face-to-face.”
“Perhaps you are right.” Prudence patted her arm.
She shivered and squeezed her hands together in her lap. “When do we leave?”
“Just after your brothers arrive tomorrow morning.”
Those words made Silver flinch. “How are we getting back to the dock?” she asked, groping for a diversion from thoughts of her brothers’ executions and her upcoming wedding.
“Leave that to me, child.”
Daniel paced the bedroom. The pain in Silver’s eyes haunted him and made him crazed with remorse. He had been too harsh with her. The distasteful offer of gold nettled his conscience. Actually, it seared his soul with shame. She wasn’t some harlot, damn it. Didn’t honor flow in his blood, passed down from generations of Huntingtons? He shook his head. He had no honor. Not after what he had done to Silver. He frowned and faced the window, trying to sort his troubled thoughts.
Crossing his arms, he stared out at the field beyond the stables. Deep green grass blanketed the ground with little white and yellow flowers waving to and fro in the wind. It quite reminded him of the lake near his home. He could envision Silver sitting in the midst of the flowers at Huntington, plucking a white one to put in her hair.
His chest went tight and he closed his eyes. What in the hell was he going to do? How would he—
A knock sounded at the door.
“Go away,” Daniel said without turning.
The door swung open and heavy footsteps clapped against the wood floor. “I have a request,” Garrett said behind him.
Daniel dropped his chin down to his chest and sighed. He had to find a way to—
“I need the carriage to take—”
“Fine,” Daniel said with a wave of his hand. If he could—
“But I am taking…”
Daniel spun around and scowled, causing Garrett to halt his words. “Use the ruddy carriage and take as long as you like. Is there anything else?”
Garrett straightened his shoulders, the surprise melting from his face. “No, I don’t suppose there is.”
Daniel turned back to the window, the blackness of his mood rising to unbearable limits. He rested a palm against the wall, his gaze straying to the flower-dotted field. He swore soundly, then spun around and began to pace.
After ten minutes with still no answers, he stomped from the room, praying a long ride and some port would ease a bit of his turmoil.
Damn, he’d need a lot of port.
Chapter Eight
“Ye best be up, Duke.”
Daniel groaned as Mrs. Burns’ screechy voice brought him awake, making him painfully aware of every drop of port he’d consumed yesterday. Usually, a brisk ride helped to sort his troubled thoughts, but he’d needed additional aid. Unfortunately, that extra assistance produced a pounding head, a rolling stomach, and a bone-dry mouth.
“Drink this an’ ye’ll be feelin’ up tae scratch in a trice. Hurry now, your bath water be gettin’ cold.”
Daniel pried open his eyes. The old scarecrow stood over him, offering a large glass of something that looked like pea soup. “What in the devil is that?” he asked with a scratchy throat, easing up against the pillows with a wince.
“Summat tae cure your bottle-ache.” She pressed the glass into his hands. “Now drink it up.”
A foul, rotten egg stench assailed him, making his stomach churn dangerously. He held the glass away. “I am not drinking that.”
She crossed her arms and scowled even deeper than usual. “Can ye ride in your condition?”
Daniel squinted up to her as the pounding in his head intensified. “What the devil does that have to do—?”
“Can ye ride, feelin’ as ye dae, Duke?”
“No,” he answered, his temper rising. The God-awful smell rising from whatever witch brew she’d concocted also did nothing to improve his mood.
“Then ye better drink up.” She nodded to the glass in his hand. “While ye slept all
“Perhaps you are right.” Prudence patted her arm.
She shivered and squeezed her hands together in her lap. “When do we leave?”
“Just after your brothers arrive tomorrow morning.”
Those words made Silver flinch. “How are we getting back to the dock?” she asked, groping for a diversion from thoughts of her brothers’ executions and her upcoming wedding.
“Leave that to me, child.”
Daniel paced the bedroom. The pain in Silver’s eyes haunted him and made him crazed with remorse. He had been too harsh with her. The distasteful offer of gold nettled his conscience. Actually, it seared his soul with shame. She wasn’t some harlot, damn it. Didn’t honor flow in his blood, passed down from generations of Huntingtons? He shook his head. He had no honor. Not after what he had done to Silver. He frowned and faced the window, trying to sort his troubled thoughts.
Crossing his arms, he stared out at the field beyond the stables. Deep green grass blanketed the ground with little white and yellow flowers waving to and fro in the wind. It quite reminded him of the lake near his home. He could envision Silver sitting in the midst of the flowers at Huntington, plucking a white one to put in her hair.
His chest went tight and he closed his eyes. What in the hell was he going to do? How would he—
A knock sounded at the door.
“Go away,” Daniel said without turning.
The door swung open and heavy footsteps clapped against the wood floor. “I have a request,” Garrett said behind him.
Daniel dropped his chin down to his chest and sighed. He had to find a way to—
“I need the carriage to take—”
“Fine,” Daniel said with a wave of his hand. If he could—
“But I am taking…”
Daniel spun around and scowled, causing Garrett to halt his words. “Use the ruddy carriage and take as long as you like. Is there anything else?”
Garrett straightened his shoulders, the surprise melting from his face. “No, I don’t suppose there is.”
Daniel turned back to the window, the blackness of his mood rising to unbearable limits. He rested a palm against the wall, his gaze straying to the flower-dotted field. He swore soundly, then spun around and began to pace.
After ten minutes with still no answers, he stomped from the room, praying a long ride and some port would ease a bit of his turmoil.
Damn, he’d need a lot of port.
Chapter Eight
“Ye best be up, Duke.”
Daniel groaned as Mrs. Burns’ screechy voice brought him awake, making him painfully aware of every drop of port he’d consumed yesterday. Usually, a brisk ride helped to sort his troubled thoughts, but he’d needed additional aid. Unfortunately, that extra assistance produced a pounding head, a rolling stomach, and a bone-dry mouth.
“Drink this an’ ye’ll be feelin’ up tae scratch in a trice. Hurry now, your bath water be gettin’ cold.”
Daniel pried open his eyes. The old scarecrow stood over him, offering a large glass of something that looked like pea soup. “What in the devil is that?” he asked with a scratchy throat, easing up against the pillows with a wince.
“Summat tae cure your bottle-ache.” She pressed the glass into his hands. “Now drink it up.”
A foul, rotten egg stench assailed him, making his stomach churn dangerously. He held the glass away. “I am not drinking that.”
She crossed her arms and scowled even deeper than usual. “Can ye ride in your condition?”
Daniel squinted up to her as the pounding in his head intensified. “What the devil does that have to do—?”
“Can ye ride, feelin’ as ye dae, Duke?”
“No,” he answered, his temper rising. The God-awful smell rising from whatever witch brew she’d concocted also did nothing to improve his mood.
“Then ye better drink up.” She nodded to the glass in his hand. “While ye slept all
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