by Cheryl Bolen
He could not avoid it. Closing his eyes and drawing in his breath, he brushed his lips across hers--very quickly--hoping like hell he would not get sick all over her new gown. With his eyes still closed (in order to avoid looking at her teeth) he squeezed her hand and said, "I must be cognizant of your Royal Highness's good reputation. It wouldn't do for us to be seen in such an intimate embrace. Your husband would be bound to use something like that against you." Then Jack allowed his gaze to rise to her face.
Thank God she was not smiling. He supposed she was attempting to give him a smoldering look. "Next time, ve vill be alone. Avay from prying eyes."
She still did not smile. Which was good. "I cannot wait, your Royal Highness."
"Vill you come to me tomorrow?"
He nodded somberly. Good lord, he wondered, would she try to seduce him then? Even if he had not recovered from his grave injuries? He must think of a way to avoid intimacy with this woman.
Within a few minutes her breathing returned to normal, and she appeared to have made a complete recovery. He stood and gazed down at her. "I must go now, your Royal Highness. It will be dark by the time I reach London." He offered his arm. "Allow me to see you back to the house."
* * *
"Do you really think I look becoming in this?" Daphne asked Virginia as she stood in front of her sister's looking glass and surveyed herself in an apricot colored gown. The frothy dress looked like something worn by a fairy princess--not the lanky, never-attracted-a-man-in-her-life Daphne Chalmers. Of course Virginia had looked stunning in this same dress when she had worn it to court. But one look in the mirror told Daphne she did not resemble her lovely sister.
"Absolutely!" Virginia said. Daphne thought her sister looked exceedingly pretty today in a copper colored morning dress even though Daphne was clueless to know if Virginia's dress was fashionable or not, though if Virginia wore it, it would have to be in the first stare of fashion. "I'll just get my abigail to take a few tucks in the bodice," Virginia said.
Unfortunately, Daphne's breasts were much smaller than Virginia's. "Do you not think it's too low cut for me?" Daphne asked. "It's not as if I have anything to display."
Virginia grinned. "Allow me to tighten your stays, and I'll vow it will look like you do have something to display."
That sounded dreadfully uncomfortable to Daphne. In fact, many of the things her sisters did for the sake of beauty seemed quite repugnant to her. She shook her head. Then the fleeting image of Captain Sublime--the source of her desire to look more feminine--caused her to change her mind. "Oh, very well!"
Virginia merely giggled. "He is worth it."
Daphne's gaze narrowed. "Who's worth it?"
"Your exceedingly handsome Mr. Rich. You cannot fool me. That's what this sudden desire of yours to look pretty is all about."
She could not deny it. As much as she fought against it, as ridiculous as it was, Daphne was having the devil of a time differentiating between her true relationship to Captain Dryden and her imaginary relationship to him. She had actually started to think of him as her betrothed!
And as his betrothed, Daphne had begun to detest Princess Caroline for having designs on her intended! Even if he wasn't really her intended.
Daphne's complete infatuation with him had made her behave like a bear the past two days. She had snapped at the butler, argued with three of her sisters, and had hurled her meager wardrobe at her abigail with instructions to burn it. She had finally come to realize her dresses weren't even fit to give to the poor.
Which had left her with nothing to wear to Almack's tonight, and there was not enough time to have new dresses made. Cornelia had dragged her to Mrs. Spence's, where Daphne--for the first time in her life--felt a complete moron while her sister and the dressmaker discussed her innumerable visual shortcomings (the most troublesome being excessive height, lack of bosom, and unruly hair) and her modest assets (namely, her lack of fat and her fair coloring) while deciding upon a completely new wardrobe for her.
The new wardrobe was nothing like Daphne would have selected herself. Though she had always preferred plain dresses in mundane colors like beige or gray, the duchess decided that Daphne's fair skin and golden hair demanded frilliness.
Which led Cornelia to suggest she wear Virginia's court dress tonight.
As Daphne gazed into the glass now, she lamented she was not pretty like Virginia. Though they were the same height, Virginia possessed a woman's body. And her hair--much thinner than Daphne's mane--was considerably more manageable.
