Free Daughter of Darkness by Janet Woods

beam of silver to touch her face as he’d laid her in her grave. Her eyes, glowing with loathing had flickered open. They’d haunted his dreams ever since.
    Shivers raced up his spine as he caught Daphne’s glance in the mirror. For a moment she had the look of one who was enjoying his discomfort. Rational thought took over. Daphne knew nothing, and even if she did she’d say nothing, fearing she’d risk losing her popularity in court circles. She enjoyed her position too much.
    Besides, Marietta’s curse had not worked, he scoffed. Daphne had provided him with a strong heir who’d just survived smallpox. He slipped his hand inside her bodice and touched the ripe peak of her nipple. His desire was something almost tangible, beating in his breast like a drum. It was a desire she ignored. Daphne was no longer the sweet, innocent child he’d fondled upon his lap. He’ d been unaware then that his fondness for her sprang from the sickness in him. Now she punished him for it, withholding from him that which he craved most.
    She gave a silvery laugh as she slapped his hand away. Her eyes glowed cruelly as she rose from her seat and shook her rustling skirt into place. ‘Do not crush my gown. The king requests my company later tonight.’
    He bit back a frustrated sigh as he offered Daphne his arm. Had it been anyone else he would have called him out and killed him. His fingers closed around the necklace, then gently twisted it. Fear came into her eyes as the necklace tightened around her neck.
    ‘He is an old man. He will tire of you soon.’ Loosening his grip he flicked an imaginary piece of fluff from the cuff of his green brocade coat.
    ‘I invited Sapphire,’ Daphne said as they descended the sweeping marble staircase to the salon below. ‘She wrote to say she was honored by my invitation but was leaving shortly for the country.’
    ‘She should feel honored,’ he growled. ‘You’re the toast of London, my dear.’ Proudly he added. ‘If it hadn’t been for me you’d be buried in the country breeding brats for the Lytton family. Don’t you ever forget that.’
    Daphne thought bitterly. No, I’ll never forget it!
    Snow! The flake on her tongue swiftly melted as Willow drew it into her mouth. Grinning at Brian O’Shea she indicated the track. ‘A race?’
    Brian was exercising Ambrose’s stallion, a muscular grey with an ungainly rapid stride, an ugly nose and an intelligent eye. Most of the horses on the estate were bred from him, but so far Circe had refused to be covered by him. Brian indicated the hedge Willow was pointed at. ‘This old boy can run, but his steeple-chasing days are over.’ He watched Circe dance delicately on the spot. ‘She’s frisky this morning. She’ll be coming into season again, I reckon. It’s a pity we haven’t permission to use one of the Sheronwood stallions. The Lytton stables could do with some fresh blood.’
    ‘Sheronwood is deserted, and the horses sold.’
    ‘One of the stallions escaped and is roaming the grounds.’ Brian grinned to himself. ‘To be sure, he’s a handsome fellow, almost as dark as Circe with a white star on his nose.’
    ‘Then we’d be doing them a favour if we stabled the poor creature for the winter.’ Willow gazed at Brian with twinkling eyes. ‘To be sure, the poor creature will freeze to death if my wily Irish groom doesn’t play the good samaritan.’
    ‘You’re a girl after me own heart, darlin’ child.’
    ‘So say you, Brian O’Shea.’ She gave a soft laugh. ‘If that’s the case why does Kitty spend more time at the stables than she does attending her mistress? Is it teaching her to ride, you’re after?’
    Brian smiled. ‘It’s marrying her I’m after, but she won’t say yes and she won’t say no at the moment. Her first loyalty is to you.’ Gloom edged into his voice. ‘Even if Kitty said yes we’d need the earl’s permission, and he—poor soul—is in no state to grant it. The man would be better off