He pulled away from her, giving her the barest glance as he bent to pick up his shirt from the floor. “Are you—” He broke off as he straightened and pulled his shirt on. Then he faced her, cleared his throat, and looked away again. “I hurt you,” he muttered, staring out the window into the dim gray light. “Forgive me. I did not mean to do that.”
Was that what was making him so uncomfortable? It had hurt, but only a little, and only for a moment. “Oh, no,” she hastened to reassure him, sliding down from the table. She laid a hand on his arm. “There was nothing to that. I am perfectly well, Anthony.” She lowered her gaze to his chest, and the sight made her flustered and a bit shy, but venturesome, too.
“In fact, I feel quite wonderful,” she confessed, smiling, her hand straying to his chest. Her fingertips touched his warm skin where his shirt was not yet buttoned. She looked up at him, hoping he would take the hint.
He did not. His mouth tightened, and he bent down to retrieve his waistcoat from the floor.
She watched him for a moment. “Anthony, please do not distress yourself on my account. My discomfort was insignificant.”
He barely glanced at her as he put on his waistcoat. “I am relieved to hear it.”
She felt an uneasy disquiet setting in. She turned her back and began to straighten her clothes, buttoning her chemise, then her gown. Both of them were silent as they dressed. When they had finished, he rested his hands on her shoulders for a moment, and she stiffened beneath his touch. He moved away and bent down to pick up his cravat. She turned around, watching as he pulled up the high collar of his shirt, slid the cravat around his neck, and began to tie it.
“Anthony, what is wrong?”
He finished tying the neckcloth, then took her hand in his, lifted it to his lips and kissed it. “I take full responsibility for this,” he told her, and let go of her hand. “You need not fear for your future.”
She stared at him in bewilderment, for she was not in the least afraid. “My future?”
He picked up his coat from the floor. “We will be married after the banns have been properly posted. The ceremony will be here in the ducal chapel, if that is acceptable to you. If you prefer the parish church, simply tell me so.”
Anthony was offering to marry her? She could not quite believe she had heard him right. He sounded so dispassionate, Daphne was not quite sure if she had just received a proposal of marriage or a comment on the weather. The delicious afterglow of their blissful experience was now completely gone.
He put on his coat, turned away from her and walked to the window. “Until the wedding, you must stay elsewhere,” he said, staring out into the gray darkness. “Enderby will suffice. It would not do for you to be here. I will explain the situation to Viola. Due to the breadth of social difference between us, you will be the subject of gossip, and I regret that, but it cannot be helped.”
He fell silent, standing with his back to her, the dawn light that outlined his profile hazy and indistinct to her eyes. She did not understand why he was talking of marriage now, but she remembered his words to his sister about never marrying for love, and she knew that one question had to be answered before she could even consider marrying him.
She took a deep breath. “Have you fallen in love with me, then, that you wish to marry me?”
He turned his head, but he did not quite look at her. “You must know by now that I have—that I have come to have—a strong, and very passionate desire for—attraction, I should say, to you.”
“I see.” Daphne did not know the proper etiquette of refusing a marriage proposal, since such an event had never come her way, but she felt she should at least be able to see him clearly when she did refuse. She leaned down and pulled her spectacles from the pocket of her apron, which still lay on the floor. She put the spectacles on, then walked to his side and laid a hand on his arm. “Desire, as wonderful as it is, Anthony, is not enough. I will not marry you.”
“We have no choice now.” He did not look at her. “I took that away from both of us just now.”
“You talk as if I had no control over any of this. This was a mutual decision, Anthony, for my feelings are comparable with yours. I, too, have a strong and passionate desire for you, but that is all. Without love, I see no reason to marry you.”
He turned to face her, and in his expression there was no hint of affection for her, only a resolute determination to have his way, an expression she was coming to know quite well. “You should realize by now that you do not have a choice in this. We must marry. There is nothing else to be done.”
“The musts and shoulds of your life do not apply to me, your grace,” she said, her voice as cool as his. “I understand that marriage is the accepted mode in situations such as this, but there are alternatives. No one knows of this but us. I shall go to London, just as I intended to do, and—”
“That is out of the question. You may very well be carrying my child. What of that?”
God in heaven, she had not even thought of a child. Her hand fluttered to her abdomen, and something sparked inside of her, a mixture of emotions. A wistful sort of hope and fear, and a sense of her own duty, and the courage not to have her destiny or that of her child dictated by circumstances.
“We do not know if there will be a child,” she answered him. “Besides, you are an honorable man. I know you would take care of us and see that we are provided for. Illegitimate children of men such as yourself do not suffer any great setbacks in life, your grace.”
“God, Daphne, what are you saying? That I make you my mistress?”
Before she could make any answer to Anthony’s question, he answered it for her. “You cannot be my mistress. If that were possible, there are arrangements I could make for you, a house in the country, an income, but it is out of the question.”
“You seem quite familiar with the appropriate arrangements for mistresses.” A thought struck her, and she looked at him. “Do you have one now? A mistress, I mean?”
He stiffened, with all the hauteur and dignity that befitted a duke. “I did, yes, but I have not seen—”
“Does she ...” Daphne choked on the question, a sick knot in the pit of her stomach. After a moment, she tried again. “Does she have any children that are . . . that might be ...” She could not go on. Pressing a hand to her mouth, she turned her back on him.
“No,” he answered her incomplete question. “Marguerite has no children, not even mine. Daphne, that is not important now. You are ruined but unwed, and that is my fault. I will not stain your reputation with the shame of an illegitimate child. As I said, we must marry.”
