“That was a silly hope, not an expectation. I had no claim on it or on anything at all.”
It was a good explanation. Possibly the true one. Nor was it one that would require retreat on his part. She was a widow, in her late twenties he estimated, and certainly no innocent. He could still seduce her if he had a mind to. Which he did.
He could not shake the suspicion, however, that this whole arrangement spoke of the duke under moral obligation to care for a woman for reasons less noble than friendship with her father.
He still thought she had been Becksbridge’s mistress while in that house. Then again, perhaps he only wanted to believe it of the self-righteous ass.
Well, he would know for certain once he visited the other little properties and saw if they also were now homes to other women like Mrs. Joyes.
In the meantime . . .
He stood. “I thank you for the hospitality and for the pleasure of your company at this dinner, Mrs. Joyes. I see the rain is well gone, and I think that I will take a ride through the area and see the lay of the land while there is still some light. Perhaps when I return, you will be kind enough to give me a tour of your very rare blooms.”
A glance from those gray eyes. Direct. Knowing. She saw his game. Which did not mean he would not win the match.
“We retire early, Your Grace.”
“I will not be gone long.”
“Perhaps in the morning . . .”
“I expect to leave early. This evening would suit me far better.”
“It will be too dark to see much.”
“We will bring a lantern.”
An exasperated frown marred her brow. “I can see that you are accustomed to having your way.”
“Having my way is the best thing about being a duke.”
“Then, once again, I would be foolish to refuse you.”
He bowed to take his leave. “You may refuse me whatever you choose, Mrs. Joyes. I will not hold it against you.”
Chapter Three
H
e had beautiful hands. That was what Daphne kept noticing about Castleford at dinner.
Thoroughly masculine but also undeniably elegant, those hands had compelled her attention. She had seen many gentlemen’s hands, but none so flawless, she was sure. They were far smoother than her own, she judged at once. All the gloves and creams in the world could not maintain a lady’s hands if a woman used hoes and shovels more than any lady should.
She probably should have given him some brandy or wine. She might have erred in refusing to. That was the question with a man who imbibed to the extent Castleford did. Would spirits dull his senses or make him rash?
She did not know. So she had relied on those stories, told by their mutual friends, of his whoring and drinking. The two seemed to go together, and she had thought it best not to stoke any fires. But if they did go together, then perhaps if he drank he only bothered with whores and left such as her alone.
She paced the library after he left. She could simply retire and not be here when he returned. He had said she could refuse him anything. Only she did not think he meant the tour of the gardens. She suspected he only referred to what he would try to do once in the gardens.
The scoundrel expected to seduce her after knowing her less than a full day! The conceited man assumed she would just fall at his command, yield at his whim, give herself to a drunkard who was practically a stranger, and who did not come well recommended by the little she knew of him. His unfounded confidence was unparalleled.
Did he count on her not believing him about being able to refuse? Did he anticipate compliance because of this property? That would be just plain evil. And he
had
given that reassurance, hadn’t he? Still, it worried her that perhaps he would take offense, and things would take a bad turn when he made his decision come Tuesday.
After fretting over the question, she realized there was no choice here. She would have to take him at his word. If he put them all out because she rejected his intentions, she would make sure those mutual friends learned the truth of it.
Indeed, that possibility might be her most formidable protection. Hopefully Castleford cared about his long friendships with the Earl of Hawkeswell, Verity’s husband, and Lord Sebastian Summerhays, who had married her cousin Audrianna.
She heard the horse outside and froze in place. Her stomach lurched. At least it would be dark in the garden. She would not see his expressions or his eyes with those golden lights.
She would be less likely to be charmed by his alluring combination of insouciance, with its air of carefree indifference to everything, and that undercurrent of intensity that implied quite the opposite.
He was dangerously handsome, and that always gave a man an unfair advantage. But she wasn’t some girl anymore whose head could be turned by the seductive flatteries of dashing men.
Then it occurred to her that some light might be a good idea. He might be less bold if it were not totally dark. If she chose their path carefully, they would be visible from the house if they carried a light.
She hurried to the back sitting room and fussed with a lantern while he dealt with his horse again. He probably did not like doing that himself, but they did not have a groom or any male servant here. She handled her gig’s horse herself, after all. It had not been too much to expect him to do the same.
She heard his boot steps enter the house and come toward her. Measured. Firm. Confident. This house so rarely had men inside it that his footfalls seemed to make it shake. Much like she was shaking, she realized.
She sat and pretended to read by the lantern, feeling nervous and unsteady and more fearful than her mind believed was warranted. It embarrassed her to admit that a rare excitement permeated her fluster, one that provoked sensations that were not unpleasant. It had been years since she had felt that kind of stimulation. Forever.
Perhaps he would just forget about his turn in the garden and leave her to her book, and she could—
“I expect we will need that lantern soon enough on our stroll, but there is the slightest bit of twilight left now, Mrs. Joyes.”
She managed to maintain her mask of disinterest despite the way he looked. The lantern’s illumination barely reached him where he filled the doorway, but the way it did made her pulse pound.
Shadows and highlights cast his form and coat into an assemblage of crisp planes. Even his smile appeared hard. His ride had mussed his hair, so he looked more reckless than before. His eyes told the worst part of the story, however. Teasing glints revealed more interest in this stroll than she wanted to see.
