Page 6 of Road Trip With a Rogue (Her Majesty’s Rebels #3)

They would ruin you.

And it would feel so fucking good.

Daisy opened her eyes and willed the heat in her cheeks to fade as Vaughan—the real one, not the memory—climbed back into the carriage and settled on the seat opposite her.

The sting of his rejection had faded a little over the years, but those particular words had continued to haunt her. She’d lost count of the number of times she’d awoken from a dark dream with them echoing in her head, her body restless and on the verge of release.

She hated that her unhelpful brain sometimes remembered the feel of his hand on her throat not with outrage, but with a hot, shameful pleasure that left her angry and confused.

She understood why he’d done what he had. He’d been trying to scare her into behaving. Protecting her, in his own warped, slightly perverse way. Perhaps the thought that neither he nor her brothers would be there to keep an eye on her while they were all away at war had motivated him.

And he’d been right. She’d been naive to think she could hold her own against a determined male, even one less physically impressive than himself, or with reflexes slowed with excess drink. Back then, she’d had no way of defending herself.

Not like now.

She couldn’t give Vaughan all the credit for her decision to learn how to use her knives, but that night had undoubtedly contributed to her determination to develop her fighting skills.

The carriage jolted forward, and Daisy glanced over at him. “Did you tell someone about the man we left in the woods?”

“I did.”

“Thank you.”

He gave a disgusted sniff, apparently unimpressed by her charity.

“How bad is your coachman’s wound?”

“He’s had worse. Geordie and I were together at Waterloo. He took a bullet to the leg and lost half his teeth when a horse fell on him. This is nothing.”

“Does he need to see a surgeon? He said the shot was still in his arm.”

“Yes. He’ll make his way back to London and find a sawbones as soon as it’s light.”

“Don’t you need him to drive the carriage?”

He shrugged. “Finch can do it. Although I’m sure he’ll moan like the devil while he’s at it.

” His lips twitched, as if the thought of aggravating his friend amused him, and Daisy almost rolled her eyes.

Her brothers were exactly the same, always laughing whenever some minor misfortune befell their companions.

She supposed it was how men showed their love for one another.

“Violet and Peregrine will need to change horses in another ten miles or so, at Hatfield,” she said. “I wouldn’t have thought they’d stop for the night so close to London, but who knows? We might be lucky and discover them there.”

“Perhaps.” Vaughan’s expression indicated his skepticism. “But if it were me, I’d travel all night and try to put as much distance between myself and any possible pursuers.” He sent her a pointed look.

Daisy sniffed. “I’ve been told that neither of them has been overly blessed with brains, so perhaps they won’t think of that.

Besides, traveling at night is stupidly dangerous.

Disregarding the possibility of being waylaid by highwaymen, the chances of having an accident are much higher.

Let’s hope their coachman counsels staying at an inn. ”

They lapsed into silence, and Daisy tried not to fidget.

The last thing she wanted was to converse with Vaughan, but she needed a distraction from listening to his breathing, so close, and the annoyingly delicious scent of his clothes.

Besides, she might never get to talk to him in private again. She might as well seize the chance.

“Devlin was at Waterloo too. He said it was awful.”

Vaughan remained looking out of the window at the darkness. “It was. It’s a miracle any of us got out of there alive.” His lips compressed in a dark line. “And I didn’t emerge completely unscathed.” He raised his gloved left hand. “My hand and forearm were burned when a grenade exploded near me.”

Daisy nodded. She’d heard of his injury, and subsequent slow recovery, from her brothers. She’d even swallowed her pride and sent a sympathy card when he’d first returned to London, but she had no idea if he’d read it. He’d probably thrown it in the fire.

Still, her heart clenched at the thought of the pain he must have suffered. He might be a heartless scoundrel, but she wouldn’t wish such a punishment on anyone.

“Does it still hurt?”

“Not anymore.”

“Are you embarrassed by your scars? Is that why you always wear gloves?”

He gave a soft snort of amusement. “I’m not embarrassed. I don’t care what people think. But they’re unsightly. Wearing gloves spares me the looks of revulsion or pity from ladies with delicate constitutions.”

Daisy almost dared him to show her; to say that she wasn’t one to faint at the sight of a scar, or blood, but she held her tongue. She didn’t need to impress him.

She cast around for another subject, but to her surprise, Vaughan turned to look at her and spoke again.

“Devlin. David. Dominic. Dorothea. What was your parents’ fascination with names beginning with D ?”

Her lips tugged upward. “I’ve no idea. But I wish they’d chosen something better for me. Damaris. Delilah, even. I hate Dorothea. I prefer Daisy.”

He shook his head. “Ah, but the daisy is a common flower, and there’s nothing common about you. You’re the daughter of a duke.”

She gave a bitter snort. “I’m no more a duke’s daughter than you are, and the whole of society knows it.

My brothers might have Dalkeith’s blood, but my real father was Lorenzo Mancini, the Italian fencing master.

My mother ran off with him a year after I was born. They live in Italy. Near Florence.”

