Free Once She Was Tempted by Anne Barton Page B

why Miss Honeycote had risked her reputation—the only thing she’d really had. But mostly he needed to understand her. To be close to her light for a while.
    The lanterns above lent a soft glow to the Eden-like setting. Her cheeks had turned a lovely shade of pink.
    “It’s quite simple.” She flicked her tongue over her lips as though it were anything but. “My mother was sick—dying, actually. For months on end she suffered from raging fevers and violent coughing attacks. I’ll never forget how pale and thin her face looked as she lay in bed. Her skin was like white parchment stretched over bone.” Her voice cracked on the last word.
    She paused for a moment, and when she resumed herstory, her voice was clear and strong. “Anabelle and I believed Mama had consumption. The doctor prescribed various vapors and medicines to restore her lungs and keep her comfortable. He was expensive, and so was the medicine. My sister was working twelve-hour days as a seamstress to try to raise the money we needed. I did the occasional mending, but my priority was caring for Mama. The money I made from the portraits… well, it was my contribution.”
    As Ben imagined Daphne’s desperation and worry for her mother, his chest tightened. But the angle at which she held her chin told him she didn’t want pity. “What does your sister think about your current dilemma?”
    She grasped his wrist and locked her gaze with his. “She knows nothing about the paintings, and she mustn’t find out.”
    He shook his head. This grew more interesting by the moment. “Where did she think the money came from?”
    “It wasn’t as much as you might expect. We owed everybody money—the doctor, the apothecary, our landlady, and the butcher. I used the funds to pay down our debt, but we never caught up—not until the duke stepped in to help. Before that, most of the burden fell on Anabelle.”
    “I’m surprised you were able to keep your activities a secret from her.”
    “I keep very few secrets from my sister, but I couldn’t tell her. She would never have permitted me to do it.”
    Using his cane, Ben drew small circles on the ground between his feet and hers. “Why do you want to keep the truth from her now?”
    Miss Honeycote fingered the purple ribbon sash of herdress. “Anabelle has always taken care of me, and I don’t want to be a burden to her anymore. She would worry herself sick, and she’s already feeling poorly because of her condition. I need to fix this problem on my own.” She chuckled self-consciously. “With a little help from you.”
    He stroked his chin, debating how best to make his next inquiry, then decided to go with his usual method—bluntness. “May I call you Daphne?”
    Her eyes went wide and her lips formed a perfect circle.
    Before she could respond, he said, “When we’re in private, I mean. Since we are to work closely together, it would behoove us to drop some of the formalities. Considering the nature of our mission, I see no point in standing on ceremony.”
    “What, then, shall I call you?”
    He shrugged. “Call me what you like—nothing could shock me. If you lack imagination, you could always use my given name, Benjamin—or, simply, Ben.”
    She looked at him oddly, as though it were quite a surprise to learn that he had a first name. “Benjamin suits you. Very well, we will use our Christian names when speaking in private. What shall our first step be?”
    “Wait. You never told me how your mother recovered from consumption.”
    “Er, she was misdiagnosed. Once the duke sent his doctor to examine her, he realized the mistake and prescribed a new course of treatment. It took her a while, but she is much improved.”
    He sensed there was more to the story—she glossed over it too much for there not to be—but he was willing to let it go for now. “Does anyone else know that you posed for the paintings?”
    “No. Thomas nicked some sheets and lanterns, bought a worn settee at a