“Has your brother seen you properly cultured with trips to the museums?” the viscount pressed her, pulling Daniel back to the moment.
He stiffened. Of course, the bloody bastard would fix on the one end of the agreement he’d not yet honored.
“My companion and I have a visit planned tomorrow,” Alice put in smoothly.
Their uncle peered at him for hint of the lie there. From the corner of his eye, Daniel detected Alice’s wink. Tomorrow, she mouthed. Additional loyalty he didn’t deserve.
“Hmph,” Lord Claremont grunted. He shifted his attention, once more, to Alice. “And is your brother behaving?”
“Better than I’d ever believed him capable of,” Alice said, rousing another laugh from their usually stern relation. “I believe it is Miss—”
“This is your first set,” Daniel said hurriedly, before she attributed any of her false perceptions of him to a woman whose suitability his uncle had already questioned. Quickly gathering her hand, he settled it on his sleeve and started down the hall. The irony was not lost that he, Society’s most notorious rake, was hosting a Come Out ball for a debutante just out on the Market.
“Yes,” Alice whispered as they started down the stairs. “I rather believe it wise not to mention Miss Smith to Uncle Percival.” Wise, indeed. “He would only assume something improper is occurring if I mention her influence.”
Something improper had occurred and, God help him, he wished for it to happen again…and more. His eyes strayed to the dais.
“Are you blushing? Your cheeks are all mottled, Daniel.”
“I do not blush.” Just as he did not host, attend, or talk about proper events. Until now.
The orchestra struck up the chords of Alice’s first set and her partner, St. Albans, came forward to escort Daniel’s sister into the center of the ballroom.
Alice gone, he stood on the sidelines, arms clasped at his back, eyeing the dancers performing the steps of the quadrille. The lords and ladies in attendance were the most proper ones he could drum up given his reputation. The people in Daniel’s usual company studiously avoided such dull affairs, as he himself had. He’d reveled in the dissolute friends and lovers he’d kept, for there were no meaningful connections or emotions. There were no lowered expectations, because those expectations had already been lowered years and years ago. As such, it perfectly suited the empty life of pleasure he wished to live.
Only…since Daphne had reentered his life, and forced him to smile, and challenged him on who he was as a person, he’d not sought out his usual pleasures. Not solely for the funds dangled over his head by his uncle, but because he’d not given those events a thought.
It is because of Daphne.
The thrill of each meeting, with whatever challenge she’d utter and scolding she might dole out, was more riveting than the monotony of the rakish existence he’d lived for so long. Good Christ, he needed a drink. Daniel swiped a flute of champagne from a passing servant. The silver tray wobbled in the footman’s hands and the young man hurriedly righted it, before continuing on. With the need of liquid fortitude, he tipped his glass back and drank deep, concentrating on something safer. Something duller. And something less dangerous than catching a damn case of emotions.
As the set concluded and St. Albans turned her over to her next partner, Mr. Pratt, Daniel stared at his bright-eyed sister with her flushed cheeks as they performed the intricate steps of the reel. He froze. Had he ever been so innocent that something as simple as a dance could bring such visible joy?
…Through the whole of my Season, he didn’t dance even one set with me…
Daniel tightened his grip involuntarily on the stem of his glass and found Daphne with his gaze.
She studied the dancers, a wistful smile on her lips that robbed his lungs of air. She deserved to dance. Not to the strains of an imagined orchestra in an empty ballroom, but bold and unrepentant in a fine satin gown with a smile on her crimson lips. One of the true smiles she’d spoken of. Not forced. Not sad or longing. And a hungering as powerful as the need for sustenance coursed through him to be the one to guide her through those steps.
Daphne stilled and shifted her gaze over the dance floor until she found him. Her eyes locked on his.
He inclined his head imperceptibly in a slight greeting. An unrestrained grin replaced the earlier one. The cacophony of the ballroom sounds melted away as he saw just that smile. And her.
Fingers curled around his forearm, shattering the charged connection, and he whipped his attention down. “There is something very tempting about slipping away from polite events and taking your pleasures outside the ballroom with the thrill of discovery, isn’t there, my lord?” Baroness Shelley wrapped that invitation in a husky purr that promised sex and sin.
