Page 2

Chapter Two

Elsa’s mind had not been her own since Magnus summoned her to his study and told her she was marrying Daniel Dalton. Although she was still mourning her father, she had gripped the arms of the chair, barely able to hide her elation.

I thought I had to marry Lord Denby.

I need you to marry a man I can trust. Can you do that, Elsa?

Of course. I’ll do what is necessary.

She had fought hard not to grin and drop to her knees beside her brother, grab his hand like a papal servant and rain a hundred kisses on his seal ring.

It won’t be too much of a hardship?

No. Mr Dalton has always been kind and courteous.

Except for the time he cupped her nape beneath the oak tree and would have kissed her wildly had they not been interrupted .

Now, as they hid behind a similar tree, their bodies so close she was scared to breathe because every touch played havoc with her insides, she was still imagining the taste of his lips, and ignoring whatever ridiculous thing he had just said.

Their breath mingled in the cool night air.

His cedarwood cologne teased her nostrils. He had always smelled different from other men. The warm essence of wood carried a smoky undertone, a forbidden aroma so dark and dangerous it made her pulse quicken.

Only when he released her and stepped back did his harsh words take root in her mind.

“I see you’re not shocked by my accusation.” He looked at her like she was the deceiver, like she had made false promises and lied. But before she could answer, he abruptly changed the subject. “Enough of this. We’re leaving. You’ll take me to Clara. God knows you’ve made things worse by coming here.”

“What could be worse than marrying a man who abandoned me on my wedding night?” Or discovering her brother was just as indifferent? “Or the husband who deserted me, hurling pathetic accusations so he looks like the injured party?”

He brushed her comments aside.

He really didn’t care, did he?

She felt the choke of tears forming again but kept them at bay. In the brief silence, clarity struck, the suspicion that he’d revealed something unintentional and was eager to cover his tracks.

“What did you say about Mr Carver?” She would force him to repeat it because she was sure she had misheard.

“Nothing,” he bit back .

So this did have something to do with Magnus’ man of business.

Had Daniel heard rumours? Was jealousy the cause of his lengthy absence? Did he know the handsome Mr Carver had asked her to elope?

“If you have nothing to say, I’ll return to the ballroom.” She clutched her silk skirts, rounded the tree, and hurried across the manicured lawn towards the lit terrace.

Daniel caught her before she reached the steps, though they had gained the attention of numerous guests, including their hostess.

While the Countess of Berridge stood watching from the terrace, Daniel did the unthinkable. “If you won’t come willingly, Elsa, you leave me no choice but to carry you.”

One minute they stood glaring at each other like disgruntled duellists. The next, he hauled her over his broad shoulder, wrapped his arms around her kicking legs and marched across the lawn towards the servants’ door.

“Put me down, you beast,” she cried, hoping the countess would intervene, but Daniel stormed through the basement corridor, past two stunned footmen, and neither dared to stop him. “You’re ruining my gown.” She thumped his back with clenched fists.

“You won’t need it in Henley.” He firmed his grip, his hands an inch from her bottom, his cheek squashed against the mound of fabric and her right buttock.

“I’m not going back to Henley.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not.”

“We’re collecting Clara, and I’m taking you home.” He left the house through the kitchen door and mounted the stone steps to the street. “I know you’re angry. But you must understand, everything I do is in your best interests.”

“Is that what you tell yourself to ease your conscience?”

They passed a man standing outside the Berridge residence, smoking a cheroot. “Looks like you have your hands full tonight, Dalton.”

Daniel sneered. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

Another man darted in front of them, stopping Daniel dead in his tracks. “Put the lady down, Dalton. You’re upsetting my wife. You will return to my study and deal with the matter there.”

Defying gravity, Elsa raised her head to meet solid thighs, a broad chest and the Earl of Berridge’s granite glare.

“We’re leaving,” Daniel snarled, moving to side-step the lord. “I’ll decide what’s best for my wife.”

The earl blocked his path. “I advise you to reconsider your position and return to the house where we might deal with this privately.”

