Page 11 of His Runaway Duchess (Regency Wedding Crashers #3)

CHAPTER 11

T hey had gone to bed early that day, so Daphne was not tired at all. She lay awake, staring up at the ceiling above her bed.

She wished she and Emily were sharing a room. They’d always shared one at home, even when there was space for them to have their own rooms. As it was, Emily was sleeping in the next room, and Daphne didn’t feel right going in to wake her.

A chasm had opened up between them since the ruined wedding. It was clear that Emily was hiding something from her sister regarding the Duke of Clapton. Besides, while nobody had said anything, it was clear that the family all blamed Daphne for this whole business. If she’d been more sensible, none of this would have happened. Emily would have had to marry the Duke of Clapton, of course. Wasn’t that the lesser of two evils?

Daphne closed her eyes.

I really have ruined everything, haven’t I? For myself, and for the Duke of Thornbridge. I don’t believe he’s a bad man. He was happy enough as a widower. What will Beatrice say when she learns I’ve married her brother-in-law?

Oh, and now she had a headache. Wonderful.

Twisting around to look at the clock, Daphne saw that it was just past midnight. The house was quiet, and outside was dark and icy.

She got up and threw a robe around her shoulders.

Dinner had been a tense affair, with nobody saying much of anything to anyone. The family had stuck to their parlor, and nobody had seen the Duke except during supper. Alex had joined them for supper, along with Mrs. Trench, and seemed happy enough, swinging his legs and chattering. Anna and Octavia had fussed over him and even wrung a half-smile out of the Duke.

The Duke hadn’t spoken to Daphne at all. When he had to address her, he kept his gaze on his plate and never once glanced her way.

Of course, there’d been no discussion about the kiss. Of course not. Daphne had briefly considered bringing it up but then quickly decided against it. If the Duke wanted to pretend that nothing had happened, it would be better to go along with it, surely?

Her stomach growled—a reminder that she hadn’t eaten much during supper. Tying the robe around her waist, Daphne snatched up a candle and slipped out into the hallway.

It was dark, with only the occasional candle set at intervals. It was cold too, and she wished she hadn’t stepped out in her bare feet.

I won’t be long . I’ll collect some food and something to drink, then go back to my room. After that, I suppose I’ll have to try and sleep again. Alex promised me a grand tour tomorrow, and I have the feeling that he wakes up early.

She remembered her way well enough, creeping down icy stone steps and into the depths of the house. A candle flickered in the kitchen, casting long, jagged shadows over the stone flags.

Odd that they left the candle out like that.

The kitchen was empty, of course. It was a long, wide space with a low ceiling, smelling deliciously of herbs and cooked meat and roasted vegetables. Gleaming copper pots hung on the walls, and embers still glowed in a vast hearth. A large wooden table, scrubbed clean, sat in the middle of the room, cleared of everything except the candle and a chipped, old mug. Half a dozen gaping, dark doorways led to other servants’ hallways and rooms, part of a maze that Daphne hadn’t even begun to decipher.

Something shuffled in the darkness, and she froze, her heart thumping suddenly.

How could I have been so stupid, wandering around an unfamiliar house in the dark? What if it’s a robber? I could scream my heart out down here and nobody would ever hear.

A tall, broad-shouldered figure appeared in one doorway, and Daphne’s breath caught in her throat.

“Miss Belmont?”

Her shoulders sagged with relief. “Your Grace? Is that you? What on earth are you doing down here?”

The figure stepped forward, and she saw that it was indeed the Duke. He was dressed for bed, in plain breeches and a loose linen shirt, unlaced at the neck and displaying a deep V at his chest, like before.

She cleared her throat and dragged her gaze up to meet his eyes.

He was frowning at her, holding a cloth bag in one hand and a package in the other.

“What am I doing here?” he repeated. “This is my kitchen, you know. I think a better question is, what are you doing here?”

She bit her lip. “I didn’t eat much at dinner. I was hungry, so I thought I’d come down and get something to eat without disturbing anyone.” Her gaze dropped to the packages in his hands. “I guess you thought the same.”

There was a long pause, broken only by the ticking of a clock somewhere. The kitchen was cold, and a draft swirled around Daphne’s bare ankles. She was suddenly all too aware that she was in her nightgown, with only a thin robe over it, and barefoot. It wasn’t the proper attire to greet anyone in, let alone a man. The material of her gown suddenly felt far too thin, and goosebumps rose over her skin.

“I’m sure we won’t get in each other’s way,” the Duke said, making her flinch.

“What… What are you making?” Daphne managed, trying to compose herself. She was shivering, and it couldn’t be just because of the cold.

He wasn’t looking at her now, having turned around to unhook a pan from the wall.

