Just One Kiss (7 page)

“My Lord, I think I will-” Daphne began in a panic; she was afraid she might start crying at the table if she didn’t get away.  She’d jumped to her feet, but in her agitated state hadn’t
realize
d that Edward had also risen and walked around to her side of the table.  He was standing over her, so close that her skin prickled at his nearness.

“Please?” he said softly.  He reached for her hand and suddenly Daphne found that it was hard to even breathe.  “Won’t you tell me what’s the matter?”

“I-” Daphne stammered shakily.  Edward’s fingers were strong curled around her hand, his skin warm to the touch.  “I can’t,” she choked, jerking away from him, before hurrying out of the room without so much as a backwards glance.

Edward watched his wife flee.  There was a strange, almost painful, knot in the centre of his stomach.  Guilt.  He had heard Daphne crying in the night.  He had seen the evidence of her tears on her tired face that morning.  And now… well, he wasn’t entirely sure of his new offence, but he’d clearly upset her again somehow. 

He raked a hand through his hair, and wondered if he should follow Daphne.  The trouble was, he didn’t know what he could possibly say to her when he found her.  It was all such a mess!  All so confusing!  Cursing under his breath, Edward left the breakfast room.

“Wilkins, is it?” he barked at the butler. 

“Yes, my lord,” the older man dipped his head in a miniscule bow.

“Have a carriage made ready for me.  I’m going out.”

Chapter 6

Edward found himself standing inside the front hall of his mother’s Mayfair town house within the hour.  The butler (a rather more polite young gentleman than the man Daphne had seen fit to hire) had just left to announce him, and so Edward was gazing around the familiar surroundings, taking note of what had changed, and what had stayed the same.

“Edward?” gasped a voice.  He immediately turned away from the barometer that he’
d been inspecting.  “
Edward?  Is it really you?”

“Hello, mother,” Edward said quietly.  No one could make him feel like such an errant schoolboy as his mother.  She was nearing her sixtieth year now, but the beauty of her youth still sparkled in her eyes.

“I knew you would come back,” Lady Margaret said shakily.  She was crossing the hall towards her son, but Edward rea
ched her in a few strides.  “Oh,
Edward!  What have you put your poor mother through?” she scolded, but she was smiling lovingly through her tears.  “Come through to the sitting room and let me look at you,” she said, catching hold of her son’s hands as if she was terrified that he might try to bolt for the door.

“I’m sorry, mother,” Edward said gruffly.  In six years, had he ever stopped to think about anyone apart from himself? 

“I didn’t blame you, Edward.  I never blamed you,” his mother was saying hurriedly.  “William and I both knew who was at fau
lt,” she sniffed, a flash of ice
freezing her words.

“At fault?” Edward echoed uncertainly.

“Everyone knows that it was that young chit’s fault,” Lady Margaret fumed.  Her eyes flashed dangerously.  Edward sat down on an overstuffed chair and squirmed uncomfortably.

“Daphne’s fault?” he murmured needlessly.  His mother flushed a nasty shade of red at the mention of her daughter-in-law’s name.  “But surely her family-” he began, unable to quite account for the sense of unease that was slowly creeping up upon him.

“Her family practically disowned her six years ago,” Lady Margaret announced triumphantly.  “I don’t believe that she’s seen her mother more than half a dozen times since you were-” she paused, grimacing, “-married.  I know for a fact that her father disinherited her before he died.”

“Mr
Hargreaves
is dead?” Edward blurted, his mouth hanging agape. 

Daphne hadn’t said!  But… wait, she had said something about her brother having an estate to manage now.  Edward had been staring too intently at the shadows under her bright eyes at the time, however, and hadn’t pieced together the significance of what she was saying.

“Oh yes,” Lady Margaret nodded as she rang
a bell
for tea and refreshments.  “It must be three or four years since he passed away.”  Edward nodded dumbly.  “One shouldn’t talk of such things, I know, and had it been any serious blow to your income I should have been the first to complain of course, Edward, but one can’t help feeling that she deserved it.”

“Deserved it?” Edward repeated.  He was beginning to feel like something of a parrot.  “Daphne deserved-?”

“To lose her inheritance for the little stunt she played on you!” Lady Margaret snapped sharply.  “Ruined your life did that chit!”

Edward closed his eyes for a moment and dragged a hand over his face.  Did that mean that William had informed their mother of his version of events for that fateful morning when Daphne had found her way into his room?  Perhaps he should never have told William.  Perhaps he should have been a better man, all for protecting a lady’s
honor
.  But he’d been young and angry, and forced to watch as his freedom was snatched away from him.

“We can’t change the past, mother,” he said quietly.  “What’s done is done, and Daphne and I will just have to find a way to live with the situation.”

“Oh?” Lady Margaret raised an eyebrow.  “You mean to live with her then?”

Edward gave his broad shoulders a weary shrug, which earned him a look of reproach from his mother.  “I have different responsibilities now that I’m- now that William’s gone,” he said quietly, turning his head to look out of the window. 

His brother’s death seemed so much more real here in England, where he expected to bump into him at a club, or find him riding his
favorite
stallion through the grounds at Packwood.  It was beginning to hit home that he would never see his face again, never hear his voice, his laughter.

“I’m sorry I missed his funeral,” Edward said heavily.  He felt like he’d missed a critical goodbye.  He’d visited William’s grave while he’d been staying in Coventry, but it wasn’t the same.