“We? What happens here is not your concern.”

The earl firmed his jaw. “My wife seeks reassurance, and I’ll be damned if I’ll deny her anything.”

“I hate to disappoint either of you,” Daniel countered. “No one tells me what to do, especially when it concerns my marriage.”

It appeared they had reached a stalemate.

But then another gentleman joined the fray. A man Elsa had seen at Daniel’s family home in Chippenham a few times in the past.

“Is there a problem here?” the Marquess of Rothley said in a smooth voice that failed to mask an unspoken warning.

“You know what the problem is,” the earl countered. “My wife has an obligation to protect her ladies. Miss Tyler?— ”

“Mrs Dalton,” Daniel corrected.

The earl sighed. “Mrs Dalton has been forced to leave against her will. I’ll not stand idly by while a woman is kidnapped from my garden.”

“Fine!” Daniel released her, lowering her gently to the ground and straightening her gown. “Elsa, please reassure the earl so he can ease the countess’ fears.”

She glanced at Daniel, the husband she had longed for in her dreams, the man she had imagined fathering her children. “There is no need for concern, my lord. My welfare is uppermost in my husband’s mind. We’re merely playing a cat-and-mouse game.”

This was by no means a game.

Daniel always took control.

It may be time to rewrite the rules.

The earl eyed them suspiciously. “Can I inform my wife you will see her at The Burnished Jade tomorrow, Mrs Dalton? I believe you’re to attend a watercolour class with Monsieur Delaunay.”

Elsa nodded, though there was every chance she would be in Henley-on-Thames come dawn. “Please tell the countess not to worry. I shall send word if I’m unable to attend.”

Mildly appeased, the earl marched back to the house.

The marquess stepped into the road and hailed Daniel’s coachman, who was parked at the end of the street. He turned to Elsa and inclined his head respectfully. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mrs Dalton. I believe we met at Thorncroft some years ago. You lived on the neighbouring estate.”

Elsa managed a smile. “Yes, I came charging into the stables on Zephyr and almost ran you down. Daniel let me ride the stallion whenever his father was away on business.”

Amusement lit the marquess’ eyes. “You’d lost your hat and had twigs and leaves in your hair, mud on your cheeks and riding habit.”

Daniel’s scowl softened. “Elsa rides like she’s chasing the wind.”

The hint of admiration in his tone soothed her temper. “That was some years ago. And the last time he invited me to ride his Arabian stallion.”

“I feared only one of you would return home next time.”

An awkward pause ensued.

Doubtless his refusal to let her ride the horse again was related to Clara’s accident. It also explained why Clara left Thorncroft without saying a word and went to live at The Grange in Henley.

Jarvis drew the carriage to a slow stop beside them. Recognising Elsa, the rugged fellow tipped his hat. “Evening, Mrs Dalton.”

“Good evening, Jarvis.”

She had not seen the coachman since her wedding day.

An unwelcome memory slipped into her mind. An embarrassing encounter where she had tried to encourage Daniel to kiss her during the journey from Chippenham to Henley.

He had closed his eyes, ignoring her while taking a nap. Yet when he’d repeated his marriage vows hours earlier, she had glimpsed a flicker of tenderness beneath his guarded gaze.

The marquess drew her from her reverie to convey his felicitations. “I wish I had witnessed the ceremony firsthand instead of hearing about it with the other unsuspecting fools in the ballroom.”

“It must have come as quite a shock, my lord.”

The marquess glanced at Daniel through dark, knowing eyes. “I’m disappointed Dalton didn’t tell me, but I’m not surprised he married you. Even so, he owes his closest friends an explanation.”

She longed to bombard him with questions. Why wasn’t he surprised? Had Daniel spoken about her? She couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d been forced into this marriage—but was it true?

“Not now, Rothley.” Daniel opened the carriage door, said a swift goodbye to the marquess and ushered her inside. “Drive, Jarvis. I don’t care where. I’ll give you directions once I have them.”

