CHAPTER TWO

Daphne Patricia Bishop didn't really understand what was happening in the courtroom. She was only five, and her sister, Cassandra, was four. They held hands tightly, hoping that someone would tell them why they were there. She had fleeting memories before this, but they seemed jumbled together, cloudy and strange.

"Daphne, Cassandra, would you step forward, please?" asked the man in the black dress.

"Yes, sir." Their voices echoed in the room.

"Dears, Lord and Lady Bishop would like to adopt you both and raise you in their very fine estate in the country. Would you like that?"

"Does this mean our parents aren't coming back for us?" asked Daphne.

"No, my darling. They can't come back," said the man with a sad face.

Daphne kind of knew that. They'd been told that their parents died in a boating accident. Daphne didn't know what that meant, but she knew the word ‘died.' They weren't coming home.

"Will Lord and Lady Bishop be kind to us?" asked Cassandra.

"Yes, my darling girl. They will be exceptionally kind to you. Lord Bishop is a very prosperous man. You'll have a fine home, fine clothing, and go to the best schools. You'll have every advantage."

"Alright," said Daphne.

She didn't know what would happen if she had said ‘no thank you,' but she knew that this would be better than staying in the girls' side of the orphans' home. Lord and Lady Bishop were black. That didn't bother Daphne or Cassandra. Their parents taught them to respect all people, no matter their color, country, religion, or politics.

Neither girl really knew what that meant, but they knew they were to be kind to everyone.

It was a day that changed their lives forever. Exactly what they'd been told came true. They were given luxury living conditions, clothing that every little girl dreams of, the best schools, and so much more.

Lord and Lady Bishop were unable to have children of their own and had prayed for the opportunity to adopt children. This was their opportunity.

The family vacationed in the south of France, shopped at Harrods, and visited the shops on King's Road and Bond Street. The girls were even told that although they would get college educations, they didn't have to work. They would have enormous trust funds, they would live in homes just like their own, and they would marry one of England's most eligible men.

Their only objective was to provide heirs for their parents.

When Cassandra started to frequently get sick, then became critically ill at just sixteen, they all thought it could easily be cured with antibiotics or other treatments. It was just not to be. A disease that couldn't be named, an unknown virus, was attacking her body. It came in swiftly and, just as swiftly, took her life.

Her father was in London more and more on business, her mother called him every day to give updates on Cassandra's condition. In the end, it didn't matter. She was gone.

It was devastating for their family and changed Daphne's life forever. Not just because she lost her sister, but because now she was the sole hope for continuing on the Bishop family name.

Her parents, especially her mother, never let her forget it.

"I was able to see some spectacular pieces at the auction house today," she smiled, taking a bite of the lamb at dinner. "Mrs. Ferguson has offered me a full-time position when I finish my exams at university."

"You won't need that, Daphne," smiled her mother.

"Yes, I will," she said, looking at her parents. "I plan to have a career and live somewhere in London. I'll come home every weekend, I promise. But I want a life of my own, a career of my own. I don't just want to be a trophy wife for some man I barely know."

"Daphne, you know what is required of you," said her father. "We've never asked anything of you except this. What will happen to all of this if you don't provide an heir for us?"

Daphne didn't know why his statement gutted her, but it did. She knew the expectation, and she didn't want to disappoint them, but she also wanted a life of her own. It was only three weeks later that her parents threw a party on the pretense of celebrating her graduation from university.

It was all a lie.

Men, young and old, were paraded by her with formal introductions. It wasn't until the tenth or eleventh one that she knew.

"You're introducing me to potential husbands," she whispered to her mother.

"Of course, darling. We've told you. We'll need an heir."

"Mother, I am not going to marry right now. I refuse," she said, staring at her parents. "You can't make me do this. Don't make me do this."

"Daphne, you can continue to have a career while you're married if you and your husband agree."

"Mother, this isn't the Elizabethan era. Women don't need their husband's approval to have a career. I will not marry."

Yet somehow, her parents were able to manipulate her, coax her, force her to do just that. To a man thirty years her senior. She'd been told over and over again that he was a good man. Successful. Respected. Except Daphne had seen him in private.

His behavior was appalling. Boorish. He would suck his teeth after meals, pick his nose at the table and wipe it on the linen napkins. He was rude to the staff, rude to waiters and waitresses at restaurants.

This was not a man she wanted to spend her life with. Yet she agreed. She cursed herself every day for agreeing to that. She knew better. Yet she did it anyway.

It started when she refused to kiss him on the lips at the wedding. She'd turned her cheek shyly, giving him the corner of her mouth. When they danced, he held her so tightly she thought she'd never be able to breathe again. He ground his pathetic groin into her body, and she nearly vomited on him.

When his anger boiled over into their wedding night, accusing her of being childish and a whore for dancing at her wedding with an old schoolmate, he proceeded to beat her, rape her, and beat her again. Leaving her to ‘think' about her actions, he went to London to spend a few days alone in his apartment.

Daphne had no one to call other than her parents. At first, she thought to dial her mother's number, but something inside of her said don't. Instead, she called her father, who was so appalled by the situation he immediately went to his daughter's side.

When they arrived, they were horrified at the nightmare they'd created for their daughter. Swift with action, they got her medical care, called their attorneys, had the marriage annulled, and never asked their daughter about the incident again.

For Daphne, it wasn't that simple. Although they didn't want to speak of it, it did happen, and she had to deal with the outcome and emotions she carried from it on a daily basis.

She moved out of the estate to an apartment in London, living the life she'd always wanted. But her ex-husband, Sir Marshall Campbell always seemed to find her. By law, he couldn't come near her, couldn't speak to her. But he was letting her know that he could find her.

When her best friend in the whole world called her for help, she immediately jumped into action. Elena Fayek was a brilliant archaeologist and dear school friend. Staying with Daphne for a few weeks, she quickly found herself in a lot of trouble.

But Elena had a hero. A big, handsome, wonderful hero. Major Carson. And her big, handsome, wonderful hero had a friend.

Brixton Slater.

Sent to pick up Elena's things from Daphne's apartment, they were able to get to know one another, chatting casually. For Daphne, it was as if she'd known him forever. She wanted to tell him everything about her life, but there just didn't seem to be enough time.

When he left for America, she assumed they might see one another again soon. Her parents had taken up the task of getting an heir once again, and Daphne was ready to bolt.

But before she could leave, she had to help Elena and the others. Their lives were at risk, and so was something very important at the auction house. Something no one seemed to be able to identify.

She helped the team with Elena's father, the true criminal, and she found herself, once again, beaten and broken. Only this time, there was someone there to save her. Someone who didn't want her to produce an heir to an estate. Someone who put her safety above all else.

"I've got you, angel. I've got you," whispered Brix. "We're going home."