The Last Duke (Thornton 1)

“Oh, Pierce.” Daphne’s eyes slid closed, emotion clogging her throat.

“Trust me, Daphne,” he breathed into her hair. “Let the magic between us happen.”

“I do trust you. Lord knows why. I don’t know a thing about you. Nonetheless, I trust you.”

His lips feathered across her forehead, the bridge of her nose. “You know many things.”

“What do I know?” she countered. “Only of your questionable roots, which matter nothing, at least not to me. What I care about is the man you are today. Who are you, Pierce Thornton?”

“Other than a duke, you mean?”

“Don’t mock me.”

“Never.” He gathered up handfuls of her tawny tresses. “Your hair glistens in the moonlight.”

“And you’re avoiding my question.”

He chuckled. “So very astute. You, my beautiful Daphne, are a constant source of wonder.”

“And you are a constant source of mystery. I’ve given you my trust. Can you not give me yours in return?”

Pierce’s smile faded. “You have no idea how difficult it is for me to contemplate the idea of trust.”

Slowly, Daphne nodded, seeing years of suffering reflected in Pierce’s forest green eyes. “Yes, I believe I do.” Unconsciously, she caressed his nape. “You say you grew up in the streets. How did you survive?”

“By my wits and my will to live.” His arms tightened about her, as if he feared his answer might drive her away. “Are you certain you want to hear this?”

“I’m certain.”

He held her gaze. “I grew up in a workhouse. I ran away when I was twelve, confident that even the gutter would be better than the hell from which I’d escaped. I was wrong. For two years I slept in deserted alleyways, picking pockets and stealing fragments of food to eat. After that, I took to the road. I’ve wandered ever since.”

A hollow ache pervaded Daphne’s heart. “You must have been so frightened—and so very strong. Dear God, Pierce, what devastating obstacles you’ve overcome.”

“Don’t dub me a hero. I was a thief.”

“You were a child,” she replied softly. “A lonely, terrified boy. You stole only to l

ive.”

Pierce’s jaw tightened, a private spark lighting his eyes. “I enjoyed every minute of pilfering noblemen’s riches. I still do.”

“What did you say?”

Instantly, Pierce stiffened, pausing for a heartbeat to search Daphne’s face. “I’m a gambler,” he resumed smoothly. “Which, in the opinion of many, is no better than a thief.”

Daphne ingested his reply, carefully weighing her own. “I thought you made your fortune investing in profitable business ventures?”

“Is that not the definition of a gambler?”

Her lips curved. “I suppose it is.”

“I’ve gambled since I could walk, and discovered almost as quickly that I was damned good at it.”

“Was that the instinct you spoke of at Newmarket?”

“Precisely.” Pierce steeled himself. “Have I frightened you off?”

“On the contrary. I’m awed by your self-assurance and your strength of character. I wish I possessed them.”