Like any good fairy tale, there was always a villain to destroy the happiness of the princess, Hero thought as she watched Daphne flirt with Ian throughout the next day. Robert’s niece could be quite charming when she chose and somehow was able to turn the awkward moment in the drawing room aside as if it had never occurred. She was outgoing, bold, and determined where Hero had long been more content to live quietly. Daphne longed to dominate conversations while Hero preferred to listen and observe. She’d found that one could learn much by watching.
So she watched Daphne flirting with Ian, skillfully ensnaring his attention, and it seemed that Ian was falling under the other woman’s spell as he smiled at her stories. Hero was disappointed but not terribly surprised. Daphne was, after all, a beautiful woman with red hair as vibrant as her personality, flashing green eyes, and an enviable figure. Hero could never understand how it was that she hadn’t married yet. She was only in her mid-twenties, talkative and charismatic in a way that most men of her acquaintance found irresistibly alluring. With her family connections, she must have had numerous offers.
Any of which, Hero was certain, would have pulled Daphne up from the situation Hero knew the woman considered intolerable. She had uncles who held great titles, yet her own father was a mere mister. She could have married far up, gaining a title of her own. Instead, she had waited out Robert, certain beyond reason that she would gain his title—a title of her own—when he died, even though Hero knew that Robert had told her on many occasions that he had an heir in Ian, a direct male descendant of Robert’s grandfather, Spencer, the eighth Earl of Maybole, the last earl before the marquessate was granted. Ian’s father, William, had been the younger brother of Robert’s father.
Only without a direct line male heir would the title descend the female line. Daphne knew that. It amazed Hero that she’d had the audacity to put herself ahead of Ian to begin with. But then, Daphne had always been like that, taking what she wanted.
And it seemed that now she wanted Ian.
It was an easy way to achieve everything she desired. Hero watched Ian smile, his dimples dipping deeply, and sighed. Even without a castle and a title, Ian was a prize. She would take him without a single pence.
Hero wasted the day away watching the pair. From breakfast through luncheon. All the afternoon while they played bridge with her father and Camron, she scrutinized Daphne as she worked her wiles on Ian, unable to stop it.
Clearly, Ian’s definition of the word courting was far different than the one held by the society Hero grew up in. Courting held an intention to woo, to wed. Perhaps he’d merely meant that he intended to court her into his bed. That instead of embracing their attraction for a day, he was implying an extended affair.
Not that Hero minded. She wanted Ian as well, for however long and in whatever way he chose.
However, given her observation over the course of the day, Ian’s intentions lacked the conviction he’d voiced them with the previous evening. Though he claimed that the attraction between them was unusual and strong, perhaps securing a bedmate in Daphne would cost him less effort in the seduction than Hero had so far required.
And now she might lose any chance she had with him.
“Am I boring you, Aunt?” Camron asked softly from his place by her side at dinner that evening.
Hero jolted back to the present with a rueful shake of her head. “My apologies, Camron. It’s been a long day. I hadn’t thought to ask, what are your plans now?” Camron Kennedy was just twenty years of age and fresh from his studies at the University at Glasgow.
“Didn’t you hear? I’m to join Father’s firm next month.”
That cheerful news took Hero aback, and her brows rose in surprise. “Is that so? But I thought you weren’t interested in practicing the law.”
“The law?” Beaumont boomed. “Why would you want to do that? There are too many lawyers in this world. Prigs and thieves!”
The young man good-naturedly shrugged at the insult. “I do hope to go into politics someday but as father says, this will be a good start.”
“Politicians are even worse than lawyers.” The duke pointed his fork at the young Scot. “You should aim for the diplomatic corps. I could get you in. I know the…the…what is your name again?”
“And what of Daphne?” Hero couldn’t help but ask as she patted her father’s hand.
“Haven’t you figured that out yet?” A smirk raised Camron’s lips and he turned to look at his sister while he sipped his wine.
Hero couldn’t help but look as well. Daphne was laughing, her hand on Ian’s arm. Her fingers curling into the folds of his jacket. Her lashes fluttering. It was painful to admit, but Robert’s niece was a much more practiced flirt than she. Daphne knew just how to look at a man, how to make him feel as if he was powerful and masculine. How to make him feel intelligent and masterful.
What had Hero done to do that beyond questioning Ian’s abilities to manage Dùn Cuilean? Other than their brief evenings on the ramparts, what had Hero done to get him alone? To pursue Ian with even a fraction of the resolve Daphne so easily displayed?
Still laughing, Daphne shot Hero a triumphant look before she slid her hand under the table, and Hero’s eyes widened. Suddenly she recalled forgotten bits of gossip from past social events in Glasgow. Hero knew Daphne was an accomplished flirt, but rumor had it she was a skilled seductress as well. Though Hero had never given the rumors much credence before, now she wondered. Thoughts that begged the question as to how far the flirtation between the pair had traveled in Daphne’s previous acquaintance with Ian.
Her chest tightened as she imagined Ian in bed with Daphne, imagined him kissing her as he’d kissed Hero on the ramparts. Daphne would respond much differently than Hero had, no doubt. She’d always been bold and passionate about life. She wouldn’t do anything halfheartedly.
Feeling a bit ill, Hero rose, laying her napkin neatly on the table. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I will retire. I-I believe the exertions of the day have overtired me after my recent injuries.”
Ian stood as well, his brow creased with concern. “Are you unwell, Lady Ayr? Shall I escort you to your rooms?”
“Please do not, my lord,” Daphne interjected, laying a hand on his arm. “I was hoping to have a word with you. In private. Lady Ayr can find her own way, I’m sure.”
Private word, Hero sniffed. “Indeed I can. Please don’t let me interrupt your conversation.” Ian looked poised to protest but she turned to her father. “Come, Papa, you can walk up with me.”
“But I haven’t had my pudding yet,” Beaumont protested mulishly.
“Papa…”
