A Return of Devotion Read online

  Of course, Benedict himself brought another swirl of color into the muddle before him.

  No matter which way he looked at it, Daphne Blakemoor did not fit into any of the normal positions in his life. At another time and another place, he’d have simply ignored her. Probably wouldn’t have even seen her.

  But he could see her now.

  And he could hear the heart in the song she played. He would never get to a place of not noticing her again.

  It’d taken a week away and a hasty trip to Birmingham to realize that. Now he didn’t know what to do with it.

  The last notes of the heart-wrenching tune faded as Daphne gently lifted her fingers from the keys.

  William held his breath. Was she finished? Depending on which door she left through, she could depart the music room without ever knowing he’d been there. That would be best, obviously. The night and the dark and the unfamiliar twinges of emotion inspired by her uninhibited playing were muddling his thoughts, making him consider actions he never would in the light of day.

  Then she lifted one hand and swiped at her cheeks. Just as when she’d cried in the portrait room window, there was no sniffle, no shuddering breath. Just a gentle swipe of fingers beneath each eye. Then she squared her shoulders, set her fingers to the keys, and played again.

  Unlike the last tune, this one held a sort of joy. A lilt of hope. The dredges of the previous melody still pulled, but there was something else, something brighter that seemed to light the room beyond the flames of the tapers in the candelabra sitting atop the piano casing.

  William slid quietly into the room and eased into a chair.

  If she turned her head, she’d see him.

  Every now and then he caught a glimpse of shadowed profile, but she never looked over. The circle of light didn’t quite reach his toes, so he might not be anything other than a shadow.

  Song after song, the tunes got lighter until she looked almost happy. A smile crept onto her face and her sways became more prominent, as if she were dancing to her own music.

  A laugh, so light and delicate, joined the notes. William straightened in his seat as her head ducked toward the keys in such a way that he could see the fullness of her smile in the candlelight. Her eyes were closed and a look of pure enjoyment flushed her face as her smile widened and changed her features into something that still might not be called beautiful or striking, but was definitely enticing and attractive.

  “Thank you for joining me, my lord,” she said softly.

  William jerked in his seat, but she still didn’t turn to acknowledge him, simply kept playing, filling the room with sounds that would be the envy of any London gathering.

  He cleared his throat and adjusted his position. “It is my pleasure, I assure you.”

  She laughed again, eyes still closed.

  William rose carefully from his chair and moved a step closer to the piano. “You play very well.”

  “Thank you.” Her voice was soft around the edges, making the entire scene feel even more like a dream.

  He stopped at the corner of the instrument and pressed his leg into the edge until he felt the sharp corner, the small bite of pain assuring him that he was, indeed, experiencing this moment. From this position, there would be no way for her to miss seeing him when she opened her eyes again. “Do you dance?”

  Her fingers stumbled and her eyes blinked open slowly. She looked at him, a glassy, dreamy expression still covering her face. The music resumed as she tilted her head and smiled. “They always ask me to play, not to dance.”

  It had been a while since William had attended a social gathering that entailed a great deal of dancing, but he remembered how the girls behind the piano were ignored in favor of giving attention to the prettier, popular, more readily available dancing partners.

  If she was one of those girls, how had she ever encountered Maxwell?

  And how could William possibly have been more of a fool than his cousin?

  “They left you stuck behind a pianoforte?”

  “Always.” Her gaze dropped to her fingers. “I don’t mind. I enjoy playing. And teaching. I taught Sarah. She’ll be better than I am soon. But it is nice to be asked. I always wanted to be asked.”

  There was something in this conversation that he was missing, something that felt like an important clue, but his mind was too foggy, too caught up in the darkness to find it. Was it the night allowing them to talk in such a way? There was almost a slur to her words. Was it possible she was drunk? He rather doubted it. When he’d first arrived at the estate, the only alcohol to be found in the house was a decanter buried in the back of a cabinet in the library.

  A little laugh accompanied a trill of notes. “Well, I’ve always wanted to be asked by someone who knew I was me.”

  And that sentence didn’t make a crumb of sense. Perhaps she’d gotten into the stash of alcohol he’d had brought in with their first delivery of food and supplies. “Are you drunk?”

  Another laugh, another transition into yet another brisk and joyful tune. “No. I never drink. I don’t like the way it burns.”

  William swallowed. He could still walk away. He’d never be able to view her the same again, but if he left now then tomorrow they could at least pretend this had never happened.

  He didn’t want to leave. The stark contrast between what he wanted and what made sense brought to light how truly cold he’d become. Every decision was calculated, every movement deliberate. He knew what he wanted to be and what he didn’t want to deal with in life, and while that was all well and good, it felt chilled compared to Daphne’s vibrancy.

  “Are you happy?” he asked.

  “Here?” She grinned up at him. “With you? Yes. It’s the happiest I’ve been in a while. I don’t usually let myself be quite this happy. It’s dangerous.”

  William agreed. For so very many reasons that were hard to remember in their little circle of candlelight. But why would she think so? “Why? What could possibly happen?”

