“I said worried papa,” his sister retorted. “Then, very well, you needn’t be a protective brother.”
A protective brother? He, who’d not allowed himself to think of Alice but for the handful of times he saw her through the years, was…was… He cursed, earning horrified stares from the couple who’d not made their full descent. They could go to hell with their shock. “You are my responsibility,” he said out the side of his mouth.
Alice gave a roll of her eyes. “I’m a woman of seventeen years. Not a girl of seven. The time for elderly brother responsibilities came and went at least five birthdays ago.”
Regret sliced through him like a dulled knife. And this time, when the next guest arrived, he gave thanks for the interruption that saved him from formulating a reply he didn’t have and answering for the crimes of his absence.
After Alistair’s drowning in the family lake, his father had foisted another child on his wife to “give him another child he could at least be proud of” as he’d snapped at Daniel the day he’d informed him of the impending birth. Then there had come his mother’s death shortly after Alice had entered the world and the reminder, once more, from his devastated papa that Daniel was responsible for the death of all those he’d loved. That was one of the last times he’d spoken to his father. Instead, they’d both spiraled into a rapid descent of ruin—his father, in his misery, all but drinking himself to death and wagering away his life and Daniel…following in those same footsteps on the path of destruction.
In the end, he’d reckoned himself to be just like his father.
“You needn’t frown, Daniel,” his sister said gently. “I did not mean to give you hurt feelings.”
Hurt feelings, now? He searched around for a servant. Would drinking a glass of champagne at the front of one’s receiving line disqualify him from the terms set forth by his uncle? …You drink too much, Daniel… You use it as a greater crutch than the cane I use for walking…
“And I should thank you,” his sister continued, patting his arm. “You gave me an appreciation for finding adventure and thumbing my nose at Society’s conventions.”
Christ. “You are certainly not thumbing your nose at Society,” he hissed.
“Smile, Daniel, people are staring.”
He continued over her interruption. “You are going to find an honorable, respectable,” dull and proper, “husband.”
She lifted a hand and the card dangling from her wrist danced on the string. “By your admission, such a gentleman does not exist.”
“Then you won’t marry,” he muttered. Not when the bloody alternative was to see her married to a man like Tennyson or Webb or worse, a man like Daniel himself. Feeling her stare on him, he whipped his head sideways. Alice eyed him as though she’d discovered a new genus of human. “What?” he snapped.
“You wanted to launch me like a ship, so you could then carry on your reckless ways.”
Was there a question there? Then, as the orchestra concluded their set and couples left the dance floor, politely clapping, a horrifying realization trickled in. Good God. She’d listened at the keyhole during his discussion with Daphne. His mind raced. Bloody hell. What else had she heard? “Yes, well, no launching. I’m certain there are some decent chaps,” he said belatedly to her questioning look. Daniel eyed the dance floor. There was, Lord… Or Lord… Christ, yes, there was no one.
“And wealthy. He must be wealthy you said.”
Because funds would make her life easier and, yet, her happiness mattered most. “I would have you wed a man who makes you smile,” he said at last.
“Do you know what I believe, Daniel?” his sister asked softly. “I think Miss Smith has been a good influence on you and reminds you of who you once were.” A sad smile hovered on her lips, reaching all the way to her eyes, and hit him like a gut-punch. “I just wish I had known you then.”
His throat constricted and he made a clearing noise, coughing into his hand. He’d spent his lifetime proving his father’s accusations right and never was his success truer than when presented with Alice’s regretful words. Now, she spoke of him being a better person because of Daphne. Involuntarily, he sought her out. She sat primly on the edge of her seat, shoulders erect, head forward, unmoving. A glorious crimson Athena in an ice blue gown. With her regal demeanor she was the perfect companion. She shouldn’t be seated there. She didn’t belong hiding in the corner, just as she hadn’t belonged on the sidelines of a ballroom all those years ago.
Alice jammed an elbow into his side and he grunted, looking to the next pair of guests who came forward. The Marquess and Marchioness of Guilford warmly greeted her and then the marquess leveled Daniel with a black glare.
“Montfort,” the marquess said tightly. Yes, given his attempted seduction of the other man’s wife, that dark look was certainly called for.
Daniel dropped a bow. “A pleasure.” He shifted his attention to the dark-haired marchioness. “Lady Guilford.” He stared after her a long moment, this woman he’d once attempted to bed. A woman who’d established an institution for young ladies with disabilities, a place Daphne dreamed of working. Introductions. She would desire an introduction to the distinguished marchioness. And yet, God help him for being a bastard who didn’t want to arrange it for fear of what it would entail. Daphne cheerfully off to seek employment elsewhere—
Alice jammed her elbow in his side and he grunted again. His neck heated at the hard glint in the marquess’ eyes. Yes, given his reputation, the man was certainly deserving of his suspicious opinion of Daniel’s staring.
