And you do not know anything about my elopement, but that didnt keep you from leaping to conclusions and passing judgment.
I know all I need to know.
Then I know all I need to know!
Snelling did not kidnap you, did he? You went willingly, packing a trunk, taking blunt from the family coffers.
You think I stole funds? That was my own purse, what Id saved from the household allowance and my pin money. Ah, but you never asked for the truth, did you? Did you ask my dear father about the sick old man he bartered me to? How Sir Neville thought a virgin could cure him of the pox? The raddled old ghoul paid my father for my hand. My loving sire thought Sir Neville would die soon and leave me a wealthy widow. Only Id never see a groat of it, would I? While I was still underage, my finances would be controlled by my father, especially if I contracted the disease. I was seventeen, Mr. Stamfield. Seventeen! Snelling would have been better. Anyone would have been better. I would have married She almost said you, but no, shed never have tied herself for life to another violent, domineering man. I would have married a stranger. But you had to ride to the gallant defense of British maidenhood and a mans right to sell his own daughter.
Daniel knew she spoke the truth because hed have been itching like mad over such a faradiddle otherwise. He knew Abbott was a loose screw, but this was beyond any moral standard of decency. Seventeen. Bloody hell.
You should have come to my mother.
What could she have done? No laws were broken.
But why did you pick that cur Snelling?
Corie looked at her empty cup with longing, but did not refill it. The lieutenant needed money desperately. And he was a gentleman who happened to be handsome, attentive, and available.
He was a known gambler and a womanizer. He would have made you a wretched husband.
Do you think I didnt know that? I was young, not ignorant of the world or the local gossip. He was better than pox-ridden Sir Neville, who is still alive, by the way, only blind and raving and kept in the attics by his servants. Id have been married to a lunatic right now if I hadnt run off.
Why didnt your father go on with the match once you were home?
Because Sir Neville was at our house for the cursed wedding when I left. He wouldnt have me. He assumed I was no longer a virgin. She laughed, without humor. Can you believe it? That filthy old man wouldnt have me. And Snelling was gone, thanks to you, my fathers hero. She laughed again. Some kind of hero, almost killing a man half your size.
Now Daniel was angry, at Abbott, Sir Neville, and Snelling, but mostly at this virago who was shredding his character along with her apparel. I never wanted to be a hero. Not in the army; that was Rexs idea, and he is scarred for life. Its dirty and dangerous, and deuced uncomfortable. And not in the law or politics, either. Harry had to stage his own death to avoid assassination. Another man did get killed in his stead, did you know that? Do you think Harry will ever forget or forgive himself? That other poor soul was a hero, saving Harrys life. And hes dead.
Corie stared at her bare toes, peeking out from her hem. I did not know.
And you do not know why I choose to enjoy myself instead of dying for some cause that will not make a difference to anyone.
Some things are worth dying for. Freedom, your loved ones. Pride.
No, pride is not worth dying for. Do you know how many gentlemen have died over a slight to their honor? I say a good bout of fisticuffs ought to settle anything.
That is easy for you to say, since youd always have the advantage. Where is the pride in that? Corie glanced again at the decanter. Now she understood where Dutch courage came from. She would never have spoken to such a large, intimidating, angry gentleman with such vehemence, such vitriol, on her own. Somehow she was no longer afraid of speaking her mind to this man, despite his size and reputation. Filled with spirits or not, she was certain he would not hurt her, not with his mother in calling distance. So she decided to continue, to relieve her own pent-up hostility.
Just what do you consider worth living for? Your own pleasure? Losing yourself in drink so you do not have to think of your empty existence? Her lip curled in a sneer. I refuse to be insulted by an immoral care-for-naught. You, sir, are nothing but a wastrel.
That was true, too. Daniel did not want to hear the words, so he fought back. And you are still a fallen woman.
She glared at him, gold sparks flashing in her green eyes. No, I am not.
Daniel paused to wait for the rash. It never came. Did that mean she was untouched, or simply untouched by scandal? Truth was a strange thing. He thought about asking, but the hellcat was still on a rant.
You and your stupid assumptions, using the stupid labels of a stupid society. Stupid, stupid, stupid! She poked him in the chest with each imprecation. Then she recalled she needed this mans cooperation. London does not know about me and Snelling. He is dead, Sir Neville is a bedlamite, my father has too much pride, and your mother loves me too much. No one else knows what happened that night. Will you tell them?
Gads, you really think I am some kind of cad, dont you? Hed thought about blackmailing her with the threat, so shed leave, but her question still hurt. That would reflect poorly on my mother.
And your sister, she added, for good measure.
He shrugged. And my aunt and uncle, for having you in their house.
And Dobbson, who wants so badly to be butler to the cream of society.
We mustnt forget the servants.
She could almost smile now.
Daniel did smile back, stepped past her, trying not to notice when she cringed at his closeness, and raised the decanter. He poured more spirits into his own glass, then a drop or two into her teacup. I propose a treaty. We shall both agree to try to scrape through these next weeks with dignity and grace. He handed her the cup, then raised his glass in a toast.
Corie took the cup, but hesitated. And we can forget the past?
Both of our pasts.
They clicked their drinks together and he said, To the future. Except hed still wonder about Snelling and what happened at that inn.
Did you love him?
I wanted to. He was handsome in a scarlet uniform, and made me feel beautiful. I thought he was noble to rescue me, brave to take on my fathers wrath. He proved as faithless as every other man, as cruel as my father, as paltry as you.