For the first time in her life, Daphne actually wished to be pretty.
For Captain Sublime.
"Mama--and Papa, too--will be so happy," Virginia said. "Why just yesterday Mama was expressing her disappointment that your betrothal had failed to make you pay more attention to your appearance."
If her own mother thought her appearance deplorable, what must Captain Dryden think? "Are you sure I'm the type to dress so femininely?"
"It's all about the colors. Your skin is ever-so creamy, and golden highlights dance in your hair. Cornelia's right. You need to wear soft, feminine colors that will accentuate your fairness."
"Do you really think Mr. Rich will be attracted to a fair woman?" Uh oh. She really ought to be more careful in her choice of words.
"He already is, silly. He asked you to wed him! Then there's also the fact I've seen him with you. Even though you've taken no pains whatsoever with your appearance, Mr. Rich seems exceedingly fond of you. Besides, he's dark."
Daphne gave her sister a puzzled look. "Pray, what does his coloring have to do with my appearance?"
"Dark men prefer fair women. And vice versa. That's why Ronnie and I suit so well. He's fair, and I'm dark."
Daphne cleared her throat. "How do you learn these things? About what men like and all?"
Virginia shrugged. "It's just something Cornelia and I were born with."
The twins knew how to be men's lovers; Daphne merely knew how to be men's friends. Before now, that had always been enough.
Virginia called for her abigail to alter the bodice, and once the maid had taken Daphne's measure, they helped remove the dress. "Now, let's tighten those stays," Virginia said. "I vow, it will make you look as if you're possessed of a larger bosom."
Nothing had ever seemed more improbable, but Daphne was willing to give it a try. Even if the little bit of breasts she did possess would have to be smashed. "Not now!" she said. "I promise I shall have my maid give it a go tonight. I'm not going to make myself wretchedly uncomfortable any longer than absolutely necessary." She started for the door.
"There's just one thing more," Virginia said hesitantly.
Daphne stopped, turned, and cocked a brow.
"The spectacles."
It was bad enough that she was to have her breasts smashed, her hair painstakingly dressed, and stiff fabrics taking the place of her comfortable old dresses, but surely her sisters would not expect her to shed her spectacles for purely aesthetic purposes. "I will not go to Almack's without my spectacles! I wouldn't be able to see anything at all."
"Then looking lovely isn't so all-important to you, after all."
Daphne glared at her sister. "As you've pointed out, Mr. Rich fell in love with me--with the spectacles."
As she walked back to Cavendish Square, Daphne thought about her conversation with Virginia. Perhaps Virginia needed spectacles--if she thought Captain Sublime looked lovingly at Daphne. Mr. Rich--or Captain Dryden--certainly had not fallen in love with her. Spectacles or no spectacles.
Perhaps if she did remove the spectacles . . .
Chapter 12
He gave his hat to the Sidworth butler and was on his way to the saloon when he caught sight of one of Daphne's sisters sailing down the stairs in an utterly feminine creation. Jack paused to look up, then glanced away and continued on when he realized the lady was not one of the Chalmers girls.
"Good evening, Mr. Rich."
He froze. That was Dap
hne's voice. And it came from the stairs. Aware that a lady in a peachy colored dress flew down the steps, he spun around to watch the frothy vision. Surely that could not be Daphne!
Could it?
The girl/woman without spectacles reached the bottom step and moved toward him, not removing her glittering green eyes from his. Good lord, it was Daphne! Though if he had not heard her voice, he doubted he would have recognized her. It wasn't just the absence of spectacles that accounted for the vastly unfamiliar appearance.
His gaze swept over her. And he was powerless not to draw in his breath. She seemed . . . shorter. And more rounded. He eyed her breasts again. Good lord, she actually had breasts! Why had he not noticed them before? And why had he not noticed how exceedingly fair her lovely skin was? Her hair, too, was vastly different. He cocked his head to one side and stared at her. He could scarcely remember what her hair had looked like before. All he knew was that it was a disaster. But now pins swept it away from her face, allowing it to fall into dainty curls that brought to mind a Grecian goddess.