  Her head dropped back and she stared at the ceiling, one side of her mouth lifted. Shadow and flame highlighted the dimple that half smile created. “Because you’re nice to me. Nicer than any man has ever been—well, besides Nash, but he doesn’t particularly signify. Because you make me think things I never thought I’d think about again. Because the sun will come up tomorrow and everything will be just as it was. This will never have happened, but I’ll remember it as if it had.”

  He would remember it, too. Even if they never spoke of it, even if they both buried it beneath formality and routine, he would remember. And if he were already doomed to that torture, he might as well make it a memory worth agonizing over.

  “You should dance.” William extended his hand.

  “But who will play?” she whispered.

  “Can you not hear the music in your head?”

  “All the time.”

  “Then we’ve no need for a piano.”

  Her beaming smile returned, and her entire face lit up as one hand drifted from the keyboard to place itself in his. She rose gracefully from the chair and rounded the corner of the piano, centering herself in the circle of candlelight.

  “What shall we dance?” he asked.

  “A cotillion.”

  He shouldn’t have been surprised. She’d been hiding in Wiltshire for a very long time. The last time she’d been around dancing would have been more than a decade ago. “It’s been a while since I danced a cotillion. You’ll have to remind me.”

  She giggled. “I barely remember myself.”

  William took her hand and walked her through the first steps. Remembering the dance was difficult enough. Having to pretend there were other couples in the room to weave amongst was even harder. With no one to pass her off to, he found himself making steps up as he went. She didn’t seem to mind, following along wherever he led.

  Her eyes slid closed again and she began to hum faintly, making up a few of her own movements as she did.

  Willi
am found himself grinning as he tried to keep up with her. They curved in and out of the candlelight, which didn’t help the confusion of the steps.

  It was inevitable that they would eventually stumble into each other, and when they did it inspired a quiet laugh in both of them as William caught her in his arms to keep her from falling.

  His laughter faded as he pulled her upright.

  He was holding Daphne Blakemoor. He was holding her in his arms and she felt wonderfully welcoming. There were no stiff satins or overly embellished silks to poke through his sleeves, no feathers inducing him to sneeze, no cloying perfume inspiring a desire to open a window. There was just Daphne, wearing one of her faded day dresses that felt smooth and comfortable. There was nothing to distract him from her heart, her warmth, her smile.

  She was still chuckling as her head dropped against his chest, pulling her deeper into his arms. She shook her head. “I’m such a terrible dancer. I can’t even pretend to be good at it.”

  William chuckled in return. She really had been rather awful. But then, anyone would be if they hadn’t practiced in more than ten years. “I think it was charming.”

  Her laugh turned into a scoff. “Of course you do. You have to.”

  “No, I don’t,” William said softly as he realized it was true. He didn’t have to be here, didn’t have to be nice, didn’t even have to keep Daphne in his employ. He did it because he liked her, and he hadn’t liked anyone in a very long time. She was a person he could admire, someone who saw him as a person instead of a title, and at this very moment, she was the only one he could imagine in charge of this house.

  She belonged here.

  And right now, he felt like he did, too.

  He dipped his head toward where hers was buried in his dressing gown. “I don’t have to do anything. I choose to be here right now.”

  Tomorrow could be different—would have to be different—but for right now, he couldn’t fathom being anywhere else.

  She lifted her head and her temple grazed his cheek. His lips slid across her forehead as her face rose to meet his. He could feel her breath, see the flush in her cheeks and the shadows caused by her lowered lashes.

  Those lashes fluttered open slowly, like she was easing awake from the most lovely dream.

  He’d never been this close to her, never imagined what intricacies would lie within eyes he’d once thought were merely brown. They were flecked with gold and amber. Never again would he think them simple.

  His heart raced as her eyelids fluttered open and shut over those glorious eyes. He lifted one hand to her neck and slid it up to brace her jaw with his thumb. His pulse hammered in his head as everything but her fell away.

  The fluttering stopped as her eyes slid closed once more, and she angled her face closer to his. He felt the sigh as she licked her lips. He was going to kiss her and he had a feeling it was going to be the most glorious moment of his life and somehow he was going to have to go about his day tomorrow as if it had never happened.

  “Daphne,” he said quietly.

  Her eyes snapped open, and the dreamy, hazy glow dropped from her face as quickly as the smile. Her gaze darted all around his face, from eye to mouth and somewhere in the vicinity of his hair.

  “Oh, tare an’ hounds.” She swallowed and blinked. “It’s real. You’re really here.”

  She lifted her hands to push against his chest and step away but stumbled as soon as her hands made contact with him. Considering how much they’d touched during their dance, it was unexplainable why he felt that slight press of her hands more than any of the other touches.

  William’s eyebrows snapped together. Of course he was real. Had she thought she was imagining the entire encounter? As flattering as it was to be the one she chose to dream about, the fact that he had struggled and wrestled with the monumental decision to potentially change everything between them while she had simply been living out a fantasy, thinking she was safe in her mind, left him feeling adrift and alone. Perhaps even a bit taken advantage of.

