The baron inclined his head toward Rafe who stood near the far wall talking to Aunt Willie. “Your aunt seems to be particularly taken with Captain Cavendish.”
Daphne turned her head to look. It was true. Aunt Willie appeared to be happily chatting with the rogue. Leave it to the old matron to be sidling up to the wrong gentleman. Had Aunt Willie’s eyesight begun to fail her? Couldn’t she see her niece over here with Lord Fitzwell? At any rate, her hearing seemed to be fine and she’d certainly heard that Rafe was an army captain and Lord Fitzwell, a baron. Daphne had nearly gasped when Aunt Willie had pointed out the wrong man in the drawing room earlier. It was so like Aunt Willie to say the wrong thing, loudly. Daphne hadn’t had a chance to correct the older woman. She’d have to do so later.
“I can’t imagine why,” Daphne mumbled, turning her attention back to Lord Fitzwell.
“What’s that?” Lord Fitzwell asked, stooping a bit to better hear her.
“Oh, nothing.” Daphne turned up her face and gave Lord Fitzwell a bright smile. Enough talking about Rafe Cavendish. He’d come here today and insulted her, extorted her, threatened her, and finally got her to agree to his imperious commands. He’d also apparently talked Julian into going along with his scheme, but there was nothing at all in their agreement that said that she must pretend to like him. Or even had to be friendly with him. In fact, she would simply ignore him. Much more effective than arguing with him.
Daphne tipped back her head to glance up at the baron. He might have been a bit stiff and he had the tendency to stare above her head, but perhaps he was only concentrating on walking and she was not tall, after all. Regardless, she needed to begin a decent conversation.
“Are you enjoying yourself, my lord?”
“Why, yes. I am. I had no idea his grace would be here, nor the future Earl of Upton. This is quite a party.”
Daphne frowned. What if it had only been her, her brother and sister-in-law, and her mother? Were they enough to impress Lord Fitzwell? Oh, what did it matter? He was as close to perfect as she was going to get. He met all of her standards. And everyone in this town cared about rank and social status. Well, everyone, except … Rafe. Rafe didn’t seem to care a fig about social standing. In fact, he seemed to consider it a detriment.
No! No more thinking about Rafe.
Lord Fitzwell turned just then and Daphne realized he’d been tapped on the shoulder. She swiveled to see Rafe standing behind them, his irascible grin on his face.
“Yes?” Lord Fitzwell said, obviously confused.
“May I?” Rafe asked.
“May you what?” Daphne glared at him.
“May I cut in?” Rafe asked.
Daphne clutched at Lord Fitzwell’s arm. “We’re not dancing, Captain Cavendish. We’re merely taking a turn about the room. There is no precedent for cutting in on such a pastime.”
“I’m willing to be the first.” Rafe’s grin didn’t falter. He blinked at Lord Fitzwell, clearly awaiting the man’s answer.
“Well, I—I never—” Lord Fitzwell glanced at Daphne.
“There’s a first time for everything, my lord,” Rafe said. “I expect you’ll make a full recovery.” He didn’t wait for an official yes, just smoothly slid into place next to Daphne and pulled her hand onto his arm. They were off before Daphne had a chance to say a word, leaving Lord Fitzwell standing there with his mouth open.
They’d barely got to the opposite side of the room when Daphne turned her head sharply toward Rafe. “Are you proud of yourself?” she asked, resisting the urge to grind her short heel into his instep.
“A bit.” Rafe’s grin was unrepentantly wicked.
“Why would you do that?”
“What? Were you having such a good time with Lord Fitzbore?”
She clenched her teeth. “You know perfectly well his name is not Fitzbore.”
Rafe didn’t miss a step. “It might as well be. He didn’t even look at you the entire time you were speaking. He can’t have been good company.”
Daphne clamped her mouth shut. Rafe’s point hit home, but even more annoying, he was looking straight at her, despite his being head and shoulders taller than she.
“What do you know about it?” she shot back.
