Dangerous in Diamonds - Madeline Hunter [90]
She bit her lower lip. “I felt no need to explain. I am entitled to reveal what I choose about my history.” She looked him in the eyes, boldly. “Some women have good reasons to leave the past behind.”
Her expression and words warned him off. She did not want to talk of it. He did, however. This conversation had become important for reasons he could not explain even to himself. Important and necessary.
He took her hand and led her to a log set out like a bench along their path. He sat her down. She kept her gaze on the wildflowers and the sunset. On anyplace but his face.
“I recognized Margaret,” he said. “She was not his mistress either. She was a servant who was badly misused by Latham. I know, because I saw him do it.”
Her gaze snapped to him. Her color rose. Her poise relaxed a little, as if holding her shield had become too much a burden.
“I only learned about her for certain myself when I went there this time.” She spoke quietly. “I had wondered, though. Not at first, but over the years. Then, when you said there were four small properties—well, I thought we might have something in common, but not what you assumed. So I came and asked Margaret for the truth. She said that one of his friends came and stopped it. I wondered if perhaps it had been you—”
He had guessed, but he did not like hearing it. He crossed his arms, turned away, and glared at the horizon. “I am going to kill him.”
She reached up to touch his arm and claim his attention. “It is not what you think. Not quite like that with me. I need you to know that.”
“How was it not like that with you?” It appalled him that the thought she might have been willing made him more furious than if she had been forced. There it was, however, disgusting though he found it, even as black rage filled him.
“He gave me the courtesy of a flirtation first. A few stolen kisses. Allusions to marriage. My father was a gentleman, and it was not unthinkable to me. We had a clandestine meeting that went too far, he said. Farther than he intended, he said.”
“Was that what it was, Daphne? A romantic tryst that went too far?” Stop yelling at her, you ass. Stop acting as though you have a right to be jealous just because it was the wrong damned Becksbridge.
She flushed deeply, and her eyes misted. “I blamed myself for years, Castleford, and I’ll not stand for your doing so now. Becksbridge blamed me too. That insufferable man lectured me. I had lured his son. My character was at fault.” Her eyes glinted with furious tears. “But I had tried to stop him, you see. I had begged him to stop, but he did not. Many think a woman deserves such a thing merely for allowing a man to kiss her. I discarded such ideas long ago myself, but I know it is a common belief.”
Still angry, still wishing Latham were within reach, right here and now, he sat beside her. They remained there, both of them in high emotion. He looked at her exquisite profile while she fought to remain collected enough not to weep at what he had just forced her to reveal.
He imagined her being told by the old duke that her abuse had been her own fault. She was correct that it was a common excuse used by men.
“It is not my belief that women invite such misuse, if you are wondering, Daphne.”
She managed a small smile. Her eyes seemed to only mist more, however. She wiped them with her hand, then gave him a little, playful poke on his side. “If it were your belief, you would have had me weeks ago and forgotten my name by now.”
He forgot many names, but he would never forget hers. He already knew that. He caught that taunting hand and threaded his fingers through hers. “How did Becksbridge learn of it?”
“I told him.”
“Did you? Good girl. The ass probably could not believe a governess would be so bold.”
“I thought he should know what his son had done. I had no idea it had happened before. He subjected me to that scathing, insulting lecture. Yet, remembering it later, I realized there had been little real vehemence in his tone. Only in his words. I wondered if perhaps he had given that