Page 16 of His Runaway Duchess (Regency Wedding Crashers #3)

CHAPTER 16

D aphne stared up at Edward, trying to read his expression.

It was no good, of course. He only looked back down at her, his eyes cold and distant.

“I don’t mind,” Alex answered his father stoutly, turning to look up at Daphne. “Daffie? Do you mind?”

Daphne was briefly curious as to what would happen if she said no . She’d never heard of a bride refusing to dance with her groom on their wedding day, but doubtless, it had occurred before.

“Of course, I’ll dance with him,” she responded, addressing Alex but keeping her eyes on Edward.

She felt as though she couldn’t tear her gaze away from him, as if they were stuck together by magnetism or something silly like that.

“I’m going back for more cake,” Alex decided and skipped away towards the refreshments table.

That left the two of them alone and in greater danger of being knocked into by the other dancers than before.

“We ought to dance, then,” Edward said, extending a hand.

Daphne took it, and she abruptly found herself pulled against him, his hand on her waist and her other hand in his—a waltz position. They twirled around, falling into the circular flow of the other dancers.

The last time Daphne had been this close to him, they’d been neck-deep in cold water and in a rather shocking state of undress. She swallowed hard, trying to keep her mind on other things. It was not entirely working.

“So, what have I done wrong now, then?” she asked, a trifle breathless. She told herself it was only from the speed of the dance.

“Done wrong? Why, do you think that I came over here to scold you?” Edward remarked dryly. “In front of your friends and family, and all of our guests?”

“Well, I don’t know. Did you?”

He smiled tightly. “No. Although there is still time.”

“Ha-ha,” she deadpanned. “So, to what do I owe this honor, then?”

“Honor? It’s our wedding day. I could hardly avoid dancing with you.”

She sighed. “What a compliment, Your Grace . It’s incredible that a charming gentleman such as yourself wasn’t snatched up before now.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw, and Daphne wondered briefly if she’d gone too far. She decided that she didn’t care if she had. The man had made it abundantly clear that he did not care about her, only his reputation.

“It’s clear that you aren’t happy, today,” Edward said abruptly. “My behavior may be to blame. It can’t be changed, but I’m sorry.”

“Can’t be changed, or won’t be changed?”

Edward pursed his lips. “A little of both. A bride should never be unhappy on her wedding day. I remember when Jane and I married, she smiled all day and talked incessantly about it for weeks. She was happy that day. So happy.”

There was a faintly distant expression on his face, tinged with something like regret.

A lump had formed in Daphne’s throat. “I’m sorry.”

He glanced at her. “Sorry? What for?”

She shrugged. “She’s so beautiful and sounds like a wonderful woman. I must be quite the disappointment after her.”

He regarded her for a long moment. “Jane and I were friends,” he said, at last. “There was no romantic love between us. It was a marriage of convenience and practicality, but I was not in love with her, and she was not in love with me. She told me once that she had never been in love, and never cared to be. She found it a troublesome business. We had to produce an heir, of course, but after that…” he trailed off, clearing his throat. “After that, Jane had hinted that she would prefer a cold bed. I respected her choice.”

Daphne felt the color rise to her neck. Had she pushed too much? Ought she to have minded her own business?

Still, this is the most Edward has ever told me about himself.

“She sounds like a decent woman,” Daphne heard herself saying. “It’s a pity she met such a tragic end.”

“Yes, it is,” Edward responded. “But that’s the curse, you see. The Thornbridge curse, attacking the women in my family.”

Daphne frowned, peering up at him, trying to work out whether he was serious or not.

“You don’t believe in curses,” she stated. “And neither do I.”

He shrugged. “You know, when my mother died, it was something of a surprise. She was sturdy and strong, and according to the midwives, the birth had gone remarkably well, for a first baby. They weren’t too concerned. Their focus was on me, as I was smaller and weaker than they had hoped. Mother died quickly in the hours following my birth. My father never recovered.”

Daphne wasn’t entirely sure how to react to this sudden outpouring of feeling. Or was it a real feeling ? Was he not simply stating the facts?

“I’m sorry,” she said. “That must have been difficult.”

“I’m not the only child who lost a parent, and my father is certainly not the only man who lost a beloved wife in childbirth.” His expression tightened, and his gaze was fixed somewhere above the top of Daphne’s head. “There was no reason why we could not have managed it. But we did not, and there’s no changing it now.”

