To Redeem a Rake (The Heart of a Duke Book 11) Read online

  To Redeem a Rake

  By

  Christi Caldwell

  To Redeem a Rake

  Copyright © 2016 by Christi Caldwell

  Kindle Edition

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without written permission.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it or borrow it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

  For more information about the author:

  www.christicaldwellauthor.com

  [email protected]

  Twitter: @ChristiCaldwell

  Or on Facebook at: Christi Caldwell Author

  Dedication

  To Rory

  From the moment, you were born, you were a fighter. You fought to do everything that came natural to most: eating, drinking, crawling, walking. Gifts I once took for granted, you showed me were great miracles. Eight years later, you are still a fighter. Do not let a single person ever tell you that you cannot do something. Let no one limit you. Trust that no dream is unattainable, not only because we’re at your side…but because of who you are.

  The sky is the limit.

  Miss Daphne Smith’s story belongs to you.

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Epilogue

  Other Books by Christi Caldwell

  Biography

  Acknowledgements

  Daphne and Daniel’s story was one that was very close to me for personal reasons. As such, I am forever grateful to Louisa Cornell for being the first person to read it and help me bring forth the vision I had.

  Prologue

  Spelthorne

  Surrey, England

  1801

  With the blazing summer sun filtering through the trees, Miss Daphne Smith accepted the ugly truth. She was going to die here.

  Even the excruciating agony shooting a path up her leg wasn’t distraction enough from that inevitability. And it would be no one’s fault but her own.

  Draping an arm over her face, she attempted to lessen the glare of the sun’s rays still burning her face. It produced the kind of heat that a red-haired girl could feel cooking more freckles. That mocking sun. That blasted, showed-itself-too-late ball of agony in the sky.

  Another shuddery sob slipped from Daphne’s lips and she closed her eyes, willing back the pain. Yes, she was going to die here, in her favorite copse, after having been expressly forbidden from coming—would Mama and Papa even know to come look for her? Panic filled her. Why would they come, when they’d threatened to take away her mount if she disobeyed them and visited this place? They would know there was nothing she loved more in her ten years than riding Ginger.

  And she’d gone and ruined it all by setting out in a rainstorm to chase the rainbow.

  “You silly girl.” She brushed the back of her hand over her tear-stained cheeks. Now, she’d never ride again.

  Her left leg throbbed all the more. Shoving onto her elbows, Daphne peered at her foot. Nausea twisted in her belly at the ghastly bend of her leg. Why does it look like that? Thrusting aside the fearful question, she bit hard on her lower lip and made one more attempt to stand. She wiggled onto her belly and pushed onto her right foot. Then she placed a tentative weight on her left. Another cry spilled past her lips and as several wrens took off in a noisy flight from the trees above, Daphne crumpled to the damp ground, landing hard in a deep puddle.

  With her nose caked in mud, she lay there. The feel of the wet ground was cool on her cheek as her tears blurred with the earth. Blasted rain.

  She rolled onto her back and glared up at the cheerful sun. The same sun that hadn’t made a single appearance in nearly six days, except for early that afternoon. And then there had been the rainbow. And the promise of fortunes at the end of it. And well, everyone in Surrey knew they needed fortunes—even if Papa would never, ever dare admit to it. But Daphne knew. She’d been so convinced of it that she followed that brightly colored prism.

  Now, she was going to die for it. She’d die alone beneath the oak, not even able to touch her fingertips to her rolling brook. Even her horse had bolted off and abandoned her.

  Tears seeped from beneath her lashes and poured onto the muddied earth. Her cheek itched and she focused on that slight discomfort, for she wouldn’t have to fix on the agonizing pain of her foot and leg. Sniffling, she turned her head and stared into the near distance. The pristine surface of the lake she’d first learned to swim in rippled as a faint breeze stirred the trees.

  “Stupid s-sun.” Daphne whimpered as she moved her left foot and then something glittered in the light. Her heart kicked up a beat and she stretched her hand out. Her fingers collided with the cold press of a rusted guinea. Her fortune? She wrapped her hand around the coin with a jagged lightning-like scratch down the middle of King George III. This had been the treasure?

  A branch snapped and she went motionless, not taking her gaze from the lake. Salvation had come.

  “Daphne?” Oh, no. Not Daniel. Anyone but Daniel. He was forever teasing her about all the scrapes she landed herself in. “Is that you?” Except… His voice, usually so full of his boyhood confidence emerged hesitant.

  She sniffled and brushed the back of her hand over her leaking nose. “D-Daniel.”

  Then, who else had she hoped would come to this spot, other than Daniel Winterbourne, the Earl of Montfort’s son? He was the only person who loved these grounds more than she did. So much so, that he’d ordered her from them too many times to count when she’d been a small girl of five because they would one day belong to him. By the time Daphne was six, he’d realized she was not going anywhere and certainly not because he, a silly boy, had demanded it. Since then, they’d struck a truce and shared the lake and every other part of the countryside when he was here.

