The Lucky One (Brethren Of The Coast #6) (21 page)

“Because I would court you properly, as rushed nuptials would yield additional unfavorable gossip, which would cast a cloud over you, and that I will not tolerate.” He turned in her embrace, but another scenario brought him to the overstuffed chair. How often he had walked in on his brother and Rebecca, sharing a single seat, and Dirk insisted such positioning was without equal for heartfelt discussions. So Dalton situated himself and then slapped his thighs in invitation. “Come here, love.”

At first, Daphne blinked. Then she stepped about his knees, descended to his lap, and rested against his chest. “Are you afraid?”

“Yes.” He held her close, cupped her head, and sighed. The urge to protect her, almost violent in intensity, invested his frame. “Never before have I suffered weakness, as I cared not for my safety. But my enemies may strike me by hurting you, and the prospect terrifies me. There are those who will ridicule us, those who will shun us, and we must bear it.”

“Stuff and nonsense.” She nuzzled him. “I believe in you, and as long as I am your lady, they cannot injure me.”

“If you would agree, I would ask you to ignore spurious rumors, and heed nothing that is not confirmed by me, as I vow to hide nothing from you.” Yet he knew not what more to reveal, as he scarcely knew himself.

“My gallant Dalton, you have my solemn pledge.” Her certitude rendered him renewed confidence.

“So we will stay the course.” He tipped her chin, bringing her gaze to his. “We will fight.”

“My one true knight, we will borrow from Shakespeare, plot our attack, and give society an exchange such as it has never seen.” Daphne smiled. “And if that foul woman comes near me again, I shall cry, ‘
havoc
,’ and let slip the dogs of war.”

“Well I heard
Dalton Randolph woos the backwater girl, because no one in London would have him.” An anonymous disparager chortled. “After all, he is a second son.”

“But he possesses a vast fortune and excellent connections.” Another unknown belittler snickered. “I could put up with quite a bit of mischief for such benefits, given he is easy on the eyes, but my father requires I marry a titled gentleman.”

“Ladies of quality do not tolerate such devilment, regardless of money or familial ties.” A third detractor scoffed. “But he would be fun for a night of naughty recreation, if you take my meaning.”

The three hens broke into a fit of cackles, and Daphne clutched her beau’s hand and squeezed his fingers, in a show of support. Dirk frowned and compressed his lips, while Rebecca craned her neck, as the foursome enjoyed tea and sweetmeats at Pâtisserie François, a quaint establishment where the notables converged to see and be seen. Were they in Portsea, she would have taken the detractors to task over their rude comments, but so-called polite society, which were anything but polite, played by its own rules.

A sennight had passed since the initial disclosure of Dalton’s discreditable act, along with Lord Sheldon’s part in the debauchery, and the
ton
was rife with speculation regarding the woman’s identity. Some had suggested Daphne completed the titillating triumvirate, but as she had just arrived in the city that spring, the rumor had not gone far.

“I am sorry, Daphne.” Dalton leaned near and imparted in a low voice, “If you would prefer to leave, I can have your selections packaged.”

“Nonsense.” After choosing a tempting lime-blossom madeleine, Daphne winked at her man, as nothing could spoil her afternoon with Dalton. “I am a proud provincial, and those self-professed
ladies
are nothing to me, so what care I for their good opinion?”

“Be that as it may, I shall remove their names from the guest list, for our fall gala.” Acting as chief-chaperone-in-charge, Rebecca folded her arms and humphed. “If they can be rude, then so, too, can I.”

“Darling, I love it when you are ruthless.” Dirk whispered in her ear, and Becca giggled. “What say you, sweetheart?”

“My randy lord, great minds think alike.” Rebecca fed her husband a small bite of shortbread. “And I shall don the new burgundy, again, just for you.”

“Promise me something.” Resolved to persevere, Daphne admired the viscount and viscountess, as they flirted without restraint or shame.

“Anything, angel.” Dalton scooted his chair closer. “What would you have of me?”

“Once we are wed, you will adore me, in public, as Dirk does Rebecca, and as the admiral does Lady Amanda.” Now that Daphne had made her decision, she would accept nothing less than her fantasy, and she wanted everything. And as she had delved into charitable work on Portsea Island, and management of the governorship in papa’s absence, she dove into courtship with her gallant knight, embracing all manner of social outings, musicales, and balls. Most of all, she desired a match based on affection. “Since I was a little girl, I have dreamed of being cherished, and I would never complain or grow tired of it.”