There was a tense silence after that. The music, chatter, and laughter seemed to press in on Daphne’s ears, almost unbearably so. Her bodice was too tight, her head was starting to ache, and yet she still felt the now-familiar tug of desire when she stood too close to Edward. It was baffling and infuriating.

“I decided,” Edward continued, more to himself than anyone, “that Alex would not be treated the same way that I was. It was not his fault that his mother died. If anything, it was mine.”

She swallowed. “I think you’re being a little hard on yourself.”

“I think I’m not hard enough. You have to spin, Daphne.”

A little disconcerted, Daphne allowed herself to be spun in a neat, little circle. The dance resumed. She was getting dizzy. When had all the guests fallen into the same pattern of dancing? She wished she could be back with little Alex again, alone on the dance floor, dancing their own silly, little dance.

“Why won’t you let Alex in the gallery?” she burst out.

Edward sighed. He took so long to respond that she had begun to think she would not get an answer. Then, at last, he spoke.

“For the same reason that I don’t let him eat too much marzipan. At first, I encouraged Alex to go into the gallery and look at Jane’s picture. I wanted him to know about her, to talk about her. I didn’t want her to be forgotten, least of all by her own son. But Alex became… well, a little obsessed. He spent hours in there, looking up at her. He asked constant questions about her, about how she had died, and I soon realized that he fully blamed himself for it. He would say as much—that it was his fault, that if he’d never been born, she wouldn’t have died—and it was entirely too much to hear from a young boy. No child should be held responsible for their parent’s death in that way.”

He added the last part quietly, almost in a whisper.

Daphne’s heart contracted in sadness, and then in horror as she realized that she felt sad for him.

“I’m sorry,” she said, meaning it. “I didn’t mean to break your rule about him being let into the gallery.”

He shook his head. “It’s done. It hardly matters.”

The music was speeding up, drawing to a triumphant climax. Soon, the dance would be over, the dancers would laugh and clap and bow to each other, and then step off the dance floor.

Daphne knew, somehow, that she and Edward would be among them.

“You’re a good dancer,” she heard herself saying. “It’s a pleasant surprise.”

She was rewarded with a wry smile. “Thank you.”

“As to these rules of yours, I wanted to talk to you about it all.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Oh? I would hurry up if I were you. The dance is almost over.”

There could be other dances, she felt like saying. We could dance together for the next set, and the next, and the next, if we wished.

But you don’t wish, do you, Edward? This will be our first dance, and also our last.

I can’t make you out at all. Do you want me, or do you not? Do you even know yourself?

“I can’t live a life dictated by rules and distance,” she said. “I would like us to renegotiate.”

He frowned. “Renegotiate? We’re barely married. You might prefer the rules. It’s good to set boundaries in a marriage, is it not?”

She shook her head. “I can’t live a life alone. I won’t.”

The music ended with a flourish, making her jump. The dance seemed to grind to a halt, and Daphne could barely contain her irritation.

All around them, partners were stepping away from each other, laughing and smiling.

Edward did not let go of her. His arm was still around her waist, his chest still pressed against hers. His fingers tightened around her smaller hand, and she felt tingles rush up her arm, prickles of desire tracing a path up and down her spine.

It was not convenient, but of course, there was nothing to do about it.

“You want my company, then, Duchess?” Edward murmured, staring down into her eyes with an expression she could not interpret. “How very interesting.”

She felt herself turning red, the flush creeping up her neck and staining her cheeks.

Part of Daphne wanted to be defiant, to pull herself free from his grasp and loudly inform him that she did not and would not ever want his wretched company. It would feel good in the moment, despite the forthcoming embarrassment.

She did not, though, even though his grip on her waist and her hand was not tight enough to prevent her from pulling away.

“I…” she managed, but no proper words came out.

Edward only smiled and released her. Stepping away, he executed a neat bow at the waist and abruptly turned and strode off into the crowd.

Daphne brushed out her hair, then plaited it. After a moment, she unplaited it and brushed it loose again. Perhaps it would look better that way.

It did not look better—she looked a little too messy now—and with a growl of annoyance, she began to plait it again.

Downstairs, everything was quiet. The last guests had left, and she had watched the carriage trundle down the drive. It had been close to an hour since she had retired to bed, slipping away to avoid the meaningful smiles and raised eyebrows that her guests would surely throw her way.

