She stared at him in bewilderment, for she was not in the least afraid. "My future?"

He picked up his coat from the floor. "We will be married after the banns have been properly posted. The ceremony will be here in the ducal chapel, if that is acceptable to you. If you prefer the parish church, simply tell me so."

Anthony was offering to marry her? She could not quite believe she had heard him right. He sounded so dispa.s.sionate, Daphne was not quite sure if she had just received a proposal of marriage or a comment on the weather. The delicious afterglow of their blissful experience was now completely gone.

He put on his coat, turned away from her and walked to the window. "Until the wedding, you must stay elsewhere," he said, staring out into the gray darkness. "Enderby will suffice. It would not do for you to be here. I will explain the situation to Viola. Due to the breadth of social difference between us, you will be the subject of gossip, and I regret that, but it cannot be helped."

He fell silent, standing with his back to her, the dawn light that outlined his profile hazy and indistinct to her eyes. She did not understand why he was talking of marriage now, but she remembered his words to his sister about never marrying for love, and she knew that one question had to be answered before she could even consider marrying him.

She took a deep breath. "Have you fallen in love with me, then, that you wish to marry me?"

He turned his head, but he did not quite look at her. "You must know by now that I have-that I have come to have-a strong, and very pa.s.sionate desire for-attraction, I should say, to you."

"I see." Daphne did not know the proper etiquette of refusing a marriage proposal, since such an event had never come her way, but she felt she should at least be able to see him clearly when she did refuse. She leaned down and pulled her spectacles from the pocket of her ap.r.o.n, which still lay on the floor. She put the spectacles on, then walked to his side and laid a hand on his arm. "Desire, as wonderful as it is, Anthony, is not enough. I will not marry you."

"We have no choice now." He did not look at her. "I took that away from both of us just now."

"You talk as if I had no control over any of this. This was a mutual decision, Anthony, for my feelings are comparable with yours. I, too, have a strong and pa.s.sionate desire for you, but that is all. Without love, I see no reason to marry you."

He turned to face her, and in his expression there was no hint of affection for her, only a resolute determination to have his way, an expression she was coming to know quite well. "You should realize by now that you do not have a choice in this. We must marry. There is nothing else to be done."

"The musts and shoulds of your life do not apply to me, your grace," she said, her voice as cool as his. "I understand that marriage is the accepted mode in situations such as this, but there are alternatives. No one knows of this but us. I shall go to London, just as I intended to do, and- "

"That is out of the question. You may very well be carrying my child. What of that?"

G.o.d in heaven, she had not even thought of a child. Her hand fluttered to her abdomen, and something sparked inside of her, a mixture of emotions. A wistful sort of hope and fear, and a sense of her own duty, and the courage not to have her destiny or that of her child dictated by circ.u.mstances.

"We do not know if there will be a child," she answered him. "Besides, you are an honorable man. I know you would take care of us and see that we are provided for. Illegitimate children of men such as yourself do not suffer any great setbacks in life, your grace."

"G.o.d, Daphne, what are you saying? That I make you my mistress?"

Before she could make any answer to Anthony's question, he answered it for her. "You cannot be my mistress. If that were possible, there are arrangements I could make for you, a house in the country, an income, but it is out of the question."

"You seem quite familiar with the appropriate arrangements for mistresses." A thought struck her, and she looked at him. "Do you have one now? A mistress, I mean?"

He stiffened, with all the hauteur and dignity that befitted a duke. "I did, yes, but I have not seen -"

"Does she ..." Daphne choked on the question, a sick knot in the pit of her stomach. After a moment, she tried again. "Does she have any children that are . . . that might be ..." She could not go on. Pressing a hand to her mouth, she turned her back on him.

"No," he answered her incomplete question. "Marguerite has no children, not even mine. Daphne, that is not important now. You are ruined but unwed, and that is my fault. I will not stain your reputation with the shame of an illegitimate child. As I said, we must marry."

She circled around to the other side of the table, putting it between them like a barrier before she turned to face him.

He did not follow her, but remained where he was. "You are the granddaughter of a baron, it seems, but Viola told me that you do not know his ident.i.ty. If this is true, I will find him. We will establish your connection to him, and obtain his permission for the match. A mere formality, of course, given the circ.u.mstances, but necessary. I will negotiate the dowry and terms with him. Once we are wed, I will provide a quarterly allowance for your use. Five thousand pounds should be sufficient, but if you require more, you need only ask. As my wife, you will be ent.i.tled to my full support."

Daphne felt anger and frustration rising within her like the tide. He was talking as if she had no say in that. "Is not marrying me a bit extreme? I am somewhat ignorant of these matters, but I believe it is the usual custom for men in your position not to marry women for this sort of thing, but to pay them off."

He pushed aside the oak table between them so violently that it skidded across the stone floor and hit the wall. She did not move.