“Chocolate,” he responded shortly. “Want some?”

“Um, yes, please.”

He didn’t respond, bustling about the kitchen and getting things ready. Soon enough, the sweet smell of chocolate filled the air, and Daphne’s stomach rumbled again. She noticed that he hadn’t touched the other package, however.

While the Duke stood at the stove, stirring the bubbling mixture, she inched over to the package, poking it experimentally. It was untied, and she pulled back a linen flap to see the contents.

“Your Grace, what’s in?—”

He turned around and paled. “No, don’t open…”

They both stared down at the contents of the package.

“Marzipan fruits,” she said, surprised. “I didn’t know you had a sweet tooth, Your Grace.”

He flushed, snatching up the package. “Everybody has their weaknesses. Marzipan is delicious, by the way.”

“You’ll get no argument from me. Why eat them in secret, though? My father used to love sugared plums, and he always had a few of them in a little bowl on his desk in his study, so he could eat them whenever he wanted.”

The chocolate was ready. The Duke carefully poured two generous mugfuls. Steam billowed in the cold air.

“I can’t eat as many as I would like in front of Alex,” he responded brusquely.

Daphne waited for a response, and when none was forthcoming, she was obliged to ask a follow-up question.

“And why not?”

He sighed. “Alex loves marzipan too. I don’t mind him eating them, of course, but he’s like me—he doesn’t know when to stop when it comes to sweet things. He fills up on them, and won’t eat his dinner. He eats until he’s ill—the sugar is bad for him, and then I feel so guilty. So, I pretended to stop buying marzipan and let him have a few on special occasions. It feels like a mature, grown-up thing to do, don’t you think?”

She chuckled. “It is mature. I like how you can understand that your son shouldn’t eat too much marzipan, but you don’t apply the same rule to yourself.”

He arched an eyebrow. “That’s one of the benefits of being a duke, I suppose. Here’s your chocolate.”

She reached over, helping herself to a marzipan. “Thanks. I look forward to being a duchess, and having my own personal stash of marzipan, too.”

The Duke winced. “Don’t think badly of me.”

“I won’t.”

He paused, eyeing her. “If we’re to be married, we should probably call each other something other than Miss Belmont and Your Grace .”

Daphne tilted her head. “That’s surprisingly friendly of you. I thought you only behaved like a gentleman to other people.”

He pursed his lips, not meeting her eyes. “You are very vexatious, Madam.”

“I take pride in it. My name is Daphne, as you already know. You can call me that if you like. My sister calls me Daff.”

She took a sip of her chocolate, still hot but rich and sweet and delicious. It was well-made chocolate. Daphne thought wryly of her father, who couldn’t even boil water, let alone cook anything or make chocolate.

“My name is Edward,” the Duke said, after a long pause. “You can call me… Well, just call me Edward, I suppose.”

“You don’t have a nickname? Edward lends itself to so many nicknames. Eddie or Ed, or even Teddy.”

The Duke— Edward —pressed his lips together, and she sensed that she’d said the wrong thing, or perhaps touched a nerve.

“No, I’ve never had a nickname. I’m happy with Edward.”

She cleared her throat. “Edward it is, then. I hope we’ll be friends. There’s no sense in being miserable, is there?”

On impulse, she held out her hand for him to shake. He hesitated, eyeing her hand, and for a moment, she thought he was going to turn his back.

He didn’t. He took her hand, almost abruptly, enclosing it in his larger, rougher one, his long fingers wrapping over her knuckles.

“Agreed,” he answered shortly. “We’ll be friends. If we can. Want another marzipan?”

She smiled. “Yes, please. You know, I never would have thought that a cursed duke would be so—” She broke off, suddenly afraid she’d gone too far.

Edward only smiled wryly. “So… what?”

She flushed. “Human.”

He nodded, saying nothing.

Really, there was nothing to keep them in the kitchen now. Edward had his chocolate and his marzipan. He should have taken his treats and left Daphne to seek out some food of her own. He made no move to leave, though. Staying where he was, his fingers curled around the steaming mug of chocolate, Edward sipped his drink, leaning back against the table.

“I didn’t mean to say that, by the way,” Daphne burst out. “About you being cursed. It’s just a silly thing that the scandal sheet said. I don’t know why I… I don’t know why I said it. It’s stupid.”

Edward eyed her over the rim of his mug. “You don’t believe it, then?” he asked. “That I’m cursed?”

She scoffed. “Believe it? Of course not. People don’t get cursed. It’s all just stories, isn’t it? Stories and bad luck.”

“Then I’ve been unlucky, indeed. You might as well know, Daphne, that the reason I’m said to be cursed is because no woman in my life survives.”

