by Gaelen Foley
“Never thought I’d say this,” Rohan murmured, taking the bottle back from Max, “but I am beginning to miss the war.”
“I know,” Max murmured, “exactly what you mean.”
A trace of a bitter smile was Jordan’s only answer.
Max let out a taut sigh. “Cheers, lads,” he said ironically, and uncorked another bottle.
Unfortunately, he already knew the liquor was not as potent a sedative as that sweet potion he had tasted yesterday, the nectar of her virgin body. Dissolving on his tongue, she had been almost mystically intoxicating. He wished he could’ve got foxed again tonight on that rare, exquisite wine. She seemed to have medicinal effects on him, as well. But since he had doubtless pushed her far enough, he supposed he could wait…until their wedding night.
A breeze as soft as cashmere blew in off the tranquil river, perfecting the night’s conditions for the End of Summer Ball. Music floated over the gardens; the colorful lanterns strung up everywhere were already lit in anticipation of the darkness on this night of the equinox.
In hours, summer would concede to autumn, but for now, the countless guests in all their finery strolled the sculpted grounds, chatted with clusters of friends, or sat at the tables and chairs set up beneath the graceful open tent. There, the wine flowed freely, an abundance of delicacies arrayed to tempt the palate.
Meanwhile, inside their hosts’ manor house, all the doors to the terrace were flung open; guests had begun crowding into the candlelit ballroom, eager for the dancing to begin. The musicians in the orchestra gave their instruments a final tuning.
Anticipation hung upon the air.
It was to be a grand night, with hundreds in attendance. Daphne had heard that the Regent himself might make an appearance, but her thoughts continuously revolved around one particular guest, who had not yet arrived.
She expected to see Lord Rotherstone at any moment, and the prospect of her dire task tonight had her on edge. It was a good deal more intimidating than her plan a few weeks ago of confronting Albert Carew.
Max had left her house the other day under the impression that he had fixed everything between them and prevented her defection by the things he had done to her. But he was about to find out just how wrong he was.
After their brash encounter in the parlor, she could already sense his control closing around her, enveloping her. It increased her desperation to get out now while she still could.
His superior size, his iron strength, his keen intelligence, his wealth and title, his ability to manipulate her father and Society through his calculating charm—and most of all, his indecent skill at kissing away her protests with overwhelming pleasure—all this made the domineering marquess a powerful foe, indeed.
She could already feel herself slipping into his unyielding grasp, but she still had time and will in her to fight and to keep control of her own destiny. Terrible things could happen, after all, when a person lost control over her own life.
Lady Thurloe had said, My brother does not easily forgive. Daphne was counting on that in her scheme to turn Max against her for once and for all. When she answered his inevitable request for a dance in the ballroom tonight with a snub, then maybe then he would finally get the message and leave her in peace.
She did not want to hurt him, just give him enough of a sting to signal that if he was wise, he would give up on his pursuit. He should find somebody else who was content to marry him for his gold and his title.
Daphne wanted more—she wanted him, the person—but he refused to listen. Sharp as he was, he only pretended that he didn’t understand.
Unfortunately, word of their drive through Hyde Park together had sparked a fresh wave of gossip that her reputation could really not afford. As Daphne moved through the crowd, going to fetch two glasses of wine for her and Carissa, she noticed several people glancing at her, whispering a bit. She registered an awareness that they were talking about her, but she did not sense any particular hostility behind the glances.
She gave the gossips an unflappable smile and nodded to them politely, then she lifted her chin and walked on, her head held high.
Thank God, the ton knew nothing about their episode in the parlor, nor about those stolen kisses at his house. She hadn’t even told Carissa! She had told her friend about the carriage drive, but nothing beyond that. Now she could just imagine how ruined she’d be if Society ever found out the whole story. It was dreadful knowing he could hold those kinds of secrets over her head if he liked.
She wished she could forget that wanton streak he had uncovered in her. It was so desperately unladylike, but what could she do? The man turned her into some sort of wild creature. Alas, what was done was done, and now she could only trust in his honor, and hope to God that Lord Rother-stone could keep a secret.
