Her Reformed Rake (Wicked Husbands #3)(12)

“Thank you, Abigail. We both know I couldn’t carry off anything at all if it weren’t for your help. You’re such a dab hand with hairstyles.” She made a face at her reflection, dispelling the serene picture she’d presented.

If there was anything she’d learned in her twenty years of life, it was that she should never take herself or anyone else too seriously. Once, she had, and she’d paid dearly for her mistakes. She’d trusted and believed. She’d loved with the worshipful adherence of a true na?f. And she had been, like the child warned of a hot stove nevertheless reaching out to test its scorching surface, thoroughly burned.

Dreams could be dashed in a day. A heart could be so easily broken.

Nothing was forever. Nothing was certain.

She’d finally realized she had no choice, no option as a female dependent upon her father and his endless wealth and equally endless cruelty, and she had fashioned herself into a new Daisy. This Daisy knew how to dress, knew how to style her hair, knew how to flirt with a man and lure him into a dark alcove for a stolen kiss. She kept her heart from her sleeve. She was brazen and bold, and she used every weapon in her arsenal to get what she wanted.

Last night had been no different. Today would be no different.

The only thing that mattered was that she would finally achieve what she wanted most. She would be free from her father’s rule and free from being forced to marry the repugnant Lord Breckly.

“Everything will soon change for me, I think,” she told her lady’s maid with a confidence that was only slightly shaken by the knowledge that she knew precious little about the man to whom she would soon bind herself. Two meetings and a passionate embrace was hardly enough for her to call him an acquaintance, let alone marry him. But her father’s edict had been clear, and his return, along with the announcement of her betrothal to Breckly, imminent. Placed in such a position, what could she have done differently?

Where else could she turn in London, a relatively strange city to her, with no funds and no friends to speak of? She could sell her king’s ransom in diamonds, try to run free and start a new life somewhere else. But the only other time she’d attempted such a feat, her father had found her with ease. Selling a magnificent cache of diamonds had a way of rendering one’s anonymity impossible. Her homecoming had earned her a broken rib.

As she quit her chamber and made her way downstairs to meet Aunt Caroline in the salon, the relief inside her slowly withered, leaving in its wake a stern sense of misgiving. So much could yet go wrong. Her father could still refuse the match and demand that she wed his chosen bridegroom instead. The duke could decide not to offer for her. Or, worse, he could turn out to be a man who was violent against women. Or a lecher. Or something else equally odious.

By the time she entered the salon to find not only her aunt but the Duke of Trent within, she was wringing her hands at her waist, a dreadful habit she could never seem to shake whenever she was ill at ease. No matter how unladylike it was. When her gaze met the duke’s, she stopped, halfway over the threshold, and tore her hands apart.

An unaccountable burst of nervousness assailed her. He was early. Or perhaps she was late. It didn’t matter. All that did matter was that he was here. He had come. And he stood at her half-entry to the chamber, debonair in his gray jacket and silver waistcoat, tall and brooding and even more handsome than he’d been last night. His expression possessed an intensity that seemed to call for her entire attention. Her every sense focused upon the gorgeous man who just last night had pulled down her bodice and taken her bare breast into his mouth as though she was already his.

No man had ever been so daring with her.

Thinking of the wet heat of his mouth upon her nipple sent an ache between her thighs. Dear heavens, had she actually just thought about such a thing in the bright morning light, with her aunt as an audience? How shameless.

“Daisy,” Aunt Caroline said then, her tone tight with the same disapproval she had used to dress Daisy down during the carriage ride home the night before. “You kept His Grace waiting.”

Daisy couldn’t tear her eyes from the duke, who pinned her with a similar, rapt stare. “My apologies.” Belatedly, she realized she had yet to enter the room. She forced herself to move forward with as much grace as she could muster while his eyes all but consumed her. “Good morning, Aunt Caroline, Your Grace.”

“No apology is necessary, Miss Vanreid, as such loveliness is more than worth any wait,” said the duke with smooth charm.

Daisy seated herself on a settee at her aunt’s side. “You’re too kind, Duke.”

He inclined his head, as if his manners wouldn’t allow him to argue the point. The air became stilted as silence fell upon the sunny chamber. A mantle clock ticked. At last, Aunt Caroline disrupted the uncomfortable quiet.

“As I was informing Your Grace before my niece arrived, Mr. Vanreid will be arriving in London soon. He was attending business in Liverpool, but he has been apprised of the… situation. He telegrammed this morning to say that he alone will conduct all further matters with you directly upon his return, Your Grace.”

Her father was in Liverpool? Daisy had thought him still traveling across the Atlantic. The knowledge that he wasn’t both troubled and surprised her. Apparently, Aunt Caroline was privier to her father’s business than Daisy was. The realization made Daisy look at her aunt with new eyes. No one knew better than Daisy just how ruthless and cruel her father could be.