Wasn't it just last night he had seen her? And hadn't she been the same old, bespectacled, throw-fashion-to-the-wind lady? Where were her dark, woolen gowns? Why had she changed so dramatically?
As pretty as she was--and she was truly lovely--he thought he preferred the other Daphne, the Daphne whose intelligence and kindness, rather than her prettiness, made her one of the most popular women in the ton.
This new Daphne was bound to make the men at Almack's tonight look at her in a completely different light.
And he would not like that.
A hesitant smile on her face, she moved to him and offered her hands. Hell, even her step was lighter! Though he had kissed her hand many times before, doing so now suddenly made him less comfortable. Drawing in a breath, he secured both her hands, moved a few inches closer to her, and spoke in a husky voice. "I shall be the most envied man at Almack's." Then he slowly brought first one hand to his lips for a kiss, then the other.
Her lashes lowered, and it was she who now became speechless.
He touched beneath her chin, raising her face until she peered into his eyes. "Why the transformation?" he asked.
She gave a self-conscious little laugh and shrugged. "You must admit we were a most incongruous couple. I shouldn't want to arouse suspicions."
Her comment angered him. The most blatant disparity between them was not her appearance but her social superiority to him! "Suspicions will be aroused," he snapped. "No one will believe you'd have me for your husband."
"I don't look that good. I'm still too tall and too thin and still must wear my spectacles in order to see."
"I pray that you do, then," he grumbled.
She gracefully slipped her arm through his. "Rest assured, Captain, I won't be without them at Almack's."
"Good."
Her lower lip worked into a pout as they began to stroll toward the saloon. "You could at least have made the effort to argue with the pronouncements on my lack of beauty!"
He threw his head back and laughed, then he sobered and peered down at her. No woman had ever affected him so profoundly. Her worth as a person of great depth had already won his affection; now, her delicacy touched him in a way he'd never experienced. He backed her into the wall and lowered his face until their foreheads touched. "You're not too tall or too slender." He smelled her spearmint, and a rush of powerful emotions flooded him. He drew even closer. God help him, but he was going to kiss her!
Just as he began to lower his head, Lady Sidworth threw open the saloon door a few feet away and stormed from the chamber. "Oh, there you are, Daf! I've been dying to see you."
Jack edged away from her as her mother's eyes riveted to Daphne and her mouth dropped open. "Peter!" she shrieked. "Quick! You must come and see Daphne."
Lord Sidworth rushed from the chamber, and his mouth, too, dropped open. "By Jove! Can that be my Daf?"
Now that Daphne stood away from the wall, her father circled her, his eyes narrow as he emitted undistinguishable grumbles. Finally, he came to a stop and spoke. "Prefer you in the spectacles."
"Peter!" Lady Sidworth chided. "She looks beautiful."
Jack squeezed her hand and brushed his lips across it. "The Lady Daphne I fell in love with wore spectacles, and I've rather taken a fancy to them." Oddly, Jack meant the words. Except for the part about having fallen in love with her. Which, of course, he hadn't. But he had grown excessively fond of her. And comfortable with her. As comfortable as he'd once been with Edwards.
But altogether different.
Admiration shone in Lord Sidworth's eyes as he gazed at Jack. "I feel exactly the same, Rich! There's something rather endearing about her spectacles."
"Indeed there is," Jack said.
"Very well!" Daphne said, opening her reticule, removing her spectacles, and slamming them onto the bridge of her nose.
Lady Sidworth's eyes narrowed as she addressed the gentlemen. "You must admit Daphne looks stunning."
"Pretty as a picture," Lord Sidworth said.
Jack directed his attention at Daphne's father. "She's truly beautiful."
* * *
At Almack's he did not let Daphne stray from his sight. Even now as she danced with a disgustingly tall naval officer, Jack folded his arms across his chest and glared at the attractive couple performing the steps of a quadrille. The officer was just one of a dozen men who had made cakes of themselves over Lady Daphne tonight.
