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He had much to do, and a relatively short time in which to do it.
Gantry’s house party would continue for days, but according to Daphne, her father intended to pack up his family and take his leave tomorrow. It wasn’t difficult to surmise what would happen next. Tragmore would return to his estate and beat Daphne senseless.
Pierce had known from the moment Daphne described her father’s reasons for hitting her that Tragmore was far from finished. Pierce knew the man, had seen him in action for years. If the son of a bitch were angry enough to strike his daughter in the midst of a public event, to risk a scandal, he was more than furious. And there was no telling what he would do once he had Daphne in the prison of their home.
Damn it! Pierce struck a velvet pillow with his fist. How could he prevent Tragmore’s brutality without further endangering Daphne? If he stepped forward and openly confronted the marquis, the scoundrel would viciously retaliate—not against Pierce, who dwarfed him in both size and power, but against Daphne. And, as Daphne had pointed out, the law was on her father’s side. The only way she’d be free of the marquis’s cruelty was to leave Tragmore.
And the only way to leave Tragmore was to marry.
Maybe he ought to have proposed the night before, when she was warm and soft in his arms, when her defenses were down, her body awakening. Maybe he’d made a mistake to wait.
But it was too soon. She’d only just learned to trust him, to begin relinquishing her long-sustained inhibitions. If he frightened her off now, he might not have another opportunity to regain her faith. And he was far too good a gambler to take so stupid a risk.
There was one thing more.
Pierce was arrogant enough to want Daphne to wed him out of desire, not escape.
He had to woo her slowly, tenderly. Yet there was no time for either, for there was no deferring Tragmore’s aggression. Further, the marquis would never willingly tolerate Pierce as a suitor for Daphne’s hand. He could be coerced, of course. Lord knew, Pierce had enough ammunition to do that. But that would eliminate Daphne’s freedom of choice, something Pierce refused to do.
So how could he protect her? What ruse could he use?
Tragmore’s first payment.
Sitting bolt upright, Pierce seized the notion, wondering why he hadn’t thought of it earlier. He’d informed Tragmore he’d return at week’s end to demand a portion of the money he was owed. Very well, return he would. Tomorrow. And somehow, during that visit, he would accomplish the impossible. He would see Daphne alone, push her gently but inexorably toward the altar, and divert Tragmore enough, without compromising Daphne’s dignity, to buy himself time and, in the process, to keep Daphne safe.
How he was going to do this he had no idea.
By morning, he would.
“The Duke of Markham to see you, sir.”
Tragmore scowled at his butler. “The Duke of—” Sharply, he inhaled. “Send him in to my study.”
“Very good, my lord.”
Pierce stalked into the study and stopped, carefully scrutinizing the marquis. From the looks of things, he’d come in time. Tragmore’s expression was moody, not belligerent; pale, not ruddy, which assured Pierce that the bastard had not undergone a recent physical confrontation. That, combined with the fact that luggage was still being unloaded from the marquis’s carriage and carried through the manor, was enough to put Pierce’s mind at ease. Since returning from Gantry, Tragmore hadn’t had the opportunity to abuse his daughter.
“I’ve scarcely entered my home, Thornton. What do you want?” Tragmore snapped.
“I believe the proper form of address is Your Grace.”
Daggers flashed in Tragmore’s eyes. “Markham is bad enough. Don’t expect anything more.”
“I take it you’re not pleased with my announcement,” Pierce noted, propping himself irreverently on the edge of Tragmore’s desk. “Given the circumstances, I don’t blame you.”
“I knew your father. Well. How he could have—” The marquis bit off his own words.
“How he could have what? Bestowed his title, name, and fortune on me? I really don’t think he had a choice.”
“He could have let his title die.”
Pierce smiled bitterly. “Rather than entrust it to a worthless street urchin.”
“Precisely.”
“You’re quite outspoken for a man who has ever
ything to lose.”
