Dangerous in Diamonds - Madeline Hunter [71]
No doubt his recent abstinence accounted for how vivid the memories of her passion and body were. Even now, if he did not consciously block the thoughts, he could hear her begging cries like her mouth was beside his ear. Just as he could feel her hand on him in her awkward, tentative caress. She might have been used by old Becksbridge, but she had not participated much if she showed so little skill. He liked knowing that more than he knew he should.
And yet there had been that moment afterwards, when he settled atop her, when he had sensed a stillness, as if her whole body held its breath and her soul calculated her danger. It was much like what he sensed when she looked back at him on the barge. And it was, he decided now, a milder form of the way she turned to stone in the greenhouse.
It had passed once she realized he was in no condition to ravish her. Yet it had been there, clearly, like a break or pause in her bliss, strong enough to interfere even with the aftermath of her violent sexual climax.
Perhaps now that she knew that he knew the truth about her history, it would disappear. She had not been pleased that he had pried. People never were, even if the outcome benefited them. As long as he knew what he knew, he had decided it was best to let her know he knew too.
It was possible that her sense of danger would always be there, however, unless she were totally agreeable in advance to be thoroughly seduced. So he would do what she wanted to make her so.
He would obtain the damned letters he had promised her, and he would finally have her.
Then—what? Loss of interest, most likely. A return to his habits and his whores, no doubt. The renewed onset of endless ennui, probably.
On the other hand, since Daphne Joyes had already been gifted as well as a mistress kept for a year, he might decide to enjoy the year that he was due.
Daphne eyed the garments spread out on her bed. Simple and practical, she reminded herself. She lifted a white muslin dress and set it aside.
She began folding the clothing and placing it into the waiting valise. She tucked ten pounds deep inside one of the shoes too. Her hands shook while she worked, a result of the excitement that had claimed her once she made her decision to take this journey.
She unfolded Margaret’s letter and read it again.
I have been thinking of you often, Daphne, for reasons that I think you have guessed. Yes, come, quickly if you can. My situation will be changing for the worse, I fear, and I may not stay here much longer. I am afraid that the past threatens to catch us both soon. Currently all is calm in the towns, but there is anger in the air, and I am sorry to say that it extends to the whole region. Take care if you make this journey, and be sure to avoid the coaches that might take you into the city.
Did she imagine the urgency of the letter? The plea, and worse, the warning. She dared not assume so. Nor could she hope that all would remain calm up there. Certainly the newspapers printed nothing to support such a view.
Margaret’s letter worried her. An emotion akin to terror threaded all through the excitement with which she prepared, making it unpleasant and colored with the worst kind of foreboding.
It was time to leave London anyway. Dodging Castleford had done no good. Nor had succumbing far more than was wise. Perhaps her absence would finally turn his curiosity elsewhere or dull it enough.
She should experience relief at the notion of ending that game. Instead it saddened her. Life had certainly been more interesting the last weeks. And the duke—he had been more compelling than she had expected. Beneath that insouciance, that bored indifference, there dwelled a man much better and more complex than his public face suggested.
She called for a footman. He arrived while she cleared her dressing table of its brushes. She pulled her composure together and tried to sound authoritative.
“I will be making a short journey of several days.