Just One Kiss Read online

  JUST ONE

  KISS

  By Stephanie Sterling

  For D, who deserves a happily ever after.

  -S.S.

  Just One Kiss

  Copyright © 2012 by Stephanie Sterling.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems without permission in writing from the author except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

  Cover Art by Cover Design by DD Graphix, http://www.ddgraphix.net/

  Cover images licensed from shutterstock.com. Used with permission.

  PROLOGUE

  Daphne Everton tore her gaze away from the window pane and unfolded the parchment clutched in her fingers once again. There was a slight tremble in her hands as her sad, grey eyes ran over the page. She lingered on every word, even though she had long since committed the message to memory.

  Lady Coventry,

  No doubt you understand that the passing of my brother necessitates my return to London. I had hoped to postpone my return until after Christmas. However, I have business in the city that requires my immediate attention, as well as a matter of some delicacy that I must discuss with you.

  Accordingly, you may expect my arrival on the afternoon of the seventeenth.

  Regards,

  Lord Coventry

  Daphne’s fingers tightened on the letter, crimping the edges of the paper as she paced across the room, fighting the urge to peer out of the window again. She had been waiting in the front parlor for the better part of three hours, expecting every carriage that passed the London town house to contain her husband — so far he had not arrived.

  If she had any dignity at all, she would contrive a plan for going out for the evening, or else she would sit down to dinner alone and pretend that she’d never received the letter. Edward was never late. At least, the Edward that she had known six years ago had never been given to tardiness. A lot of things could change in that amount of time, but much remained the same as well. Daphne couldn’t tear herself away from her lookout. She had never had any dignity where Edward was concerned. Even six years of neglect hadn’t been able to alter that.

  As well as a matter of some delicacy that I must discuss with you…

  Daphne’s pulse skipped as she skimmed the single line again and again. Even after so long an absence she could still hear the words spoken in Edward’s voice-the memory of his low, husky drawl, coupled with the apprehension about what the words could mean, sent a chill skating along Daphne’s spine. Surely Edward wasn’t thinking of a divorce?

  Daphne’s shaking fingers dropped the letter onto the top of the table, and then knotted themselves in her skirts as she tried to steady her nerves. The very idea was ludicrous. Edward had no grounds for pursuing such a line. Apart from the transgression that had made her his wife, she had given him no cause for complaint. She was innocent of adultery. Daphne shuddered at the thought, but she could prove it if necessary. Perhaps Edward wished to seek an annulment? But why wait until now? That was the question plaguing Daphne’s thoughts.

  It had taken almost the full six years of her husband’s absence, but Daphne had finally regained a level of respectability and peace. Time, money, and the acquisition of a title had gone a long way in repairing the damage that her youthful folly had wrought. No one ever spoke about how she had acquired her spouse anymore, at least not so that she knew, and although her husband’s absence was always conspicuous, her company had the tact not to mention it in her presence. She had evolved into a sort of eccentric social oddity.

  It was Daphne alone who still felt it so keenly; who remembered every night as she lay alone in bed, staring at the emptiness beside her, how very desperately she had loved Edward once, and how she had been willing to do anything to make him hers.

  Did that desperation still linger? Was that why she was so afraid of hearing the truth from Edward? What if he had found a woman that he really wanted to marry and make his wife?

  Daphne didn’t know why the notion pained her so very deeply. Six years of solitude should have been quite long enough to harden her heart against Edward Everton, but it hadn’t. Daphne was terrified that she still craved the one thing that she had always wanted from Edward — his love.

  Chapter 1

  Looking back, it seemed like Daphne had always known Edward Everton. His family owned the adjoining estate to her childhood home in Meriden. Edward and her older brother, Anthony, had been the best of friends as boys, spending hours romping across the family estates, conducting adventures that they recounted to Daphne in the nursery over meals. On rare occasions, she had been permitted to join them, wandering across the fields to the lake where they would play knights and ladies. Edward rescued her from dragons and brought her flower crowns. She didn’t remember falling in love with him, she simply always had been.