Brushing off a twinge of guilt, she got the wine and carried it back carefully toward where she had last left Carissa. They had split up a few minutes ago in a division of labor; while Daphne fetched the drinks, Carissa had gone to fix a little plate of treats for them to share.
Jonathon had not yet arrived, fashionably late as usual. But it was just as well. She planned on keeping a distance from him tonight for his own safety. No need to test Lord Rotherstone’s good nature.
As she made her way through the crowd, she expected at any moment to see Max’s gorgeous face by the lanterns’ light. Instead, to her distaste, it was Albert Carew who fell into step alongside her.
He was on his way up to the ballroom, but he walked with her a short way. “I heard you were seen taking a drive with Rotherstone last week.” His whole demeanor dripped sarcasm.
“What of it?” she replied in annoyance.
“Oh, nothing.” He shrugged with his superior air. “There is no accounting for taste.” He gave her a cold, scornful smile and walked away.
Daphne clenched her jaw just as petite Carissa came slipping through the crowd, swift and ethereal, moving with elfin haste. Dressed in an enviable gown of pale, seafoam blue, her auburn hair in ringlets, she looked paler than her usual ivory complexion as she rejoined Daphne.
“There you are!”
“What’s wrong? Are you all right?”
“God,” she uttered. “You’d better give me that.”
Daphne immediately handed her a glass of wine. “What’s going on? Where are our treats?”
“Never mind that. Bad news.” Carissa took a surprisingly large swallow of wine and then steadied herself. “Oh, Daphne—I was over at the refreshments tent, where I just received the shock of my life!”
“What is it?” she asked quickly.
“I hardly know how to tell you what I’ve just heard—” Carissa winced. “About you.”
“Me?” Daphne stood motionless. She knew that she turned white. She could feel the blood rush from her face. He wouldn’t have told anyone. A wave of dizziness passed, but her stomach had bunched up in knots.
Good God, if Max had boasted to anyone about the liberties she had let him take—but surely he would not do such a thing. She swallowed hard and braced herself to hear her fate. “Yes?”
Her friend eyed her suspiciously. “I don’t know what is going on, but over there just a moment ago, I overheard your stepmother sharing the most shocking confidence with some ladies.”
Stepmother? By comparison to what she feared, word of Penelope’s meddling would be cause for relief. “What did she say?”
“She was bragging, in fact.”
“Indeed?” she asked faintly.
Carissa leaned closer. “She said a betrothal is soon to be announced between you and the Marquess of Rotherstone!” she whispered in bewilderment.
“What—?” Daphne blanched.
“I’m certain that’s what I heard her say!”
“Oh, nooo!” It was Penelope, after all, who had triggered the whole Albert debacle with her big mouth. “God, I don’t believe it. She’s done it again?”
“Tell me she is suffering from delusions!” Carissa
ordered. “There can be no truth to this fiction, surely?”
“Carissa,” Daphne forced out stiffly, “there’s something you should know. The truth is—” Daphne licked her lips nervously, for her mouth had gone dry. Then she nodded. “He has offered for me.”
Carissa gasped.
“He spoke to my father—and Papa agreed—but I haven’t!”
“Oh, I don’t believe it!” Carissa clapped a hand briefly over her mouth. Her eyes were round. “The Demon Marquess proposed to you?”
“Yes. Well—if you call it that. I mean, his idea of a proposal is ordering one to marry him. But whatever he thinks or says, I still said no!”
Confusion furrowed her friend’s brow. “But then—why did you go driving with him?”
“Because he charmed me!” she exclaimed in helpless vexation, throwing up her hands. “Oh, you don’t understand how wicked he is, how smooth and irresistible! I know now why they call him that. He can tell you black is white and up is down—he gets me so muddled!” She let out a frustrated sigh. “He sweet-talked me into giving him a chance. He said it was only fair. So, I agreed to let him take me out for a drive…oh, but he is beautiful, Carissa. He truly is. I wish that he were not.”