Edward had all but disappeared since their dance. She had seen him, occasionally, moving here and there, speaking to his son, speaking to Mrs. Trench, speaking to a few select family friends. Polite and pleasant, he was everywhere and nowhere and seemed adept at avoiding most of the guests.

And his bride, it seemed.

Daphne did not remember the name of the maid who’d helped her out of her wedding gown and into her night dress. She thought she should try and remember, as it was that woman who was likely going to wait on her from now on. The girl had chattered, seeming friendly enough, but Daphne had found herself staring despondently into the mirror and saying nothing as she was unlaced out of her many layers of clothing.

I thought Edward would be the one to do this.

She knew, of course, that it was silly to pin her hopes on him like that. Edward had shown no inclination to join her for the night. In fact, his conversation about rules and boundaries in a marriage suggested quite the opposite.

However, his last words to her still sent prickles down her spine. His voice had been so low and hungry when he spoke, intense enough to make her knees feel like jelly.

“You want my company, then, Duchess? How very interesting.”

She shivered at the memory, placing the end of her freshly plaited hair in her mouth and biting down. What had he meant by that? Was it possible that he meant that he intended their marriage to be a little more traditional?

He must visit me tonight. After all, for the marriage to be legally binding, it must be consummated, mustn’t it? The history books talked about that a good deal, as well as some of the more risky novels.

Why would he not come to me? He did desire me, I was sure of it.

Or was she? Daphne reluctantly admitted, to herself at least, that she did not know the ways of men very well. She did not understand how attraction between men and women came about.

For example, Anna and Theodore. Daphne liked her brother-in-law well enough but did not understand how Anna adored him. He was handsome, yes, but also infuriating and rather hot-tempered.

But then so is my sister.

Oh, bother. What does any of this have to do with Anna, or Theo, or men in general? Edward must be coming to visit me tonight if only to say goodnight.

She got up and crossed to the door, carrying a candle with her. In the hope of creating a romantic atmosphere, Daphne had blown out all the candles except one, and of course the fire. It was rather a mistake because now her room was entirely too dark, and long, ominous shadows flickered across the floor. It was cold, too, and drafts whistled about her bare feet and ankles.

If it had been a scene from one of her favorite novels, she would have opened the door to find Edward outside, his fist raised to knock. After a moment’s shy amusement, they would have fallen into each other’s arms and, from there, into bed.

But her life was not a novel, and Edward was not there, and Daphne found herself glumly staring at the empty hallway beyond. The candle guttered in a sudden breeze. She poked her head out into the corridor, looking this way and that. Nothing. Nobody.

A surge of annoyance rushed through her.

Well, I am not a swooning heroine.

She angrily stamped back into her room and swung a robe around her shoulders.

I am not going to die of love on a moor or waste away for no discernable reason at all. I’m a Belmont, and that means trouble.

Trouble for everybody else, of course.

Shoving her feet into a pair of thin slippers—they didn’t do much to ward off the chill coming up from the floor, but they were better than nothing—Daphne snatched up the candle again and stormed out into the corridor.

She probably made a great deal of noise as she stamped along, but nobody came to shout at her for waking them up. Her room was in the west wing of the house, and she was fairly sure that Edward’s was in the east wing. The gentlemen’s rooms, they called it. When she crossed the landing into the other wing, she slowed, keeping an eye out for lights under the doors.

Thankfully, each spare room was labeled with a discreet brass plaque on the door. Her rooms, she knew, were the Duchess’s Rooms, always set aside for the first lady of the house. Therefore, she knew which room she was looking for now.

The Duke’s Rooms were set at the very end of a corridor, facing towards her. There was a thin beam of light creeping out from under the door. Swallowing back a flutter of nerves, Daphne banged on the door before she could let herself lose her nerve.

A few tense seconds followed. There was shuffling on the other side. Her heart pounded in her ears. Was that normal? She was sure it could not be.

A lock clicked, and the door opened.

And there he was.

Edward stared down at his bride, looking faintly confused. He wasn’t yet dressed for bed, still wearing a pair of tight breeches, a loose white shirt, and his unbuttoned waistcoat, which hung loosely around him. His hair was disheveled as if he’d been running his fingers through it repeatedly.

“Daphne,” he burst out, his eyes wide. She had the satisfaction of knowing that, for one, she’d surprised him. “What are you doing here?”

“We have to talk,” Daphne responded, shouldering him aside and stepping inside, without waiting for an invitation. “Close the door, won’t you, dear?”