“He’d understand,” Lady Margaret said, gently dabbing at her eyes with a lace handkerchief.  “It’s so good to have you home, Edward,” she sniffed, smiling tearfully at her son.  “You can’t know how badly you’ve been missed.”

By the time that Edward left his mother’s house he had a sense of, if not how badly he had been missed, then at least of the things that he had missed.  He was told of the various marriages and births that had taken place in his absence, given a flavour of the scandals that had rocked London, and generally been brought up to date on the gossip of the city.

But all the time that he had sat listening to his mother’s chatter, Edward hadn’t been able to stop his thoughts from turning to Daphne.  When he had left, he hadn’t really thought about what would happen to her in his absence.  He had simply assumed that her family would look after her.  Her brother had certainly shown a flare for involving himself in his sister’s affairs, after all!

Edward supposed- if he really looked back and thought on it- that he had known that things for Daphne in society would not be easy at least.  But then, he hadn’t expected her to move to London!  Whenever he’d thought of Daphne it was as being tucked away safely in the country somewhere.  Despite his fury at her machinations, he didn’t like to think that she’d
suffered
exactly.

However, he knew too well how cruel the
ton
could be, and he was afraid to ask his wife exactly what she might have had to endure in his absence. 
Well, he was back now to look after her,
Edward reasoned, with a sudden surge of… protectiveness… that frankly terrified him.

Chapter 7

Daphne had eaten a light lunch all alone.  She was sitting in her drawing room at present, not doing her embroidery.  She had always hated embroidering as a young girl; she’d never had the patience for it, but over the years it had instilled in her a rigid sort of discipline.  Now, however, all of that hard won control seemed to be slipping through her fingers like so many grains of sand.

It was all Edward’s fault!

Maybe if she understood what he expected from her, things wouldn’t be so hard.  Oh yes, she knew about the baby, but what
else
did he want?  She didn’t know how to be a wife after all- she’d never been given the opportunity before.  The women she saw out in London weren’t exactly people she wanted to emulate… there was her mother of course, but then- she hadn’t spoken to her mother for over a year.

She could simply ask Edward, Daphne supposed.  But would he consider that another of her failings?  Daphne wished more than anything that there was a friend that she could turn to for advice, but there was no one.  The closest thing she had was her brother Anthony, and half the time she feared that he was disappointed and exasperated with her.

“Daphne?”

Daphne jumped, pricking her finger.  She hadn’t heard the door open, and Wilkins certainly hadn’t announced him, (although- Daphne supposed that was no longer necessary) but Edward was very definitely standing in the doorway of her drawing room, staring at her with an indescribable expression on his face.

“Most people find that it is polite to knock before entering a lady’s room,” she sniffed haughtily.

“Even when the lady in question is one’s wife?” Edward bandied back calmly.  Daphne glared over at him, only to find, rather disconcertingly, that he seemed to be amused by her little outburst.  “Why Daphne, what might you be up to in your sitting room that you’d want to hide from your husband?” he asked innocently, but his eyes were glittering wickedly, as he wandered into the room.

Not having an answer for that, Daphne had to content herself with a piqued ‘oh!’ as she fumbled for a handkerchief to wrap around her finger.  It was bleeding a little, not much, but it hurt.  She had managed to tear the skin when she’d jumped instead of just inflicting a neat little prick.

“Let me see,” Edward said, crouching down in front of Daphne. 

She was going to tell him no, she was going to tell him that she was fine, that it was only a little scratch, but once again she found that Edward’s hands were gently holding her own.  This time he was carefully unwrapping the lacy handkerchief that she had pressed over the little cut.

“It’s nothing, really,” she finally managed to say, trying but failing to pull her hand away from his- this was almost as bad as those silly swooning girls who pretended to faint at parties!  Daphne only hoped that Edward didn’t think she’d hurt herself on purpose!

“Stay still,” Edward scolded, when Daphne tried again to free her hand from his gentle but firm grip.  “You’re lucky, it’s not deep,” he said, inspecting the damage. 
Daphne couldn’t help but think
that was a little rich!  It was his fault after all that she’d been surprised in the first place.  “The needle could have broken off under the skin,” Edward murmured, holding the bloody cotton of her handkerchief over the cut until it stopped bleeding.

“That sounds a little horrific for a little sewing accident!” Daphne scoffed.

“Perhaps,” Edward said.  He looked up at Daphne from where he was still crouched on the floor in front of her, and he smiled.  He smiled at her, and the stinging pain in Daphne’s finger disappeared.  “But perhaps it’s taught me that I need to knock on this lady’s drawing room
door
in
the
future?” he breathed softly.

“Oh no, I was just being-” Daphne began, but had to stop suddenly when Edward coiled his fingers around her own and lifted her knuckles to his mouth.  He dropped a kiss against her hand, and then gently twisted her wrist, and pressed his lips against the pale skin above her skipping pulse.  Daphne’s breath hitched in her throat.  “What-” she stammered.  “What are you doing?”

Edward lifted his head.  There was a darkness in his eyes that Daphne had never seen before, and an upward tilt to his lips that wasn’t a smile, but seemed to hint at something more.  “Kissing it better?” he purred, the gravelly edge to his voice made Daphne’s skin flush.