Carissa’s eyes had widened. “You didn’t—surely?”
“Hm?” Daphne asked innocently—hoping, anyway, that she still looked somewhat innocent after yesterday.
“You let him kiss you?” Carissa demanded in a whisper.
She groaned. “I couldn’t help it. He is a devil, I tell you!”
“How was it?” Carissa breathed, wide-eyed.
“Hm.” Daphne uttered a sigh of woeful denial to know she would never taste his lips again.
But she was better off that way.
Beyond that, she could not possibly bring herself to admit the full extent of her indiscretion. “After our drive, I declined his offer.”
“How did he take it?”
“He didn’t listen to me in the least! I said no, but…he can be very persuasive.” She lifted her eyes toward the now-dark heavens and shook her head. “You have no idea.”
Carissa’s jaw dropped with an inkling of understanding.
Daphne gripped her arm. “You won’t tell anybody, will you?”
“Never, Daphne! Of course not.”
“Thank you. It doesn’t matter what he says, anyway. My mind’s made up. I am telling him tonight that my answer is still no, and that is final. Now that my stepmother’s gone and complicated things again—that busybody!—it makes my task tonight even more imperative.”
“Well, you had better do something fast,” Carissa advised. “You know how quickly such juicy news will travel in the ton. Unfortunately, when you jilt him, this will be a repeat of another recent chapter in your life.”
“I know. Blast it, why did she have to tell them?” Daphne fumed. “I’m sure she’s been just bursting to reveal it for days!”
Carissa shook her head sympathetically. “She is making matters worse. By spreading word of Lord Rotherstone’s proposal, your stepmother’s making it all the harder for you to back away from this.”
“God, she’d do anything to get me out of the house.” Very well, slight change of plans, Daphne thought. Giving Max the cut direct on the dance floor would just be too scandalous—and too hurtful. She had never wanted to make a fool of him in front of everyone, not when he was already vulnerable to Society’s disapproval. “Come on,” she said to Carissa.
“What are you going to do?”
“I have to get to him first, before anyone else does. Will you come with me? For moral support?”
“You know I would never desert you.”
Daphne gave her a grateful look, then nodded toward the shining ballroom inside the manor house. “Let’s go. We’ve got to go up to the entrance straightaway. I’ll have to intercept Lord Rotherstone the moment he arrives, and hopefully head off disaster.”
With Carissa by her side, Daphne began walking quickly across the grounds up from the refreshments tent. The night was growing darker by the minute. She ignored the baffling eagerness in her heart at the prospect of seeing him any minute now. It really made no sense.
“I’m surprised to hear you say he’s even coming here tonight,” Carissa remarked as they strode through a loitering group of young gentlemen who parted like a sea before them, smiling and bowing and trying to draw them into conversation.
Daphne knew she had met them at some point, but couldn’t remember any of their names. Nor did she care. Had she ever met another male who had made as powerful an impression on her as Lord Rotherstone? She could not remember any. With a few friendly and noncommittal greetings, the girls pressed on, promptly continuing their private conversation.
“I mean, think of it!” Carissa pointed out. “For years, he barely bothers with the ton, but now he’s everywhere—apparently in hopes of seeing you! Oh, Daphne!” She gripped her arm and giggled. “How thrilling for you, honestly! Admit it. It must be a huge feather in your cap to be having such an impact on a rakehell of the first order.”
“No, no!” Daphne protested, blushing and trying not to smile. “I have no impact on him at all. Unfortunately, his skull is made of stone. Believe me, I’ve had no success even getting my refusal through his hard head.”
“Maybe he thinks you’re just playing hard to get?”
“Well, if there’s any chance he has misinterpreted me, I shall take extra pains tonight to disabuse him of the notion. He’s not going to like it,” she warned. “This could get unpleasant.”
Carissa let out a mischievous laugh. “It sounds to me like he is perfectly desperate for you! Come, you can tell me. Aren’t you the least bit tempted to accept him?”
Daphne stopped and scowled at her.
