Page 21 of The Prince’s Wallflower Wife (The Wallflower Academy #4)

Daphne Smith. On paper, she was not very much. In reality, she was everything.

‘I don’t suppose you would want to play a game you can actually win?’ his wife said, jolting Christoph from his thoughts as Percy started to deal out the next hand.

There was no suggestive tone in her voice.

Christoph had to give her that; there was innocence in her question, perhaps pity too.

She wanted him to feel as though he could enjoy the card party the Duke and Duchess of Camrose were hosting.

The trouble was, the only answers he could think of were highly suggestive.

I know a game we could play…in the bedchamber.

My favourite game is one in which we both win.

How about I make you win again and again and again…?

Christoph managed to swallow all the answers that rose to the top of his mind. There was flirting with one’s wife, something he had never considered possible in the first place, and then there was shooting lewd suggestions at one’s wife at a card table at which others were seated.

Daphne’s eyes sparkled. ‘Now who is keeping inside thoughts?’

Almost choking, Christoph tried to grin through the tears in his eyes as he thumped his chest. ‘Wh-what?’

She could not have said that. He must have dreamt it—he must have done.

When he finally caught his breath, Daphne had risen from her seat. ‘I… I feel in need of movement. The game is enjoyable, but I think I would rather be on my feet. Christoph, will you—I mean, would you like to—take a turn around the room with me?’

It was, perhaps, the longest speech that she had made since entering the Camrose residence.

Christoph’s legs acted on instinct, forcing him suddenly upwards, his chair falling to the ground beside him. He ignored both the fallen furniture and the murmurs that rippled around the room at such a thing. ‘Yes—yes. Yes. Yes, good idea.’

Studiously avoiding Sylvia’s expression, which was far too knowing, Christoph walked round the card table and proffered his arm. Daphne took it. The gentle weight of her hand on his arm felt like a seal, a promise…

No, he had to stop this.

Christoph tried to keep his head level as they slowly started to walk around the edge of the large room that the Camroses had opened up by removing the double doors dividing the drawing room and dining room.

It had created a great space in which to play cards, and allowed he and his wife a long circular route.

Okay. All he had to do was return to the plan, Christoph tried to tell himself. This was an arranged marriage. Nothing more. Finding emotions here was not the plan. Falling in love? Absolutely not.

Miss Smith, I would like to make it very clear that this marriage is one of convenience, and convenience alone.

They had agreed to that before they had even been married. He was not about to break that agreement.

‘Everyone is watching.’

The whisper was low and soft, for his ears only, and for a heartbeat Christoph revelled in the fact that Daphne was on his arm, whispering her thoughts for his hearing only.

Then his mind caught up with his loins.

Damn it, man!

‘Everyone is admiring,’ Christoph countered quietly as they slowly walked past a quartet at another card table. ‘You must be used to it.’

The gentle nudge into his side was more than enough to inflame him. ‘You know I am not.’

‘You are beautiful, Daphne. I’ve told you that before.

’ All too late, Christoph recalled precisely when he had said it.

Damnation—it was while he’d made love to her.

A moment that would remain in his memory for ever, yes, but probably not something he should reference while in public.

It might explain the burning patches on her décolletage. Blast, now he was looking at her…

‘You have, but that does not make it true, nor habitual for me to hear. I… I am more accustomed to being a wallflower, standing there and watching life go by,’ said Daphne in an undertone.

They passed another card table and Gwen smiled up at them. ‘Enjoying yourself, Daphne?’

Precisely why Christoph took his wife’s response as a verdict on his company, he did not know. It had not been the question. Why did he care so much?

‘Oh, yes, I am having a wonderful time,’ said Daphne brightly, though her fingers tightened on Christoph’s arm and she did not pause to converse with her friend.

Christoph took the silent cue, keeping them moving forward, preventing any further conversation.

They walked in silence for a few feet, then he said, ‘You may have been a wallflower, but that does not prevent you from being beautiful. It does not prevent men from having eyes to see your beauty—eyes to see and admire. Admire you.’

He had not intended to speak so openly. Daphne glanced at him with a nervous smile. ‘You speak as though you are jealous.’

Jealous? He wasn’t jealous. Not jealous at all. No , Christoph thought darkly. All he wanted to do was rip out the eyes of any man who deigned to look at his beautiful wife, as though it were a slur against him, against her, against who they were to each other.