Daphne flinched, horrified. “What? That’s ridiculous!”

He shrugged. “My mother died giving birth to me, and then my wife died giving birth to our son. I’m cursed. It’s well talked about, and many people believe it.”

“That’s just a coincidence. It’s just bad luck. And what about Lady Clarissa? Your stepmother? She’s not dead. You can’t possibly believe this nonsense.”

He smiled wryly. “I didn’t say that I believed it. I said that other people believe it. In this world, that’s all that matters—what people believe.”

“That can’t be true.”

He sipped his chocolate. It must have still been too hot to drink, but he gulped it down as if hurrying to get the drink over with.

“It matters what people believe,” he said. “If enough people believe a thing, it becomes true, more or less. It’s silly, but it’s true. It’s naive to believe otherwise.”

She shook her head. “No. We have to prove them wrong.”

He raised an eyebrow. “We?”

“Well, me, then. I’ll live, and that will prove that this curse is nonsense. There’s no chance of me dying in childbirth, as you made it pretty clear that we wouldn’t be having any children ourselves.”

She watched him carefully as she made that point.

Daphne wasn’t entirely sure what she wanted to see. Regret, perhaps, at having so carelessly told her that they wouldn’t share a bed, not even once? Desire?

No, don’t be stupid . If he did desire you, you wouldn’t have the first idea what to do about it. You’d just stand there, mouth open like a fish, looking silly.

It didn’t matter, because Edward’s face gave nothing away.

“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” he said, at last. “Don’t concern yourself with proving anybody wrong or worrying about my reputation. It’s not yours to worry about.”

“But it will be,” she pressed, leaning forward. “Don’t you see? We’ll be married. I’ll be the Duchess, you’ll be the Duke.”

“Oh, is that how it works? How fascinating.”

“Don’t try and make light of it. Of course, I’ll be concerned with your reputation, and Alex’s, just like you’ll be concerned with mine. Once we’re married,” Daphne continued, warming up to her subject, “we’ll show Society who we really are. Who you really are. We’ll host parties, go to balls, and?—”

Without warning, he dived forward, grabbing her wrist. He didn’t squeeze it but held it firmly enough that she could not pull away.

“ No ,” he said, his voice low and insistent. “Listen to me now, Daphne. I thought I was clear enough before. When we are married, we’ll live our own lives. I agreed to be friends because I don’t want to make your life or mine unpleasant, but this is not a proper marriage. We’ll keep our distance from each other, and go on as we have. This is how it must be. It’s how I want it to be.”

She stared up at him, her heart pounding. His fingers were cool around her wrist, tingles flying up and down her arms. She couldn’t make sense of the way her body seemed to react to the man, not when he was so infuriating most times.

“You’re nice to look at, but you drive me to distraction every time you open your mouth, Edward.”

It took Daphne half a minute to realize, in horror, that she’d said it out loud.

Edward blinked, clearly taken aback. They were entirely too close, his nose only a few inches away from hers.

“Then I’ll close it again, after I’ve finished saying what needs to be said,” he ground out. “Let me be blunt, Daphne. I don’t intend to change my lifestyle, not for you or anyone. I live a quiet life. No parties, no Society. Just a simple life, and my work. That’s all I want. I won’t change that. You can do as you like, and once a few years have gone by, you can move somewhere else if you like. For now, though, do not try to change me. I am who I am, and nobody will make me do anything I don’t wish to do. Not you, not anyone.”

She tilted up her chin. The happiness and laughter had gone out of the room in an instant like air sucked away from a raging fire.

“Not anyone? Not even your own son?”

She’d hit a nerve, then.

Edward flinched back, impulsively releasing her wrist. She backed away, suddenly keen to put distance between them. Anything to calm her racing heart and pounding pulse. Anything to reduce the prickling sensation in her skin, the infuriating tug of desire in her gut.

Why can’t I be attracted to a nice, charming, soft-spoken gentleman? Why does it have to be him?

No answers, of course, were forthcoming. Edward stared at her for a long moment, the air crackling between them.

“I don’t mean to offend you,” he said, at last. “But stay out of my business, Daphne. Especially between me and my son. And I’ll tell you once more that I won’t change my life, not for you. I can’t.”

He can’t? What does that mean?

Daphne held his gaze for a long moment, waiting for him to say something more, but there was nothing. He only stared back at her, a muscle jumping in his jaw.

She broke into a wide, insincere smile. “Very well, Your Grace.”

Before he could react, she swept down into a deep curtsey, spreading out wide, imaginary skirts, hem brushing the gritty kitchen floor. She rose again, turned on her heel, and strode out, leaving her chocolate cooling on the kitchen table behind her.