by Lily Dalton
“Miss Bevington,” Cormack called after her.
“What?” she answered sharply, glaring in his direction.
“Go on ahead without us. We’ll follow just behind, and rejoin you before you can count one, two—”
She clasped her hands onto her ears, but she still heard him say, “—three!”
With the sound of his laughter in her ears, Daphne spun on her heel and flounced to the stairs.
*
As Sir Tarte blah-blah-blahed in his ear, Cormack watched her go. The chit had the most mesmerizing swing to her skirts, one that awakened every male hunger inside him. As a combustive heat built in his chest, sparking and churning more ferociously the farther she moved away from him, he felt more certain than ever that Daphne Bevington would be the death of him—or at least his ruination. Now that she was clearly very angry with him, he wanted nothing more than to remind her of the attraction between them.
Out of politeness, he allowed Tarte to climb the stairs first, but the man’s absurd shoes slowed him down so that he wobbled side to side, and had to reach for either the railing or the wall to steady himself.
Ahead of them, Daphne ascended the spiral staircase. Light filtered through narrow window openings just enough to provide him with glimpses of her golden hair and her pale shoulders. Her skirts were fashioned of some gauzy, delicate cloth, and sometimes, the perfect slant of sunshine revealed the outline of her legs and the mesmerizing shape of her buttocks.
Tarte let out an exclamation, half falling up the stairs.
“Sorry there, Sir Tarte, I didn’t mean to run you down.”
“It’s not your fault, I stopped suddenly.” Tarte looked up, his face red, and sweat shining on his brow. “It seems I’ve turned my ankle.”
“What a shame.” Cormack caught the umbrella in his hand. “Try to make your way back to the carriage. I’ll ensure Miss Bevington comes to no harm.”
He hastened his pace, at one turn catching a glimpse of Daphne’s pale face as she peered over her shoulder, and the next, only a tantalizing flash of her skirt. At last, he broke free onto the observation platform, which lay wide and square around the circular tower. The scene that awaited him at the top of the stairs momentarily stunned him. He had seen beautiful mountain scenery in Bengal, but he had never, in his life, stood suspended so high in the sky as now. The view of the city from this vantage point took his breath away—almost as much as Daphne Bevington did, each time he looked into her blue eyes.
“It’s something else, isn’t it?” said a voice beside him. “This view.”
Cormack turned his head to find Mr. Kincraig standing beside him. Every muscle, every molecule went on guard.
“Indeed it is,” he answered.
“Do you know I used to be scared of heights when I was young? I didn’t even like to climb trees.”
“What a shame.” He scrutinized the man’s features, searching for any similarities to Michael’s. He perceived none, but the boy was so young, and his appearance still that of a babe’s.
“Life has a way of changing people, though, doesn’t it?” Mr. Kincraig leaned against the railing, looking out over the city like a pirate on the bow of his ship. “Can’t say I’m afraid of anything anymore.”
“So you are Miss Bevington’s cousin?”
He shrugged. “So some say.”
“What an odd thing to say.”
“I’m certainly not the only one saying it.” He chuckled, and rubbed a hand to his forehead, looking put out. “God, I wish I had a smoke. These sorts of obligatory outings drive me absolutely mad. Aren’t you Daphne’s chaperone? Lord knows it’s not me. Hadn’t you best go and find her?”
For a moment, he hovered, caught between duty and desire to find her.
“You are right, of course.”
Cormack paused only a moment more to take in the sight of the buildings, spires, and roadways, and the carriages, wagons, and pedestrians that scuttled between them like beetles. The Thames, which abutted the city to the south, glimmered a dull greenish-gray.
He backed away from the edge and moved alongside the railing, searching, but she was nowhere to be seen. Clarissa and her three suitors took turns peering through a looking glass out over the city. Fox stood several feet away, looking off into another direction.
“Look,” Clarissa said, “I can see all the way to the river. How impressive. Why have I never come here before?”
The gentlemen vied for her attention, each striving to point out the most interesting landmark.
But Daphne. Where was she? His heart still beat heavily from the climb, and it sent an exhilarating rush coursing through his blood. He felt like a stalking animal, consumed by mindless craving, an all-consuming need. He scanned the platform. The wind gusted, not severely but enough to lift his hat, which he removed as he strode along the parapet. He rounded the bend, to find her standing back to the rail, the city of London spread out behind her—a sensual fantasy, suspended in the clouds.