  Time changed things. The boys were sent away to school, and then got started with the rest of their lives. Anthony learned to manage their family estates while Edward, a younger son, remained at Oxford to study the law. Their lives had drifted apart, and by the winter she turned sixteen, Daphne hadn’t seen Edward for more than four years.

  He was meant to fall in love with her, of course. That was Daphne’s original intention. She had laid out her plan with uncharacteristic thoroughness, beginning the very night that she learnt he was coming home. Four years had done nothing to dim his perfection in her youthful mind. If anything, it had only enhanced the memory of how kind he was, and how dashing. In her mind, his dark, curling hair and laughing green eyes seemed even more vivid than they had in life, and the small remembrances of his habits — the way he took his tea, how he liked to pluck the leaves off flowers, the way he poked his tongue out before he shot a bow — seemed even more cherished and dear.

  Daphne liked to think that the time had improved her as well. At least, she was no longer the gangly, freckly girl that she had been as a child. Her figure had filled out tolerably and she had attained a pleasing height. Her hair was a sleek glossy brown and she fancied that in the right light her eyes flashed like silver. In all, she was satisfied, and hopeful that it was enough.

  It was the beginning of July, two weeks after the close of Trinity term when she received the news that her heart had been longing for: Edward had returned to Coventry.

  “You’re up early,” Daphne’s older brother, Anthony, remarked with suspicion when she entered the breakfast room a full three hours before her customary appearance. The first rays of dawn had barely begun to poke through the clouds and the sky was still heavy and dim.

  “I could say the same of you,” she responded evenly as she drifted past her brother to inspect the morning spread. The offerings were somewhat meager, attesting that the household staff was also unaccustomed to seeing the family down so early.

  “I’m heading over to Packwood for a spot of hunting this morning.”

  “Really?” Daphne did her best to feign real surprise and hoped that Anthony had forgotten making the same announcement the night before.

  Apparently, he did not.

  “Edward is home.”

  Daphne bent over the chafing dishes, feigning a keen interest in her selection of toast in an effort to hide the color in her cheeks. “And how is Mister Everton?”

  “The same.”

  “Is he glad to be home?”

  “Seemed to be.”

  “And he came back alone?”

  Anthony set down his fork and frowned at his sister. “Who else would he bring?”

  Daphne took a careful bite of egg, maintaining a tenuous grip on her facade of calm. “I was only making polite conversation. It’s been so long since I’ve seen
Ed-Mr. Everton…I wonder if I would recognize him.”

  “Probably not,” Anthony grunted and returned to his meal.

  Daphne squirmed with impatience as he worked his way through his plate and nearly groaned aloud when he reached for seconds. It seemed that an age had passed before he stood up from the table.

  “Tell mother that I won’t be home for dinner,” he said and turned to go, but Daphne was on his heels.

  “Blevins can do that,” Daphne said, waving dismissively at one of the maids. “I think I’d like to ride out with you.”

  “You would?” Anthony frowned again. His eyes skimmed over his sister, noticing for the first time that she was clad in her riding habit. “I don’t have time to play groom this morning, Daff!”

  “You won’t have to!” she assured him quickly. “Mother’s always nagging me to take some air,” she chattered on before her brother had a chance to object again, “and it will be too hot if I wait until later in the day. I’ll only go as far as the ridge before Packwood and then turn round. I won’t be any bother.” She held her breath as she waited for his reply, but her heart swelled when Anthony shrugged his approval.

  Daphne knew that she couldn’t go all the way to Packwood, and she would be sore later from riding, and there was a chance that she wouldn’t see Edward at all — but there was also a hope that she would, a hope that was rewarded even before they had left the stables.

  “Hullo there, Hargreaves!”

  The deep, husky purr of Edward’s voice was exactly as Daphne remembered. She looked up, catching sight of him just as he appeared from behind the stone wall that enclosed the paddock.