Elsa straightened her skirts so as not to look at Daniel when he slammed the carriage door shut and fell into the seat opposite. She braced herself for another argument, but he took a plaid blanket from the box beneath his seat and draped it over her lap.

“It’s cold tonight.”

The kind gesture only added to her mental torment. “I’ve spent the winter at The Grange. The cold seeps through the walls and creeps through gaps in the doors. We were snowed in for a week at Christmas.”

Still, she had kept her nose pressed to the window, convinced he would visit his family for the holidays.

A muscle in his cheek twitched. Perhaps he’d heard her boiling contempt because he said, “I don’t want to fight with you, Elsa.”

“No, you want me to obey your commands.”

He relaxed back in the seat, his legs spread wide, the fabric of his trousers clinging to his muscular thighs. Daniel Dalton was the epitome of confident masculinity. Everything from his easy sprawl to his air of quiet dominance confirmed it.

“I need you to obey me. ”

“I need you to take my virtue to save me from dying a spinster, but as you know, we’re often denied our greatest wishes.”

“You won’t die a spinster. You’re married.”

“Die a virgin, then.”

The flippant comment was meant to rouse a reaction. With a discerning eye, she studied his face, hoping to glimpse the fondness they used to share. But her blood ran cold.

Anguish clouded his eyes, a warning the problem between them would never be resolved. He didn’t want to kiss her wildly beneath an oak tree or make passionate love on a blanket in a meadow.

‘Out of sight, out of mind’ was Daniel Dalton’s new motto.

“I’m your wife, not your prisoner. I’ve rented a house in town on a short-term lease. Clara and I have made friends at The Burnished Jade and have no intention of returning to Henley-on-Thames.”

He leaned forward and calmly said, “It’s not safe for you here. It’s not safe for Clara. You once asked me to trust your judgement, and I let you ride Zephyr. I’m asking you to trust my judgement now.”

How could she trust him when an invisible gulf stretched between them? It was too late to build bridges. The damage was done when he left without an explanation.

She had wanted to spend her life pleasing him and believed he was different from other men. Now, she was stronger and wiser and had to make a stand.

“You have no reason to distrust me, Daniel, but I’ll never trust you again. Our marriage was over before it began. Now our friendship hangs by a flimsy thread.” The chill of loneliness swept through her, the visible shiver impossible to disguise. “Were you drunk when you agreed to marry me? I wish you’d warned me of your indifference. Eloping with Mr Carver may have suited me better.”

She expected a disparaging remark about Mr Carver.

But he shrugged out of his coat and draped it awkwardly around her shoulders to avoid touching her. The garment smelled of him. Heat from his body enveloped her like a warm winter blanket. It was the closest she would come to an embrace.

Only when he sat back and took a fortifying breath did he seek to clarify a point. “Carver asked you to elope?”

“Yes.” The man’s fumbled proposal had caught her off-guard. “He said Lord Denby was cold and callous and suggested he could save me from a life of abject misery.” Perhaps that’s why Magnus disobeyed their father’s written command and asked her to marry Daniel Dalton.

I thought I had to marry Lord Denby.

I need you to marry a man I can trust.

Did Magnus know about the sorry state of affairs?

Did he know his faith in their neighbour was misplaced?

“Did you have feelings for Carver?”

Oh, how could he be so blind?

“Of course not. He is kind and handsome and would make a fine husband.” She hoped the remark pricked his temper. “But Magnus told me to marry you. I never got a chance to refuse Mr Carver because he left for London on business for a month.”

Had Mr Carver resigned because she had married Daniel? It was unlikely. Mr Carver knew she held no affection for him.

“And now you wish you’d packed a valise and taken the stage to Gretna Green. The idea must satisfy a romantic fantasy.”

“You sound jealous.”

“Concerned, perhaps.”

The desperate look in his eyes said he was suspicious of Mr Carver. Did that account for his sudden change towards her? The playful rogue had been superseded by a cold-hearted beast.

“Nothing happened between Mr Carver and me.”

