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Laughter erupted inside her. “And you’re incorrigible.” Even as the retort left her lips, amazement registered on her face.
“Don’t look so surprised,” Pierce said softly, tracing the curve of her shoulder with gentle fingers. “There’s a whole other Daphne inside you, one who’s bold and daring and impulsive. I intend to coax that Daphne from her protective shell, to call forth her pride, her courage, but most of all, her smile.”
Daphne’s eyes grew damp. “How do you know me so well?” she whispered. “And after so brief a time?”
“The same way you know me. Here.” Pierce pressed her palm to his shirtfront, let her feel the beating of his heart.
“I’d best go in,” Daphne managed, wanting only to melt back into his arms. “My father thinks I’m in bed, where he’ll expect me to stay until we leave for Tragmore the morning after next.”
All the gentleness in Pierce’s eyes vanished. “Why did that blackguard hit you tonight?”
She lowered her gaze.
“Daphne, tell me.”
“Evidently he discovered I’d visited Mr. Chambers this week.”
“He beat you because you visited the vicar?” Pierce asked in revulsion.
“Father detests the vicar, spurns all his beliefs,” Daphne explained. Sighing, she added, “I, on the other hand, share them. I can’t stop trying to help, to ease the pain of those who have nothing. Not even for Father.” She shuddered. “Not even to avert his beatings.”
“Surely your vicar must know of your father’s brutality?”
“He does, only too well. But I won’t let him interfere. It would endanger his position in the parish, and resolve nothing. By law, I am under my father’s rule.”
Pierce’s lips thinned into a grim line. “Tell me, what does Mr. Chambers say when you arrive at his church with bruises such as these?” He cupped her chin between his palms.
Fondly, Daphne smiled. “He says, ‘Don’t come here any longer, Snowdrop. The Lord knows how much you care. But neither He nor I can bear to see you hurt.’ ”
“Snowdrop?”
“Yes. He’s called me that since I was small. He thinks I’m as durable and tenacious as a snowdrop, despite my fragile veneer.”
“Does he?” Pierce threaded his fingers through her hair, bent to kiss her cheeks, her lips, the sensitive pulse in her neck. “Well, your vicar is right. But only in part.” Nibbling at her ear, Pierce murmured, “Snowdrop? Perhaps, but so much more. Snow flame. Now that’s a better choice. Delicate and untouched as snow, burning with an inner fire only I can elicit. Yes. Snow flame. With all the spirit and determination of a snowdrop and all the passion, the multifaceted beauty of a flame.” He sought her mouth. “My extraordinary snow flame.”
“Pierce.” She melted against him, an unfamiliar heat coursing through her in wide rivers of sensation.
“And you said I was fire,” he breathed, burying his lips in hers.
This time it was he who ended the kiss, gasping as he fought for control.
“Did I do something wrong?” Daphne asked in a ragged whisper.
“Never. If you were any more right I’d lower you to the grass here and now and make love to you.”
Daphne blushed.
“Do you find that notion upsetting?”
Her chin came up, her eyes wide with disbelief. “Do I find what notion upsetting?”
“The notion of my making love to you.”
“Is it proper for you to ask me such questions?!”
“No.” Pierce’s smile was devilish. “But I’d like an answer nonetheless.”
Her own lips twitched. “Very well. No, I don’t find the notion of your making love to me upsetting. In fact, although I’m not certain of all the nuances involved, I find the notion terribly appealing.”