  “Everton!” Anthony answered, passing the reins of his horse to his groom and striding forward. For the time being, Daphne remained where she was, half-hidden behind a mounting block as her eyes drank up the sight of the man before her. Her daydreams had failed to do him justice.

  Edward looked, quite simply, stunning. The years had been very kind. His lanky, boyish frame had filled, giving him a tall and powerful physique, and his handsome face was thinner and slightly (unfashionably) tanned. His eyes, however, were just as she remembered: a happy, cheeky green. She was transfixed by the sight, so much so that she didn’t notice at first when Anthony spoke her name.

  “And you remember my sister, Daphne? Er-Daphne?”

  Daphne didn’t answer. Her senses were recovering from a second shock, the sudden heat of his gaze upon her.

  “I say, Miss Hargreaves! Is this any way to greet an old friend?” Edward chided, his easy smile turning her legs to pudding.

  Daphne willed her lips to form the syllables of some witty remark, but she remained dumb and silent as Edward swooped forward and captured her small hand in both of his own.

  It wasn’t really a kiss — merely the brush of his lips against her knuckles — but Daphne feared that she would swoon. She felt a rush of heat and the low throb of something wakening deep inside her body.

  A tiresome ride through the park, led by a grumpy groom and the sore muscles that quickly followed seemed a small price to pay for the moment. Daphne quickly forgot her discomfort when Edward returned for dinner that night, and was practically giddy the next morning when he called again and then on Sunday when he sat with her family in church.

  Edward and Anthony quickly resumed their old friendship. It was, in many ways, like old times. Daphne contrived every excuse she could think of to resume her position as their adoring shadow. If Anthony noticed, he had the tact not to mention it, and she was certain that she wasn’t imagining the lingering glances and hot smiles that Edward occasionally threw her way.

  As the summer months slipped away, Daphne grew ever bolder, and more certain of success. It was true that Edward had never expressly declared his affections — but they were never alone! He made a point to claim a waltz at all the country dances. He rode next to her in the park. He had even brought her flowers once (it was only a little posy of wildflowers picked in the meadow at Packwood and he had handed them to her mother, but she counted them anyway). She expected a wedding by Christmas — Easter at the latest — and so she was not distressed in the slightest when she and her mother were summoned to Packwood for dinner to meet a pair of ladies who had arrived from town.

  ..ooOOoo..

  “And this is Edward’s Miss Winston,” Lady Coventry said, tipping her fan toward the slight, straw-haired girl that stood to her right.

  Daphne’s heart froze in her chest. Edward’s Miss Winston? Surely there had been a mistake. Surely Lady Coventry had meant William, her eldest son!

  A shadow settled over Daphne’s heart when she noticed Edward at Miss Winston’s side.

  “This is our little neighbor, Daphne,” Edward’s mother continued to prattle on. Daphne was too numb to hear the words. Her eyes went to Edward’s face, searching for some sign that this was all a terrible mistake. Surely he could see how much she wanted him? Surely he could feel it?

  If he did, he didn’t show it. Edward stood silent as his mother announced that Daphne and Miss Winston must become the best of friends, that she was overwhelmed with pleasure that her younger son was settling down, that they must hold a ball to celebrate the engagement — and then he slipped away as quickly as possible. He tossed her the same friendly smile he had offered when they were children, respectfully bowed his head, and then intercepted her brother, leading him off to a quiet corner where they could speak alone.

  Over the course of the dinner, details emerged. Edward had become acquainted with Miss Winston at Oxford, where she was living with her aunt. She had inherited a sizable fortune from her mother’s estate.

  “Twenty thousand pounds!” Anthony enthused while they rode home that night in the carriage. “Isn’t it splendid? He won’t have to practice law after all.”

