Indiscretions. Gail Ranstrom

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СКАЧАТЬ have fun. You have a nice gown upstairs, and—”

      “But I really do not want to—”

      “So you say, but I think otherwise. Your step was lighter and your smile readier after the governor’s reception, and I think you found something to interest you there. You’re too young to give up on life.”

      “There is no future in—”

      “Oh, bother! Who says you need a future? Just enjoy what you have at the moment.”

      Just a dream… Can you let yourself dream, Daphne? Lockwood’s words kindled a languid heat in her center as the memory washed through her. Oh, how disconcerting the whole incident had been!

      She had let herself dream. For the first time in her life, she’d followed her heart and dared to dream that there might be something more than self-loathing and pain in a man’s arms. She’d have been better off not knowing what could have been.

      Hannah took her hands and squeezed them. “Damn the future, Daphne. Whatever joy you’ve found, take it and do not ask for more. Tomorrows are for virgins and kings. You have a right to find some happiness, however brief.”

      Oh, how seductive Hannah’s words were. Could she risk so much for a few brief nights in Lockwood’s embrace? Could she live with the regret all the long empty nights ahead if she didn’t?

      Hannah hung her apron on a peg and headed for the door. “I’ll be upstairs applying an iron to your dress, Daphne. Hurry up and close.”

      Damn the future…. Yes, she would find some way to forget Lord Lockwood later.

      She put her broom outside the kitchen door and untied her apron. She’d have to clear the shelves and hurry upstairs and change before she could leave for the Grahams’. The shop bell rang with insistence and she frowned. This would have to be Pâtisserie’s last customer of the day.

      She was not surprised to see Mr. Lowe. He was her only customer from Blackpool and always arrived a few days after a supply ship put into port. He had told her once that Blackpool did not have a bakery, so her sweets were always a treat when he brought them back. He was a good customer and always paid in cash, but the way he watched her made her uneasy.

      “Good afternoon, Mr. Lowe. What can I get for you?”

      “That’s dependin’ on what you gots, Mrs. Hobbs.” The man smiled. Daphne tried not to blink, as she often did when she noted his absent and broken teeth.

      “Just what you see on the shelves, sir. You may have whatever you want for half price, as I am about to close for the day.”

      “Aye? Well, then, I’ll take it all.”

      “All?” She looked at the row of crusty breads and the glass case still bearing tarts and biscuits. “Are you certain?”

      “It’ll keep a couple of days, will it not, Mrs. Hobbs?”

      “The biscuits, yes. And the breads, so long as you do not dislike them a little dry. But you will have to cover the tarts if you hope to keep the insects out.”

      “Aye, Mrs. Hobbs, just likes I always does.”

      Daphne was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. She turned away and ripped a length of brown paper from the roll to begin wrapping the purchases. “And who eats all this, Mr. Lowe? Surely not you?”

      The man laughed. “Nay. Not I. I likes the biscuits and bread, but it’s the charge man who likes the sweets. Well, and the biscuits, too.”

      The charge man? Ah, the man in charge. That was a rather quaint way to refer to an employer. But then everything about Mr. Lowe was quaint. Or sinister. Or perhaps she only thought that because he was from Blackpool.

      “What is his favorite?”

      “He likes the lemon and ginger best, Mrs. Hobbs. Says he cannot get enough of ’em.”

      “Ah, then I am pleased I have some left. Anything else?”

      “Cap’n likes the meringues, but they don’t last too good and I ain’t leavin’ until tomorrow night. Might come back for ’em tomorrow, though. That’d make ’im happy.”

      “And it is always nice to keep the charge men happy, is it not?”

      He gave her an odd look and then laughed. “Aye. Nice.”

      Scarcely five minutes after his arrival at the Grahams’ picnic musicale, Hunt watched the color rise in Daphne’s cheeks as he bent over her right hand and drew it to his lips. Clearly, she was wondering if he would mention what had passed between them last night. He wouldn’t, of course. He was still that much of a gentleman. But he hadn’t promised it wouldn’t happen again.

      “I did not think I would see you again so soon, Lord Lockwood,” she said, almost stumbling over her words. Her hands were trembling and he feared she’d spill the wine in the glass she held in her left hand.

      “Then I shall count myself most fortunate, indeed, Mrs. Hobbs,” he said, playing the game of polite formality to appease the island gossips. He released her hand and turned to his hostess, plump, graying Mrs. Graham. “Thank you for including me in such a lively event.”

      “Our pleasure, Lord Lockwood. After all, you are one of us now.”

      “One of you? Ah, an islander.” He grinned. “Yes, I can see why so many people have made St. Claire their home. It has so much to recommend it.”

      Daphne met his gaze over the top of Mrs. Graham’s head. She blinked and then covered her mouth with a fan. To hide a smile?

      “Yes? Well, we think so, of course,” Mrs. Graham said with a gracious nod. “I hope you will consider extending your stay with us. We rarely have such a charming visitor.”

      Oh, he was charming enough. Men like him learned to use charm and social skills to hide what lay beneath. “You flatter me, Mrs. Graham. I am not in the least charming. My sister reminds me of that fact often.”

      She and Daphne laughed and he found himself wondering about Daphne’s background. Did she have brothers? Sisters? Were her parents still living? Would he and Daphne have anything in common at all? How odd that they’d spent such intimate time alone, and yet he knew so little about her. He must remedy that.

      “Be that as it may, Lord Lockwood, we are delighted to have you here,” Mrs. Graham insisted. “The musicians are setting up on the terrace, and you will find seating on the lawn. Hurry if you wish to claim a chair, otherwise you will find yourself sitting on a blanket. Oh, dear! That is Mr. Graham calling me.” She turned to Daphne and said, “I am really loath to leave you when you have only just met and are so unfamiliar with our modest little house. And I fear dinner will not be served until after the musical presentation.”

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