Daphne’s smile was both jubilant and mischievous. “Wonderful! And, upon our return, may we do the same for my untapped passion?”
Stepping away, Pierce executed a formal bow, bringing Daphne’s fingers to his lips. “My pleasure, Your Grace.”
She brought her hand around to caress his jaw. “No, Your Grace. The pleasure will belong to us both.”
It wasn’t until after Daphne had walked off to gather her discarded gown that two staggering realizations struck Pierce.
He had just unflinchingly acted the part of a duke and he had actually taken the first tentative steps toward trust.
Perhaps prayers could, after all, be answered.
15
DAPHNE CLIMBED DOWN FROM the carriage and paused, scanning the woods surrounding her father’s estate.
“Pierce, when we’ve finished with Father…” She hesitated, uncertain whether Pierce would honor or laugh at her request.
“We’ll peruse the woods before heading to Markham,” Pierce finished for her, his lips curving with tenderness rather than amusement. “I’m sure we can convince your friend—what was his name, Russet?—to join us. Markham has three times the acreage of Tragmore, resulting in thrice as many cozy foxholes in which to build one’s home.”
“Thank you.” Daphne’s smile was radiant, reminding Pierce yet again how seldom his wife had been indulged, how little it took to bring her joy.
He intended to drown her in it.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked quietly. “It isn’t necessary. You can go right upstairs and pack your things, leaving your father to me.”
“I’m sure.” Daphne gathered up her skirts. “Consider it another victory for my newly freed spirit.” So saying, she marched up to the front door and knocked.
The Tragmore butler paled when he saw them there. “Lady Daphne. I wasn’t told to expect you.”
“I’m here to collect my things. But first, the duke and I would like to see my father.”
“Your f-father?” A fine sheen of perspiration broke out on his forehead. “He’s—That is, I—”
“Well, well.” Tragmore stalked into the hallway, the dark circles under his eyes the only overt sign he’d lost sleep over yesterday’s events. “If it isn’t my wayward daughter and her hastily acquired husband.”
“We want to speak with you, Tragmore,” Pierce commanded. “Alone. Now.”
“By all means.” Enmity glittered in the marquis’s eyes. “Come into my study.” He dismissed the harried butler with a wave of his hand, then turned on his heel and strode down the hall. “You know the way.”
Cupping Daphne’s elbow, Pierce guided her to Tragmore’s study, closing the door behind them.
“Your gown looks rather the worse for wear, daughter.” Tragmore’s disdainful gaze swept Daphne head to toe. “Ah, I forgot your husband’s odiously crude upbringing. Did he demand his marital rights posthaste, tossing up your skirts in the carriage?”
Pierce acted before Daphne’s gasp had died on her lips. He stepped in front of his wife, clearly stating his intention to shield her from her father’s abuse. “Let me begin with rule number one, Tragmore. You will address my wife with all the respect due a duchess. If you raise your voice to her or insult her in any way, I’ll finish the thrashing I began yesterday. And, if you so much as raise a hand to strike her, I’ll kill you where you stand. Is that clear?”
Tragmore’s eyes narrowed. “You contemptible gutter rat. My assets weren’t enough, Markham’s title wasn’t enough. You didn’t rest until you’d seduced my daughter into joining your sick cat-and-mouse game.”
“Pierce didn’t seduce me, Father.” Shoulders back, Daphne walked out from behind her husband, coming to stand beside him. “He asked me to marry him while you were in London. I accepted. I consider myself a very lucky woman. Pierce gave me the strength to escape your brutality while I still held a small measure of self-respect.”
“Are you aware that your esteemed husband is blackmailing me?”
“I am.” Daphne smiled proudly. “And I commend his efforts. In fact, I’ve offered to help him in any way I can. So far as I’m concerned, you deserve to suffer poverty and public ridicule. For what you did to me and to Mama I hope Pierce calls in each and every one of your notes.”
The marquis’s shock at Daphne’s brazenness was instantly eclipsed by the implication of her final words. “Your mother? Is she involved, too? Damn you to hell, Thornton, have you stashed my wife at Markham?”
“Why?” Pierce’s brows rose in sardonic amusement. “Have you misplaced her?”
“You son of a—”