Page 29

“I thought the ones I chose fetching. Have I lost my knack for the latest fashion?” He propped his body on his elbow and the side of his head in his hand, cocking an eyebrow. This prompted her to plant yet another kiss on his enchanting lips.

“The gowns are stunning,” she assured him. Her fingers trailed the firm length of a prominent vein on Albie’s arm. “They have but one flaw.”

“The colors? Did I lean too hard on the golden hue? I confess I find it beautiful on you. Irresistible, truth be told.”

He ran his fingers, claws retracted, down the outside of her thigh, a touch light as a feather, which must have taken great restraint given his strength. Yet the teasing sensation was already awakening her desire.

“I love each of them. But the issue is their style, you see. They are not Orcan.”

He pressed his hands down before releasing her and sitting upright. “Orcan? When you have the finest English seamstresses at your disposal? What brought this on?”

“Have I made a secret of my admiration for your homeland? I want to embrace my position as a Lady of the Hidden Realm. Here in London. You see, there is something I’ve yet to share.”

She lowered her gaze, threading the tassel through her fingers once more. She hadn’t intended to keep this particular piece of information from Albie, but had never quite found the right time to relay it. The longer she waited the more difficult it would become.

Albie touched her chin gently to lift her head back up, eyes shadowed with worry. “Daisy?”

“My sister is in Chamberly.”

He opened his mouth and then closed it again abruptly. “Why? How?”

“Lil is a brave woman. She wants to be a nurse, emulating those courageous women who provided such service during the wars with Napoleon. My sister traveled to Chamberly with the Benevolent Sisters to attend to those who suffer the most under Rostin’s occupation.”

“But it is dangerous, Dais. Your father permitted this recklessness?”

“He did. And for all I admire her intentions, I am at a loss. I failed to talk Lillian out of it. I failed.”

“You did not fail her, Dais,” he said. “I know something of stubborn siblings. But I still maintain your father should never have allowed it.”

“I pray for my sister, but what use are prayers without action? I hate that she put herself in such peril. But then I remember her noble work … and think about what you told me of women in the Hidden Realm … I lack purpose, Albie. It is most distressing. I have never been as selfless as Lil, but surely there is more I can do.”

“That, I understand,” he said softly. “As a second son, finding purpose in life is not easy. But what has this to do with Lord Mandeville’s to-do next week?”

“I knew you would understand. Now, I want everyone to see that you and Duncan needn’t always emulate our ways.

Why should we not take on some of yours?

I must dress the part. Then, we will introduce more Orcan ideas regarding the equality of the sexes.

That is a fine objective, is it not? A fine purpose? ”

This comment coaxed a smile. “I cannot argue with your logic.”

“Let us not argue at all. There are better options.”

A low growl emitted from the back of his throat, and he leaned in for yet another kiss. All practical thoughts fled her mind as they indulged once more in their deep longing for one another.

Daisy nestled in his embrace, his arm protecting her delicate shoulders. Unwilling to disturb her, he gazed at her serene brow and then the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed, hair spilling carelessly around her face. Fierce as a lion and yet, in repose, vulnerable as a lamb.

He could have spent the morning happily watching Daisy sleep but felt suddenly uncomfortable with the thought, imagining how she would react should she wake unexpectedly and catch him staring at her like a man driven mad by lust and love.

Come to think of it, driven mad wasn’t so far from the truth of his current state. Whenever he looked at her, his heart caught in his throat. He would do anything for her. He was lost.

Albion had embraced every aspect of London Society, including the company of ladies raised in similar spheres of influence as Diana, the daughter of a peer.

Once their husbands had passed, Society granted them greater freedoms. In these interactions, Albion was the very picture of discretion.

Understanding the ladies’ wishes, he had never allowed for anything more than a satisfying physical connection.

They did not linger long in bed afterward.

Did not stare deeply into one another’s eyes.

This situation suited the women and Albion alike, for he could devote his full attention to his work in Chamberly.

Until Daisy.

He ran his fingers through her hair, inhaling its entrancing apricot fragrance.

How had her parents ever found the hubris to send her across an ocean on her own?

And now, to allow her sister to face the dangers in Chamberly?

Albion despised their callousness with a passion he could not express to Daisy.

It did no one any good to loathe their flesh and blood.

But he longed to call her father out on a field of honor for his heartlessness.

He needed to control the fury building inside of him for what they had done to Daisy. Had he not curbed his anger with his parents for being discarded at a school he hated?

During that terrible time, he cried himself to sleep under the thin and sterile sheet provided to him, enduring the taunts from boys in neighboring bunks.

How was it possible to live in these crowded barracks yet feel so miserably alone?

Over the course of the first week, Albion penned nightly missives pleading to come home, petitions his parents studiously ignored.

After that, he could never quite make things right with his father. He may have grown out of that awkward stage that provoked his bullies, but the sting of those memories tormented him still.

And then the first Duke of Barrington passed from this earth.

He was determined to have an amicable relationship with his mother, who had, on more than one occasion, apologized for the miseries of his childhood.

Yet that experience had shaped him. He could never ignore a tormentor like the Duke of Rostin.

He gazed at his wife’s lovely face. After a night of such passion, a woman deserved her rest. He kissed the pillow near where Daisy’s hand rested so as not to startle her awake before delicately extracting himself from the bed.

Content with half-dress for the morning, he headed to his set of apartments, running into Mrs. Waverly in the hall, the keys on her chatelaine jangling. He quietly requested the kitchen staff delay the breakfast tray for another hour while Daisy slept.

Then Albion unlocked his study and spent a few minutes staring at the maps on the wall, to assist in planning travel between England and the continent.

In his private sanctuary, his thoughts still returned to Daisy.

Somehow, over the past weeks, Albion had grown jealous of the persona he had created.

The Benevolent Phantom. He liked to think she held him , her wedded husband, in the highest regard.

That devotion and passion fulfilled her far more than any ghost might.

He yearned to bear his soul to her, to share his most intimate secret. He was the Phantom. And it terrified him. Would he be discovered? Worse, would Rostin’s mercenaries capture one of the Langleys while they were within the city’s gates? What comfort he would have found in Daisy’s arm.

Still, he had not told her. Albion couldn’t determine why not.

And he wasn’t clear at all on how to handle that particular situation.

Edward Langley was due to make the next trip.

Could he ask Edward to take on the additional danger of checking on Diana’s sister?

When Lillian Stewart was in Chamberly willingly and thus likely not disposed to leave?

Nor was Jacques, for that matter, but then his family had attracted the Duke of Rostin's ire, and Lillian had not.

Before taking a seat behind his cherrywood desk, Albion's attention wandered to the charcoal sticks and oil paints he kept in a kit on his shelf. He had set up an easel with a blank canvas in one corner of the room, with a basket of cloths he used to protect the floors and walls, ready for when the muse prompted him to paint. On reflection, he couldn’t remember the last time he had started a sketch, let alone a proper painting.

Now, he wanted only to capture the image foremost in his mind. Daisy.

Albion assessed the equipment he had at his disposal and decided on a half-portrait in oil.

He would start with a simple drawing he might then transpose to the canvas.

Eventually, he would present it to his wife as a gift.

Perhaps the distraction would lead him to the right decision when it came to Lillian Stewart and his next mission in Chamberly.

He set to work.