Chapter Ten

CHAPTER TEN

“Lady Daphne, may I escort you for a walk about the room?”

Daphne breathed a sigh of relief. She turned to see Lord Fitzwell holding out his arm clad in a fine dark blue velvet jacket. Dinner earlier had been lovely. The men had had their drinks in the dining room and now all of the guests were together again, milling about the large drawing room.

“I would be honored, my lord,” she replied, stepping closer to him and sliding her gloved hand over his sleeve.

Lord Fitzwell led her toward the far end of the room. On the way, she endeavored to sniff at his jacket. Just a short sniff. Nothing too obvious. But her nose couldn’t seem to detect a scent. Every time she was in that rogue Rafe Cavendish’s presence, she smelled his alluring combination of soap and leather and pine and whatever else he smelled of that made her senses reel, blast him. But trying to find a scent on Lord Fitzwell was a lesson in frustration. It seemed she’d have to get even closer and that seemed unlikely. Why, she couldn’t exactly stick her nose up to his collar and sniff. That would be entirely unseemly and most likely unwelcome and probably wholly impossible to explain. A bad combination to be sure.

She decided to give up for the time being and attempted to enjoy their stroll around the room, even though Lord Fitzwell hadn’t yet said a word. Hmm. Things had got off to a bit of a precarious start this afternoon, what with Rafe skulking about and staring at her constantly. Didn’t he know how difficult it was for one’s future bridegroom to court a lady when one’s husband was glaring down one’s neck the entire time? The frustrating man. But now, at least she’d had dinner seated next to Lord Fitzwell, and even though the conversation had lagged a bit, she was quite encouraged by the fact that he’d asked her to take a turn about the room. Today, a turn about the room. Tomorrow, hopefully, a proposal.

And she was hopeful, wasn’t she? Lord Fitzwell was handsome, he was well mannered, eligible, titled, and he ran in the right sorts of circles. He was not known to have any scandal attached to his name. He was not a drinker. Most importantly, according to all of the sources she was able to consult, he was loyal. Loyal with no hint of being a rake. None whatsoever. That had been exceedingly important to Daphne. Yes, all in all, he was exactly the sort of man she should want to marry. Mama agreed. Julian seemed to approve. Lord Fitzwell was steadfast and sure, not the sort of man who would be, say, gallivanting across the Continent putting his life in danger at a moment’s notice. She was done with that sort of adventure, and with her childish attraction to that sort of an adventurer. So why couldn’t she muster enthusiasm when it came to the thought of an engagement to Lord Fitzwell?

The baron inclined his head toward Rafe who stood near the far wall talking to Aunt Willie. “Your aunt seems to be particularly taken with Captain Cavendish.”

Daphne turned her head to look. It was true. Aunt Willie appeared to be happily chatting with the rogue. Leave it to the old matron to be sidling up to the wrong gentleman. Had Aunt Willie’s eyesight begun to fail her? Couldn’t she see her niece over here with Lord Fitzwell? At any rate, her hearing seemed to be fine and she’d certainly heard that Rafe was an army captain and Lord Fitzwell, a baron. Daphne had nearly gasped when Aunt Willie had pointed out the wrong man in the drawing room earlier. It was so like Aunt Willie to say the wrong thing, loudly. Daphne hadn’t had a chance to correct the older woman. She’d have to do so later.

“I can’t imagine why,” Daphne mumbled, turning her attention back to Lord Fitzwell.

“What’s that?” Lord Fitzwell asked, stooping a bit to better hear her.

“Oh, nothing.” Daphne turned up her face and gave Lord Fitzwell a bright smile. Enough talking about Rafe Cavendish. He’d come here today and insulted her, extorted her, threatened her, and finally got her to agree to his imperious commands. He’d also apparently talked Julian into going along with his scheme, but there was nothing at all in their agreement that said that she must pretend to like him. Or even had to be friendly with him. In fact, she would simply ignore him. Much more effective than arguing with him.