He passed his gaze over her, assessingly. The gold creation she wore featured a plunging décolletage that the rouged tips of her breasts faintly crested over. The satin fabric with a lace overlay clung to abundant hips and generous buttocks. She was a veritable feast, of which he’d have gladly availed himself to. Oddly, this time, he remained unmoved. Daniel carefully disentangled her grip from his sleeve. “Alas, madam, I am to play host tonight. You will have to seek your pleasures elsewhere.”
Shock rounded her eyes; the dark charcoal making the violet depths a stark purple in her face. Then, she swiftly schooled her features and, with a slight pout, sauntered off.
Daniel closed his eyes a moment. What in the hell was wrong with him? Sending off an inventive creature who’d fulfill a man’s every carnal wish? Except… He knew.
It was a fiery-haired siren with expressive eyes and who, through her presence alone, reminded him that once, long ago, he’d been an entirely different man than the one he’d become.
Seated on the fringe of the ballroom, Daphne sat perched on the edge of her chair, searching desperately through the throng of lords and ladies for a particular one announced.
She was here—the Marchioness of Guilford.
A guest of Daniel’s. He knew the lady and had made no mention of that connection. In the crowd, she caught glimpse of the lady speaking with her husband and then a couple moved into Daphne’s line of vision, blocking her view. Sinking back in her chair, she moved her gaze elsewhere and her stare collided with Daniel’s tall, elegant figure. That twinge in her chest ached as a beautiful creature sauntered off, flashing him an invitation with her eyes. Resplendent in midnight finery, that showcased his impressive, broad strength, he exuded a commanding strength that was hard to not admire.
For any woman.
From the debutantes to dowagers present, they all covetously eyed him. That unrestrained appreciation roused unwanted jealousy. He’d never be a man who belonged to one woman. Instead, she, just like many others before her, would dream of and hope for—more with him. From him.
She returned her attention to the young couple he now spoke to; how free he was with his laughter and discourse for the Marquess and Marchioness of St. Albans. Vague remembrances slipped in, of Lord St. Albans who’d occasionally visited Spelthorne.
Taller and broader than when Daniel had first introduced them all those years ago, that meeting rushed forward with such clarity, they may as well have been children in the copse. The anger, fear, and sense of betrayal at having a new friend added to their mix.
…I promise he will never replace you, Daph. He’s my friend at Eton. But you’ll be my forever friend…
Pressure squeezed at her heart. And yet, his bond with the marquess remained strong enough that they were friends even still. Whereas Daphne had been severed from his life like a thread dangling from his sleeve. As they continued speaking, she studied their exchange.
Given the station difference between her and Daniel, it should come as no great shock that they’d invariably drifted apart. It was the way of their world. He belonged amongst the powerful peers who now danced within his ballroom. And she belonged on the sidelines, serving his sister, and then after Alice, hopefully other
young ladies. Young ladies, who’d someday step out into this, or another ballroom and enter Polite Society.
Where Mrs. Belden’s had represented hope, the idea of her future without Daniel left her bereft.
As though she felt his eyes on her, Daniel had sought her out. Even with the stretch of the floor between them, his concern reached across the room. He frowned, a question in his gaze. She mustered a smile she did not feel for his benefit.
“There you are, Miss Smith.”
Daphne shrieked at the unexpected interruption, earning stares from the other companions seated beside her. “Alice,” she greeted and quickly grabbed for her cane, awkwardly shoving herself to her feet. She grimaced. With her fascination and distraction with her employer, mayhap Mrs. Belden had been correct after all, and Daphne would make a rotten companion.
Alice’s eyes twinkled with a knowing gleam that sent panic mounting. Surely she had not been so very obvious in her thoughts? “Come,” the girl said, looping her arm through Daphne’s. “Stroll with me.” Daphne adored the young lady for believing she could stroll anywhere. “I would have a moment away from the crush of guests.” They started toward one of the curtained alcoves off the corner of the ballroom. It did not escape her notice that Alice slowed her stride to accommodate Daphne’s uneven, awkward gait.
