Page 26 of The Prince’s Wallflower Wife (The Wallflower Academy #4)

D aphne picked up her fork, stared at it and put it back down on her plate.

I hope that sorted your appetite.

It was a good thing she was no longer holding it, for she would surely have dropped it when the memory of two days before sparked through her mind. Cheeks aflame, Daphne tried not to think that she had been sitting in this exact seat, at this exact table, in this very room.

Oh, you precious thing. Let me help you. Let me take care of you.

Daphne swallowed. Luncheon was strange enough, eating it on her own, as once again Christoph was nowhere to be found. But, with the memories of that intimate and erotic moment roaring through her mind, it was almost impossible to concentrate. Not that she minded.

‘Focus, Daphne,’ she murmured to herself, grateful for the privacy that luncheon provided. No footmen. No servants listening in. ‘Do not think about it.’

The trouble was, it was the only thing she was able to think about at the moment. If she had realised such pleasure was to be had, pleasure that did not require Christoph to…enter her, then she might well have attempted to negotiate that into their agreement.

Heat burned her collar bone. Not that she would have had the words to ask for such a thing. In the silence, Daphne’s tongue attempted to entangle itself around how she could have asked for such a thing.

And I would like you to kiss me…every day, actually…but not on my mouth…

Daphne shook her head with a wry smile. ‘You never could, Daphne.’

No, she never could—but perhaps, if she had known how glorious it was, she would have at least tried. After all, who wouldn’t want a repeat, a continual repeat, of what had happened two evenings ago?

Enticing , was what he had called her. The word became bittersweet as Daphne looked down at herself.

When she was growing, swelling with child, would Christoph still find her enticing?

Perhaps it would be easier to ignore that part of her future if she waited a little longer to tell him.

After all, Christoph did not need to know that she was almost certainly with child, did he?

Besides, it might prevent him from touching her like that again, and that was definitely to be avoided.

The memories sparked back in her mind, and as she was alone, Daphne decided to indulge herself as her eyelashes fluttered.

Christoph, on his knees. Christoph, parting her own. Christoph, kissing her.

Daphne knocked over her glass of lemonade.

‘Oh—oh, no!’ she cried, lurching to her feet and picking up the glass, far too late to prevent the sticky yellow liquid rushing across the spotless white tablecloth.

Her cry appeared to summon another, for footsteps echoed in the hall and the door burst open.

‘What has—? Oh. It’s just you.’

Daphne had not thought it possible for her cheeks to burn any brighter, but apparently so. Henderson stood by the door, his expression fading from worry to disdain.

‘Good afternoon, Henderson,’ she said to the butler, in an attempt to ease the moment. ‘I am afraid I have had a small—’

‘What have you done?’ sighed Henderson, shaking his head as though she were a child.

Try as she might, Daphne could not prevent her head from lowering.

This was ridiculous. He was a servant—admittedly not a servant she had chosen, but still, a servant.

She should not be cowed by him. She should not wish to crawl into a hole.

The fact that an apology was creeping towards her lips merely because he was looking at her with such contempt was ridiculous!

Daphne swallowed it. ‘Have this cleaned up, please.’

Perhaps she had spoken with too much imperiousness. She had attempted something polite yet firm. It did not appear to have worked. Henderson rolled his eyes but at the very least began to obey.

The man would never have acted like this with Christoph in the room—but, as her husband had been absent for the last day and a half, she was stuck facing the butler alone.

Christoph’s absence made it impossible not only to tell him that she was with child but that she was starting to feel… something for him.

Preposterous. Why had she not had the duty of choosing her own staff?

‘Well,’ Daphne said as brightly as she could manage. ‘I shall leave you to it. Thank you, Henderson.’

Perhaps another woman could have swept out of there elegantly, and with such refinement that her butler would have no choice but to respect her. Gwen would have managed it. Sylvia most definitely would have. Even Rilla would have had an impact.

As it was, Daphne almost tripped over her own skirts and had to reach out for the wall to prevent herself from launching to the ground, in doing so knocking sideways what was undoubtedly a priceless painting, leaving it crooked.

The butler’s muffled snort as she passed him was most unpleasant. But at least she was gone.

A ride … Yes, that was what she needed: the opportunity to get out into the fresh air, away from Henderson, away from the weight of expectation that lay on her as the Princess and just be… Daphne. Just a woman riding a horse through a London park.

