Page 70 of Barbarous

The guests were at supper and they made their way toward the servants’ entrance without any interruptions. The Davenport coach awaited them in the mews. It was pitch-dark in the narrow alley and Daphne was unable to see Hugh’s face as the carriage rumbled away from Thornehill House.

“Thank you, Hugh.”

“Whatever for?” He sounded his usual, teasing self again. Daphne’s remaining strand of self-control snapped. “For saving my life, you idiot.” Was the man never serious?

His laughter filled the darkness. “That is twice in one night you’ve called me an idiot. I’m beginning to think you like me. Besides, I don’t know why you’re thanking me. If I’d kept better watch on you, you wouldn’t need to hide your bruises for the next month.” After a brief pause he added, “But if you really want to thank me, you can do so later, in a manner of my own choosing.”

Daphne doubted he would feel quite so amorous after she’d told him everything.

Chapter Seventeen

Hugh handed his hat and gloves to the footman who’d waited up for them at Davenport House and turned to Daphne.

“Will you join me in the library?”

“I shall be in directly.” Daphne needed to see her sons before commencing the task at hand. The boys were fast asleep when she entered the room they shared. A candle had been left burning in a wall sconce beside the door because Lucien was terrified of the dark, although he would never admit it.

Even in sleep they were two very different boys. Lucien had kicked off his blankets and slept with one bare foot hanging off the end of the bed. Richard was lying perfectly aligned in the middle of the bed, his blanket neatly pulled up around him. They would survive whatever happened tomorrow; the three of them together would survive. She kissed them and extinguished the light before making her way to the library.

Hugh turned away from the window when she entered. “All is well with the boys?”

How had he known where she’d gone? “Yes, they are sound sleepers. You could murder them in their beds without waking them.” Daphne took a seat on the large leather sofa nearest the fireplace, which he must have lighted. She was glad of the warmth as she felt chilled to the bone.

“Would you like something to drink?”

“Perhaps some sherry.”

She took the glass of amber liquid he offered and drank it quickly, the shock of the alcohol making her gasp.

Hugh raised his eyebrows but made no comment as he took the chair opposite her.

She dropped her eyes to his legs, rather than his face.

“Tonight I must disclose something I’d always hoped would stay private.”

The muscles under the smooth black satin of his breeches grew taut as he stretched his legs out and crossed his ankles.

“Malcolm Hastings is the father of your sons.”

Daphne’s head whipped up. “How—Who—?”

“I made the connection myself when I saw him tonight.”

Daphne gaped.

“He is blackmailing you, I take it?”

She nodded dumbly.

Reproach and pain flickered across his face. “Why did you not tell me, Daphne?”

It was the last thing she expected him to say; the very last thing. “I—I was afraid of what you might think.”

“Which was?”

“That I’d deceived Thomas when I married him.”

He shook his head. “I hoped you might believe better of me, but I suppose I did little to earn it.” Daphne closed her eyes at the disappointment in his voice. She heard him sigh. “Will you tell me what happened?”