The Heart of a Duke(69)

Because she was his destiny and he had every intention of claiming her.





Chapter Eighteen





DANIEL lasted one day bedridden and housebound. Julia was not surprised, for a man with such a thick hide, she had little expectation that something as trifling as a knife wound and savage beating would keep him down.

The one day he did rest, he was visited by Brett, Robbie, her father, Emily, and a fascinated Jonathan. The endless parade of guests provided buffers between Daniel and her, giving him no time to fulfill his agreement to her. But she was not deterred.

After their kiss, he owed her explanations. Not that the kiss was a hardship. In fact, for a man adept at negotiations, she wondered why he did not ask for something more . . .

She paused as she headed to the dining room. What more was she willing to give him?

Everything.

Shocked, she gave her head a sharp shake to clear it. They were not ready for everything quite yet. Far from it.

Things could go no further until she knew what Daniel was confronting. Until she had decided whether to heed Brett Curtis’s advice and encourage Daniel to go home, or to honor Daniel’s wishes and assist him in resolving this mystery. Until he trusted in her. Until he confided in her. Until he said he loved her.

More important than her need to hear those words was the gnawing, inexorable fear, like a tide she could not push back, that Daniel’s life was at stake. Whatever her feelings, his life was not something she was willing to risk losing.

She was coming to value it more than her own.

Drawing herself up, she continued to the dining room with renewed purpose. She would simply have to determine the best manner in which to save his arrogant, thick hide. For she had plans for it.

Considering Daniel’s restlessness, it did not surprise her to find him seated at the dining room table breaking his fast. What surprised her was that in addition to the usual serving of bacon, eggs, ham, and assorted scones and rolls, there was a large china platter of treacle tarts. Their mouthwatering aroma of warm breadcrumbs, treacle, and lemon filling drifted to her.

She could just imagine how Daniel had wheedled Cook into serving dessert so early in the morning. Who could resist the man? Brett had brought over his belongings yesterday, and Daniel had shaved and bathed, and was impeccably groomed in a gray waistcoat and navy blue jacket. His white cravat was in sharp contrast to his skin, sun-bronzed from days spent outdoors. The swelling in his eye and cheek had receded, and the purple-and-blue-colored bruises highlighted those sharp green eyes.

Julia was not unaffected by his appearance, and she had to recompose herself. It was not every morning a woman awoke to a stunning specimen of masculine beauty greeting her.

“Julia, are you going to stand poised like a statue or do you plan to dine?”

Only then did she realize Daniel was not alone. Joining him at the table were her father and Jonathan. Three pairs of eyes were focused on her, but she only noticed the green set brimming with amusement.

Daniel rose to his feet, and inclined his head in greeting. “I think she makes a rather fetching statue, reminds me of Botticelli’s Venus.”

“Hmph.” Her father gave that opinion on the matter as he rose to his feet. His attention snapped to Jonathan, who was climbing to his knees and reaching for the tray of tarts, his face smeared with lemon juice. Her father deftly lifted the tray out of reach. “Why don’t we leave some for your sisters?”

Jonathan scowled. “Cor, Emily is having a lying in, and Julia always shares her treats with me.”

“She can do so later in the morning, for you have had your share.”

“Bryant said one can never have enough treats, and why should they be reserved for after dinner?” Jonathan protested, a pout on his face.

“So he did. Your belly might voice another opinion if you continue in this vein. Please excuse yourself, clean up the food you have chosen to wear rather than eat, and then meet me in my study.”

“But Lord Bryant promised to teach me sword fighting. So I can skewer the good-for-nothing, dirty-rotten, green-eyed Cyclops who pounced on him at the docks.”

“Another time. Lord Bryant has an appointment this morning. And we have plans to visit the British Museum today.”

“Don’t worry, Jonathan. If we cannot skewer the Cyclops, I’ll have Robbie sit on him.” Daniel winked at her brother.

Jonathan snorted his delight, but at his father’s look, he scampered off.

“Cyclops? Venus?” Her father arched a brow as he returned the platter of tarts to the table. “You appear to be a veritable font of mythology this morning.”

“A Cyclops makes a far more interesting villain than everyday dock ruffians.”