Much to Jack's annoyance.
The more the men tried to charm her, the greater his anger surged. Now he was out of charity with Lord Sidworth, too. Why had the man not allowed him and Daphne to have a public betrothal? Jack wished to inform every man here that Lady Daphne was his intended. Even if that wasn't precisely the truth.
While he stood there seething, he felt a light tap on his shoulder and turned around to face the Comtesse de Mornet.
"Good evening, Monsieur Rich. I was hoping you'd be here tonight."
Did no one here understand that he and Lady Daphne were engaged to be married? He shirked off his annoyance and forced a smile. "You honor me."
His gaze flitted over her. No bland pastels for this woman. Once again she had chosen to wear a flamboyant color that rather complemented her flashy countenance. Tonight a magenta gown not only displayed her exquisite body but it also seemed to match her full lips. How in the hell she managed that, he would never know.
Taking in her loveliness, he could easily understand how she had won the affection of the Duke of York, a man some twenty years her senior.
She continued favoring Jack with a smile, not removing her sparkling eyes from his as she set a gentle hand to his arm. "You will honor me by becoming my dance partner?"
Jack had never met a more brazen woman. Was that what it took to hoist oneself upon a royal duke? He inclined his head. "The honor is indeed mine." But as soon as he offered his arm, the orchestra music faded away, signaling the end of the set. He tried to effect a disappointed look. "Alas, I will not be afforded such a pleasure." He was aware that Daphne made her way toward him, and he was determined to claim her for the next set.
"I don't mind waiting," the comtesse said, "Especially since the duke's chosen the beastly card room over my company." She stepped closer to him, and he drew in her strong floral scent. He had to hand it to the French. Their perfumes were vastly superior to those worn by English women.
He smiled to himself at the memory of Daphne's unusual scent.
Unfortunately, the comtesse thought the smile was for her, and she brushed against him.
Just as Lady Daphne and her naval officer strolled up.
"I'm afraid I've promised to dance with Lady Daphne the next set," he said, gleefully watching the naval fellow take his leave. Of course, Jack had extracted no such promise from Daphne, but the comtesse need not know that.
"You don't have to stand on such ceremony with me," Daphne said, smiling benevolently at him. "Feel free to dance with the co
mtesse."
So Daphne could be free to cavort with her tribe of would-be suitors? He was possessed of a sudden and intense desire to see his fiancé don the faded, high-necked gown of blue or green or whatever color it had been that she had worn the night before. He was also possessed of an unreasonable eagerness to see the Duke of York come strolling from the card room to claim his bold mistress.
But since neither of those actions occurred, when the musicians took up their instruments again, he turned to the comtesse and begrudgingly offered his hand.
He was even more disappointed when he realized this was the night's first waltz. And Daphne would dance it with another.
Once they were on the dance floor, the comtesse smiled up at him. Like the rest of her, her startlingly white teeth dazzled. "Tell me, Monsieur Rich, have you been to Port Rotterwahl in South Africa?"
He stiffened. He had, of course, tried to educate himself about Africa by consulting a map, but he was at a complete loss now to remember any city known as Port Rotterwahl. "Only in passing," he said.
"My brother once had occasion to stay there, and he was quite taken with it," she said. "Daresay, it was the fine weather which impressed him."
"Coastal cities are somewhat cooler than those inland," he said. A nice, innocuous statement.
"I suppose you'll be returning to Africa?"
"Of course."
"And you'll take Lady Daphne--once you're married?"
"A wife's place is with her husband." Another innocuous statement. He watched Daphne being led onto the dance floor by still another strapping fellow. And once again lamented last night's blue/green gown.
"Now that she's unlocked the key to charming men, Lady Daphne might not wish to leave London," the comtesse said with a laugh. Even her laugh was utterly feminine.
"Lady Daphne's not like other women."
"I would have agreed with you--before tonight."
He shrugged. "There is the fact that she might discover she can do better," he said, glowering.
The Comtesse de Mornet, her brows drawn, gazed up at him. "You, Monsieur Rich, underrate your own attractiveness."