Dear heavens. She was out of her depths. This man was a notorious libertine and she was—well, she was hardly an expert in these matters.
She stood. She swung a knitted shawl around her shoulders. Whatever games he hoped to play, nothing would happen unless she permitted it, and she intended to permit nothing at all.
“I
t is impressive,” Castleford said, while he surveyed the plants in the greenhouse. “It is clearly not a decorative appendage to the house but a place of business.”
Daphne heard no mockery in his voice. Her pride glowed at his praise.
She had been stupid to be so worried. He had been a perfect gentleman while they strolled the paths outside. He had even held the lantern in a way that made them very visible from the house’s back windows. It appeared that he truly wanted to see how she was using the property and supporting the household with The Rarest Blooms.
Now the lantern rested on the stones in front of the fireplace used to warm the greenhouse on the coldest nights. Castleford poked at some planting pots and admired the largest orange tree. The open glass panes in the walls and the ceiling allowed a sweet breeze to flow around them.
“It is all very fragrant here. A little intoxicating,” he said.
“One gets used to it.” She pointed to a massing of plants in a corner. “Those will be taken to town in two days. Wagons bring them to a friend who then will deliver them to homes that have ordered them. A good number of cut flowers from outside will go too. And look here—we are experimenting with plum trees, and this cherry. If they thrive, we intend to build another greenhouse just for fruit. One of the new kind, with pipes underneath to bring steam to heat the space evenly.”
“Did Lady Hawkeswell begin her horticultural experiments while she lived here, or did you learn from her?”
He referred to Verity, the Earl of Hawkeswell’s wife, who had stayed two years in this house. Daphne had not thought Castleford would bother to notice or remember the histories of the women married to his friends. “She began here. We all help with the plants, but Verity developed a passion for them.”
“When did you develop your own passion?”
“It is not the same. I enjoy this labor, but it was always a means to an end for me, not a fascination as it became with her. One of the first women to share my house taught me.”
He rested his hips against a worktable and looked at her. The lantern seemed far away suddenly. More moonlight veiled him than the illumination from that one distant candle.
“You speak as though that teacher is no longer here. Nor is Lady Hawkeswell nor Lady Sebastian. I believe that Mrs. Albrighton also once lived here.”
“I am surprised that you absorbed such small details about lives so removed from your own.”
“I remember everything when I choose to.” He cocked his head and regarded her. “How many have come and gone while you remained?”
“A few more, before the ones you know about.”
The question induced nostalgia and, deep inside her, a tiny, cringing, recurrent fear that the day would come when there were no longer any transient sisters seeking sanctuary in her home, and she would be all alone.
“You must envy them at times,” he said. “Envy their return to the world and the families they are building.”
His words pierced her heart, and she could not deny their truth. Then, for the second time today, her temper spiked abruptly.
How
dare
he be so rude. Fending off a seduction would be preferable to these intrusive queries.
“I am happy for them.” She heard her voice sound crisp with her annoyance. “They are my friends still, and as close to my heart as sisters.”
“I did not say you were not happy for them. I merely observed that—”
“I know what you said. And what you implied. I am not some sad little woman pining on a shelf, dreaming about parties and morning calls, Lord Castleford. As for marriage, I am mature enough to know that there are so few men worthy of the effort that I am relieved such a future is out of the question.”
He just looked at her for a long moment. Then she saw those mischievous lights appear in the dark of his eyes. “I fear that I have distressed you again.”
“Not at all.”
“You appear in high color once more.”
“Oh, tosh. You can’t even see my color in this vague light.”
“I can hear it, however.” Suddenly he pushed away from the table and was standing right in front of her. To her shock he placed his palm against her cheek. “And I can feel it.”
He astonished her, s
tunned
her not only with his boldness but also with the sensation of that hand against her face. Its skin felt as perfect as it had looked. Like warm velvet.
He moved closer, until his face hovered right above hers. “Perhaps it is not distress at all but only more extreme surprise. You are dazzling when in this state. Strong emotion becomes you.”
It did not become her. It confused her. It weakened her. It left her gaping at a handsome man taking inexcusable liberties, when she should better remain calm enough to put him in his place.
She groped for her self-possession, but it kept sliding out of grasp. He was deliberately mesmerizing her. Absorbing her.
A series of furious denials and insults filled her head but refused to find her voice.
You are no gentleman, sir.—I am not one of your bawdy doves.—Unhand me, you scoundrel.
She could actually feel the heat of his body with him standing this closely. His hand on her cheek lured scandalous reactions out of her. Tingles and shivers and delicious, sly excitements.
You are too bold.—How dare you be so familiar.—This insult is not to be borne.
The man was a devil, and she needed to collect herself and—
“How long has it been, Mrs. Joyes? Since a man kissed you anywhere, even on the mouth?”
Anywhere?
His breath flowed softly over her lips, making her head spin and her blood race. “A good number of years, I think. What a sinful waste.” His presence wrapped her, then his arms did too.
A kiss, careful but confident. She resisted the impulse to close her eyes and float away on the intimacy, but she was tempted far more than she ever expected to be. Within her shock she struggled to hold back the dreamy tide of pleasure that threatened to inundate her and drown her very sense of herself.