So the treaty was an end to hostility, Daniel understood, not a friendship. He felt a twinge of regret, but he wasnt one to dwell on what he couldnt change. He was tempted to seal the pact with a kiss, to see if that might change her opinion. He wanted to know if her lips were as soft as they looked, or as prim as Miss Corisande Abbott pretended. He knew hed get slapped, but who said he wasnt brave? Or stupid.
Chapter Seven
S
he did not slap him. That would have stung a bit, he supposed, because she was not a small woman.
She cried. Her tears pierced him through the heart.
She hadnt stepped back when he closed the short distance between them. She stiffened a little, but nothing worse. He realized she always cringed when he got too close, which angered him enough that he wanted to show her he could be trusted not to stomp on her feet every time.
She did not scream when he was inches away, or pound his chest with her fists, or race toward the door. She just stared at him as if hed sprouted horns and a tail. She looked confused, surprised, horrifiedhe couldnt tell which, and who was thinking, anyway?as Daniel bent his head. He meant only to brush his lips against hers, just for an instant. But she was looking at him, her mouth open, so he opened his, too.
In the back of his mind, where he might have one, seldom-used wit left, he realized that her being tall for a woman meant he didnt get a crick in his neck from bending over, or in his knees from crouching down. And her skin was as soft as a rose petal, and her scent was lilacs, and she tasted of brandy and tea and sweet woman. That last ounce of sense went flying to his fingertips, which stroked her bare shoulders.
The instant might have lasted forever, or been a blink of the eye. Miss Abbott made a low sound in her throat. He sure as hell hoped the tiny murmur had been one of pleasure, because that kiss had been sweeter than any hed stolen, shared, or bought in all his years. He stepped back to see.
That was not pleasure he read on her face.
Hell, are you crying? Did I hurt you? Sometimes I forget my own strength. Clumsy ox, you know. Everyone knows. He babbled like one of those French officers, expecting to be tortured if they didnt tell all their secrets.
Miss Abbott sniffled. She didnt raise her eyes to him. She made that sound again, the one that might have been arousal, but was a smothered sob. No.
Daniel was relieved. Except when he tipped her chin up, he could see that she was still crying, with great round tears rolling down her cheeks. Gallons of guilt, they looked to him. He wasnt sure how, but he knew the deluge was his fault.
Itit was only a kiss. And maybe a pet or two. Im sorry. I really am.
She brushed a tear away with her hand. She looked as red and swollen as Daniel started to feel for the lie hed just spoken. He wasnt sorry at all.
He knew he was wrong. Great gods, did kisses come much more wrong than accosting a woman with a dicey past who was trying to land a husband? Assaulting a guest in his mothers parlor? He was ready to apologize, but in his heart, he was not sorry. Or wouldnt be if her lips stopped trembling and her shoulders stopped shaking.
It . . . it wasnt only a kiss, she said, sniffling again.
And an embrace. Its not as if I touchedor squeezed yourthat is, it wasnt much more than a kiss.
Another tear rolled down her cheek. Daniel wished he had the coat hed worn to dinner, with the handkerchief carefully tucked in the inside pocket by Dobbson. He picked up a piece of the gauzy thing shed tossed at him instead, the one that was tucked into her neckline earlier. The scrap wasnt good for anything else but rags now. He held it out.
She ignored it, his excuses, and him. She turned away to find a napkin near her teacup. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose, not all that delicately.
When she appeared done, he addressed her back. I thought it was fairly nice, myself, certainly not bad enough to cry over. I can do better if you
It was what it meant, she said on a near wail.
The kiss meant nothing but that he was male, maybe with too much brandy, wine, and port in him, and she was beautiful. Uh, what do you think it meant?
Now she turned to him, looking up through watery eyes. That I am open to such improper advances. That I can be kissed and clasped likelike a tavern wench. She sobbed again. That you think I am a loose woman.
Dash it, dont cry. Its nothing like that. The problem is, I am not a gentleman. You said it yourself: Im a cad and a wastrel. I told my mother I shouldnt be here, shouldnt be accompanying her for the Season. Im not fit for polite company. No gentleman would have forced himself on you, taken liberties without leave, made you cry with brutish attentions.
She gave one last sniff. It wasnt so bad, I suppose.
Not so bad? Now his amour propre was suffering. Hmph.
It was almost nice. Nicer than most.
Daniel was still insulted. Oh, now youre an expert? First you say you are not a highflier. Next you are comparing kisses.
I have not had as many kisses as most women my age, if you must know. My father watches me too carefully since . . . well, since I saw you last. I have not kissed as many gentlemen as Susanna, Id warrant, and she is three years younger. She practices with every boy in the neighborhood. Theres always a dark corner or a secluded garden or an unlighted path at dinner parties or assemblies.
He growled. Great gods, what is my mother thinking, to let her sneak off like that?
Corie sat down on the chair, reaching for the hairpins shed left on the end table. She is thinking your sister should know more of men, so she can judge them better than I did.
Daniel tried not to watch her gather the honeyed waves back and start twisting them into a bun. You judge a man by his sense of honor, his bank account, his seat on a horseanything, dash it, but his kisses!
Corie paused in her braiding. Why? She wont be sleeping with his ledger books.
And he wouldnt be sleeping tonight, thinking about running his fingers through those long, silky curls. Because a man doesnt stop at kisses, if he thinks he doesnt have to. Next thing you know, her hair is down, your slippers are missingno, thats not right.
Corie let her hair fall loose down her shoulders again. No, that is not right. I think a woman should know what she is getting, and if shell like it. Marriage is more than sharing a house and a name.