Page 27 of The Prince’s Wallflower Wife (The Wallflower Academy #4)

‘Go riding.’ Christoph’s expression was one of pure confusion. ‘I am sorry, I assumed that was what you—’

‘Yes, yes, I would.’

‘Because if you don’t want—’

‘No, I want to.’ Daphne’s cheeks were burning so much, she expected someone looking from the house could have spotted the red in the trees. ‘Let’s go for a ride.’

She had expected it to be awkward. A man couldn’t put his face between someone’s thighs and lick them to completion without it getting a tad awkward, Daphne could not help but think.

But somehow the most awkward part of the whole thing was just how unfazed the man appeared to be.

Once in the stables, with a smile Christoph helped her up onto a horse, and was soon settled on his own steed with an air of complete comfort.

He was a good rider; Daphne noted his almost subconscious direction of the beast as they departed from the stables and rode onto the bustling London street.

It was almost as though he belonged there. Almost as though he belonged with her.

Daphne pushed the thought from her mind as Christoph chattered away about the weather, the popularity of London in the autumn, the fine wine they would sample that evening at dinner and—much to her chagrin—she found herself utterly charmed.

It was most unfair. Here she was, desperate to get through life without being castigated or censored for her behaviour, and there were people like Christoph who did not appear even to need to try.

Glancing over at him as their horses trotted down the street towards Hyde Park, Daphne smiled to herself.

He was attractive. And charming. And kind-hearted. Any woman would have found it difficult not to find her soul touched by him. She merely had the disadvantage of also being married to him.

‘You are very quiet.’

Daphne started. Christoph was gazing at her with just as much affectionate curiosity as she had been giving him. It was disconcerting, to see such an expression reflected on his face.

She looked away sharply as they entered Hyde Park by the Clarendon Gate. ‘I was just thinking.’

‘And what, may I ask, were you thinking?’

You may ask , Daphne wanted to say. But that does not guarantee that I will tell you.

Another inside thought, and one she most definitely kept inside. She could not have Christoph think she was flirting with him—God forbid! She did not want him to feel obligated to reciprocate. Because she cared for him.

Daphne had not permitted herself even to think it until this moment, the clamour and excitement of Hyde Park all around them as they slowed their horses to a walk and gently rode through the greenery.

Carriages rattled along Rotten Row and gentlemen walked with ladies.

A gaggle of schoolboys made their way through the park as a few families sat on blankets eating late luncheons, and still she could not stop thinking about how much she cared for him.

Glancing at him from under her eyelashes, Daphne could not help but smile as she met his beaming grin. There was something so… pure about him. So gentle. So compassionate. Guarding her heart had never been a challenge—not when no man had ever smiled at her before.

Only now did Daphne realise just how much of a challenge it was.

How vital it was, how necessary it would be, to ensure that she never lost control.

Because what was she supposed to do: fall in love with her husband?

Lose herself? Embarrass herself, when Christoph would be forced to admit that he felt nothing for her?

Which was why, as their horses walked along the winding path that veered to the left, Daphne knew that she had to do it. She had to say it. Even if it was going to make her entire body burn with embarrassment.

Daphne cleared her throat. ‘We…we don’t have to do that again.’

There. It was said. And she had been perfectly clear. There was no need to—

‘Do what again?’ Christoph said, his grin now wicked.

There it was—the burning sensation. Daphne could feel it rising up her legs, past her hips and across her chest. Anyone looking at the pair of them would presume that Christoph had made an unsavoury remark—they would never suppose that it was she who had spoken so out of turn.

‘You know what,’ she murmured, agonising over her tone. Too cheerful? Too eager? Not eager enough? ‘I just meant,’ Daphne continued, forcing herself to speak and gazing dead ahead to avoid Christoph’s gaze completely, ‘That though I… I appreciate what you did—’

‘Which we still haven’t spoken of.’

‘You don’t have to do it again,’ Daphne finished, hating the way his teasing voice sparked ripples of remembered pleasure through her body. How did he make her feel such tingling bliss without even touching her?

When she managed to bring herself to look at him, Christoph was smiling—but it wasn’t the cruel, teasing smile she had seen on some gentlemen, nor the ignorant, accidentally harsh smile she had witnessed on others. It was something entirely different. A smile that was sincere, tender and…

No, she would not think ‘loving’. Daphne managed to pull herself back from the precipice before it was too late.

‘You didn’t enjoy it?’

Daphne’s fingers tightened momentarily on the reins. Christoph had asked the question quietly, so that no one passing them could have heard a syllable, and with a gentleness she did not deserve.

‘I…’ This was not the time for modesty. ‘I have never felt anything like it.’

There. That was not quite answering his question, but, so be it.

Christoph had raised an eyebrow…not that she was looking at him. ‘Never?’

Before Daphne could stop herself, before she could remind herself that thinking of such things in public was absolutely scandalous, she was back in that bed, on that night, Christoph’s fingers caressing her to a peak, his manhood nestled between her, invading her, and yet what a welcome invasion.

Her cheeks must be scarlet. She certainly could feel their heat. ‘Twice before. On our wedding night.’

‘If I am any judge of the matter, I would lay good money on the fact that that would have been an inside thought, in times past,’ said Christoph quietly.

Daphne tried to take a steady breath but it eluded her. An inside thought—yes, it would have been, and how she had managed to say it she did not know.

‘Well done,’ came the gentle encouragement. ‘You impress me.’

It should not have been possible for such short words to have such an impact on her. It really shouldn’t. And yet Daphne could not deny that her whole body was aflame, as though she’d stepped into a midsummer’s fire, sparks flying around her.