  It wasn’t a logical feeling, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

  She stumbled back another step and pressed her hand to her chest. “Real, real, it was all real,” she mumbled.

  “No, it wasn’t,” William answered, surprising himself. But he realized it was true. This wasn’t their reality. “It was the night and the candlelight. Neither of us are ourselves.”

  Her laugh was harsh, sounding even more grating after having listened to the lighthearted joy she’d expressed the past quarter of an hour. “Funny thing about being someone other than myself.” She swallowed and coughed before blinking and sending two fat tears gliding down her cheeks, glinting silver in the light from the candles. “I wake up in the morning to find I’m the one living with the consequences.”

  She fled, stumbling in the dark of the front hall, scratching against the door as she fumbled for the latch.

  Every bump made William wince, but he didn’t run after her. He was too busy wondering what she’d meant.

  Chapter twenty-five

  Daphne’s hair flew around her face, obscuring her vision as she ran, heart pounding, down the hill and back to the cottage. With a quick swipe of her hand, she pushed the strands out of the way to keep from inhaling them as she tried to bring her breathing back to normal.

  She could hardly charge into the cottage as if the hounds were at her heels. Reuben was sleeping on a cot in the parlor, and while he normally slept like a log at sea, even he was likely to wake if she tripped into the room, breath coming and going fast enough to rattle in her chest.

  And even if she got past him, she was sure to wake Jess.

  Jess would have questions.

  Daphne did not want to answer any questions.

  She slumped against the door and slowly slid down until she was sitting on the stone stoop. Burying her head in her knees, she waited for her breathing to slow. She tried counting backward from ten, but she couldn’t focus long enough to get past the number eight.

  As long as her thoughts stayed in her head, though, and didn’t come spilling out of her mouth, everything would be fine.

  There’d been more than enough vulnerable moments tonight. She didn’t need another.

  Lord Chemsford was hardly going to say anything, so all Daphne had to do was treat the evening like any other of her imagined fantasies and banish it to the far reaches of her mind.

  If she could convince herself it hadn’t been real, nothing would change.

  It helped, telling herself that the embarrassment of the night wouldn’t last. Bit by bit she regained control of her faculties until she felt it was safe to enter the cottage.

  Reuben’s soft snores greeted her, and she paused to smile into the dark. One day very soon he wouldn’t be there anymore. Maybe he should have already moved into the grooms’ quarters in the barn.

  Just like Daphne, Jess, and the girls should be in the rooms up in the house.

  Living up there wouldn’t be like it had been before, though.

  It would never be like it was before.

  Especially now. Daphne couldn’t imagine what Lord Chemsford was going to do with the knowledge that Daphne had been indulging in fantasies about gaining his interest.

  Would he think that she’d set her cap for him? Did he think she had plans to entice him into marriage? As if that was even something she could do. Daphne had never had anything to offer a man of his station, especially not now.

  Her abilities at the pianoforte were the only skills she had that would be valued by that level of society. Being able to change the linens on a bed with remarkable efficiency wouldn’t impress his friends. It would, in fact, do the opposite.

  She would act like nothing had ever happened and he would see that tonight didn’t matter.

  The stairs creaked a bit as Daphne made her way up them, drawing a wince, but the heavy breathing in the room below never paused.

  Within minutes Daphne was lying beneath her covers, bu
t it seemed like hours. She stared at the ceiling, willing herself to just go to sleep.

  It was a gracious miracle when her eyelids finally became heavy and sleep closed in. It was a restless doze, though, so when Jess rose, her quiet movements were enough to break the light slumber.

  Daphne sat up and pushed her hair out of her face before smiling at her friend. “Good morning.”

  Surprise tinged with a bit of suspicion rolled over Jess’s features, but all she did was nod in return. Jess didn’t love mornings, so if Daphne was going to get away with anything, it was going to be while the edges of sunlight were threatening to peek over the trees.

  Daphne stretched her arms over her head and forced a yawn. Hopefully the gesture didn’t look as awkward as it felt.

  Jess lifted an eyebrow but continued to coil her hair into a low knot.

  Daphne stood and turned her back to Jess, straightening and smoothing her covers with great precision. “Lord Chemsford returned last night, so you’ll have to make a bit more breakfast this morning.”

  The room behind Daphne felt utterly still after her statement. Had Jess already left? Not even the sound of breathing stirred the air.

  “And you know that how?” Jess finally asked, her voice toneless.

  Daphne wilted and gave serious thought to collapsing back onto her bed and destroying the covers she’d just neatly arranged. When, when, when would she remember to think before she spoke?

  Perhaps she could still brazen this out. Jess didn’t need to know what had happened up at the house last night. No one did.

  Daphne gave a shrug so brittle she wondered that her arms didn’t dislodge from her shoulders. “I couldn’t sleep so I went up to the house to play the piano. There was evidence they had returned already.”

  “What sort of evidence?” Jess asked.

  Lord Chemsford himself appearing in the music room was fairly irrefutable evidence, but Daphne didn’t really care to offer it up.