Did Daniel think they’d kissed or made love? It would explain why he hadn’t consummated their union and abandoned her for six months. Good Lord! Did he fear she might be carrying Mr Carver’s child? Was he waiting until nine months had passed, just to be certain?

“I swear to you,” she pressed, a little panicked, “I have shared nothing more than pleasantries with him.” She waited for Daniel to nod and acknowledge her oath, but it was obvious he wasn’t sure whether to believe her. “How could you think I would do such a thing?”

“I know you wouldn’t entertain Carver intentionally.”

The comment hit hard.

He did think they had been intimate.

“Believe me,” she cried, her heart bouncing in time with the carriage wheels, each jolt sending a fresh wave of panic shooting through her. “I would not have married you under false pretences. Magnus insisted we marry because he trusts you, not because he wanted to conceal a transgression.”

Tears of frustration burst through her defences like water finding cracks in a dam.

Daniel leant forward, taking the handkerchief from the coat draped around her shoulders and offering it to her. “Whatever happened between you and Carver was not your fault.” Their fingers brushed briefly, but he didn’t hold her hand or give it a reassuring squeeze.

“Nothing happened! Mr Carver is?—”

“Dead, Elsa. Carver is dead.”

She blinked rapidly, moisture clinging to her lashes. “Dead?” The word hung between them, heavy with the weight of finality. “How? When? You said he’d resigned.” She paused, the truth obvious now. “You lied. You’ve been lying for months. What is this all about? And don’t insult me by saying ‘nothing’.”

Had Magnus killed Mr Carver?

Is that why he fled to Geneva?

She plastered her hand to her mouth, nausea roiling in her stomach, the truth as clear as day. Magnus was never coming home. Daniel would never be a doting husband. She would spend the rest of her life alone and unloved.

Daniel sat, lips as tight as a miser’s purse strings.

“Well? What do you have to say?”

“I’m sorry I lied. I had no choice.”

And that was it.

No explanation for his odd behaviour.

No promises of better days ahead.

She looked at the man she once knew, now a stranger, the weight of distrust hanging heavily between them. She had grieved the loss of both her parents, but nothing had ever cut this deeply.

“Speaking as the wife you never wanted, I beg you to release me from this wretched nightmare.” She shrugged off his coat and tossed the blanket aside. “Write to Magnus. Let him know I’m coming to Geneva.”

“You can’t go to Geneva,” he said firmly, though his eyes betrayed a hint of regret. “You must return to Henley. There’s no room for negotiation.”

She wanted to lunge forward and shake the truth from him. Instead, she looked out the window, gathering her strength as the carriage neared Park Lane. Hyde Park loomed before her, a bleak reflection of her uncertain future.

“Have Jarvis take us to Moore Place, Bishopsgate. Clara is expecting us.” There was no such street, but she had to distract her husband. “We can discuss our return to Henley there. Clara surely has a say in this, too.”

Daniel raised the speaking flap and relayed the instructions. When Jarvis questioned him, Daniel looked at her. “Moore Place?”

“Yes. The house is a ten-minute walk from The Burnished Jade. I met the countess in Pickins coffeehouse.” That much was true.

She had paid a boy to follow Daniel and knew he attended the odd soiree at The Jade. Making friends with the countess was easy; she had a kind smile, a warm heart and a talent for building a lady’s confidence.

Again, he relayed the information.

Jarvis stopped the carriage on the corner of Park Lane. “I know all the streets in Bishopsgate, sir. I ain’t never heard of Moore Place.”

“It’s north of the old Bethlem Hospital site,” she called.

Jarvis was still no clearer. “Do you mean Shoreditch?”

Elsa pretended she couldn’t hear. She pulled down the window and called up to him. “It’s not far from the Rose and Crown.” She mentioned a church and deliberately got the name wrong, then kept saying, “I beg your pardon,” whenever Jarvis made a suggestion.

“Then it’s near Finsbury Square, ma’am? ”

She opened the door and leant out. “Near where?”

