After returning from the shore, Adam placed a sleeping Serena in Maeve’s waiting arms and handed the picnic basket off to Niall. Then, taking her hand, he led her up to his chambers, where their attire for the dinner party had been laid out upon the bed. Butterflies began fluttering in her stomach as she waited for Maeve to arrive and see to her toilette, transforming her from sand-speckled siren to an ornamental fixture. It was a role she played well, having been used as a tool for gaining position and power by her father for years. Since her coming out, it had pleased him to dangle her before prospective suitors—men he knew she’d never choose, but whose notice might open the right doors for the Fairchild family.
If there was one thing Daphne knew how to do, it was endure being the center of attention. For the first time, however, the attention would prove her ruination … her social destruction. As she submitted to Maeve’s ministrations, allowing the maid to bathe and dress her before arranging her hair, she thought of Olivia. She thought of the devastation that had been made of the young lady’s life and knew she must go through with this. She must endure this final act of penance for the things Bertram had done. Because it could be far worse. She might not have been allowed to escape Dunnottar with her sanity, something that might elude Olivia for the rest of her life.
She had no idea who might attend this dinner party, but like everything else Adam did, she did not doubt they had been selected with care. They would be influential people … people who had the social standing to see her shunned by the London ton. Then, the ruination of the Fairchilds would be complete.
“All done, my lady,” Maeve declared after pinning a final lock of hair into place. “My, but you are lovely. Doesn’t she look ravishing, Master?”
Daphne turned to glance at Adam over her shoulder from where she sat in a chair near the window to have her hair dressed. With no vanity in his chamber, she did not sit before a mirror, and so could not see for herself what Maeve had done to her hair or the light cosmetics she had used upon her face. However, Adam’s reaction to her appearance told her everything she needed to know.
His eyes widened, and his nostrils flared, as if he drew in her scent from across the room. His jaw ticked, and one hand curled into a fist—the motion making her scalp tingle. He often did that just before reaching out to grasp handfuls of her hair, so she wondered if he imagined doing it now.
“Aye, Maeve,” he replied, though he did not spare a glance. “She is a vision. You may go now.”
“Enjoy your evening,” the maid chirped before dipping into a curtsy and turning to obey Adam’s command.
Daphne remained in her chair, frozen in his stare as he approached. He looked quite dapper himself—as elegant as she’d ever seen him, in fact. Black evening attire clung to his large frame, expertly tailored and fitting with the latest fashion. A silver watch fob showed against a black and navy blue embroidered waistcoat, his matching blue cravat affixed with a diamond tiepin. His hair had been tamed and tied at the back of his head, emphasizing the chiseled lines of his face. As he moved toward her, the bulges of his muscles rippled beneath the fabric like rolls of the tide, reminding her of the power concealed beneath his finery.
He stood over her, his gaze tracing her from the top of her head to the gloved hands resting in her lap, before looking back up at her face again. Placing two fingers beneath her chin, he lifted it, keeping a gentle hold on her face.
“Are you ready?”
She nodded, though her stomach continued to twist and roil at the thought of going downstairs to face his guests. Offering her his free hand, he waited for her to accept his assistance before pulling her to her feet. He took her hand and pulled her along, guiding her toward the full-length mirror in one corner of the room. He stood behind her, bracing his hands upon her bare shoulders as she confronted her reflection.
The dark blue satin bodice clung to her breasts before falling away from the gown’s high waist, the fabric flowing like water over her waist, hips, and legs. Its off-the-shoulder neckline revealed quite a bit more skin than she’d ever shown in public, along with a generous amount of bosom. White gloves covered her hands and arms to above the elbows. Maeve had pinned her hair back in a whimsical coiffure, with navy blue bands adorning her crown and a cluster of flowers at one ear. Tiny ringlets framed her face, which Maeve had enhanced with just a hint of rouge at her cheeks and lips and kohl around her eyes. As always, a ribbon matching her gown had been tied around her neck, a flirtatious bow resting against her collarbone.