The stables were small. London townhouses did not have room for spacious stables, apparently.

This had surprised her when she and Christoph had first been married a month ago, the Wallflower Academy being the only place Daphne had ever lived.

Yet the stables were sufficiently large for three horses: two for the carriage and one for Christoph.

Apparently no one had given much thought to whether Daphne would wish to ride.

No matter. She was accustomed to not being considered.

With Christoph gone, Daphne thought as she walked across the lawn towards the stables, she could take one of the horses. No one would mind. She was the mistress of this house, was she not? So it was therefore with great determination that she strode round the corner.

‘Oof!’

‘Ouch!’

Daphne blinked at the crisp white linen expanse she had walked into. To prevent herself from falling for a second time in almost as many minutes, her hands thrust out ahead of her. They were now plastered onto the linen expanse: Christoph’s shirt.

She stared up into her husband’s smile.

‘You are in a hurry,’ Christoph said with a grin.

Daphne’s cheeks burned.

She had not seen him since…since he had done that wonderful thing to her. And how she was standing here with her palms splayed against his warm chest, his heartbeat throbbing against her fingertips, and her breath caught in her throat.

‘I was about to saddle my horse and go for a ride,’ said Christoph, jerking his head behind him in a gesture towards the stables. ‘I do not suppose you would wish to join me.’

Was…was that a question? A statement?

Daphne’s mind was still whirling from the sudden contact, the memories of their last contact clouding her judgement. That was undoubtedly why she said, ‘Why would you think that?’

Christoph blinked, evidently lost. ‘Well, I thought…that is, I assumed, from everything you said… Well, you’re shy. You’re a wallflower, but you have been braver than most—braver, I think, than you have ever realised. I see you, Daphne—see you for more than you see in yourself.’

There it was again, that delicate phrasing, just slightly different from the English way of saying things. And he could not be more wrong.

Daphne swallowed, her mouth dry as she prepared herself to speak.

I want to hear your inside thoughts.

‘It’s not that I don’t like the world,’ she said in a rush. ‘It’s that I don’t know it.’

A flash of curiosity flickered in Christoph’s eyes. ‘You don’t know it?’

How could she possibly try to explain—and to him, this man who had travelled hundreds of miles from his homeland and settled in a foreign land where people spoke another language?

Daphne inhaled slowly. ‘I…it’s… The Wallflower Academy was my whole world.

It was where I felt safest because I knew it.

Oh, we had short forays into London Society, but for an hour perhaps, and then it was back to the Wallflower Academy.

London, England, the ton … I don’t know it.

It’s like a foreign land, and I want to explore.

I want to adventure, but I don’t know the rules, I don’t know if I would be welcome. ’

‘Would you like to join me?’

The trouble was, Daphne thought as she stared up into his dark eyes, that she couldn’t say no to this man. There was absolutely no impetus within her to say no to him. Besides, she didn’t want to.

‘Yes, please,’ she whispered.

Christoph’s smile softened. ‘I do apologise. I did not even ask you whether you could ride.’

Only then did Daphne remember that she was pressed up against the man for absolutely no reason. At least, no reason that she could justify.

She stepped back hastily, almost tripping over her own ankle. ‘I can ride! We didn’t, I mean, I never owned a horse, I had to borrow. At the Wallflower Academy, if I wanted to, there was always Bramble my favourite horse—but I can do it, I can ride, I… Yes. I can.’

She had expected Christoph to laugh. She had expected him to tease her, to laugh at the way her words had got tangled. Not because he was cruel, but because that was what everyone did.

Christoph merely nodded sagely. ‘I can see how that would be a limitation, though Bramble sounds delightful. My first horse—a pony, really—was called Midnight. But you do not own your own horse now. That must be rectified.’

Rectified? Was he seriously suggesting they just buy a horse? Who could afford to just go and buy a horse?

All too late, Daphne realised precisely who could. She could. Or at least, he could, now that upon their marriage her entire dowry had become his own personal fortune.

‘Right. Good,’ she said vaguely, trying not to look at his hands. Christoph’s hands. The hands that had gently, almost reverentially, parted her knees to give his mouth access…

‘Shall we?’

Daphne took a hasty step back. ‘Shall we what?’