The couple started down the stairs.
“Did you tup his wife?” Alice whispered.
Daniel scrubbed a hand over his face and looked anywhere but at his sister and her far too clever eyes. By God, this was to be his penance. A sister who knew entirely too much and craved wickedness. “Have a care in what you say,” he demanded in hushed tones, for her ears alone. “Your reputation—”
Alice snorted. “Come. Surely you see the hilarity in counseling me on proper behavior? Well, did you? Bed that gentleman’s wife?”
Damn her for being correct. He was certainly the last person in the realm to be schooling anyone on matters of propriety. His feet twitched with the urge to flee and he again found Daphne with his gaze. She’d know how to handle this and what to say… There would be no help there. “No,” he bit out. “I did not bed the lady.” Certainly not for a lack of trying.
“But I expect you tried,” Alice said and then turned to greet the next pair through.
Oh, saints be praised. “St. Albans, Lady St. Albans,” Daniel said quickly, besieged with relief at the arrival of actual friends. Well, one friend and his wife, now eyeing him with rightfully wary eyes. Daniel’s neck went hot and, not for the first time since his world had been upended these past weeks, embarrassment gripped him. After all, the lady had crashed one of his orgies and found her husband in attendance.
“Lady Alice,” St. Albans greeted, sketching a bow. After he added his name to her nearly full dance card, he said, “May I present my wife, Lady St. Albans.”
“How do you do?” the lady murmured softly. It did not escape Daniel’s notice the manner in which she angled her body away from him. “Are you enjoying your first ball, my lady?”
Alice snorted. “Hardly. I’ve already mentioned to my brother that I’d welcome the diversions he himself so enjoys.”
Lady St. Albans flared her eyes and then buried her smile behind her hand.
St. Albans emitted a strangled laugh, his hilarity only deepening at Daniel’s glower.
“I’ve assured her that she is in no way to enjoy any such amusements,” Daniel mumbled.
“And I assured him that he’s become quite respectable since I’ve come to London.”
The marquess’ mirth faded to a grin. “Indeed?” he drawled. “Montfort, a respectable, doting brother?” There was a probing curiosity there and Daniel shifted. It wasn’t well done of a friend to strip a rake o
f his reputation at the front of a crowded ballroom.
Lady St. Albans shot her husband a faintly reproachful glance, but he only widened his smile.
“I suspect it is Miss Smith’s doing,” Alice piped in.
And amidst the din of the orchestra and buzz of whispers and discourse, a silence fell among their quartet. Bloody hell. St. Albans and his wife eyed him with renewed curiosity. “My sister suspects a good many things.” Daniel infused a deliberate nonchalance into that drawl, praying for any distraction that might spare him from that scrutiny. It was the first time in the whole of his life he’d given a jot at being so studied.
Several moments later, the happily wedded couple walked off and Daniel stared at their retreating frames. How wholly different a man St. Albans had become. Spending time in the country with his wife, the marquess no longer visited his wicked clubs or brothels. Immediately following their marriage, Daniel had pitied the poor bugger. As St. Albans dipped his lips close to his wife’s ear and said something that roused a robust laugh from the lady, a twinge of envy plucked at him.
“Never tell me you attempted to seduce your friend’s wife?” his sister said on a horrified whisper.
He sputtered. “Good God, no!” The denial was ripped from him. Not that he’d ever been with moral scruples, but a man still had to draw the proverbial line somewhere.
“Thank goodness,” Alice muttered. “I’m sure it is in bad form to—”
“It is.” He scowled. “As is speaking about your brother or any gentleman’s pursuits.”
Alice folded her arms at her chest and arched an eyebrow. “If one shouldn’t speak of those pursuits, then one shouldn’t take part in them, either.”
Clever girl.
“The Viscount Claremont.”
And a rotted day only went from bad to worse with his servant’s announcement.
Before his name was even finished being called, the viscount was already moving. “You look lovely, gel,” their uncle said gruffly to Alice. “The vision of your mother.”
The mother who’d only given birth to a babe to take the place of the child Daniel had failed to save that long ago day. His gut knotted. But then, if there had been no late in life childbirth, there would have been no Alice. A girl he’d spent seventeen years avoiding, only now finding, with her spirit and wit, was really…rather fun to be about. A smile tugged at his lips.
“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.
A Heart of a Duke Regency Collection : Volume 2--A Regency Bundle Page 93