  Well, they had, until her parents had forbidden her from coming.

  “What are you doing on the ground?” he called from several paces away.

  “Looking at the m-mud.” Her attempt at sarcasm was ruined by that tremor of pain. She’d sooner die here alone than let any boy see her in pain, especially Daniel who was always so good at everything, so she rolled onto her back and shoved herself up onto her elbows.

  The brush crunched under his boot steps as he came forward and then stopped abruptly several feet away. His fishing rod slipped from his fingers and he gasped.

  And she would have preferred his mocking her for not being as skilled a
fisherman or rider as he was than that soft exhalation. Daphne’s lower lip quivered and, for the first time since she’d raced over that fallen trunk in her quest for fortunes, breathed the great fear aloud. “Is it…broken?” She peered up at him. Almost thirteen, he was so very tall. Many more inches taller than herself. He was always so confident. Where she’d rolled her eyes at him in the past, now she wished him to be that same kind of confident.

  Instead, his cheeks turned white and his eyes rounded.

  Tears swelled in her eyes once more. “It is broken, isn’t it?”

  Daniel blinked several times and then sank to a knee beside her. “I…it…I think it is.”

  A single tear slid down her cheek. Followed by another. And with his faltering confirmation, she forced herself to truly look at the limb. Jutted unnaturally to the left, her leg was impossibly turned. And no matter how much she willed it, no matter how much pain she endured, she couldn’t get it straightened.

  “Don’t,” he said gruffly.

  She angrily slashed at her cheeks and then winced. After countless moments lying here, the sun had scorched them. “Just go,” she cried softly. “Let me die here.” Daphne flopped down on the ground and draped her arm over her eyes. That way, she didn’t have to see how Daniel kept looking at her ugly leg and swallowing loudly.

  “How long have you been here?” he asked with so much concern that Daphne suddenly wished she’d been less bothersome to him over the years.

  “I don’t know. I left the schoolroom a-at ten.” Her governess was, no doubt, nipping from the decanter, as she often did whenever she had a chance to imbibe.

  Daniel’s frown deepened. “It is nearly one o’clock.” And in an un-Daniel-like manner, he flicked his gaze around the copse. “My brother would know what to do.” Alistair, the future Earl of Montfort, the proper young man who had earned the respect of all in the county. Mama and Papa always said some lady would be lucky to land him as a husband.

  She, on the other hand, if she had to marry a miserable boy, would far prefer one who rode and spit and fished—like Daniel. Not that she wished to marry Daniel. Or any boy. “Well, Alistair is not here. You are.” And another thing she’d never dare admit… She was glad for it. As much as he’d always teased her, this was Daniel. Her best friend. Her only friend, really.

  Daniel gave a jerky nod.

  “W-Will you go for my papa?” she whispered. For the truth was, she’d rather give up riding Ginger before dying here. And certainly, not dying here alone.

  Daniel shook his head. No? He’d surely not leave her to die here. “It will take too long,” he said, his frown deepening. “I will help you home.”

  “Y-you will?” He’d told her time enough when she’d been stung by a bee two years ago what he thought about girls and tears. Still, his offer brought another round of tears.

  Daniel puffed his chest and gave a nod. “I will. Mirabel is tethered a short distance from here.”

  Together, with some struggling, he managed to get her upright and onto her right foot. Looping an arm at her waist, he caught her weight against him and guided her slowly through the muddied copse. With every jarring movement, her belly turned, until she feared she’d cast up her last meal. Stars danced behind her eyes and she blinked them back.

  Daniel stole a sideways look at her. “Chasing treasures?”

  She nodded unevenly; the pain too great to speak through. Of course, Daniel would know that.

  “Did you find it?”

  Daphne thought to the rusty coin in the front pocket of her dress. “Yes.” She braced for his teasing, but he said nothing.

  They reached Mirabel and after untethering his mount, Daniel swung astride. He held a hand down for her and Daphne reached up… Her leg crumpled under her.

  She cried out and his mare danced nervously. Breathing heavily through the pain, she glanced at the ground. “J-just go ahead. G-get my papa.”

  Indecision raged in his brown eyes and he glanced about again. A moment later, he dismounted and retied Mirabel’s reins to the juniper. He bent and carefully scooped her into his arms.

  Daphne swung her gaze up to his. “Wh-what are you doing?”

  Daniel flexed his jaw, appearing more like his always serious brother, than the boy of twelve who’d long-lived to tease her. “I am bringing you home.”

  Her heart tripped a beat. It was at least a mile to her family’s property. The grounds were muddied. The hills were high. “Y-you cannot.”

  Anger filled his eyes. “Because I’m not Alistair?”

