the scalding tears course down her cheeks. “I can’t bear any more.”