  Daphne did not think it was splendid. She thought it was perfectly wretched that Edward — dear, sweet Edward! — should have to marry for money. She could not fathom that Edward and Miss Winston might be in love. The woman herself was nothing remarkable. To Daphne’s eyes she was skinny and pale. She supposed that the girl’s gown had been stylish — she was rich, after all! — but there was nothing else to admire. The chit had barely uttered two words for the entire meal!

  Daphne didn’t sleep that night, or the next. She laid awake, replaying the dinner party again and again in her mind, hearing Lady Coventry’s voice like the scratching of nails against slate: “And this is Edward’s Miss Winston.”

  Edward should not have a Miss Winston! He had a Miss Hargreaves … perhaps he did not know that?

  Daphne considered this notion, ultimately determining that it was very likely indeed. While she had been at Dunnely House waiting for his return, Edward had led a far more active life. It was very likely that he had no idea that her feelings for him had blossomed through the years and, though it pained her, Daphne admitted to herself that it was likely he had not thought of her at all.

  Perhaps Daphne had been too guarded in her display of regard? After all, she had never told Edward that she loved him. Perhaps men needed to hear these things?

  Daphne walked to Packwood House the following morning, under the pretence of having left her reticule when they went to dine. Of course, the servant offered to search, but she declined assistance and, being such a long-standing and well-recognized visitor to the house, she was not prevented from dashing up the stairs and into the family portion of the house.

  She had to guess which room belonged to Edward. She remembered the path to the nursery, of course, and the Master and Mistress’s chamber had been pointed out, but it was a lucky guess that sealed her fate. She grasped the handle of the room that had once belonged to Edward’s brother, tugged sharply, and then emitted a little squeal at the sight that met her eyes.

  Daphne had discovered Edward’s room. More to the point, she had discovered Edward, though he was not entirely dressed and more than a little astonished by her sudden appearance. He was sitting on the edge of his b
ed, tugging on his boots. The neck of his shirt was still gaping, and exposing an intoxicating expanse of skin.

  “Miss Hargreaves!” He said, when the power of speech was restored to him. “I-to what do I-what are you-Daphne?”

  The words were spoken in a rush of confusion. If he hadn’t spoken her Christian name then she might have lost her nerve and darted back into the hall. He did speak it, however. The soft drawl of his voice caressing the familiar consonants buoyed her courage just far enough to follow through.

  “I love you!” She blurted, sweeping into the room and shutting the door. She crossed the floor to his bedside in three swift strides. “I’ve always loved you.”

  “I…” The shock on his features was muting into alarm. “Miss Hargreaves!”

  “Daphne,” she corrected, tears began to brim in her eyes.

  She began to sense that he was not reacting as he ought to be. Surprise was well and good, but shouldn’t he have swept her into his arms by now? It was panic that drove Daphne to her final act of desperation. There was no other way to account for her behaviour. It was certainly not attributable to habit or design. However, quite suddenly kissing him was an absolute imperative.

  She had always thought that a first kiss was meant to be perfect: a singular, magical moment that would impress love from one person to another like a seal in wax, and that was how she felt as her lips melted into his. She barely noticed how his body had gone rigid, or how his hands were twisting anxiously at his side. The only thing that mattered was his mouth on hers, soft and inviting, filling up her entire consciousness. She never wanted it to end, but it did — and in the worst possible way!

  Chapter 2

  What Daphne didn’t know, as she sat in her parlor remembering that fateful moment six years previously, was that a man in a carriage, not a mile from her house, was following his thoughts along a very similar line.

  Edward Everton was the second son of an Earl. He was lucky that his family was so wealthy. It ensured that he had connections, and wouldn’t be destitute, at least, but it did carry certain restrictions. From the time of his birth, expectations had been made. Plans were put into motion to decide how he would spend the rest of his life: where he would go to school, what he would study, where he would live. The only choice it seemed he was allowed to make himself was who to marry — within reason, of course. The lady had to be rich if he ever hoped to hold a proper estate rather than merely practicing law and she had to be from a respectable family. Apart from those few qualifications, the decision was his own — until Daphne Hargreaves had taken even that one choice away.