Self-absorbed in her own hungerings and fears, she’d not given proper thought to why her charge sought her out. “Is everything all right?” she asked, as Alice ushered her into the alcove and the curtains fluttered shut behind them.
The younger lady plopped onto one of the chairs set up against the wall and tugged her slippers off. “Oh, fine. Fine,” Alice waved her slipper about. “With the exception of some pinched toes.” A dreamy expression lit her eyes. “But I swear I feel no pain. We danced,” she said, layering her head against the wall. “Mr. Pratt and I danced,” she repeated. “He wishes to court me.”
A joyous smile hovered on Alice’s lips and at that tangible happiness, Daphne’s maudlin thoughts about Daniel from before briefly lifted. For so long, she had been bitter and broken in the loss of her own innocence. Seeing it alive in Alice now, didn’t fill her with fear or envy, but rather an equal happiness for what could be. She collected one of Alice’s hands and gave a light squeeze. “Listen to your heart and mind in equal measure. And be certain he is worthy of you.”
From outside the alcove, the orchestra’s quadrille came to a stop. Daphne looked to the front of the curtain. “We should return,” she said and made to stand.
Alice shot a hand out, staying her movements. “Are you enjoying yourself, Miss Smith?”
At the unexpected question, Daphne blinked slowly. The events were as infernal now as they’d been eleven years ago. “Quite,” she said belatedly.
Daniel’s sister snorted. “Quite tedious. But for my dance with Mr. Pratt, the whole affair has been boring,” she said, wiggling her feet back into her slippers. “And like my brother, you are a dreadful liar, Miss Smith.” At that likening to Daniel, Daphne’s cheeks warmed and she gave thanks for the dimly lit space. Her charge sent her a probing sideways glance. “No doubt that tedium is why Daniel became a rake.”
It was not Daphne’s place to explain that, at one time, he’d been an altogether different person and only after her brother and mother’s death had he slowly become a figure she no longer recognized. “Life changes us all,” she offered, instead.
“Do you know, Miss Smith?” her charge began, as casually as though they spoke of the weather and not intimate details about Daphne’s employer. “As a girl, I was often alone.” Her heart tugged. Daphne had mourned her own mother’s passing when she’d been a girl of thirteen. What had it been like for Alice to never know that special relationship? It should have been the Countess of Montfort beside her even now. “I never knew my mother and Daniel was…” She rolled her eyes. “You know, Daniel.” Yes, Daphne did very well know. “And my father…” Alice’s expression took on a distant quality. “My father didn’t know whether I was a servant or daughter.”
How grief had ravaged the Winterbournes. After their son’s passing, the once smiling, loving Earl and Countess of Montfort’s entire family had withdrawn from Society.
“I am sorry,” Daphne said softly.
Alice waved off that useless apology. “It allowed me much time to observe the world around me. He wasn’t always that way, was he, Miss Smith?”
Surely there was more Daniel’s sister cared to do than hover on the sidelines discussing her brother’s past? She opened her mouth to say as much, but caught the uncharacteristically solemn glint in Alice’s eyes and ended the flippant reply. “No. He wasn’t,” she said quietly. In fact, but for those three months in London where she’d witnessed hints of his wickedness, she’d only known him to be the loyal, laughing friend.
“What was he like?” Alice pressed.
Through the slight crack in the curtains, Daphne searched for a glimpse of him. Couples twirled by in a kaleidoscope of vibrant colors, briefly parting to reveal Daniel. He remained engrossed in conversation with the Marquess of St. Albans and the lovely lady at his side. “He was clever,” she said, pulling her gaze away. He still is. “Competitive.” He’d raced her on land and lake and never let her win. “Funny.” He’d had her laughing until a stitch had formed in her side. Invariably, life dulled the purity of that joyous sound. “Heroic,” she said softly, more to herself, finding him once more.
Alice snorted. “Given his reputation and his absence these years, it’s hard to see Daniel as anything other than a rake, and certainly not a hero.”
