Never to Part by Joan Vincent

casually leaning against the sarcophagus watching her with open amusement.
    “You are an insufferable man.”
    His grin went taut.
    She slapped at his arm.
    Richard caught her wrist in a light but firm grip. He straightened from his languorous pose, his features tense. “Short suffering , more like. For what do you search?”
    “Curiosity is my only offence, my lord.” Daphne stared at his gloved hand on her wrist. Through the layer of fabric and leather separating their skin his strength, his heat threatened to melt her resistance. Chagrin bolted to the surface. “I am truly sorry if I caused your mother any discomfort,” Daphne said. “If I could undo—” She shrugged, misery apparent.
    “Perhaps you would care to explain my ‘offence?’”
    His steely tone and grim eyes momentarily gave Daphne hope he cared about her opinion. That would be more like the man she had thought him to be rather than the one forced upon her by the world’s truth. “If you wish.”
    “They’ll be at arguing again,” Lord Ricman groaned from his perch atop his lady wife’s effigy.
    “Hush,” Lady Laurel urged .
    Richard brought Daphne’s wrist down and drew her closer. “You dare to say I offend?”
    “My behaviour that night was an innocent blunder,” Daphne retorted. “Your dear mother wrote and told me strong spirits had been added to the punch I drank. I don’t understand how or why that set of . . . of minxes encouraged me—”
    “You want me to believe friends of my family told you to mimic my mother?”
    His disbelief poured over Daphne like ice water. She blinked; tried not to acknowledge how much his scorn hurt. “Lord Dremore, why would I wish to offend your mother? She was all kindness to me. What gain was there for me in offending her?”
    Her short-found relief when Richard released her wrist disappeared as he planted his hands on the wall on either side of her shoulders. He lowered his head; put his lips but a whisper from hers.
    “See, he is thy kin,” Lady Laurel told her husband. “If he does this right, harmony will prevail at last.”
    “He’s a slow top not to have kissed her before this .”
    “Indeed “Indeed it makes no sense, Miss Stratton. Speak you the truth?”
    Daphne gave a slight nod. She could not remove her eyes from his beckoning lips. When she saw his tongue flick across them, she unconsciously did the same and raised her gaze to his.
    Sparks flared in his eyes.
    She closed hers. Waited breathlessly. A lone finger brushed the nap of her neck. Then fingers plucked a pin from her hair. A strand fell free. She sensed him finger it.
    Daphne desperately wished she dared reach up and touch his golden curls. Before she could, soft pressure moved across her lips loosening a lightning bolt in her blood. His lips lingered, beckoned a swirl of pleasure in the pit of her stomach. Its lack a moment later left her bereft. Opening her eyes she stared into Richard’s gaze and saw conflict as well as desire.
    Unable to bear possible rejection, Daphne ducked under his arm and ran to the door. She grasped the handle and tugged with all her might. It held fast.
    “You locked it,” she accused. “You lied.”
    “It is not locked,” Richard said scornfully. “If you would have me believe you, trust me in this.” He strode towards her.
    Daphne stepped away from the door.
    Richard tugged on the handle and swore under his breath when it would not give. He jerked on the door again. “It must be stuck,” he muttered.
    “Perhaps it was relocked by your spectre ,” Daphne offered with reflexive acidity.
    “I did not lock it. Do you see a means for me to do so?”
    “Dear God, I pray you find a way to open it before morning. What shall we do it we are discovered here?”
    Dremore stilled; looked intently at her. “Thinking to become a baroness?”
    “Never,” Daphne choked out. She strode to the other end of the chamber and stood so that the sarcophagus blocked her view of this tormenting