“You think you’re a man because you’re the only one to make it to the top?” she asked, her eyes sparking fire. “Well, you are wrong.”
He shook his head slowly. “You know I’m right. They are wrong for you.”
“Who are you to decide? Why did you come this afternoon? You are my blackmailer, not my friend. You’ve ruined everything!”
“Havering invited me—”
“You should have declined.”
“I wanted to talk to you.”
“Whatever you have to say, I don’t want to hear.”
“Listen—” He stepped closer.
She backed away. “Leave me alone.”
“Don’t you understand, I can’t?” Only once he’d said the words did he realize the truth of them.
“You are betrothed,” she accused, her cheeks flushed and eyes bright. “You are betrothed to another woman and you kissed me. Now stop interfering in my life, when you have absolutely no right to do so.”
He turned from her, rubbing a hand across his face, in an effort to force away the frustration, the need for her. He should walk away. Join the other group, or go to the carriage and wait. But once again he faced her. God, what was he doing? He couldn’t walk away.
“Could you not plainly see that all of your family and friends are dismayed? Truly, Daphne, those three fops are your choices?” he remarked bitterly. He gripped the umbrella in his hands.
“They are all three fine gentlemen, which is more than I can say for you. Bamble is sweet natured and—”
“A complete ninny,” he interrupted, moving to stand close beside her, his palm skimming flat over the top of the railing to rest adjacent to hers. “He would never pay you a moment’s notice, because he’s too besotted by his books. And his perceived infirmities.”
She snatched her hand away, and stepped back.
“Captain Sheridan—”
“—will be gone in two months’ time,” he interrupted, pivoting sharply, and closing the distance between them. “Returned to the far side of the earth, for God knows how long. Because he is more in love with the ocean and the camaraderie of the service than he could ever be with you.”
Without realizing it, she’d backed herself into a corner, and could go no farther. She bumped against the rail, and her eyes widened in alarm—and fury.
“Perhaps so, but Sir Tarte is a delightful fellow—” she blustered, her cheeks filled with high color.
Cormack lowered his face so they were nose to nose. “Sir Tarte is wearing rouge.”
“I—I hadn’t noticed.” She blinked rapidly, her voice distinctly cool.
“The rouge? Or that he is clearly more interested in me than you?”
Her eyes flew open in outrage. “How dare you imply—”
“All I’ve implied is that he has exquisite taste,” he teased, before growing instantly serious. “Daphne, why would you choose any one of those three earwigs when you could have any eligible man you wanted at a snap of your fingers? It’s as if
you don’t want a man who will satisfy you—”
“If you must know, I don’t intend to marry. Ever. It was decided long ago.”
Yes, he recalled Havering saying the same. He frowned, catching her chin in his hand, and gently urging her to look into his eyes. “Decided by whom?”
She turned her face, and sidestepped, escaping him.
“By me.” She whirled and backed away, her gloved hand on the railing. “Because it’s my choice. Everyone in my family knows, but Mother, being a mother, hopes I will change my mind, and so she had this idea for an afternoon out with several suitors, where there wouldn’t be any pressure to favor any one person over the other. I confess, I humored her. I invited three gentlemen who are long-time friends, because I thought we’d all have a lovely afternoon together, and that would be all. But of course you came.”
With a glance over his shoulder to confirm no one observed them, he again closed the distance between them.
“Stop doing this,” she said. “It is wrong for you to pursue me when—”
“I’m not pursuing you.”
“Then what are you doing?” She stared up at him, her eyes unwavering.
“I hate things the way they are between us,” he said through gritted teeth.
“You made them that way,” she accused.
He looked to the sky, and gave a low, rueful laugh.
“If only you did not provoke and madden me so.” He closed his eyes, and breathed. “I am not betrothed,” he growled, moving so close he smelled her fragrance, so close he could kiss her if he so chose. “I would not have kissed you if—”
“You are lying to me, and I don’t believe you.”
“Daphne.”