There was, of course, merit to that well-deserved charge. Yet, time changed them all. Made a person into someone other than they’d been. In her case, it had seen her crippled. In Daniel’s, he’d become a wicked scoundrel. There was no excusing his transformation, but rather an acceptance to how life had ultimately marked them. Wanting Alice to at least know there had been a time when he’d been a different person, Daphne displayed her cane and then settled it on the floor. “Do you know how I was crippled, Alice?”
Her charge shook her head. Curiosity piqued in her expression. “I was racing through a copse,” chasing treasures. “It had been raining. I fell.” Her leg burned in remembrance of that long ago agony. Her voice was hoarse from screaming and crying, until she’d lain there and simply waited to die. Or be discovered. “I was there for hours, alone. Your brother found me. And he carried me the mile to my home.”
Alice’s lips parted in surprise and her eyes went soft. “All I ever knew were Daniel’s wicked pursuits and the scandalous gossip printed of him in the papers.” Of which there had undoubtedly been much. “But you see more in him, don’t you?”
…It allowed me much time to observe the world around me…
The determined light now filling Alice’s brown irises sent off the first warning bells. Daphne wetted her lips and glanced about.
Alice pounced. “I see the way you are with one another.” Daphne’s stomach sank to her toes and she gave her head a frantic shake. This is what the girl was about? What Lady Alice spoke of would mean the ruin of Daphne’s reputation as a companion. “How you look at one another. And I do believe, mayhap, Daniel could be one of those reformed rakes.”
Daphne fluttered a hand about her throat, skittering her gaze about. The girl was wrong. Except upon the pages of sweeping love stories and gothic tales, rakes and rogues could not be reformed.
“You do not need to say anything, Miss Smith,” Alice said, patting her hand. “I must return. I have another set coming with Mr. Pratt.” Then the girl stood and marched off, perfectly cool, after she’d yanked the rug out from under Daphne’s feet.
She closed her eyes and sank back in her seat. Her heart beat a double-time to the orchestra’s too slow strands of a waltz. She’d been so transparent that a seventeen-year-old girl had seen all. Seen, when Daphne herself had only just realized her love for Daniel. He was a man who beautiful ladies in daring gowns layere
d themselves against.
A vicious envy for the cloying beauty she’d spied earlier at his side took hold. Despite his sister’s naiveté about her brother, Daphne did not delude herself into thinking that any woman would truly matter to Daniel Winterbourne. When she left, his life would continue as it had for the past thirteen years, with countless women there to warm his bed. Her heart spasmed.
Enough.
Daniel did not factor into her future. Ladies of Hope did. A future with purpose did. By Society’s standards, a lady could not have both, nor was it a possibility with Daniel, anyway. Even if her heart wished it. Then, he was a gentleman who’d thumb his nose at Society and allow his wife to march scantily clad through Hyde Park if she so wished it.
Pushing to her feet, Daphne retrieved her cane and limped from the alcove. She made her way back to her chair. With each faltering, lurching footstep, her skin pricked with the stares leveled on her. She’d long become accustomed to those stares. Invariably, people were drawn to that which was different, including people, though not always in kind ways. She stumbled and caught herself with her cane.
Loud sniggering ensued at her back. Squaring her shoulders, she turned and challenged the stranger with her eyes. “Do hush,” a pretty blonde lady beside her scolded. “You should be kind to a lowly cripple.”
Time had proven, even those attempting kindness, offered pitying words. Say nothing. You are here not as a guest, but as a servant. She’d never been the obedient sort. “There are different manners of low,” she interjected softly. “The worst being those who fail to see the worth in all others, regardless of their handicap.”
The two young women gasped and then, with matching frowns for Daphne, stalked off.
“That was beautifully said,” an unexpected voice sounded softly from over her shoulder.
Daphne wheeled toward the owner of it, so quickly she stumbled once more. Her heart thumped hard. The Marchioness of Guilford. “My lady,” she greeted belatedly, sinking into a horrid curtsy.
To Redeem a Rake (The Heart of a Duke Book 11) Page 20