“My dear Miss Daphne, I would not even have to try to fulfill that request.” Now he favored her with his dimpled grin, and she could not help but laugh. “In fact, I may spoil you, as I cannot wait to make you mine.”

“But I am not asking you to buy me things, because you have done so much for me, already.” A now familiar fluttering in her belly distracted her, and she brushed crumbs from the skirt of her pale blue dress. “And I am so grateful.”

“I hesitate to remind you, because a gentleman would never do so.” For a scarce second, he studied her mouth, and then he met her stare. “But I am not interested in your gratitude, my lady.”

“Then take my heart, as it is yours.” And then Daphne bit her tongue, as she had not planned to make her declaration at that moment. There, amid the pink and white chintz wall coverings and matching tablecloths, she had made her stand for the future she desired. To her amazement, the surroundings seemed to fracture, her ears pealed, and she only had eyes for Dalton. For a while, her future husband simply gazed at her, shock investing his boyish features. When she could bear no more, she blurted, “I love you.”

“I know you do. Why else would you accept my proposal? And I believe I love you, too.” Furrowing his brow, he glanced surreptitiously about the crowd, as he rested her palm to his thigh and caressed the delicate flesh between her fingers, through her gloves, and she shivered. “At least, I think I do, but I am unfamiliar with such emotions. Yet I care for you, more than you realize.”

“Will you tell me when you know for certain?” Yes, she was disappointed by his not so ardent attestation, but she recalled the brooch’s mystical powers, her visions, as well as Lady Amanda’s assurance, and in silence Daphne pledged to persist. “As I would know when you share my devotion.”

“You have my word, although I am not sure I will recognize such attachment.” Despite his prosaic proclamation, she remained resolute. “Never have I experienced that singular sentiment, but if I could ever love anyone, it would be you.”

“Well, that is something.” No, his was not the commitment she had sought, but her circumstances had changed, and so she had to alter her expectations, but she had not ceded the fight.

“My, my, what a fetching sight.” With a cat-that-ate-the-canary grin, Lady Moreton stared down her nose at Daphne. “If it is not the black sheep and the rustic ragamuffin.”

“Better that than a low-rent doxy.” The soul of feminine deportment, Rebecca daubed the corners of her mouth, and Daphne could not stifle a snort.

“Well, I never.” The troublemaker humphed and drew herself up with regal hauteur.

“That is not what I heard.” The former spy inclined her head and arched a brow. “And I would thank you not to intrude on our family gatherings, as you are not welcome.”

“Why can you not leave us in peace, Almira?” Dalton stood. “Why can you not be happy for me? What did I ever do to you? And, as I told you, our arrangement is ended.”

“You do not throw me over, Sir Dalton.” Lady Moreton lowered her chin. “I am a lady of noble blood, widow of a great man, and you are nothing more than a second son.”

“You dare call yourself a lady?” Daphne shot to her feet. “Given your shameful behavior with Lord Sheldon and Sir Dalton, I wonder how you refer to yourself as such and maintain your composure. And I may be a backwater girl, but I would rather hail from a dignified if unfashionable Portsea Island upbringing than a cosmopolitan lifestyle that ranks iniquitous self-gratification above honor and respectability. Now I say good day to you, ma’am.”

Clutching a hand to her throat, Lady Moreton gasped, and her mouth fell agape. It was then Daphne noted the hushed whispers, as the patrons remarked on the confrontation. Unsure how to respond, she glanced at Dalton for reassurance, but he appeared too shocked to respond.

Without a word, Lady Moreton fled the establishment, and the murmurs grew louder. To the right, a group of older women stared at Daphne, and then one raised her glass, in toast.

“Well she will think twice before tangling with you again.” Rebecca beamed as a proud mama. “Nicely played, Daphne.”

“That was bloody brilliant.” Dirk clucked his tongue. “By God, but our mother could not have done better.”