He took another step toward her, and the chair in his path followed the table. She still remained where she was, meeting his gaze as he halted, a few feet away.

"You insult my honor, Miss Wade, and your own," he said, his voice low and furious, "if you a.s.sume that I would sink so low as to pay you off with a douceur as if you were some demirep or prost.i.tute."

"It is you who makes me that, with all your talk of terms and settlements and quarterly allowances and no personal regard or respect for me behind them. Accepting your support for a child we might have is one thing. Marrying you is something else, a wholly unnecessary step, to my mind."

"You were a virgin, in heaven's name! If you believe that I would take the innocence of a young lady and not do right by her, you know nothing of my character as a man, of what my position as a peer means to me, or of my honor as a gentleman."

"And what of Lady Sarah?" she countered. "Were you not intending to marry her?"

"I suppose Viola told you. It hardly matters, as I have not declared any such intention to the lady, and now I cannot do so."

"You were not in love with her, yet you intended to marry her. You do not love me, yet you now wish to marry me. One wife is as good as another? With a mistress for additional variety, of course."

"Love, love," he said impatiently. "What is love? Define it for me, if you will. You are the one who had her heart broken, so you told me. Tell me about love."

"That was not love!" she cried. "That was infatuation! A foolish inclination not supported by anything but my own imagination, for you felt nothing for me at all. I knew it, but-"

"What?" His shocked question made her realize her deepest secret had just slipped out.

Somehow, she did not care. What other people thought of her no longer mattered. "Yes, Anthony," she admitted, looking him in the eye, unashamed of her feelings. At least they had been honest ones. "I was infatuated with you. G.o.d help me, I fell for you the moment I met you. Stupid of me, but there it is."

He was staring at her in utter astonishment, and somehow that only fueled her anger. "Unbelievable, isn't it? Me, of all women, wanting a duke. Me, a woman with no money, no connections, and no family-at least no family that wants to acknowledge her. Me, a plain, shy, serious woman who by all rights should become a spinster because she is as noticeable as a stick insect on a twig!"

She saw a flicker of something in his expression, and she went on, "Yes, I was standing outside the music room that night when you and your sister talked of me. I heard every word you said. Do you recall that conversation, your grace?"

Comprehension dawned in his face, comprehension and a hint of dismay. "I did say that," he murmured and began to walk toward her. "I admit, I had forgotten the entire incident. It meant so little at the time."

"So little to you, perhaps, but so much to me." She was too angry to care that it would serve no purpose to tell him these things now, angry with how he had turned what had just happened between them in to something that involved obligation and shame. "I believe I was also compared with a machine, a creature with no feminine appeal. I was pathetic, I believe that was the term you used -"

He stepped forward and grasped her shoulders to give her a little shake, as if she were getting hysterical, when in fact, she was quite calm.

"Listen to me, Daphne," he said. "I am grieved that you overheard me say something so thoughtless, but I did not know you. I mean, of course I knew you, but I did not really know-" He broke off. Lowering his hands to his sides, he took a deep breath and tried again. "It was true that I said it, but it was because I meant that you made yourself unnoticeable. That was all, and your tendency to do so was a subject, I might add, which we have discussed. Viola was talking of finding you a husband, and she asked my opinion-"

"You certainly gave it. You told your sister that finding me a husband was a hopeless business." She gave a humorless laugh. "Not so hopeless after all, since you are now feeling this absurd compulsion to marry me yourself. How odd life is!"

He stepped back, clasping his hands behind him and looking every inch the proper duke. "Please believe that I have nothing but regret for those words. What I said was cruel and thoughtless, and I realize you must have been deeply hurt, but I a.s.sure you that wounding your feelings was never my intent. Since then, as I have already stated, I have developed a strong attraction to you, strong enough that one could safely describe it as a sort of madness with me. A temporary madness, perhaps, but a madness nonetheless. I wanted you so badly, I-" He expelled a harsh breath and the ducal dignity faltered. "G.o.d, after what just happened, do I have to explain?"

"No. I believe it is safe to say you have changed your opinion of me. How soon before it changes again? How soon before your *temporary madness', as you put it, fades away, and I become a stick insect again?"

"I do not think of you that way!" he shouted. "Can a man not change his opinion? I have changed mine. When I look at you, I do not see a stick insect. I see-" "You do not need to soothe my pride, your grace," she interrupted, unable to bear hearing compliments now. "It is not necessary. My heart was not broken by hearing your opinion of me. My pride was bruised, and that is all. I was not in love, I was infatuated, and I recovered from the experience."

"d.a.m.nation, Daphne, stop interrupting! I appreciate the wrong I have done you-in more ways than one, it seems-but that does not alter my obligation. We will be married as soon as the arrangements can be made, for I will not compound my wrong by abandoning my honor and my duty."

