Never to Part Read Online Free Page A

shawl and bonnet.”
    When she was certain that Saddie had left, Daphne clasped a hand to her mouth to stifle a cry and the almost overwhelming desire to give way to tears. Closing her eyes she saw Richard in the Rose Salon, his handsome features rigid with anger. How cruel I must have appeared to him . Daphne lowered her hand and dejectedly sank into the worn leather chair.
    “I wish I had never accepted the invitation.” Even as she said it Daphne knew that was not true. She treasured the memories of Richard’s beautiful country estate, of Lady Dremore’s kindness, and of the time spent with the baron before the horror of that evening. Nightmares still plagued her but she would not fault Richard for his abrupt rejection.
    Why, oh why, did I listen to those girls? Why did I do it? She sighed heavily and sank back in the chair. A happier memory sharpened her regret but she savoured it once again.
    “Miss Stratton, the day is far too pleasant for you to spend inside,” Baron Dremore said easily when he spied Daphne reading in the library. “Walk with me in the garden? I have not had time to saunter there as yet this morn. Mother tells me much of it is in bloom.”
    “Your mother seems very fond of it. She told me about a new ground cover she had the gardeners plant by—-I think she said—by the broken wall?”
    Richard grinned.
    Her heart turned over at the change this wrought in his appearance. He was tall and well formed. His chiselled features lent coldness to his face but that was now erased by a wide smile. As usual his blond hair curled at his neck and forehead temping her to reach out and finger it.
    This man is a danger to your heart, Reason whispered.
    “Then I must show you the wall. Mother will expect me to,” he laughed. “Come?”
    Bright sunshine splashed through the window with an impossible-to-resist invitation. Daphne blithely dismissed Reason’s unwelcome warning. She rose and took the baron’s proffered arm.
    Once in the garden they meandered down various paths. They discussed flowers and herbs. Daphne, well-schooled by her mother, spoke of the remedies made with each.
    “That,” she motioned to a tall stalk of purple flowers, “is fox glove. Very useful for ailments of the heart but one has to use it with care.
    “I would think so,” Richard said, his features turned serious. “One cannot be too careful of the heart.”
    Her lungs refused to contract beneath his gaze. “I oft think it odd that a fox should be a pugilist,” Daphne blurted.
    A startled look crossed Richard’s face, then he burst into laughter. “I can see it now.” Richard dropped a light kiss on the back of her hand. “The briar fox with fists raised to Molineaux but members of the Quorn leap the ropes to bag him,” he chuckled, thinking of the great hunt club so disposed.
    “There would be a dreadful mêlée,” Daphne smiled.
    Their gazes met and held. The same frisson that had risen at their introduction thrilled Daphne again. When the baron shifted closer she leaned toward him without thinking. Hope and fear warred inside her breast.
    Richard raised her hands to his lips.
    Beneath the caress of his warm breath and then his lips, Daphne trembled, her heart began to hammer. She lifted her gaze to his and warmth spiralled upward from deep inside her.
    “Miss Stratton,” the baron said softly, retaining his hold on her hands. “You are perfection.” He leaned closer still, brushed her lips with overwhelming gentleness with his.
    A loud twitter of laughter from an approaching couple broke the spell. Daphne started, glanced back and saw the baron’s cousin with a young woman on his arm. His aura flared dark and ominous even as he smiled at her.
    When Daphne managed to take a breath she became aware of Richard’s tenseness. Taking it for unspoken regret at being seen in so intimate a pose with her, heat rushed to her cheeks, reddened them. When he urged her forward to resume their stroll her heart thudded.