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 shouldwantto 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 officialyes,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?”
