CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Daphne felt at home in the restored castle owned by her friends. She'd spent many nights here wishing she had the courage to leave her parents and leave England.

It's funny how things work out. She was forced to leave due to things beyond her control, and in the process, she found the love of her life. Married hoping to have children soon, she was thrilled to know that her father knew nothing of her mother's machinations. What concerned her was what those machinations really were.

Her mother had always been ambitious beyond reason. Her father made excellent money, and the title afforded him certain considerations. To Daphne's mother, that meant being allowed to open charge accounts at the upscale boutiques and private designer clothing galleries in London.

If someone in her circle of friends bought a new Chanel suit, she bought two. If they bought a Dior bag, she bought three. Shoes? She converted one of the bedrooms into her shoe closet. It never set well with Daphne, and she found the behavior repulsive and showy.

Staring out the window of the bedroom, looking into the beautiful gardens below, she questioned why she hadn't brought it up sooner. Why hadn't she confronted her father? Why hadn't she confronted her mother? Mostly, it was fear. Fear of what her mother might force her to do. Again.

"Daphne, you must attend the event at Lady Stalwart's."

"Mother, I don't have time to attend that."

"Attend, Daphne, or I'll have a conversation with the auction house, and you'll be forced to return here. I've allowed you and your independent, impulsive nature to take hold for too long."

"Yes, Mother."

She'd given in every single time. Why? Why was she so afraid?

"Daph? Daphne? Honey, I've been calling your name for five minutes," smiled Brix. "Are you okay?"

"Yes. No." She shook her head, turning to stare at him. "I'm not sure. I'm having some strange memories about my mother holding things over my head, forcing me to do things I didn't want to do."

"Daph, do you think your mother made you go to all those events, all those balls and things because you're white? She's not, and the women she's trying to impress are white? I mean, I don't want to sound racist, if that's what this is, but is it possible?"

"I think at this point, Brix, anything is possible."

"Well, I hate to break it to you, but you have a visitor downstairs."

"A visitor? My mother?" she asked.

"Worse." Daphne swallowed hard, shaking her head. "Baby, we're all here with you. Nothing will happen to you. He's already had a taste of Leif and Major. I think he might have pissed his pants, but I can't tell."

"Stay with me," she whispered.

"Honey, I'm not going anywhere. No one is. Even Mom is making him squirm. I don't think he's met anyone like her before."

Dressed in a pair of casual trousers and a summer sweater, she looked as if she could have stepped off the cover of a magazine. It was simple yet elegant and put together. It didn't matter to her what others thought of her, but she wanted everyone to know that she was just fine with her husband and new family.

With Brix by her side, she felt confident and no longer filled with the fear that once possessed her when she was around her ex-husband.

Stepping into the sitting room, she noticed that her entire family was standing around the room, arms folded across large, expanded chests, the women with slicing glares. And the object of their attention was seated near the fire, appearing to be very nervous.

He abruptly stood, glaring at her. The years hadn't been kind to him. Now in his early sixties, he was portly, red-faced, somewhat shorter than the last time she saw him, and definitely nervous. His fat hands were red and raw, flaking from either the cold or some skin condition she didn't want to know about.

"Marshall, the law says that you have to stay away from me," she said calmly.

"Please, tell these neanderthal's to leave us alone for a moment." His sharp British tone had an air of superiority to it and even Daphne didn't care for it.

"This neanderthal is her husband," growled Brix. "You want to throw out name calling, then let's start with a few for you. Abuser, rapist, cheater, liar, let me see."

"Alright," he said, holding up his hand. "Daphne, this is an absurd attempt at making me jealous, marrying this man. With me, you have a title, wealth, all the things a woman needs."

"Things a woman needs. Marshall, I have everything I need. I have a husband who truly loves me, cares for me, admires me for the woman I am. He loves my intelligence, my attitude, all of it. I don't have to worry about him beating me senseless. His friends would kill him if he did."

Marshall turned around the room, staring at the other men, then stopping on Hazel's face.

"Oh, don't leave me out. I'm his mother. You can be damn sure I'd kick his ass if he touched her."

"They can't give you what I can," he ground out, attempting to ignore the frightening and very attractive woman. "Money. Title. You need this."

"No. You and my mother need it. I do not," she said calmly.

"Before you continue to make a fool of yourself," smirked Brix. "I should let you know that we've done a background check on you, Marshall old boy. You see, I know what's in your bank account. It's impressive. Truly it is."

Marshall smiled at the men, straightening somewhat. Then Brix took a step toward him, satisfied that it caused him to shrink back.

"But let me be very clear. My bank account. Not my family's, not my father's, not my mother's. Mine. Is more than fifteen times what yours is. Now, I don't usually speak of money because it's not polite conversation. But since you're soooo concerned with Daphne's financial well-being, I wanted to lay your fears to rest."

"Fifteen… That's not possible," he said, puffing out his chest and lifting his chin.

"Don't insult me, little man. I could remove you from this earth, and no one would give a damn. No one." Daphne eyed him, still clinging to Brix's hand.

"Why are you doing this? You didn't give a damn about me when our marriage was annulled. You and my mother concocted our marriage. Why? What do you two have going on?"

"I-I don't know what you mean," he stammered. "I haven't seen your mother in ages."

"You're lying. You were never very good at it, Marshall. In fact, you were terrible at it. What is it you want?"

"Nothing. I only was hoping we could rekindle our love. You marrying this horrible American…" Tiger took two quick steps toward him, and Zulu held him back.

"Careful, little man. My son is hard to control sometimes. I might not be able to hold him back."

"You've made a terrible mistake, Daphne. Your mother was right. You've gone mad. Marrying into this family of thugs and criminals!"

"That's it!" yelled Gabi. She took three big steps and swung her leg back, driving it forward into the man's groin. The men all groaned, grabbing their crotches as the women laughed.

"If you ever speak to my granddaughter-in-law like that again or speak of my family like that again, I will end your life. And I'm a surgeon," she smiled. "I know exactly how to do it."

"I'll report you to the police!" he screamed, gasping for breath.

"Oh, please. Please do," said Brix. "We'd love to tell them how you violated your restraining order. Threatened my wife. Threw slanderous terms at my family and, if I'm not mistaken, spoke in a manner unbecoming of a man in your position."

Marshall was literally shaking with fear and pain. Finally able to breathe, he stood up straight, staring at the room of giants and Amazons. The women were quite beautiful, and in other circumstances, he would have propositioned them all.

"You will regret this, Daphne."

"No. What I regret is listening to my mother and marrying you in the first place. Whatever twisted plot you and my mother have, forget it. She's likely to get you killed, Marshall."

"Time to leave," said Sebastian, gripping his arm. He let out a girlish squeal, and the others could only chuckle. "I'm barely touching the man."

"Leave my property, Marshall," said Heath. "You're not welcome here." He huffed his way to the door, turning with an heir of superiority.

"As if I'd ever touch anything that you and that faggot of yours touched."

"That's it!" Hazel took off after the fat squat man as he ran toward his car. As he spun his tires, gravel flew everywhere, scratching and dinging his precious red paint of the Aston Martin.

The others stood at the door, watching as he drove away. Hazel turned to her daughter-in-law and smiled.

"Honey, things are rotten in Denmark. And here."