Daphne did not reply at once. She picked up the two halves of her ap.r.o.n and fastened them together at the neck, then slipped the garment over her head and began to fasten the ties. It was only after she had knotted the last one that she spoke.

"Once again, you seem to believe that this is all about you. Your duty, your good name, your heirs, your estate, your obligations, your feeling that what happened between us should be regarded as something sordid. Until we get married, of course, at which point, your honor will be satisfied. Most of all, this is about your sense of guilt."

She saw him flinch. Drawing a deep breath, she went on, "Unlike you, I do not feel guilty at all. I do not feel ruined. In fact, I was feeling quite delightful until you began talking of duty and shame ruined it all. I knew what I wanted, and I took it, as did you. You may feel that there is some dishonor in it, but your dishonor is not mine. What happened between us-"

Her voice caught for a moment. She swallowed hard, and went on, "It was a wonderful thing, truly the most exciting thing that has ever happened to me, and I will not turn it into something of which I should be ashamed. I will not marry you, because despite this mad attraction you seem to have for me now, you do not love me, nor even care for me in any sense that would result in a happy union. I will not be chained to any man in a loveless marriage by his temporary pa.s.sion, nor his need to expunge his guilt."

"Love has nothing to do with this. This is about honor and duty."

"I will not be any man's duty." She walked over to her cloak, which lay draped over the cap of a Corinthian column. "I thank you for your offer, your grace, but I will not marry you. That is my final resolve. Your duty is now discharged."

Throwing her cloak over her shoulders, she left the antika, too angry to say one more word.

Anthony stared at the door that Daphne had just slammed behind her, feeling bewildered, ill-used, and rather angry himself. What did she expect of him? Did she think him a callous brute who would ruin her, then pay her off as if she were a streetwalker? That he could then abandon her as if he owed her nothing more, or that he could turn her into a courtesan? G.o.d, that wounded him, that she thought him capable of such an action.

But he had also wounded her. She had been infatuated with him, and his words must have hurt her deeply, but as he had just tried to explain, he had not known her then, not in any personal sense. He had hired her to do a job of work. He had been her employer, and he had treated her accordingly. And yes, his opinion of her as a woman then had not been flattering, but he would never have expressed it had he known her to be eavesdropping outside the door.

A stick insect. His words, true, but the way he thought of her now was so different. Could she not see that? She was no longer the unnoticeable subservient who did everything he asked, who took every word he said as if it were gospel, and who has always hovered by to obey his every order without question.

She had changed before his eyes, and somehow, she had become in his sight a woman as alluring and desirable as any he had ever known. Even now, when the consequences of what he had done were so grave, he wanted her again. Even now, when all the things he valued most-the future of his estates, the honor of his name, and the legitimacy of a possible heir-were in jeopardy, even now, he wanted her.

Yes, she had became a pa.s.sion to him, a beautiful and vibrant woman. A woman he had hurt very badly.

These were not the most romantic circ.u.mstances under which to propose, and he had probably wounded her a second time by discussing their marriage in such blunt fashion. And having the subject of his mistress come out had not helped. He hadn't even had the chance to tell her he had written to Marguerite and ended the arrangement.

He supposed it had been rather arrogant of him to a.s.sume that she would accept him, but d.a.m.n it all, he was a duke. It was not as if he were an attorney or a land agent. Only royal dukes, princes, and kings ranked higher than he, and it was not conceited of him to take her acceptance of his offer as a matter of course, especially under these circ.u.mstances.

Anthony walked over to the table by the wall. He pulled his cloak from beneath it and put it on, then left the antika.

Sunrise was breaking over the horizon, and Anthony paused for a moment outside the antika, staring at the crimson, pink, and gold horizon. Today was Epiphany. Somehow that seems appropriate, he thought wryly, as he began walking back to the house.

Marrying Daphne was simply the right and honorable thing to do, and he was going to have to figure out a way that would persuade her to accept. He had the feeling it was not going to be easy.

Chapter 21.

Daphne had departed from Tremore Hall less than twenty minutes after she had left Anthony in the antika. He did not attempt to see her before she left, deciding it would be best to wait a fortnight before following her to Chiswick so that both of them could think over the situation in a calm and prudent fashion. For his part, he knew that he had not been particularly romantic in his proposal. In persuading Daphne to accept him, he would have to find a way to remedy that. Getting her alone would be an easy matter at Enderby, but when he arrived there, his sister turned his plans upside down.

He found Viola in the midst of packing to leave, surrounded by opened trunks scattered about the floor of her boudoir, with maids scurrying about her in a frenzy of activity, filling the trunks with gowns.

"Left?" he demanded of his sister. "What do you mean, she left?"

Viola shook her head but not at him. "No, no, Celeste, not the green silk, the green wool." She turned her attention to Anthony and gestured to a nearby chair of her sitting room.

