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“I’m saying that the offer was totally improper an
d equally wonderful. Never change, Daphne. Your decency and lack of arrogance are humbling. Even to me.” Pierce’s eyes twinkled. “Moreover, if Mrs. Gates is unsettled by your actions, imagine what Langley and Bedrick are saying about mine. Why, poor Langley still clasps his gloved hands behind his back the instant he sees me approaching, terrified that I might repeat my original attempt to shake his hand in greeting. And Bedrick continues to appear dutifully in my bedchamber each morning, desperately hoping I’ll reconsider and allow him to dress and shave me, although I repeatedly tell him to give it up. I doubt if either of them will ever be quite the same again.”
Daphne laughed, smoothing the ends of Pierce’s cravat. “We are a bit disconcerting, now that you call it to my attention.”
Seeing the glow in his wife’s eyes, feeling her small, delicate hands on his chest, Pierce was seized by a surge of lust, coupled with another, more complex emotion so powerful it nearly brought him to his knees.
“What is it?” Daphne reacted to the tensing of her husband’s muscles.
Pierce stared down at her, feeling off balance in a way he’d never experienced and vulnerable in his inability to conquer it. Fiercely, he caught Daphne’s fingers in his, brought her palms to his mouth, searching for words to explain what he himself couldn’t fathom. “Your touch,” he said hoarsely, responding to the only uncomplicated part of this madness—his lust. “The moment you put your hands on me, I’m on fire. It’s as simple as that.” He kissed the fluttering pulse at her wrist, traced the delicate veins with his tongue. “If the vicar weren’t due here this minute, I’d lock that damned door, lower you to the carpet, and make love to you until you begged me to stop.”
Daphne made a soft sound of pleasure, rising up on tiptoes to brush Pierce’s lips with her own. “If my begging you to stop is the prerequisite to our receiving visitors, then I fear Markham will be sadly lacking in guests.”
With a rough sound, Pierce dragged her into his arms. “You tempt me beyond reason.”
“That’s not temptation,” Daphne demurred, her expression as heated as his. “ ’Tis merely gambling where I’m certain I’ll win.”
“Damn.” Pierce’s hands slid down to her bottom, lifting her purposefully against the rigid contours of his lower body. “Is the vicar ever late?”
“Never.” Daphne pressed closer, her face flushed. “He’ll be here any second.”
“The way I feel now, I won’t require much more than that.” Hungrily, Pierce covered her mouth with his.
“Mr. Chambers.”
Langley’s proper announcement rang out, a deluge of ice water on Daphne and Pierce’s intensifying embrace. Hastily, they broke apart, snapping about to face their mortified butler and distinguished dinner guest.
“F-forgive me, Your Grace,” Langley attempted. “You told me to escort the vicar directly into the dining room.”
“It’s all right, Langley.” As always, Pierce recovered his composure posthaste. “Thank you for showing the vicar in. You may leave us now.”
Daphne was as shaken as the rapidly retreating butler. Blushing furiously, she went forward to greet her friend. “Vicar, I don’t know what to say. I can imagine what you’re thinking. I must have looked a total wanton.”
“Shall I tell you how you looked, Snowdrop?” The clergyman smiled, reaching out to draw Daphne to him. With a gentle forefinger he raised her chin, beholding the miraculous transformation six weeks had wrought. “You looked happy. Happy and unconstrained by the past. And I was thinking how wonderful it is, at last, to feel your joy and to see your eyes alight with love.”
Misty eyed, Daphne hugged her lifelong friend. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“As am I.”
“Let me pour you a brandy before I make a total fool of myself.” Dashing away her tears, Daphne crossed the room to the sideboard.
With an expression of profound satisfaction, the vicar turned to Pierce. “Thank you for inviting me.”
Pierce shook his head. “You nurtured my wife for twenty years, offered her solace when she had none, and wed us without question or censure, despite the upheaval that precipitated our less-than-traditional ceremony. It is I who should be thanking you.”
“You love Daphne,” the vicar replied quietly, with uncanny insight. “ ’Tis all the thanks I need.”
With that simple proclamation he went to get his brandy, leaving Pierce feeling as if he’d been punched. He was still reeling from his earlier emotional onslaught with Daphne, unnerved by the intensity of his feelings. That, combined with the vicar’s declaration, was too much.
Inhaling slowly, Pierce fought for control and comprehension. It wasn’t that the vicar’s conclusion was erroneous, nor that it was so extraordinary a revelation. Pierce had known he cared deeply about his wife for weeks, maybe months. But to hear those irrevocable words spoken aloud, not by Daphne, when she shuddered in his arms or curled close to his side, but by a stranger—a stranger who referred, not to Daphne’s feelings for him, but to his for her. Lord, the impact was staggering.
“Pierce? Would you like a brandy?”
Daphne’s quizzical tone indicated that this was not the first time she’d asked.
“Yes, brandy would be excellent right about now.” Veering toward the sideboard, Pierce took the proffered glass, drained it, then poured himself another.
“Are you all right?” Daphne asked.