He stroked one cheek while studying her reflection, his fingers trailing down the side of her neck. “Remember what I told you, little dove. What they say, what they think … none of it truly matters.”
She nodded as if in agreement, but could not help but wonder whether he might truly believe that. If he thought none of it mattered, then he would not use them to make a spectacle of her. Of course it mattered. Still, she kept her chin high as he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and guided her from the room.
The low hum of voices reached out to them as they descended the staircase—Niall’s rough brogue mingling with the cultured tones of their guests. Her grip on Adam’s arm tightened, her legs growing weak as they reached the ground floor. From down the corridor, she spotted several people gathered within the foyer, handing their wraps and capes off to a small army of waiting footmen.
Seeming to sense her discomfiture, he gently patted her hand, laying his over where it rested in the bend of his arm. He kept it there, lending her his quiet strength. She raised her chin a tick, adopting the mask of apathy she liked to wear in social settings. The one that hid her boredom and annoyance … the one that covered all her secrets.
“Ah, there our host is now,” boomed one of the waiting guests, spotting Adam and coming forward to greet them. “It is good to see you again, Hart. It has been too long.”
“Indeed, it has,” Adam replied, removing his hand from atop hers so he could extend it to his guest. “Loring, may I present Lady Daphne Fairchild, who has been a guest of Dunnottar recently. Lady Daphne, this is Lord Eugene Loring.”
Forcing a smile, she released Adam’s arm to make her curtsy to Lord Loring—a viscount, if she recalled correctly. They had never been formally introduced, but his wife held a reputation as one of London’s biggest gossips.
Said wife pushed her way past the others to gape at her, a hand pressed against her heavy bosom as if in shock.
“Lady Daphne? Lord Fairchild’s daughter?”
She forced a smile and inclined her head at the woman. “Yes, my lady. It is an honor to meet you …”
She raised her eyebrows to remind the woman she had so rudely begun launching questions at Daphne before even introducing herself.
“Lady Loring,” the old busybody replied imperiously.
Raising her nose and sniffing disdainfully, she moved away from Daphne as if a noxious odor wafted from her.
As if she could smell the sinful nature radiating from her like a cloud of fog. Ignoring the woman, she suffered through the rest of the introductions, pretending not to notice the way Adam’s guests watched her. Portraying various degrees of curiosity or shock, they all seemed to wrestle with themselves over whether to greet her politely or turn their noses up at her. An unmarried woman, a guest of a man in a remote castle in the most far-flung corner of Scotland? Surely, fodder for the gossip mills. Now, not only would they chatter about how the Fairchild family had become paupers, they would also spread the word of her fall from grace.
A knock upon the door drew her eye to Niall, who had been standing nearby like a silent sentry, waiting for the introductions to end so he could see them into the dining room. Now, he moved to answer it, ushering in what she assumed to be the last of Adam’s guests.
An exchange of voices made her blood run cold, the low, deep resonance of the person greeting Niall sending her insides into a frenzy. Her palms began to sweat, and her heart sank into the pit of her gut.
Her feet prop
elled her backward, horror overwhelming her as the top of a man’s blond head appeared from behind the door. It did not matter that those gathered around her blocked the view of his face … she’d know his voice anywhere. She had run her fingers through that hair while lying on soft patches of grass with her skirts pulled up around her hips and his questing fingers slipping into her drawers. Squeezing her eyes shut, she found her mind’s eye flooded with visions of him hovering over her, the sun gleaming off his golden hair like a halo, his eyes twinkling as he lowered his head for their first kiss.
“No,” she whispered.
He could not be here … not now. She could tolerate being the object of ridicule and scorn for just about anyone … but not him.
Before she realized what she was doing, she had spun on her heels and begun to flee. Adam made a grab for her, but missed, his hand closing around open air as she began retreating down the corridor.
“Daphne?”