There went that arched brow. “Quite a lot, actually. I’ve been told I’m charming.”
“Really? Who has told you you’re charming?”
“Your aunt and your cousin for two and that’s just within the last few hours.”
“Aunt Willie and Delilah told you that?”
“Among other things.”
“Like what?”
“Like Delilah told me she’s considering faking a case of the plague to keep you from engaging yourself to Lord Fitzbore and your aunt informs me that I’m one of the best-looking young gentlemen she’s ever seen.”
Her mouth open, Daphne stopped walking and put a hand on her hip. “Aunt Willie said that?”
“Most assuredly. Would you like me to call her over and ask her to repeat her words to you?”
Daphne turned away from him and continued walking again. “Oh, shut up.”
“I must admit, I’m a bit worried for my virtue around her. She mentioned that she’d like to pinch me.”
“I find it exceedingly difficult to believe you’re worried for your virtue given the fact that you’re one of the biggest rakes in the land.”
Rafe looked a bit chagrined. “Who told you that, Grey?”
“Stop calling me Grey.” She glanced around. “And no one had to tell me, or are you forgetting the blond woman I found in your bed?”
Rafe scowled. “Now, listen—”
“No. I’m decidedly not listening to you any longer,” Daphne replied with her nose in the air.
“Very well. Tell me, what did Fitzbore say that was so stimulating?”
“I never said it was stimulating. I—” She coolly lifted her chin. “Didn’t I tell you to shut up?”
“But how can I be charming if I shut up?”
She covered her unwanted smile with a gloved hand. “There’s hardly a need to be charming with me.”
Rafe smirked. “That’s right. You’ve already rejected me.”
Daphne stopped abruptly. “I never—”
“Didn’t you?” He leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Aren’t you the one who is so hell-bent on an annulment?”
Daphne’s heart lurched in her chest. She jerked her head from side to side and glanced about to ensure they would not be overheard. “I refuse to have this conversation with you here.” She continued to walk again, mindful of the few sets of eyes that had turned their attention to the two of them.
“Come with me to the library then,” he challenged, still whispering and staring into her eyes.
Daphne concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. Her heart rose and fell in her chest. He wanted to meet her in the library? She was frightened, she realized. Anxious. But why?
“Fine,” she answered through clenched teeth.
Rafe didn’t wait for another word. He tugged her wrist and pulled her along behind him through the drawing room doors and into the corridor. Once they were alone, she ripped her hand from his grasp and spun away from him. “I cannot believe you did that. I thought you meant that we should meet there later. The entire room must have seen us leave together.”
“I’m certain they did. Your aunt is probably smiling right now. But the damage is already done so you might as well come with me.” He turned on his heel and strode off down the corridor toward the library, leaving Daphne no choice but to pick up her yellow taffeta skirts and follow him.
By the time Rafe pushed open the door to the library and strode inside, she was a bit winded keeping up with him. Her hands hadn’t yet stopped shaking, either. What else could he possibly have to say to her? He’d already made clear his demands and the fact that he had no intention of leaving the party.
He strode into the middle of the room and then turned and crossed his
arms over his chest, glaring down the length of his nose at her.
“Well?” she said, trying to calm the rapid beating of her heart.
“Well?” he echoed.
She clasped the back of the settee with both hands. “What did you want to say to me?”
“You said you refused to continue our conversation in the ballroom. I thought perhaps we should go somewhere more private.”
“We don’t have to have any conversation.”
“I say we do.”
“What else is left to say?” She put a hand up to her forehead to swipe away a curl. Her reticule dangled crazily from her wrist.
“Quite a lot, actually.”
She put her hand to her hip. “Really, that’s amusing. I thought I said it all when I found that blond doxy in your bed.”
“Damn it, Daphne. I told you a dozen times, she wasn’t—”
“She wasn’t what? Blond? A doxy? In your bed? Which one of those things isn’t true?”
Rafe gritted his teeth. “Individually, they are all true, but—”
“I don’t want to hear any more of your excuses.”