By Jove, he needed to get a better handle on himself. Who they were to each other? They were nothing to each other. Nothing, save husband and wife. Why was that becoming so difficult to remember?

‘I am proud to have you as my wife,’ he said shortly.

Yes, that was it. Much safer to keep his thoughts short and to the point. The likelihood of him saying something ridiculous would then be much reduced.

‘Because you think I am beautiful.’

The words were not said with despondency—not exactly. But there was something sad about the way Daphne had spoken. Prickles of discomfort speared through Christoph. What had he said wrong? How had he caused such pain when he had only sought to flatter?

‘I know you are beautiful,’ Christoph said softly as they passed by the fireplace, the fire crackling and sparking.

‘But I am proud to have you as my wife because you are kind, and you are thoughtful, and you are clever. There is no artifice in you, Daphne, nor misplaced pride. In fact, you could do with a tad more pride.’

That was what he had intended only to think.

The fact that the words pushed themselves out was just as much a surprise to Christoph as to Daphne.

Her deep-red flush could not be explained purely by the heat of the fire.

No, Daphne did not hear such words very often.

In fact, he wondered whether she had heard such words before at all.

‘I…thank you,’ she whispered.

Christoph exhaled slowly. ‘You don’t have to thank me. I… I suppose I should be the one thanking you. You could have been anyone. You could have been anything. I am fortunate indeed to have an arranged match with such a woman.’

He had meant the words in praise—but perhaps it was the reminder that their match was an arranged one that caused Daphne’s expression to falter.

‘I wish to go home,’ she confessed quietly.

Christoph’s stomach tightened. ‘It is a long way to the Wallflower Academy, but I suppose—’

‘Not… Our home, I mean,’ Daphne said, her cheeks now very definitely pink.

How was it that such a small confidence could cause such joy? ‘Oh, I see. Well, I’ll request our carriage.’

A simple catching of the butler’s eye was sufficient.

Well, this evening hadn’t gone entirely to plan. But still, the overall plan was still working. Laura would be here any day.

‘What are you thinking about?’

Christoph started. They were still walking slowly around the room, not yet having completed a single turn. ‘I beg your pardon?’

There was a knowing smile on Daphne’s face. ‘You just looked very happy. What were you thinking of?’

The answer fell from his tongue before he could think. ‘Laura.’

The knowing smile on Daphne’s face disappeared. ‘I see.’

Christoph did not understand it. Why a mention of his sister should dampen her spirits, he did not know. ‘It was just—we were speaking of home, and I was recalling a wonderful summer with Laura in Niedernlein when we—’

‘I don’t actually want to hear it,’ Daphne said sharply—far more sharply than he had ever heard her speak.

Christoph’s shoulders slumped—not enough for an onlooker to tell, but still, enough. ‘We shared quiet moments in a house of chaos. In fact, one of my favourite memories is—’

‘I said, I don’t want to hear it.’ Daphne’s voice had never been so blunt. ‘I don’t want to hear about the woman you’ve invited to live with us.’

Something was wrong here. There was a tautness in her expression, a pain in her eye…

The woman you’ve invited to live with us.

Christoph halted. ‘Daphne. Daphne, please tell me that I told you that Laura is my sister?’

Daphne blinked. ‘Your…your sister?’

He could have laughed, only that would have drawn the entire card party’s attention, and he knew his wife would hate that. ‘Yes, she is my sister—my little sister, five years younger than I. I wanted to… She’s my sister. I did not mention that?’

For a moment, Daphne just stared up at him in wonder. Then she laughed, a gentle chuckle that warmed him to no end. ‘No! No, you didn’t. Oh, Christoph.’

Her smile would have been enough to make Christoph march into the Russian winter. How was it possible to feel so close, so intimate, with a woman—his own wife!—while standing in the middle of a card party?

He was in danger here—a kind of danger he had never known before. Guarding himself against assassins, against his brother’s machinations, he was accustomed to. Guarding his heart, when despite his best efforts he found himself falling in love with this woman, was infinitely more difficult.

‘Laura. Your sister,’ Daphne said, exhaling slowly, her smile remaining. ‘Your sister. Let’s go home, Christoph.’