His voice froze her in her tracks, and she halted, tears filling her eyes. It was too late … he had recognized her. Blast and damn her hair, which would always give her away in a crowd.
Clenching her skirts in her damp hands, she took a deep breath. There could be no escaping it. Things would only go worse for her if she fell apart in front of these people. Then, not only would they report to the ton that she’d become a fallen woman, they would also make mention of her unspeakable manners.
Blinking back the tears, she put her mask back in place and turned. He had followed her, standing far closer than she’d realized. His sweet, handsome face filled her vision, his earnest blue eyes boring into hers, the light of the chandelier overhead making his hair gleam like precious gold.
He smiled, though his wrinkled brow and incredulous gaze belied the expression.
“Daphne,” he repeated, as if assuring himself it was truly her. “My God, I thought I was seeing things, but … it truly is you.”
Inclining her head, she forced a girlish smile and forced herself to speak. To greet the man she had hoped would someday become her husband.
“Robert,” she murmured. “It has been an age.”
“Six years, at least,” he replied quickly.
Too quickly. As if he had counted each passing year following her departure to London for her first Season.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder as if to assure they would not be overheard.
No such luck. Adam approached, his expression as inscrutable as ever. Moving to stand between them, he took hold of Daphne’s hand and placed it back in the crook of his arm.
“Daphne is my guest,” he stated, emphasizing her name as if wanting Robert to be aware that he’d heard the way he’d addressed her so informally. “She has enjoyed the hospitality of Dunnottar for several weeks … have you not, little dove?”
The intimacy of Adam’s pet name put a flush upon her cheeks, and she lowered her eyes just as Robert fixed her with a questioning stare. Tension stretched through the air between the three of them, and she silently prayed the tiles would open up and swallow her.
Niall materialized nearby, clearing his throat to capture Adam’s attention. “Dinner is served, Master.”
She had never been more grateful for the man than she was just then.
“Shall we adjourn to the dining room?” Adam murmured before steering her past Robert without waiting for a response.
Plastering a smile upon her face, she let him lead her, mortified by the way he skirted propriety by escorting her. As the host, he should accompany the highest-ranking woman in the room … which most certainly was not her.
“You invited him on purpose, didn’t you?” she hissed, trying to keep her voice down as the others filed behind them.
He gave her one of his predatory smiles, though it did not quite reach his eyes. “Who … Mr. Robert Stanley?”
When her only response came as a withering glare, he chuckled.
“Aye, little dove,” He confirmed. “Though, I was not entirely certain he was your past amour. I simply looked into the estates neighboring yours in Suffolk … those with sons who would be of an age with you. I ventured a guess, but was not sure—at least, not until you just confirmed it.”
Snapping her mouth shut, she clenched her jaw, certain she might embarrass herself even more if she spoke. It had just become more difficult for her to endure this night; however, it was not impossible. Robert had always been the genial sort. He would cause her to feel more embarrassed than she already did, and for that, she supposed she must be grateful.
However, it hardly brought her comfort once her next thought thrust to the forefront of her mind.
By inviting Robert here, Adam had just torn the last bit of her innocence to shreds.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
aphne slowly spooned small portions of a vegetable soup into her mouth, trying to still her shaking hands so she did not stain the pristine white tablecloth. Keeping her eyes lowered, she murmured a few times here and there in response to the conversation taking place at the table around her. Otherwise, she remained silent, her tongue a heavy, cumbersome thing in her mouth. Each spoonful of soup tasted like ash, her stomach rebelling against every swallow. She remained constantly aware of the constant scrutiny … of the disdainful and questioning gazes being tossed her way.
While Adam proved the consummate host—regaling his guests with tales of Dunnottar’s history and promising a tour after they had concluded their meal—she seemed to be the main attraction. At the far end of the table, Lady Loring had already engaged in her favorite pastime, whispering to the ladies closest to her while casting disdainful glances at Daphne from the corner of her eye. Near Daphne sat a woman she had not noticed in her shock over Robert’s arrival—Lady Stanley, Robert’s mother. Her wrinkled face held a heavy measure of censure as she gazed at Daphne from across the table, and every so often, she could be found shaking her head and murmuring under her breath … words such as ‘shameful’ and ‘despicable.’