“Are you positive she would approve?” Daphne reclaimed her chair, as the business resumed normal service in the wake of her brief contretemps, and Dalton had yet to offer his perspective of her exchange with Lady Moreton. “As I let my emotions get the best of me, and I should apologize. In my defense, I was born a Harcourt, and we are notorious for our quick tempers.”

“You were born to be a Randolph.” To her surprise, Dalton came alert, brought her hand to his lips, and pressed a chaste kiss to her knuckles. “And I should gift you diamonds, as I am in your debt, in more ways than one.”

“I beg your pardon?” In confusion, Daphne blinked, as he owed her nothing. “Given our arrangement, how could you be obligated to me?”

“Because you may have just rid us of the importuning Lady Moreton, once and for all.”

#

The Eddington’s massive ballroom reigned as a favorite of Dalton’s, because it contained a vast array of nooks and crannies perfect for an illicit tryst, and in the great hall he had engaged in numerous clandestine rendezvous amid the shadows. But on that night he had promised himself to remain on his best behavior, for Daphne’s sake, as they returned to the
ton
’s stage, as a dubious pair.

As he had anticipated, many partygoers, most he would describe as hypocrites, gave him a wide berth. Whispers and hushed murmurs greeted their arrival, and several women turned their backs on Dalton and Daphne, but his resilient rustic wavered not an inch. When he spied his newfound enemy, he flinched.

“What in bloody hell is Lady Moreton doing here?” He anchored Daphne at his side. “I do not like this. Almira is up to something.”

“Perhaps she received her invitation prior to our confrontation, and the Eddington’s did not wish to offend her.” Daphne peered at him, frowned, and flexed her fingers as she clutched his arm. “Is that not why we enjoy the same hospitality, because Lord Eddington could not rescind the summons without committing a breach in social etiquette?”

“I suppose that explains her presence, but we are welcome because Lord Eddington is a very good friend of my brother’s.” The termagant lurked as a jungle cat preparing to pounce, and he raised his defenses, as he scanned the vicinity for Lord Sheldon, given the two were thick as thieves. “Promise me you will remain with a member of our family, in my absence, for the length of the celebration.”

“But I am not afraid of her,” Daphne declared in a low voice. “As we have no more secrets between us, she can not hurt us.”

In the four days since the confrontation with Lady Moreton, Dalton had conferred with his bride-to-be and divulged every dirty tale of debauchery and devilry, going back to his years at Eton and Oxford, and including his particularly licentious tenure as a midshipman. While it had been painful to catalogue his nefarious capers for the gently bred virgin, and she had consumed impressive amounts of brandy during his bawdy recitations, he had been determined to spare no detail, which might function as an impediment to wedded bliss.

“Sweetheart, trust me. There is much mischief she can instigate, given we are minus a few allies.” Everett and Sabrina remained at home, with their new baby. And just prior to departing for the festivities, Dalton had received word that Cara had gone into labor, and Lance had opted to forgo the party and stay with his wife. Yet he could not blame his family for his predicament. For the umpteenth time, he wondered whatever possessed him to get involved with the widow, but he could not undo the past. “And Almira Moreton is a master of manipulation.”

“But you said we were rid of her, so why would she target us?” Daphne fidgeted with her diamond necklace, which he had gifted her in the wake of the set-to with Lady Moreton. True to form, his pretty provincial had protested the extravagance, until he threatened to throw the expensive bauble in the refuse. Only then had she acquiesced and accepted the matching earrings and bracelet, too. “And everyone watches her.”

“So I had presumed, but I can think of no other reason for her attendance.” And he could not shake the overwhelming sensation that Almira would seek vengeance. “In light of your haphazard revelation concerning her involvement in my discreditable activities, she needs no reason to fix on you. And Lady Moreton can hold a grudge like no one’s business. Do not be fooled by her delicate appearance, as she is a formidable adversary.”

“Then I shall be vigilant and do exactly as you suggest.” Despite her charming smile, the rigid set of her jaw betrayed her discomfit, and he hated ruining the otherwise fanciful evening for her. “Am I, at last, permitted to save all my waltzes for you? Is it permissible to make that statement, given our intent to wed, as I would rather eschew any other man’s embrace?”

“My angel, I command it, as I could not bear to see you in another man’s embrace.” To his inexpressible joy, she glowed. “And I might be persuaded to give you a tour of the Eddington’s library, if you are good.”