  The village might adore Alistair for being so perfect, but when their families joined for dinner parties and picnics, he didn’t do anything fun like tease her, or even talk to her. And she’d never, ever seen him fish at her copse. How could she truly trust a man who didn’t swim or fish? “I am too big, Daniel,” she said practically. After all, she was ten now and was everything logical. Except for the part about disobeying her parents and rushing about the estates.

  Daniel firmed his mouth and then started forward. With every jarring step, she swallowed down nausea. “Does it hurt?” His breath emerged raspy from his efforts.

  Daphne nodded against his chest, burrowing close. She buried her face into him, not wanting to see his mocking eyes.

  “It will be all right.”

  Startled, she swung her gaze up. His gaze was trained forward and sweat beaded his forehead. He shifted her in his arms, stumbled, and then quickly righted them. “D-do you really believe so?”

  He hesitated. Even through the pain she saw it. But then, he nodded. And she knew he lied. Another sheen of tears blurred her vision as her mind ran amok with fear. “D-do you think I’ll ever ride again?”

  “Of course.” Uncertainty filled those two words.

  “No, I won’t,” she cried, her voice shaking. “I’ll never swim again. Or curtsy. Or dance.” What was she without her legs? A sob tore from her.

  “You don’t like to curtsy or dance,” he said, wrinkling his brow.

  “Yes, but mayhap someday I’ll want to. What if I do want to marry and can’t because I can’t curtsy or dance?”

  He grunted. “Well, I don’t want a wife who can curtsy or dance. I would much rather have one who rides and swims.”

  Her heart caught, soared, and then promptly slipped to her broken leg. She would never ride or swim. Even as she didn’t wish to marry, if she did, it would be to a boy who wanted her to fish and swim.

  Her shoulders shook from the force of her tears and Daniel hugged her closer. He didn’t promise any more that it would be all right, but just let her cry, without making fun of her. That was when Daphne knew—she would love him until the day she died.

  A long while later, they neared her family’s property. Daniel faltered and, gasping, shifted her in his arms.

  “You can put me down, Daniel.”

  “I am not putting you down,” he said angrily. With steely determination in his eyes, he resumed walking. Not another word was spoken between them until her cottage home came into view. In the distance, she spied Papa climbing astride his mount. His gaze caught on them and then his cry went up.

  Daphne quickly looked to Daniel. “Thank you.” She reached between them and withdrew her single guinea. “I found my treasure today,” she whispered. “I want you to have it.”

  He rounded his eyes. “You are giving it to me?”

  She nodded and stuffed it in his pocket. “It is yours now.”

  Daniel hesitated. “You’re certain?”

  “I want you to have it.”

  “I can’t—”

  The excruciating agony of her twisted limb sent tears to her eyes. “You have to take it.”

  Daniel gave a reluctant nod and shifted her in his arms. “If you ever require your treasure back, Daphne, I will return it.”

  Through the pain, she gave him an arched look. “A person honors their word and I told you it is yours.”

  Her father galloped into the clearing and interrupted
the moment. “Daphne,” he cried. Dismounting, he raced forward and wordlessly plucked her from Daniel’s arms. “Thank you so much, Daniel. I cannot ever repay you,” he said, his voice shaking with emotion.

  The young boy squared his shoulders and nodded.

  She bit the inside of her cheek at the agony the abrupt movement had on her foot and leg. Papa rushed to his mount and handed Daphne over to Daniel, once more. Daniel held her close. “It is going to be all right, Daph,” he vowed and then helped her astride Papa’s mount.

  As her father guided her home, she peered back at Daniel. Now, with him gone, there was no distraction from the pain. Coldness stole through her and blackness plucked at the edge of her conscious.

  She blinked and tried to retain the light, fixing on him in that same spot, staring after her. Daniel erroneously believed her gift had been the treasure she’d found at the end of the rainbow. What he’d failed to realize was the truth—he had been the true treasure she’d found.

  Just as he would be for the rest of her life, when they fished and swam and rode reckless around the countryside, together forever.

  And even through the pain, Daphne managed a smile.

  Chapter 1

  April, 1819

  Spelthorne

  Surrey, England

  Miss Daphne Smith wanted to sit. Desperately. From the corner of her eye, she covetously eyed the seat in front of the immaculate rose-inlaid desk.

  Mrs. Belden, the headmistress at Mrs. Belden’s Finishing School, transferred her gaze from the sheet in her hands and peered down the length of her nose. “In three months, nothing has changed, Miss Smith.” In a dismissive manner that sent panic spiraling in Daphne’s breast, the woman set aside the list of references and slid them across the desk.

  With the assistance of her cane, Daphne limped forward. “My references are honorable ones,” she said resolutely. “I ask you to please reconsider.” Again. She despised the faint shake that hinted at her desperation. Then, when you were a crippled spinster of eight and twenty years, without a living relation to depend on, and even less funds to survive through the years, that is really what one became—desperate. How she despised a world where there were so few options for women.