Page 73 of Barbarous

“Me?”

“Yes, you.” He smiled at her obvious confusion. “Will sent me two letters in the last year. One informing me my uncle was on his deathbed, and a second that said he’d received two letters threatening you, not long after my uncle’s funeral.”

“Me?” Daphne sounded like Hugh’s parrot, but less articulate.

“Yes, you and the boys.”

Daphne’s brain exploded at his words and she sprang to her feet.

“Steady, love,” Hugh said, gently pulling her back down. “They are upstairs, safe in their beds. Also, Kemal is sleeping in the small room beside the schoolroom.”

“He is?”

“Yes, he is. The letters are why I returned—to make sure you and your sons were safe. I have tried very hard to do so, although I’m not sure there was really any threat.”

Daphne heard the words but could make no sense of them. “You came here for a woman you didn’t even know and for her sons, the eldest of whom had usurped your place?”

Hugh laughed. “For an intelligent woman you can be quite a goose, sometimes. Does it appear to you that I have much interest in what you call my place? A position in society, which I abandoned almost two decades ago? Does it appear I lack for wealth and want what belongs to your son?” He shook his head. “No, Daphne. My place has been anywhere but here for almost twenty years.”

“You are leaving?”

“I won’t leave England until I determine the source of those letters, even though I’m fairly sure they were about Hastings.”

Daphne struggled to marshal her thoughts into some form of order, but all she could manage was, “You are leaving.”

He hesitated, and then appeared to come to a decision. “I cannot stay in England if you will not have me. I cannot. But know this, whether you will have me or not, I will never challenge Lucien’s right to the title—even if such a thing were possible. On the contrary, I would do everything in my power to defend it. On that you have my word.”

Daphne couldn’t speak, or even think.

He stroked her cheek. “I love your treacherous skin, sweetheart—it is one of the few things that kept me hoping you might care for me when your haughty, cool looks made me lose heart. In answer to your question, yes, I want to be your lover, but I am also asking you to be my wife.”

“But . . .”

“The scandal?” He nuzzled her neck.

She nodded.

“It is true,” he said, not pausing his nuzzling. “We would be breaking ecclesiastical law by marrying. Many in the ton would cut us and there is a possibility—albeit slight—that someone might challenge our union.”

Daphne nodded. She, too, had researched the subject. She felt his lips curve into a smile against the thin skin of her neck.

“But I am richer than Croesus and have a lifetime of experience protecting myself and my own. I do not fear such threats. It is more the social cuts—the death by a thousand cuts as they call it in China—that I fear. Especially for you. You must consider that, Daphne. Is that something you could endure? Something you would wish to endure? And what about Lucien and Richard? Could you do this to them—to their future?”

He continued to kiss and confuse her while disturbing words poured from his mouth. The things he said were true, but he said nothing of himself and how he would be affected. Did he truly not care about casting himself beyond the pale? Did she?

He took her earlobe into his mouth and sucked, and her thoughts shattered like glass. She shook her head, as if to clear away the shards.

“I cannot fault you for such a decision,” he said, mistaking her gesture as one of rejection. “Your sons should always come first.” His voice was hollow and brittle.

Daphne let out a soft huff and leaned against his chest, amazed he could be so foolish. “How can such an intelligent man be such a goose?” she teased. “I’ve spent my life on the fringes—even when I was married to Thomas. People stared and whispered about the coal miner’s granddaughter who had taken advantage of a doddering earl.” She shrugged. “And before then—when I lived with Sir Walter and Malcolm? Well, I was an outcast of a different kind, isolated and alone with only my mother and my books to keep me company.” She pressed herself against his tense, waiting body. “You realize, don’t you, that the boys will be relentless when they learn about us. You will have no peace ever again.”

Hugh gripped her shoulders and held her at arm’s length, his expression one she’d not seen before: amazement tinged with anxiety. “This is unlike you, Daphne. It is your way to contemplate matters carefully before making a decision—especially one of this magnitude. Are you certain? Entirely certain? Scandal aside, you’ve had very little exposure to the world—to men. Don’t you wish to sample the pleasures life has to offer before committing yourself? Especially before committing yourself to a life of certain censure?” His jaw hardened. “I will give you time to consider my offer—as much time as you need.”

She took his hand. “My hasty decision is not hasty at all. Do you think you are the only one who has wondered about us and what might be? I have struggled and struggled to look beyond your amiable, teasing manner, to discern whether you held me in any special esteem. And then—” She bit her lip.

“And then there was Mia.”

She nodded. “Yes, that was . . . difficult.”