“Fine. At least I’m not attempting to engage myself to a bore.”
Daphne gasped. “A bore! How dare you?”
“You heard me. The man is a bore. A social-climbing bore.”
“He’s not a bore.”
Rafe pursed his lips. “But he is a social climber?”
Daphne tossed a hand in the air. “Some people in our Society find social status important.”
“And some of us find it boring.”
Daphne took a deep breath. “There’s no need to argue. You have your blond. I have my baron.”
“She’s not my blond. I—”
Daphne raised her palm. “No. No. Please spare me. You were quite clear on the subject. We were married due to a business arrangement only. And our annulment will be yet another business arrangement. There’s nothing more to say.”
Rafe’s eyes were flashing ice-blue fire when he stepped closer to her. “Perhaps, but what if there is more?”
She narrowed her eyes on him. “What do you mean? I told you I’d go with you on Sunday night.”
“What if I tell you I want one more thing from you as part of the agreement?”
Daphne turned away and stared hard, yet unseeing, at the vast wall of books in front of her. Why was he making this so difficult for her? She knew she should have insisted he leave for the remainder of the party. She should have pleaded her case to Julian. She should have forced Rafe to leave. “What else? What else is there, Rafe? What else do you want?”
There was a pause. A pause in which she could hear and feel the beating of her own heart. A trickle of sweat ran down between her breasts.
Rafe’s voice was low and clear. “A kiss.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Rafe’s eyes never left hers. He took a deep breath. He wasn’t entirely certain why he’d said it, wasn’t at all certain she wouldn’t slap him for suggesting it, and was reasonably certain she was about to say no and stalk from the room.
There was something about her casual dismissal. The way she’d been talking with that fool Fitzwell, as if she gave a damn about him. Did a title matter so much to her? He’d tried to explain the blond in the bed more times than he wanted to remember. Daphne had refused to believe any of it, but in the end, it hadn’t been the point. Daphne wasn’t for him. She wasn’t for him a year ago and she wasn’t for him now. She was so far above him he couldn’t even see her. But even had they been of the same social class, she was young, she was innocent, she was interested in settling down to a nice income and children and a Mayfair town house. That would never be for Rafe. Rafe couldn’t come home each night from a useless gentleman’s club. He couldn’t even stay in London longer than a week or two, let alone England. Daphne couldn’t live a life where she was constantly in upheaval, following him around from mission to mission. He might be ordered to stay home for the time being due to his injuries, which was driving him slowly mad, but he’d healed and would soon be completely reinstated and then be gone. That was who he was. The mission starting Sunday night would be his first time back on duty since he’d been hurt. Daphne Swift, sweet, beautiful, innocent Daphne Swift, did not belong there with him. After she completed her part of the mission, she belonged safely back in this town house with her mother and her aunt and her fichu and her funny little cousin. Not on a ship to France to track down murderers. That was where Rafe was going.
So why had he been so jealous—yes, jealous, damn it—when he’d seen her walking in the drawing room with Fitzbore? And why had Rafe asked her for a kiss? Blast it. He didn’t know why.
“A kiss?” she whispered a bit brokenly.
“Yes.” His heart thumped in his chest.
“Why would you want a kiss from me?”
“I want to have it to remember you by.”
Daphne turned slowly, and while he expected he might see tears shimmering in her eyes or anger glowing there, instead he saw a look he could only describe as … determined.
“And if I kiss you, what will you give me in return? Will you leave?”
“Yes.”
Her eyebrow arched at that bit of news. “Fine.” She stalked over to him, arms still crossed over her chest. “Let’s get this over with.” She stopped a foot in front of him, puckered her lips, and squeezed shut her eyes.
Rafe chuckled at her. He moved backward toward the settee and took a seat, spreading his legs wide and opening his arms across the back of the thing.
Daphne opened her bright gray eyes and glared at him. “What are you doing?” Her mouth was open, her eyes rounded.
“I’m not about to make this easy for you.”