He tilted his head. “The duke’s always acknowledged you as his, so you’re legitimate in the eyes of the ton . You have all the wealth and privilege of the position.”

“True. I can’t complain. Better the secretly illegitimate daughter of a duke than the legitimate daughter of a pauper.”

“Do you resent your mother for abandoning you?”

She frowned, surprised by the intimacy of the question. She’d barely discussed such things with Tess and Ellie, her best friends in the world. But Vaughan’s bluntness was oddly refreshing. It was preferable to the whispers and sly innuendoes she’d endured from other members of the ton .

“I don’t blame her at all. I understand why she made the decision.”

“Was your father cruel to her? Is he cruel to you?” A dangerous edge had entered his tone.

She turned and stared sightlessly at the dark hedgerows flashing by.

“He wasn’t violent or manipulative, if that’s what you mean.

But he didn’t see my mother as anything more than a means for breeding heirs.

His cruelty was in his neglect. He ignored her most of the time, and treated her as a brainless fool for the rest.”

“You’ve just described half the marriages in the ton .” His tone was deeply cynical.

“Yes, well, after providing him with three boys and putting up with him flaunting a succession of ever-younger mistresses under her nose, I can appreciate why she decided she wanted a little pleasure too. All the luxury in the world can’t make up for being unhappy.

She found someone who cared for her deeply. She deserved a chance at love.”

“All the more surprising, then, that you’re pursuing these two runaways with such fervor. Don’t they ‘deserve a chance at love’ too?”

Daisy glanced back at him. “My mother was thirty when she left my father. Violet’s barely eighteen, and Peregrine’s only a year older.” She narrowed her eyes. “People make foolish, rash decisions at eighteen that they’d never make at twenty-three.”

His gaze met hers and she wondered if he’d catch the barbed allusion to her own embarrassing mistake. If he did, he didn’t mention it.

She shrugged. “I’m proud of my mother for refusing to accept the path society laid out for her. It can’t have been an easy decision.”

His expression was impossible to define. “But you were an innocent casualty. She left you with the duke, to be brought up by nannies and governesses.”

To be brought up without love. His inference was clear. Daisy shook her head, silently refuting the accusation. Dalkeith might have been incapable of showing affection, but she’d had a surprisingly happy childhood. Especially once she met Tess and Ellie.

“She left me in the best position she could to ensure my future prospects. I would have had far fewer opportunities in Italy. Here in England, I’m part of the ton . Plus, I have my brothers, whom I love—despite the glaring flaws in their personalities.” She smiled, then sobered again.

“My father spends most of his time at Hollyfield, and I’m thankful for his disinterest. It’s given me the freedom to work at King and Company where I can do something rewarding, instead of just flitting about, trying to snare a husband.”

Vaughan’s lips twitched, as if she’d amused him. “You don’t want a husband?”

“Not if it means giving up what I love. I’ve yet to find a man who would approve of what I do.”

“If tonight’s an example of ‘what you do,’ then I’m not surprised. No man worth his salt would accept their woman putting herself in harm’s way, no matter how worthy the cause.”

Daisy stiffened. “Precisely my point. I refuse to become a chattel, forbidden to do anything but look pretty and arrange flowers, so I’ll remain unwed.”

“I’d be surprised if your father hasn’t received a dozen offers for your hand, no matter how little interest you’ve shown. There are scores of men out there who’d want the daughter of a duke—despite the glaring flaws in her personality.”

His lips twitched again, but she valiantly ignored the taunt.

“Thankfully, he doesn’t need to marry me off to improve the family finances, nor is he interested in making any political alliances.

And unlike my brothers, I earn my own money.

As long as I keep a low profile, he’s content to leave me to my own devices. ”

Thank God, Daisy added silently. Ever since her come-out she’d lived in dread of her father accepting an offer on her behalf and simply ordering her to marry, without consulting her at all, as Tess’s father had once done to her.

Her worry had increased every year she’d remained unwed, only tempered by the belief that the older she got, the more firmly she’d be seen as “on the shelf.”

To further deter any potential suitors, she’d tried to cultivate a reputation for being stubbornly independent without doing anything so outrageous that she became the subject of gossip—thereby reminding her father of her existence.

“I doubt the duke will consider shooting a man and haring around the countryside dressed in male clothing as ‘keeping a low profile.’”

Vaughan’s silky drawl jolted her back from her reverie and Daisy scowled.

“Only if he finds out. Which is not going to happen.”

Her tone dared him to contradict her.

He did not.

She nodded. “Right.”

They lapsed into silence again until she bit back a jaw-cracking yawn. “What time is it?”

He checked his pocket watch. “Almost three. Why don’t you sleep?”

She sent him a scornful look. “Here? With you? Ha! Besides, we’ll be at Hatfield soon.”

He seemed unoffended by her disdain, and merely settled more snugly into his seat.

“Feel free to close your eyes, though,” she added sweetly. “I promise not to stab you while you sleep.”

His muffled snort was her only reply.