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A tiny shiver went through her. “But there is more. I sensed it from the moment you proposed.”
“The late Duke of Markham—” he faltered. “My father left several conditions in the codicil to his will. Specifically, there are two stipulations to my retaining possession of his coveted title and, fortune. First, I must assume not only the role of the Duke of Markham, but all its pertinent responsibilities for a period of two years. And second, during that time, I must produce a legitimate heir to the dukedom. Once I’ve fulfilled those provisos I am free to resume my previous life as a commoner, retaining all access to the Markham estate.”
“And if you fail?”
“I lose it all.”
“I see.” Daphne lowered her gaze, her long lashes brushing her cheeks.
“I don’t want the bloody title. I think you know that. But I need it—for reasons I can’t fully explain.” Staring at her bowed head, his jaw clenched in frustration. “I can imagine what you’re thinking. Here I’ve given you indisputable cause for doubt, perfect grounds to disbelieve all I’ve professed to feel. There’s no earthly reason for you to trust me, and yet, that’s just what I’m asking you to do. Do you see now why I was reluctant to tell all this to you?”
Daphne’s lashes lifted, and Pierce was stunned to see tears of wonder shimmering in her eyes. “Yes.” She lay her hand on his jaw, soothing away the tension with her fingertips. “You were reluctant to tell me because you were afraid you’d lose me. Yet you did tell me—and before our union was complete—despite your qualms about my reaction.” A tremulous smile hovered about her lips. “You took an unfavorable risk—a forbiddance for a good gambler. And why? Because of your feelings for me. Caring and respect. I’ve never been offered such precious gifts before. Thank you, Pierce.”
A harsh groan erupted from his chest. “Daphne.” He enfolded her against him, his lips in her hair. “God, I need you.”
“I need you, too,” she whispered, shy and eager all at once. “Just tell me what to do.”
His muscles tightened as he struggled with his next offer. “Snow flame. What’s about to happen between us—there are ways to alter its outcome.”
She leaned back, regarded him quizzically. “What do you mean?”
“You’re a rare, and priceless jewel, one that has been cruelly mistreated, and is only now on the brink of being treasured as it was meant to be. If you need time, there are ways—”
“Are you saying you do
n’t plan to make love to me?”
Pierce started. “Am I saying—No. That is definitely not what I’m saying.” His restless gaze swept over her, his features hardening with desire. “I’m afraid that measure of nobility is beyond me.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“I’m saying you’re more than a vessel for my seed. If you’re not ready to conceive a child, there are ways to prevent it.”
Quizzically, Daphne inclined her head. “How?”
“I can refrain from spilling my seed inside you.”
“Just like that?” Daphne looked puzzled rather than embarrassed. “Wouldn’t that diminish your pleasure?”
“I’ll survive. I’ve done so for years.”
“I don’t understand.”
His smile was bitter. “I’m a bastard, Daphne. I grew up on the streets, never knowing who my father was or when my next meal would be. I swore to myself I’d never be responsible for doing that to another human being.”
“You wouldn’t be,” she countered softly. “We’re legally wed. Were I to conceive, our child would not be a bastard.”
“The reason for my self-discipline would be different in our case, but no less valid. If and when we have a child, I want it to be a decision we both make, not one I make alone, and certainly not one incited by the codicil of my late sire’s will.”
“I see.” Daphne nodded, reaching up to unfasten the top button of Pierce’s shirt. “Well, then, if this discussion is finally at an end,” she struggled with the next button, giving her husband a heart-melting smile, “I believe we’ve done enough talking on our wedding night.” She slid her fingers inside to touch the warmth of Pierce’s skin. “Will you please make love to me now?”
Her innocent question, her tentative explorations, blasted through his loins like cannon fire, obliterating every vestige of his staunch discipline. “Christ.” He dragged her mouth to his, delving inside to taste her sweetness with all the urgency of a drowning man. He tore open his remaining buttons, covering her hand with his and guiding it along the hard, hair-roughened planes of his chest. “I want you so much I’m going to explode.”
“Teach me how to please you,” she urged, caressing his hot skin with feather-light strokes.
That did it. “Later.” He swept her into his arms, crossed the sitting room in four long strides. “Much later. Right now, I can’t even make it to a bed.”
He paused at the sofa, bending to seize the row of brocade cushions,” which he tossed, one by one, to the floor. Lowering Daphne to the makeshift bed, he followed her down, covering her with himself. “I’m going to make love to you until neither of us can breathe,” he vowed against her parted lips. Lifting her head, he spread her tawny tresses out like a golden fan beneath them, tracing his fingers down the sides of her neck, her shoulders, absorbing each delicate shiver with a fierce sense of satisfaction as new to him as the frenzy pounding through his veins. His mouth left hers, blazing a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses down her throat, the upper slope of her breasts. He slid his arm beneath her, lining her into his kisses and simultaneously tearing each hook of her gown from its casing until only her chemise stood between him and the treasure he craved.