‘Let’s talk of something else. It was never my intention to offend you,’ said Christoph softly. ‘Tell me…about your childhood. At the Wallflower Academy, I mean.’

Daphne swallowed. She was not offended, not as such. In a way, she was disappointed. A part of her had wondered…fine, hoped…that they would somehow meander to agreeing to share such an erotic experience, what once a month?

Once a day, a part of her murmured.

‘Besides, I can imagine it would be painful to dwell on times before then,’ Christoph continued.

Daphne stared. ‘Do you…?’

‘Well, you have already shared with me some very troubling memories,’ he said delicately. ‘I would not wish you to upset yourself.’

He remembered. More, he had not only remembered what she had said, but he clearly wished to make her comfortable. Put her at ease.

‘You joined the Wallflower Academy young, I seem to recall.’

That was it, Daphne thought ruefully. Back to the Wallflower Academy we go, even if it is only in conversation . ‘Yes, I was, oh, about five.’

‘Fifteen would have been more appropriate.’ Christoph’s brows furrowed.

Daphne shook her head, relieved to be on safer ground. ‘My father… My mother had died and my father had no wish to keep me around. He was concerned it would detract from his marital prospects, I suppose, so I was sent to the Wallflower Academy. Miss Pike made a special case for me.’

A special case that, in hindsight, probably had something to do with the title of her father, and the amount of coin handed over, rather than anything to do with her.

Christoph was still speaking. ‘You must have been lonely, with so many women older than you, and no other children?’

‘Lonely? Yes, I suppose it was,’ Daphne said as brightly as she could manage. Her voice wavered. Bother it. ‘It was. But not because I was so much younger. Many of the wallflowers there had younger siblings, and missed them. They were very good to me. Most of them.’

Hyde Park was starting to empty. The temperature had dipped, the sun scurrying away behind clouds and there was the scent of rain in the air.

‘Most of them?’

Daphne could not help but laugh. ‘Do you always have to notice the parts of my speech that I most wish you to ignore?’

‘You draw attention to it,’ Christoph shot back gently. ‘I know you, Daphne—or at least, I am getting to know you. And I know that when you speak lightly, just like that, it is because of some great hurt. A great hurt from which you have never healed.’

Once again, her fingers tightened on the reins. ‘It…it is most disobliging of you to be so observant.’

‘Is that not what husbands are for?’

Somehow Christoph had brought his steed closer to hers. Daphne could feel his proximity, feel it like she could feel the sun, a cold breeze or the promise of winter.

She swallowed. ‘Yes, I was lonely. Most of the girls in residence at the Wallflower Academy when I was very small were true wallflowers, there because their families had struggled to find them a match. I was the only…illegitimate daughter there, sent away to hide from Society. Sylvia joined me a few years ago, of course, but for a long time I was alone.’

Try as she might, Daphne had been unable to keep the pain from her voice.

Christoph reached out and touched her arm. Just slightly. The moment was gone almost as soon as it arrived. ‘You are not any less because of that. Society’s rules are not just. Not fair.’

Daphne tried to laugh. It did not work. ‘All I knew was that my father did not want to be seen by me. I truly believe that, until our arranged marriage was announced, there were still those in the ton who did not know my father had a daughter.’

‘So something changed.’

Changed? Daphne blinked, taking in his words. Yes, something had. Now he pointed it out, it seemed obvious.

‘Perhaps your father’s remarriage,’ Christoph said gently. ‘People can change, Daphne. I mean, not all of them—true cruelty, true violence stems in my view from a truly evil character—but people get things wrong and wish to make amends.’

It was a pleasant thought, that her father wished he had done things differently. That he was attempting to make amends. It almost did not matter if it was true.

There was something in the way Christophe spoke.

Daphne had wondered precisely why her husband was so aloof at times, so warm at others—but, she could see now, it was not aloofness or coldness.

It was nerves—anxiety that he would not be heeded.

In conversations like this she could see the damage that had been wrought on Christoph the child, but he was healing. They were healing together.

‘Besides,’ added her husband with a low chuckle, ‘you are a princess now. A princess of royal blood.’

‘By marriage,’ Daphne pointed out, trying not to smile.

Christoph shrugged. ‘And where are those other wallflowers now, eh?’

Such a suggestion should not have made her smile so much. ‘You know, I have no idea.’

‘Good riddance to them, I say,’ returned Christoph. ‘And—blast!’

Daphne could not help but giggle as the heavens opened. Rain poured down, a torrent upon their shoulders, and they swiftly became absolutely drenched. ‘It’s only a little rain!’

‘This country, with your changeable weather and your constant rain!’ Christoph called out over the downpour. ‘Come on!’

Laughing as they hurried from the park and rode through the emptying streets, her pulse quickened by the rush of adrenaline that poured through her faster and heavier than the rain, Daphne was glad when they returned to their stables so quickly.

‘Remind me never to go out for a ride without an umbrella in this damp country,’ Christoph said with a laugh, dismounting in the dry of the stable and walking over to her. ‘Here.’

It was not a request. It was not an order, either, but Daphne found her body willingly obeying the unspoken invitation.

She descended from her horse, slithering down its wet flank and finding herself pinned between that sodden beast and the equally sodden masculine beast before her.

Daphne swallowed as she looked up into Christoph’s eyes. His eyelashes were sparkling with raindrops and there was a look of such heady desire, of lust in his eyes.

Christoph released her, stepping away, his laugh ragged. ‘If I had my own way, I would keep you here, but that would be selfish—and you are precious, Daphne.

‘You had better call a maid to help you out of those wet things. You don’t wish to catch a cold.’

‘Christoph I must tell you…’

And he was gone, striding out of the stables before she could tell him the secret she had been holding on to for days. The secret she knew had to be said—and soon.