The woman had seemed to want to balk at the way the seating had been arranged, with Adam at the head of the table and Daphne seated to his left, and Robert wedged on her left. Seated across from them, she had a clear view of her son beside a harlot and the man who had paid to possess her body.
“Time has certainly done little to change you,” Robert said suddenly, drawing her attention away from the soup.
When she raised her eyebrows in question, he cleared his throat and flushed. The endearing trait had always given away his embarrassment, turning his cheeks and the tips of his ears scarlet.
“That is to say … you are as lovely as ever,” he added. “And I daresay as spirited.”
“Oh, yes,” Adam muttered between bites of soup, his droll tone unmistakable. “Lady Daphne possesses quite a bit of spirit.”
Across from her, Lady Stanley issued a soft gasp, dropping her spoon to clatter to the saucer beneath her bowl. Robert seemed oblivious to Adam’s ribbing and carried on.
“Do you remember what great fun we used to have—you, Bertie, and me?” he asked, his eyes twinkling with good humor as he leaned toward her, his soup forgotten. “Riding, running about in the woods between our lands. Our governesses had quite the devil of a time keeping up with us, that is for certain. And you, as wild and untamed as any boy your age.”
Despite her position at the moment, the memories he conjured made her smile. They called to mind simpler times, when the world had not been so complicated. When she’d only been a girl who loved to run and play with the boys, wearing her brother’s old breeches and leaving her slippers behind to traipse about barefoot. In the country, a girl could get away with such behavior, surrounded by trees and covered by the sky, her deeds going unseen by the judgmental eyes of the London ton.
“You paint the picture of quite a little harridan,” Adam mused as the servants came forward to remove the soup and prepare to serve the main course.
Robert chuckled, leaning back in his chair and glancing
past her at Adam. “She was quite endearing, my lord. Imagine my surprise when I returned home from Harrow one summer to find she had transformed into a young lady.”
“As girls are wont to do,” Adam murmured dryly.
Daphne busied herself by taking a sip of wine, needing to cool her face due to the images Robert’s recollections brought to mind. Of them wading in a shallow stream in the woods—without Bertram for company, for a change. Of him eying her exposed calves as she held her gown aloft and licking his lips hungrily. Of him lifting her into his arms after she’d stepped on a stone and cut her foot … using his own cravat to stifle the bleeding … leaning over her for a kiss.
He had taught her a woman’s pleasure, plucking her tender, budding breasts, and causing her to realize how massaging the little bud of her womanhood could cause stars to explode behind her closed eyelids.
“Yes, well, some things never change,” Robert said, filling the awkward silence. “Lady Daphne has always been a unique sort of lady, sharing many of the same interests as Bertram and I. Quite rare to find in a woman, I must say.”
“Oh, I think our friend Bertie has developed quite a few new interests over the years,” Adam muttered.
Daphne sputtered, nearly choking on a mouthful of Madeira. Setting her glass down, she broke into a coughing fit, her throat burning as she struggled to breathe through the wine she had nearly inhaled in response to Adam’s jibe. Of course, it would seem innocent to anyone who was ignorant to Bertram’s misdeeds.
Thankfully, the servants had just finished laying out the main course, and conversation faded to a minimum as the men served themselves and the women seated at their side. Adam filled her plate from the dishes closest to them, seeming to remember her preferences. During an intimate meal, where they dined alone, she might have found it endearing. However, she could feel the probing eyes of Robert and his mother upon them, seeming to catalog their interactions—their familiarity.
“Quite a shame, the trouble that has recently befallen your family as of late, Lady Daphne,” Lady Stanley spoke up while using her knife to cut a portion of lamb.
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