She looked stricken. “What my father did was inexcusable. I never wanted a title, my lord. I met you quite by accident, if you recall. I admired you.”
“And your admiration ensured your father netted me at whatever cost. I dare say I neglected to warn the young bucks of the season—it is not only the ambitious maters they need to worry about. The fathers are even more ruthless.”
Her chin lifted a notch and there was a perplexing shine in her eyes. He swallowed his drink, setting down the glass with a decisive clink.
She rubbed her temples. “Do you expect me to simply fall in line with your ludicrous plan?”
“Most assuredly.”
A mutinous expression tightened her expressive face. “You are very much mistaken in the matter if you believe I will be so easily persuaded.”
He did not want an argument. Sylvester had hoped they would be able to converse with civility, but the awareness of her infidelity was creating havoc with his good intentions. “You mistake me, Countess. You are my wife. I have no need for gentle persuasion. I command, and you will obey.”
…
Daphne stared at her husband with ill-concealed shock. She watched him with a terrible fascination, unable to take her eyes off his expression of ruthless purpose. The unflappable and serene mien she’d wanted to maintain around him was most certainly shattered. He wanted an heir…when she had decided to take the bold, scandalous, and almost impossible steps of obtaining a divorce.
Oh God.
Her every expectation had been torn from her. Did he not have a mistress, then? Worse…I command, and you will obey. That was the one thing she didn’t think she could bear. An overwhelming ache throbbed behind her eyes.
“Tell me, Countess, how was your evening at Lady Cantrell’s ball?”
His voice was so low she wasn’t certain she’d heard correctly. Lady Cantrell? The shift in conversation disconcerted her, but she grappled for it like a lifeline. She took a steady breath, and it was then she observed the lethal stillness to his lean, powerful body, an unfathomable watchfulness in his eyes. “The ball was unmemorable.”
The slightest smile curved his lips, but it did not reach his eyes. Those glittering emeralds remained undeniably disturbing.
“I’ve never seen you so beautiful.”
Something in his intonation rattled her. In all the years they had been together, he had never commented on her appearance. His gaze traced the swell of her bosom, encircled her waist, then went back up to her face. It was imperative she retreat and gather her scattered wits.
“I… Thank you, my lord. I am a trifle tired, and I believe I will retire. This discussion of an heir—surely we can talk about this at a more decent hour.”
Sylvester studied her intently. “I will attend you in my chambers shortly.”
His chambers. She stood motionless for several seconds. Daphne swallowed the contents of the glass, uncaring what she drank but needing to fortify her nerves and hating that her hand trembled.
“No.” Though her denial was whispered, the implication of it was distressingly loud. I command, and you will obey. The law of man and God said Sylvester was her lord and master. She had no right to deny anything that he could ever demand of her.
“No?” he asked with such terrible softness her mouth went dry.
She lifted her chin. “No.”
He leaned in close—uncomfortably close. “Are you denying your duties, wife?”
“I have never been your wife,” she snapped, gently resting the glass on the sideboard. “It is far too late to rectify the matter, and it does not signify that you now want me in your bedchamber.” She was afraid to give in to the emotions tearing through her, lest she throw the glass at his head. Daphne did not want to imagine what his reaction would be to such an unladylike display of anger. And wasn’t that the crux of her discontent? She knew nothing about the arrogant lord standing before her, so impervious to her distress.
“I wonder, is that the distinction you’ve used to dishonor my name?”
For one bleak, horrifying moment, she froze, and fear filled her heart. She spun on her heels and faced him, snapping her spine taut. A flare of rage burned in his gaze before he lowered his lid. Dear God, he knows. Her knees wobbled, and she forced herself to not wither under his probing regard. An emotion perilously close to terror held her heart in a brutal fist. She pressed a trembling hand to her stomach and lifted her chin. Yes. But she could not bring herself to say the words. She had no power in this exchange, and it pained her to acknowledge it. There were so many things he could do to her if he wished it. Her husband could see her banished, exiled, committed, for he was the austere, powerful, and unforgiving Earl of Carrington.
Daphne also couldn’t quell the tremor of guilt that shot through her. She staunchly reminded herself there was nothing for him to discover. She and Redgrave were not lovers. Thank heavens she had held onto her wits and not allowed the man any chance to compromise her reputation. The overly passionate kiss he had pressed upon her earlier had been startling, but at least he was a man who desired her, who made a notable effort to woo her. Before tonight, the viscount had always presented himself as amiable, and seemed genuine in his affections, and she would not feel guilty.
“I’ve never dishonored you,” she murmured with as much dignity as she could contrive.
“Are you not having an affair, Countess?” he asked, his voice smooth, inviting her to share a confidence. But his eyes betrayed him. They glittered with fierce emotions, and Daphne desperately wished to flee from the conversation unfolding. Nothing was going according to how she had planned. She tried to think of anything that would defuse the tension in this awful situation.
“Do you have a lover?”
The fear faded, and a scathing retort hovered on her lips. How dare he ask her that. For years he had abandoned her, and perhaps had dozens of lovers and mistresses in that time, and now he would dare question how she had slaked her loneliness? “No, I do not, nor am I having an affair.”
A lengthy, tension-filled silence stretched between them.
The earl shifted, and she flinched as he
held out a hand to her. He slowly lowered his hand. “Do you believe me capable of hurting you?”
“If you believed I dishonored you, yes,” she said.
“You are ignorant of the manner of man I am.”
“I believe that was your choice, my lord.”
With almost jerky movements she poured brandy into her glass and drank it down in one swallow. She coughed, the burn warming her far too much, but if there was ever a time she needed liquid courage, it was now. Even getting foxed was a desired outcome, for then the tearing emotions would be numbed. That was, if the reputed wonders of being foxed were true.
“I never knew you drank strong spirits.”
Her gaze dropped to the glass in her grasp. “There are depths to me you are quite unaware of, my lord,” she replied with some asperity. Just as I do not know you.
“Evidently.”
She offered him a small smile that felt too tight.
He prowled over to her until she had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. She blinked when he took the glass and set it on his desk and then returned to her. He cupped her cheek with one of his palms.
“My lord?” Daphne stared at him, alarm coursing through her veins. He’d never held her with such intimacy before.
She was unnerved by the rather intense look in his eyes. Anger warred with fascination, and she shot a glare at her glass on the desk. Was she already tipsy? That could be the only excuse to even be slightly captivated. What was happening?
He dragged her up against him, one hand curving to the swell of her hips. Her skin prickled with a depth of awareness that shocked her into rigidity. He smoothed a thumb along the curve of her lower lip. She let out a gasp when he pulled her hair pins out and the weight of her tresses tumbled to her shoulders.
“What are you doing?” she asked shakily.
He made no reply. Instead, the wretched man pressed his mouth to hers. They stilled, and her lips trembled against his. He had never kissed her before. They stood like that for what felt like forever, and she slowly became aware that his heart was pounding beneath the palm she had placed on his chest in denial. Her eyes that had instinctively closed flew open.