"Dear Daphne has gone on to London. Lady Fitzhugh was kind enough to offer to act as her chaperone under the circ.u.mstances."

Anthony frowned as he sat on the edge of a brocade chair, oblivious to the pile of gowns he crushed. "What circ.u.mstances?" He glanced around him. "Are you not packing for town?"

"I am going to Northumberland. Hammond has been in some sort of accident, and I must go to Hammond Park at once. I received an express from Dr. Chancellor last evening."

"What sort of accident?"

"He was shot."

"A hunting accident?"

"No." Viola bit her lip and looked away. After a moment, she returned her attention to Anthony. Looking him in the eye, she said, "He was in a duel. Over some woman."

"The blackguard!" Anthony slammed his fist into the padded arm of his chair. "By G.o.d, I will ruin him for this. How much more humiliation does he expect you to endure?"

His sister looked pained, and he expelled a harsh breath. Though Viola might have felt some distress at this news, he did not. Hammond had treated Viola d.a.m.n badly, and a duel over some woman was the last straw. Anthony could spare little regret for the other man's injuries. "I am sorry, Viola, but Hammond is a rakeh.e.l.l if ever there was one."

"It hardly matters now, does it?" She shrugged and went on, "I was so glad to see Daphne, and we had a wonderful visit. Though she was disappointed that I cannot go to London after all, things have turned out quite well. She is going to stay with the Fitzhugh family for her season."

If Daphne was staying in London with the Fitzhughs, his task had just become much more difficult, for he would have no opportunity to be alone with her, not to mention that his task of making her see reason would be played out before the entire ton. The gossip would escalate to a frenzy of rumor and speculation. "d.a.m.n."

He could not help noticing his sister's surprised glance.

"You seem displeased by this news, Anthony. Why should you be? You knew she would be going to town." She began to smile. "Been hoping to persuade her back to your clay pots and mosaics, have you?"

Anthony shot her a sharp look. "Did Miss Wade not confide in you?"

"Confide in me? I do not know what you mean. What confidences should she be imparting to me? Has something happened?"

Most women would have been eager to impart news of a duke's proposal, especially to his sister, yet Daphne had evidently not told Viola. As guarded about his private life as a man could be, Anthony was pleased by her discretion, but Viola had to know the truth sometime, and it was far better for his sister to hear it from him than from the society papers. He told her.

"You proposed to Daphne?" A wide smile lit her face as she jumped up from her chair and came to give him a smacking kiss on each cheek. "How delightful!"

"Not so very delightful," he replied as Viola returned to her seat. "She refused me."

"Did she? I cannot imagine why, for she is in-" Viola paused in whatever she had been about to say, and her brown eyes narrowed on him. "You did not ask her, did you? You told her. Do not deny it," she added as he started to speak. "I know you far too well, Anthony. You became all ducal and autocratic, and she told you to go to the devil." Much to his chagrin, Viola began to laugh. "Oh, I knew I liked that woman."

"I am gratified that you are enjoying this, but are you not supposed to be on my side?"

"No," she answered at once, her smile widening. "I am wholly on Daphne's. We women must band together in situations such as this." Before Anthony could reply, she went on, "But one thing does puzzle me. If she refused you, why are you here?"

He found Viola's amus.e.m.e.nt at his expense quite irritating. "If you think I am accepting no for an answer, you do not know me as well as you thought, dear sister."

"Quite right of you, I say, but Daphne has the right to expect to be courted, you know. You cannot just order her to marry you. A wedding is not like an excavation. Oh, how I wish I could stay and watch all of this play out."

"Yes, I am sure you do," he answered, unamused, "but the society papers will be able to provide you with the details, no doubt. By the way, there is something I need to ask you. Did Daphne ever tell you the name of her grandfather? I shall have to locate this baron and discuss settlements with him."

"Lord Durand. Estates in Durham, I believe, but I did discover that he is in town. I suggested that Daphne and I pay a call on him, but she did not wish to do so. She explained to me that Durand actually refused to acknowledge her. She wrote to him after her father's death, and he had an attorney respond that she was not his granddaughter and never would be. Her parents eloped, and evidently, Durand never accepted the match. Can you believe it? I almost wept when she told me. There she was in Tangier or wherever, all alone with no money, and the horrid man wrote to her that she could expect no help from him."

Anthony rose to his feet, rage flowing through his body like a flood, but when he spoke, his voice was hard, tight, and fully controlled. "Somehow," he told Viola, "I believe Durand will be much more amenable to acknowledging his connection after a visit from me."

"Yes," Viola said, looking at him with obvious pleasure. "I expect he will. But Anthony," she added gently, "I do not believe Durand is your problem. You still have to persuade Daphne to accept your suit."

That was not going to be a problem at all, Anthony vowed as he left Enderby for London. By G.o.d, Daphne would be his d.u.c.h.ess, even if he had to court her under the unwavering scrutiny of all London society.