Blood boiling, he shook her again. “I’ve never hit a woman but you might be the first if you don’t hold your vile tongue,” he threatened, and she stilled at his menacing tone. “I want you gone from here. You and your brother will leave Cuilean within the hour, do you understand?”
“Leave? Why?”
“I think you know very well the answer to that.” He waited for some measure of the truth to be revealed in her gaze. Daphne didn’t look away, nor did she even blink. “And you can call off your henchmen as well; they will be of no more use to you. You’ll leave this place knowing that I am marrying Hero. There’ll be no stopping it. No more accidents, do you understand?”
A huff of disbelieving laughter escaped her. “My God, you bloody well think you’re in love with her, don’t you?”
He wasn’t about to answer that question. He went to the door and opened it, gesturing that she should go. “Within the hour, Miss Kennedy.”
Daphne parted her lips to say more, but seemed to think better of it. Instead she shrugged as if it were all of little matter. “As you wish, my lord, but when your bed turns cold—and it will—remember, I’ll be waiting for you.”
Ian slammed the door on the heels of her retreat, hoping she’d leave peaceably now that she knew he was on to her. Surely she would accept that her cause was a lost one and cease with her campaign to have Cuilean at any cost.
It would be easier to just have her arrested, and for that reason, his purpose in Ayr the previous day had been threefold. Not only had he gone to arrange for his marriage to Hero, he’d also delivered his would-be assassin to the magistrate and spoke with him regarding the attacks. His assailant, named Jim Cravet, had given them nothing more than what Ian already learned, however. He didn’t have the name of his employer and could provide only a vague description of a “toff” of an age nearing forty. There was no mention of a woman being behind it all.
Without evidence, the magistrate told Ian, there was nothing that could be done. He doubted even Daphne’s offhanded admission this morning would count for anything. The Kennedys were a prominent family in Ayr, the magistrate explained. He’d be a fool to accuse without tangible proof of her complicity. The magistrate’s advice had been for Ian to protect himself against further attacks, and so he would.
Daphne Kennedy would gain nothing from him.
Her efforts had almost paid off twice more the previous day, however, leaving Ian to wonder how many plots against him had already been set in motion. Like the attempt made by Cravet, the two attempts yesterday had forsaken subtlety in favor of a more direct approach. First, he’d been shot at on his ride into Ayr with Cravet in tow. Cleverly done, as Ian crossed through his northern woodlands where his own hunters and occasional poachers had been known to injure stray riders with a mistaken shot on an early morning hunt.
He was lucky that a fast horse and the dense forest had kept the bullets from finding their mark, but he couldn’t help but speculate how the assailants knew to be there at all. Either they’d been sitting in wait on the prospect of catching him unawares or the mastermind had eyes within his home.
Again, Daphne was a perfect choice. The only one with motive that he could see.
The magistrate hadn’t agreed.
The second more blatant attack occurred when ruffians set upon him and the bishop on their departure from Ayr. Luckily for Ian, the bishop was a sporting man who enjoyed an occasional bout in the ring. With his assistance, they’d been able to fight off their attackers and backtrack to Ayr with the trio bound. Ian delivered them to the magistrate, hoping for a confession that would identify who hired them. All he’d gotten from one of them was a confirmation that their attack hadn’t been purely random, but no further information had been forthcoming after the informant’s two compatriots hushed him to silence.
Disheartened, Ian and the bishop had set off for Dùn Cuilean once again. This time accompanied by a pair of guards the magistrate had referred Ian to. The two men would remain at the castle as added protection until he could find some proof of Daphne’s culpability in the incidents.
He would not allow her even the smallest measure of success.
The old adage to keep one’s friends close and one’s enemies closer had crossed Ian’s mind. It was the reason he hadn’t banished her away with his first suspicions. He thought to watch her, to catch her in the act of sabotage. He’d had his valet follow her, keeping track of her activities, hoping to gain the evidence needed for her arrest.
Ian would have continued to keep her at Dùn Cuilean if she hadn’t learned of his night with Hero. For all that he might subject himself to risk, he would never expose Hero to even a moment’s humiliation. Daphne would go, taking her covetousness and animosity with her.
And he would be wed.
Pushing the entire matter aside with the knowledge that he’d done all he could for the time being and that Daphne Kennedy would soon be leaving his home, Ian stripped off his clothes and walked into his dressing room. A hot bath was already drawn and waiting for him. Ian looked around curiously, thinking that Dickson must have come in through the marchioness’s chamber to complete the task either while he was in Hero’s chambers or while Daphne was in his.
With a grimace, he cast a prayer heavenward that his valet would show discretion regarding either event. The last thing he needed was his argument with Daphne being parried about the servants’ dinner table. Or worse, Ian winced as he eased down into the steaming water, for anyone to assume Daphne had spent the night in his rooms before he wed Hero.
Sighing, he leaned back in the tub and considered Daphne’s taunting words regarding his soon-to-be wife. Her implications regarding Hero’s reputation were obviously fabricated. Lady Ayr’s name was spoken with respect in Glasgow and among the staff here at castle. If she’d played fast and loose with Robert, it would’ve made satisfying fodder for the gossipmongers.
Even without being privy to the gossip in Glasgow over recent years, Ian knew there would not be such talk about the Marchioness of Ayr. Hero was simply too innocent, besides being too reserved. On the other hand, her natural politesse and decorum might leave a man she rejected with the impression that she was frigid. Cold, as Daphne put it.
But Ian knew Hero was not.
Despite her eight years of marriage, there was a sweet naïveté about Hero, but there was also an extraordinary passion there that sent his own pulse racing with lust and left him burning with the need to bury himself deep within her once again. Today they would wed, and tonight and for every night in the future, she would be his.
Daphne stared at the marquess’s bedchamber door as it closed behind her.Leave?She thought darkly. Thrown from Dùn Cuilean like so much rubble?
Who did Ian Conagham think he was? Who did he think he was dealing with? Her hands clenched with rage. For three months Cuilean had been hers. She’d ruled it and loved every moment of being something more than life allowed. She wanted that back. Wanted it enough to do anything to have it. Of course, marrying the heir to the Ayr marquessate wasn’t much of a sacrifice for a good cause. It would have been the perfect solution.
But no! Daphne turned across the hall to the State Chamber. No, Hero Conagham had stepped right in and scooped him up before she’d even had a chance to win him for herself. It wasn’t fair. Hero already had her time as marchioness. Now was Daphne’s turn.
But Ayr was going to wed Hero? A screech of rage bubbled up inside her. Perhaps instead of seeking to injure Hero back in Glasgow, she should’ve tried to kill her after all; then none of this would even have been an issue.
