She turned her head, her mouth but a fraction from his ear. “I have a pocket pistol somewhere on my person, a sheathed blade tucked into my boot and a pot of pepper in my reticule.”

“Pepper?” It was obvious why she carried the condiment, but he wanted to feel her breath breeze against the sensitive skin on his neck once more.

“When thrown in a blackguard’s face it is most effective.”

“I’m sure it is.” The image of Daphne wrestling with a fiend in a dark alley filled him with dread. “Remind me never to pick a fight with you. It will do nothing for my reputation if I’m blinded by seasoning.”

“The unconventional weapons are often the best.” She raised a curious brow. “Please tell me you’re armed too?”

“Of course.” The pistol sat nicely in the pocket of his greatcoat. “Though I’ve found my fist to be my most effective weapon.”

“Yes,” she said with wide eyes. “I recall the little trick you used when on the Harwood case. You put the guard to sleep by simply applying pressure to a point on his neck.”

“When one restricts the flow of blood to the brain it is possible to render a person immobile for a short time.” It was a skill that came in useful when walking the streets at night. “An uppercut to the chin works just as well.”

Daphne glanced at his hands. “Is that how you came by so many scars?”

“No.” The question caught him off guard. “Bruised knuckles heal well enough. Broken ones not so.”

“But the scar on your hand was made by a blade,” she persisted. “The silvery skin on your knuckle looks to be evidence of a burn.”

For some strange reason, he held up his hand to examine the marks she mentioned, as though he hadn’t realised they were there. But how could he forget? They were the marks that made him the man everyone feared, the man who commanded respect wherever he went.

“The marks were made as you said. A sharp swipe across the fist with a knife. A hand held forcibly over a flame.”

Her face turned ashen. “A man who thinks nothing of storming a smugglers’ den must be numb to pain and fear.” The soft, soothing quality of her voice edged towards pity.

“Mine are the scars of a boy, not a man.” God, how he wished he could go back to his school days. If only the boy had possessed the strength and wisdom of the man. “But you’re right. What once seemed unbearable now runs off me like rain on a window pane.”

“You were a boy when those terrible things happened?” Daphne put her fingers to her lips and swallowed deeply. “Did… did your father do this to you?”

“No.” His father was an honourable man by all accounts. Had Fate not intervened when it did, Daniel’s life would have been vastly different. “A few boys at school decided to teach me a lesson.” A bastard was no match for the sons of the aristocracy.

“What by slicing your hand with a blade? I hope they were punished severely.”

“Oh, they received their punishment.” Daniel had waited patiently until they were men with title and the responsibility befitting their station. “But not by the master and not with my fists. The pain of a punch or the whip of a birch is over in seconds. Cuts and bruises last a week or two. Hitting a man in his pocket has repercussions that extend beyond his lifetime.”

“I suspect someone with your connections could ruin a man fairly easily.”

It had taken years to gather the power needed to take the men down. “With hard work anyone can read Latin, or name the great philosophers and their theories. While knowledge can help a poor man rise to greater heights, it cannot rid a rich man of his arrogance.”

Daphne sighed. “Conceit is often the mark of the privileged.”

“Their belief in their own superiority was their downfall. The self-absorbed often fail to see that which others find blindingly obvious.” Da

niel could still hear the bitter edge in his voice. “A demanding mistress, an addiction for the gaming tables, an untimely investment or a corrupt man of business can empty one’s coffers overnight.”

Daphne stared at him, the corners of her mouth turned down. “People believe revenge rids them of past pain.” She placed her hand lightly on his arm. “And I suppose it does to a certain extent. But it does not bring peace to the soul. Happiness comes from acceptance.”

“To my mind happiness and acceptance are on opposite sides of a coin.” Daniel stared at her dainty fingers. Her touch always brought comfort. How could something so small and delicate have such a powerful effect on him? “I can’t have the one thing that would make me happy, and so acceptance is all I have left.”

Damn, he’d said too much.

She looked deep into his eyes, stared at him as though his darkest fears were evident there. He struggled to gauge her mood. Was she preparing to ask him another probing question? Would she press her lips to his just to torment him all the more?

Thankfully, the hackney ground to a halt on the corner of Burr Street and Nightingale. While Murphy sat atop his box all day without complaining, the cab driver wanted them out so he could find another fare.

“You’re to stay at my side at all times,” Daniel said, placing her hand in the crook of his arm as they made their way towards the warren of back alleys, home to The Mariners Tavern, brothels, rope-makers and a ship chandler. “Hold on to me like you never want to let me go. Hold on to me as though your life depends upon it.”

Tags: Adele Clee Historical
Source: readsnovelonline.net