“All you want is my money.”
He chuckled. “Is that any great surprise? Money and connections are what make marriages, Daphne. You’re a simple-minded romantic if you believe otherwise.”
There it was. That insult again. Ashton’s words echoed in her mind: You deserve far better than the likes of him, and for the first time, she believed him. Lifting her chin a notch, she glared at him. “Well, you can hunt down another dowry. I’m not marrying you.”
“Yes,” he said. “You are.”
When she took a step back, his hand darted out, grabbing her by the upper arm. His fingers bit into her skin painfully as she tried to jerk away. Her heart thudded hard against her ribs. “I will scream.”
He yanked her close, his face an inch from hers. “Try it.”
On instinct, she slapped him hard across the face, the sound echoing off the walls of the small room. His head whipped to the side and to her satisfaction a large, red handprint appeared high on his cheek.
He glared, hand raised, and she flinched, expecting a hard openhanded blow across the face.
“Do it,” a familiar voice drawled, “and you’ve killed yourself, Wallingford.” Daphne turned to see Ashton leaning against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. “Let her go.”
Edward glanced between Ashton and Daphne. He was shorter than Ashton, by a few inches, at least. If it came to blows, there would be no contest. “Why, so you can get a clear shot at me?”
Ashton shrugged, his gaze lingering on Daphne’s arm. “You’re going to have to pay for the bruise you’ve undoubtedly left on her arm. And there will be another blow for announcing a proposal she never agreed to. And then there was that insult on the lawn, at lunch.”
Before Ashton could finish, Edward released her arm and took a step back. He glanced rapidly between Daphne and Ashton, fear in his eyes. Pristine as he was, Daphne doubted Edward had ever fought another man in his life. Ashton, on the other hand, looked as though he swung at least a dozen punches every morning before breakfast. Ashton pushed off the door frame, hands balled into fists, and took a menacing step toward Edward.
“No.” Daphne lurched forward and grabbed Ashton’s arm. Muscles flexed beneath her palms. “Please don’t. He isn’t worth it.”
Ashton’s gaze swung around to meet hers. “He tried to entrap you.”
“He will go back into the parlor and tell everyone the engagement was a just horrid misunderstanding.” Daphne threw a glare at Edward. “Won’t you, my lord?”
There was a long stretch of silence, then, “Yes.” He tilted his chin in Ashton’s direction. “But first you need to call off your dog.”
Ashton had one hand curled around Edward’s throat so fast, Daphne hardly had time to blink. “Say it again,” he growled, tightening his grip.
Frantically clawing at Ashton’s hand, Edward could only mouth his response: Please. His face turned a deep purple before Ashton finally released him, roughly shoving him toward the door. Edward stumbled backward, clutching his throat, coughing violently. The moment he was free, he rushed from the room, nearly tripping over the red-and-white Persian carpet on his way out.
She turned to Ashton, her heart hammering hard in her chest. Blood vibrated through her veins, causing her to shake. She could hardly believe what had just transpired. How could she not have seen Edward for what he truly was? James had seen it, Ashton had seen it—everyone, it seemed, except her.
“Daphne.” The deep, hypnotic timbre of Ashton’s voice pulled her from her thoughts. “Daphne, look at me.”
She swallowed and lifted her eyes to meet Ashton’s steady gaze. His expression was filled with concern, his eyes filled with compassion.
How could she not have seen it? All this time, Ashton had been the good, honorable one. She’d been so wrong about him, so blinded by her own assumptions.
He frowned down at her, his thumb brushing over the bruises that were just beginning to form on her arm. His gentle touch sent tingles up her spine. “He hurt you.”
She licked her bottom lip and glanced away. “I’m sorry for thinking so ill of you. I feel so foolish.” Her gaze met his again. “You’re a good man, an honorable man. I should have seen that long ago.”
“Marry me, Daphne,” he whispered, threading his fingers through her hair. “Make me the happiest of men.”
She pulled back slightly, then shook her head. “Ashton, if this is because you compromised me—”
He cut her words off with a kiss, long and languid, full of promise and passion. When his mouth finally left hers, he smiled. “I’m asking because I can’t get enough of you, Daphne. Your smile, your spirit. I believe I’ve loved you since the first moment I met you three years ago.” He brushed his thumb over her cheekbone. “Say yes, Daphne. Say you’ll be my wife.”