She was gone in a flash, picking up her skirts and racing through the Cumberland Gate into Hyde Park. Running was in her blood, a gift from her Danish ancestors who charged through forests and fields into battle. Her only hope of escaping Daniel was to head for the trees and pray the darkness consumed her.

Hiding behind the trunk of a horse chestnut tree, she pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle her ragged breaths.

“Elsa?” The thud of footsteps on the grass sent her pulse soaring. “Elsa! This is madness. Show yourself.” He released a string of expletives. “The park is a hive for footpads. You’ll get us both killed.”

She edged right as he drew nearer, flattening herself against the trunk, hoping the shadows concealed her.

“Elsa,” came his whispered growl.

He was close now.

She had to keep quiet.

“I would know your perfume anywhere,” he said, a mix of sadness and longing in his voice. “You smell sweet, like violets. I’ve spent many nights alone in a fireside chair, stroking the flower’s velvet petals, wondering if your skin is as soft.”

This man knew how to hurt her.

He fed her dreams, then snatched them away.

“I know you’re close,” he uttered in the husky tone she loved. “Your scent is carried on the gentle breeze, just like that day I found you hiding behind the oak tree … and we almost kissed.”

She screwed her eyes tight. Stop! Please stop!

“I remember your lips parting, eager to welcome me inside. Is that what you want, Elsa? My mouth on yours? Is that the price for persuading you to obey me?”

Did he think she could be bought so easily?

He was a fool to think a kiss could negate his betrayal. The desperate need to feel the pressure of his lips died when he left her alone, trying to master her wedding night nerves.

I don’t want you anymore , she longed to say.

But she kept her lips pursed.

The sudden snap of a twig suggested he was directly behind the tree. Should she move left or right? Either way, he would catch her, but she was determined to challenge her fate.

With trembling fingers, she gathered her skirts and darted across the grass. Every step mattered. Each one was an act of defiance.

“Elsa!” came Daniel’s breathless shout. “Wait!”

Her heart pounded in her ears, echoing like the thud of his strides across the greensward. She made the mistake of glancing behind just as he reached for her arm.

Panicked, she lost her footing.

Daniel grabbed her waist and they both tumbled, landing hard on the damp grass. They rolled together, a tangle of limbs, the world spinning around them.

The second they stopped, he scrambled on top of her, grabbing her hands and pinning them above her head, determined to keep her his prisoner. “Cursed saints! Can’t you see I’m trying to help you?”

His warm breath breezed over her cheek.

His hard body pressed her into the cold earth.

It was the most exquisite form of torture.

“Get off me, Daniel.” Though she clenched her teeth, her traitorous legs had a mind of their own, parting slightly to cushion his weight. “I’m no longer yours to own. I will never agree to your demands.”

Frustration tightened his jaw, but the rakish lock of ebony hair hanging over his brow stole her attention. “You have no choice.”

Heavens! The devil had never looked so handsome.

Don’t succumb to him , her logical mind whispered.

With a sudden burst of strength, she struggled beneath him. “I insist you let me go. You haven’t bothered with me for months. Why bother now?”

“Merciful Lord. Stop wriggling.” He sounded pained. “You’re making this harder than it needs to be.”

Good!

“I’ll never stop running. I’ll never stop looking for a way to leave you,” she threatened in a bid to reclaim her power. “I’m not going back to Henley. I’ll be in Geneva before you receive word I’m gone.”

“Damn the devil, Elsa. You must return to Henley. You don’t understand the dangers you face here in town.”

She raised her chin and hit him with a wilful glare. “What dangers? Why should I listen to you when you tell me nothing? Perhaps if you stopped keeping secrets, I might begin?—”

“It’s one secret,” he blurted. “One secret so wicked it will destroy you. Your life will never be the same if I tell you. Just trust me to?—”

“What secret?” she pressed. “I have a right to know.”

“Knowing won’t change any?—”

“Tell me, Daniel!”

“There’s a chance you killed Carver.”