“I would be!” Carissa said with a grin. “Marquesses don’t grow on trees, you know. You must admit he is handsome.”
Daphne snorted as they sped up the pathway to the terrace. “You don’t understand. First of all, he’s as highhanded as some Oriental potentate. Secondly, this is all a game to him. He is like a-a terrier with his jaws clamped on what he believes is his bone. Well, I am not a bone. I am not a prize. I am a human being.”
“Amen.”
“Unfortunately, just like Albert, Lord Rotherstone refuses to understand that. Unlike Albert, however, he seems prepared to go to much greater lengths to get what he desires. He’s been quite ruthless. But all that ends tonight,” she concluded grimly. “Penelope has pushed this past the line of all toleration.”
“What are you going to do?”
“As soon as he gets here, I am going to tell him that if anyone dares be so bold as to ask him if Penelope’s claim is true, he should deny it, and say it’s all just a silly rumor.”
“What if he won’t go along with that?”
“For the sake of his own pride, he had better! Otherwise, I’m afraid the great Lord Rotherstone is going to end up just as embarrassed as dreadful Albert was.”
“You are a very disciplined woman,” Carissa murmured, eyeing her intently. “I wouldn’t be able to do it.”
“Egads, not a moment too soon!” Daphne whispered as soon as they had crossed the terrace, halting at the threshold of the ballroom. “Look!” Carissa turned with a wide-eyed stare in the direction Daphne had nodded. “They’re here.”
Carissa blanched. “God, they’re big.”
It seemed the Demon Marquess had brought reinforcements with him tonight. Beelzebub and Mephistopheles—good friends of his, no doubt, fellow princes from his kingdom in the netherworld.
The majordomo announced each man as the magnificent trio sauntered in. “His Grace, the Duke of Warrington. My Lord, the Marquess of Rotherstone. My Lord, the Earl of Falconridge.”
“Oh, look at them,” Carissa whispered in awe as the glittering and formidable men paused for a leisurely perusal of the ballroom before advancing into the room at a wary prowl, as if they knew full well they were venturing more or less into
enemy territory.
Every woman in the room appeared riveted by the three, and indeed, they were a breathtaking sight to behold.
The giant Duke of Warrington wore a showy plum coat with black trousers. His long hair was gathered back in a queue, his neck cloth secured by a black pearl cravat pin. He had a star-shaped scar above the corner of his eyebrow.
Lord Falconridge was a creature of sleek elegance, keen-eyed, quietly smooth-mannered in his demeanor, his sandy hair cropped short; he wore a dark olive tailcoat and ivory trousers.
Between them was Lord Rotherstone, his hair as black as his impeccably tailored coat, which he wore with charcoal-gray trousers, topped off with his usual attitude of bold aplomb.
The ton immediately began to buzz at the scandalous trio’s arrival, and the girls began advancing bravely into the ballroom. But the moment Max spotted Daphne, she gulped, for when his stare homed in on her, his pale eyes seemed to gleam with his intimate knowledge of her body.
He gave her a dangerous half smile that sent a feverish tremble through her.
“I fear we are outnumbered,” Carissa squeaked, clutching her arm.
“We must not falter.” Her heart was pounding, but both girls held their ground as the three Inferno Club hellions strode toward them in a brawny line.
Max’s appreciative gaze traveled downward over her white-clad body, with a fond, possessive smile at the pink rose adornments on her gown. As he joined her, he immediately took her gloved hand between his own. “Miss Starling, how perfectly delightful to see you again,” he purred. “You look, as always, stunning.”
She regarded him uneasily. He gave Carissa a gallant smile, then gestured toward his comrades.
“Allow me to present my friends, Rohan Kilburn, the Duke of Warrington, and Jordan Lennox, the Earl of Falconridge. Gentlemen,” he said to them with an air of pride, “this fair goddess is the Honorable Miss Daphne Starling, the one I have been telling you about. And her lovely companion would be…Miss Portland, I presume?”
Carissa blinked at the acknowledgment. “Why, yes, my lord. How ever did you know?”