Daphne tipped back her head to glance up at the baron. He might have been a bit stiff and he had the tendency to stare above her head, but perhaps he was only concentrating on walking and she was not tall, after all. Regardless, she needed to begin a decent conversation.

“Are you enjoying yourself, my lord?”

“Why, yes. I am. I had no idea his grace would be here, nor the future Earl of Upton. This is quite a party.”

Daphne frowned. What if it had only been her, her brother and sister-in-law, and her mother? Were they enough to impress Lord Fitzwell? Oh, what did it matter? He was as close to perfect as she was going to get. He met all of her standards. And everyone in this town cared about rank and social status. Well, everyone, except… Rafe. Rafe didn’t seem to care a fig about social standing. In fact, he seemed to consider it a detriment.

No! No more thinking about Rafe.

Lord Fitzwell turned just then and Daphne realized he’d been tapped on the shoulder. She swiveled to see Rafe standing behind them, his irascible grin on his face.

“Yes?” Lord Fitzwell said, obviously confused.

“May I?” Rafe asked.

“May you what?” Daphne glared at him.

“May I cut in?” Rafe asked.

Daphne clutched at Lord Fitzwell’s arm. “We’re not dancing, Captain Cavendish. We’re merely taking a turn about the room. There is no precedent for cutting in on such a pastime.”

“I’m willing to be the first.” Rafe’s grin didn’t falter. He blinked at Lord Fitzwell, clearly awaiting the man’s answer.

“Well, I—I never—” Lord Fitzwell glanced at Daphne.

“There’s a first time for everything, my lord,” Rafe said. “I expect you’ll make a full recovery.” He didn’t wait for an official yes, just smoothly slid into place next to Daphne and pulled her hand onto his arm. They were off before Daphne had a chance to say a word, leaving Lord Fitzwell standing there with his mouth open.

They’d barely got to the opposite side of the room when Daphne turned her head sharply toward Rafe. “Are you proud of yourself?” she asked, resisting the urge to grind her short heel into his instep.

“A bit.” Rafe’s grin was unrepentantly wicked.

“Why would you do that?”

“What? Were you having such a good time with Lord Fitzbore?”

She clenched her teeth. “You know perfectly well his name is not Fitzbore.”

Rafe didn’t miss a step. “It might as well be. He didn’t even look at you the entire time you were speaking. He can’t have been good company.”

Daphne clamped her mouth shut. Rafe’s point hit home, but even more annoying, he was looking straight at her, despite his being head and shoulders taller than she.

“What do you know about it?” she shot back.

There went that arched brow. “Quite a lot, actually. I’ve been told I’m charming.”

“Really? Who has told you you’re charming?”

“Your aunt and your cousin for two and that’s just within the last few hours.”

“Aunt Willie and Delilah told you that?”

“Among other things.”

“Like what?”

“Like Delilah told me she’s considering faking a case of the plague to keep you from engaging yourself to Lord Fitzbore and your aunt informs me that I’m one of the best-looking young gentlemen she’s ever seen.”

Her mouth open, Daphne stopped walking and put a hand on her hip. “Aunt Willie said that ?”

“Most assuredly. Would you like me to call her over and ask her to repeat her words to you?”

Daphne turned away from him and continued walking again. “Oh, shut up.”

“I must admit, I’m a bit worried for my virtue around her. She mentioned that she’d like to pinch me.”

“I find it exceedingly difficult to believe you’re worried for your virtue given the fact that you’re one of the biggest rakes in the land.”

Rafe looked a bit chagrined. “Who told you that, Grey?”

“Stop calling me Grey.” She glanced around. “And no one had to tell me, or are you forgetting the blond woman I found in your bed?”

Rafe scowled. “Now, listen—”

“No. I’m decidedly not listening to you any longer,” Daphne replied with her nose in the air.

“Very well. Tell me, what did Fitzbore say that was so stimulating?”

“I never said it was stimulating. I—” She coolly lifted her chin. “Didn’t I tell you to shut up?”

