Even as he hid his face from her, Daphne knew that the wall had crashed down. He was vulnerable in front of her, speaking with her as neither the Duke nor the Wolf.
He was finally Adrian.
Daphne approached him and cupped his face between her soft, warm palms. His skin felt cold and clammy, as if he was fighting off an illness.
“Stop carrying your burdens alone, Your Grace,” she said softly. “The circumstances in which we were married may not have been ideal, but I am still your wife. I am not afraid of your darkness because I have my own scars. I married the man who teased me on the way to the Reverend’s house. That was the man in the light. Now, you have just told me about your gaming hells and your life in the shadows. I am still here. I will not leave you. Let me protect you for once.”
His breath hitched as he covered her hands with his rough ones.
“My mother was called Emmeline,” he said hoarsely. “She was a quiet and fiercely intelligent woman. You remind me of her in that regard. Her laughter was like music. She loved the sea and the stars, too. She would take me to the garden at night to watch the stars. My father did not like these expeditions.”
Daphne’s heart clenched as she saw the ghost of a smile on his lips. It was beautiful and fleeting, just like his mother’s life. He was not finished yet. He paused and looked into the distance, at a spot somewhere to his right.
“My sister was named Cassandra. She was beautiful and fiery. Impatient. She made me laugh and drew me pictures of wolves. Even then, she said that they reminded her of me.”
A tear rolled down Daphne’s cheek. She knew the value of family. She could not imagine losing Victoria or any of their other sisters, or even their brother Daniel. She might not like the way her mother handled her affairs, but she would still mourn her. When her father, the late Marquess of Grisham, died, shewent through a period of despair. Yes, she was happy she didn’t have to fear his cane, but she still mourned. She mourned the man that he was, and the man that he should have been.
“I wish I could speak well of my father,” Adrian said, his voice low and unflinching. “But the truth is, he was a fool and a coward. A man who gambled away his fortune and his honor. His debts drew wolves to our door long before I ever became one.” He paused, his jaw tightening as the memories clawed their way back. “One of those men was Mortlake, the former owner of the Obsidian Card. My father thought he could outwit him. Instead, Mortlake sent his men to our home.”
His tone darkened, until it was almost guttural. This was the first time Daphne had ever heard the name Mortlake and yet it seemed as if this man had been the source of so much of Adrian’s pain.
“I woke to the sound of my mother screaming. My sister’s cry. I saw the blood. I saw them die. And I could do nothing.” He laughed bitterly. “The men were still there, beating my father to a pulp, and I, God help me, I was too young to stop them. Too weak. When it was over, he called it a robbery gone wrong. He wouldn’t even name the man who ordered the attack. He was too ashamed to face what his own recklessness had caused.”
Adrian’s hand clenched into a fist. “So, I did what he could not. I made sure Mortlake paid. And I swore I’d never be that helpless boy again.”
“I—I am so sorry, Your Grace,” Daphne whispered, covering her mouth. Her tears were flowing in earnest at this point.
“Don’t be. It was not your fault. My father sent me off to Cambridge and then to the Continent. He could not face me, then. I knew what he was like as a man. I was twenty-two when he died. I vowed not to be as weak as him. Within a year, I was able to restore the duchy’s fortune and influence.”
“Is that how you obtained the Obsidian Card?” Daphne asked, dreading what he was going to say next.
“Oh, no. It was not that easy. Using my title as a Duke, I was able to follow Mr. Mortlake’s trail of crimes and had the authorities get hold of enough evidence to send my sister’s and mother’s murderers to prison. Then, I bought out Mortlake’s debts and bribed his investors. I did not stop until he was destitute and I became the owner of his gaming hell.”
The confession hung heavily between them. Daphne now understood the roots of his rage and loneliness. Still, she didn’t want to offer empty reassurances, but she could offer something else. Herself.
She let go of his face and wrapped her arms tightly around him. He was much bigger, but she wished she could safeguard him, too, the way he promised to protect her.
Now she knew what it was like for him. He had lost people violently to men like Briarwood.
Adrian let himself be caught up in her embrace, burying his face in the curve between her neck and shoulder. Daphne felt him cling to her more tightly as if she had become the anchor.
When he pulled back, his eyes were on her mouth. The desperate tension between them exploded into something else. Grief became something akin to desire, raw but more than just lust. His mouth claimed hers in a possessive kiss, tender and urgent at the same time.
Daphne was not afraid of him. She shed her self-preservation and gave in completely, kissing him back with the same fierce passion. Her lips parted willingly, letting his tongue inside her mouth. Tasting him. Feeling his warmth on hers. She gripped his shirt and pulled him closer. She wanted more of him and did not know how to make that happen.
The kiss was a conversation and Adrian groaned with relief and surrender, a feeling she shared. He broke the kiss, leaving her gasping. The heat simmered once more when she realized he meant to devour her, as he left open-mouthed kisses down her throat, licking at her pulse there.
“Daphne. Duchess,” he breathed brokenly but reverently. “I need you. You do not know how much I do.”
“I know,” she gasped, as her fingers unfastened the buttons of his shirt.
Her movements were desperate, making some buttons pop and fall to the floor. He chuckled.
The Duchess tore the shirt from his shoulders, letting her eyes feast on his well-defined muscles. She placed her palms on his chest, reveling at how solid and powerful he felt beneath her touch.
Adrian was becoming impatient, lifting her in his arms, and kissing her senselessly. His hunger reflected her own.
“Not here,” he grunted, as he lifted her up in his arms.