She scowled at him, her arms still tightly crossed over her chest. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means that you have to kiss me. A real kiss. A memorable one.”
The look she shot him could have melted armor.
* * *
Daphne swallowed and walked in a tight line, pacing first away toward the door and then back to where she’d previously stood. She removed her gloves and poked them into her reticule. Then she tugged at her third finger, flicking the nail back and forth, then pausing to nibble at it.
Rafe was playing a game and she didn’t understand the rules. She closed her eyes at the memory of the last time she’d tried to kiss him. Tried and failed. Didn’t he remember that? Or had it just been another casual interlude with a female that was relegated to the back of his memory? Oh, God. The worst part was that it was better if he didn’t remember it. Better for her at least. She’d be spared the humiliation of him reminding her that he’d rejected her.
And if he tried to lie to her about that confounded blond harlot one more time, Daphne wouldn’t be responsible for her actions!
She supposed it didn’t really matter whether she kissed him or not. As long as no one found out and as long as she got what she wanted. At present what she wanted was for Rafe to leave this party and not come back until she was happily and officially engaged.
She opened her eyes again and met his gaze. He looked almost boyish in the softness of the candlelight. He was as handsome as she’d ever seen him and she couldn’t lie to herself and say that it wasn’t tempting to …
Kiss him. Kiss him. Kiss him? She took a deep breath. She wanted to go. She wanted to stay. She wanted to … kiss him.
She let the air settle silently in her tight lungs, but her mind had sprinted two steps ahead. She was going to kiss him.
CHAPTER TWELVE
A memorable kiss. Daphne straightened her shoulders. Very well. She could do this. The man was half lounging against the settee, his arm tossed casually across the back, his knees spread apart, his booted feet planted on the rug in front of him. He was watching her with a mixture of amusement and wariness. He looked as if he half expected her to bolt at any moment. What could he be about by asking her to kiss him?
It
finally struck her. He didn’t want her to kiss him. He merely wanted to call her bluff. But he was going to be quite surprised. She wasn’t about to back down from this challenge, however harrowing it may be.
And there was another part of her, a part that had a thrill shooting through it right now. She’d imagined kissing this man a hundred different ways over the last year. Had lain in her bed fevered by the thought. And now, now, she was getting the chance. It didn’t change the fact that he didn’t care a fig for her and they were going to get an annulment. But it severely tempted her to have at least one of her old dreams come true.
“Scared?” he taunted.
“Never.” She lifted her chin.
“I thought you were too perfect and pure to do anything half as scandalous as kissing one man during your would-be engagement party to another.”
“Is that why you’re testing me?”
He shrugged a shoulder. “Perhaps. Partly.”
She clamped her hand into a fist, itching to slap his handsome face with it. “Would someone so pristine and pure have paraded around as a cabin boy for a fortnight?”
“Ah, but you yourself told me that you’ve changed. You’re no longer that adventurous young lady. Or do I have it wrong?”
A memorable kiss?
She’d make it memorable all right.
Closing her eyes until they were half hooded, she invoked the most sensual pose she could muster and sauntered toward him with swinging hips. She stared him straight in the eye, completely unwilling to let him see a moment’s hesitation. The man had made a grievous mistake asking her if she was scared. She was a Swift. Swifts didn’t back down from challenges. Swifts stood their ground.
The look in Rafe’s blue eyes turned from amusement to surprise in a matter of seconds as she advanced on him. She wasn’t about to demurely lean down and peck him on the lips. No. She was going to make this memorable. The fact that she’d neither been kissed nor kissed anyone before was hardly the point. She’d heard enough in snippets of conversations from the married ladies through the years to have a general, if vague, idea of how one should go about it. Once she’d accidentally interrupted one of the footmen kissing one of the housemaids in the kitchens. She hadn’t told a soul, but it had certainly been an informative experience for her. They’d had their mouths open! So Daphne wasn’t completely uneducated. The rest she would just make up as she went. It couldn’t possibly be that difficult.
The Irresistible Rogue Page 6