“But how can I be charming if I shut up?”

She covered her unwanted smile with a gloved hand. “There’s hardly a need to be charming with me.”

Rafe smirked. “That’s right. You’ve already rejected me.”

Daphne stopped abruptly. “I never—”

“Didn’t you?” He leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Aren’t you the one who is so hell-bent on an annulment?”

Daphne’s heart lurched in her chest. She jerked her head from side to side and glanced about to ensure they would not be overheard. “I refuse to have this conversation with you here.” She continued to walk again, mindful of the few sets of eyes that had turned their attention to the two of them.

“Come with me to the library then,” he challenged, still whispering and staring into her eyes.

Daphne concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. Her heart rose and fell in her chest. He wanted to meet her in the library? She was frightened, she realized. Anxious. But why?

“Fine,” she answered through clenched teeth.

Rafe didn’t wait for another word. He tugged her wrist and pulled her along behind him through the drawing room doors and into the corridor. Once they were alone, she ripped her hand from his grasp and spun away from him. “I cannot believe you did that. I thought you meant that we should meet there later. The entire room must have seen us leave together.”

“I’m certain they did. Your aunt is probably smiling right now. But the damage is already done so you might as well come with me.” He turned on his heel and strode off down the corridor toward the library, leaving Daphne no choice but to pick up her yellow taffeta skirts and follow him.

By the time Rafe pushed open the door to the library and strode inside, she was a bit winded keeping up with him. Her hands hadn’t yet stopped shaking, either. What else could he possibly have to say to her? He’d already made clear his demands and the fact that he had no intention of leaving the party.

He strode into the middle of the room and then turned and crossed his arms over his chest, glaring down the length of his nose at her.

“Well?” she said, trying to calm the rapid beating of her heart.

“Well?” he echoed.

She clasped the back of the settee with both hands. “What did you want to say to me?”

“You said you refused to continue our conversation in the ballroom. I thought perhaps we should go somewhere more private.”

“We don’t have to have any conversation.”

“I say we do.”

“What else is left to say?” She put a hand up to her forehead to swipe away a curl. Her reticule dangled crazily from her wrist.

“Quite a lot, actually.”

She put her hand to her hip. “Really, that’s amusing. I thought I said it all when I found that blond doxy in your bed.”

“Damn it, Daphne. I told you a dozen times, she wasn’t—”

“She wasn’t what? Blond? A doxy? In your bed? Which one of those things isn’t true?”

Rafe gritted his teeth. “Individually, they are all true, but—”

“I don’t want to hear any more of your excuses.”

“Fine. At least I’m not attempting to engage myself to a bore.”

Daphne gasped. “A bore! How dare you?”

“You heard me. The man is a bore. A social-climbing bore.”

“He’s not a bore.”

Rafe pursed his lips. “But he is a social climber?”

Daphne tossed a hand in the air. “Some people in our Society find social status important.”

“And some of us find it boring.”

Daphne took a deep breath. “There’s no need to argue. You have your blond. I have my baron.”

“She’s not my blond. I—”

Daphne raised her palm. “No. No. Please spare me. You were quite clear on the subject. We were married due to a business arrangement only. And our annulment will be yet another business arrangement. There’s nothing more to say.”

Rafe’s eyes were flashing ice-blue fire when he stepped closer to her. “Perhaps, but what if there is more?”

She narrowed her eyes on him. “What do you mean? I told you I’d go with you on Sunday night.”

“What if I tell you I want one more thing from you as part of the agreement?”

Daphne turned away and stared hard, yet unseeing, at the vast wall of books in front of her. Why was he making this so difficult for her? She knew she should have insisted he leave for the remainder of the party. She should have pleaded her case to Julian. She should have forced Rafe to leave. “What else? What else is there, Rafe? What else do you want?”

There was a pause. A pause in which she could hear and feel the beating of her own heart. A trickle of sweat ran down between her breasts.

Rafe’s voice was low and clear. “A kiss.”