Her gaze darted over his shoulder because obviously she had no wish to be observed, or overheard, either. The wind caught her curls and plastered the gauzy fabric of her dress against her body, revealing every delectable curve and valley to his hungry eyes, and eliciting a needful response. For a moment, a forbidden fantasy invaded his thoughts, of pressing her to the wall behind them, and kissing her until she melted, of tugging her dress from her shoulders and kissing her bared breasts as the city bustled below, unseeing and unaware of the passion raging between them, high above.
He moved closer, scandalously so, so that his chest brushed against her breasts. Every time he allowed himself to get this close, his thoughts went heady and he could only react with touch. This time was no different. His hand covered hers on the rail, wrapping round it tight.
Her eyes went smoky. He bent to kiss her.
Her eyes flew open wide, and she swung sideways, her bodice tightening against her bosoms to form a tantalizing cradle. “Don’t.”
Just then, Clarissa and her troupe rounded the corner, with her chattering at the center.
Daphne stormed away, to stare out over the city. She looked so angry and distant and unobtainable. He could think of nothing else but to change that.
“Where are the others?” Havering inquired.
“Bamble has asthma, and a fear of heights,” responded Daphne, over her shoulder. “Captain Sheridan was kind enough to stay below to entertain him with tales of the high seas.”
“What about Sir Tarte?” asked Clarissa.
Cormack provided that answer. “He has turned his ankle.”
That brought chuckles from at least two of the gentleman, and a sharp glance from Clarissa. She reached for the arm of the third. “You said we could see Buckingham from this perspective?”
The young man led her away, and the others followed.
In that moment, rain pattered down all around. Daphne whirled round, looking up to the sky as if it betrayed her. Cormack opened the umbrella and held it between them, extending the offering of shelter to her, yet she only stared at him, refusing to budge.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” He strode forward, covering her. Raindrops glistened on her skin. “Come out of the rain.”
“I can’t be close to you.” She stepped out from beneath.
He grasped her wrist and—
“Unhand me.” She jerked in an attempt to free herself.
Havering turned back toward them. Cormack instantly released her, and they mutually pretended to admire the view.
“If it gets much worse, we’ll have to go back down,” Havering called.
“It’s only a sprinkle,” Cormack said. “Let’s give it a few moments.”
Fox nodded, and rejoined the others, who had all opened umbrellas and now looked like a cluster of mushrooms.
“Listen to me,” he uttered quietly.
“There is nothing you can say—” Daphne broke free, shunning the shelter of the umbrella as if to follow the others.
He ought to let her go. He ought to set her free. But he had never seen any woman more beautiful than Daphne in this moment, walking away. His heart exploded and the resulting reverberations soundly overrode all common sense. He caught her by the arm and pulled her back, lowering the umbrella to shield them from view.
“Lord Raikes!” she cried, but a gust of wind carried her voice toward the city.
“Don’t call me that.” He seized her against his chest. She closed her eyes, as if in pain. He pressed his mouth fervently to hers. “Not you, Daphne. I am Cormack. You know me.”
The sound of Clarissa’s voice, cooing at the pigeons, came from not ten feet away.
“No.” She turned her face. “I don’t. I thought I did but then you changed, and you threatened to blackmail me.”
“Just words. Do you believe I could ever hurt you?” he demanded.
“Then why did you say them?”
“Because the moment I saw you in the park in that carriage, everything in the world turned upside down. That first night, after the Blue Swan, I felt like a hero in your eyes. But when I realized who you really were, I became just another admirer, eager for your glance.”
“Stop, Cormack.”
But he caught her chin, and kissed her.
“She is twelve,” he murmured raggedly against her lips.
Daphne blinked dazedly. “Twelve…?”
A glance behind the umbrella proved they were alone again, their company having moved round the corner to the next viewpoint.
“Ernestine Snaith is twelve years old. While it is true I have entered into an understanding with her father that we will marry when she is nineteen, in order for my family to regain lands that have been in our possession since shortly after the Conquest, we are not formally betrothed, and will not be for some seven years.”
He bent to kiss her again. “I wouldn’t have kissed you otherwise.”
“Cormack,” she whispered, softening against him.
He deepened the kiss, his tongue darting urgently between her lips and over her tongue and teeth, desperate to claim her more completely. He inhaled and savored her lemon-and-mint-sweet breath. She moaned, tilting her head up and spreading her hands at the front of his coat.
The fantasy returned, and in his mind he was already lifting her skirts and raising her bare bottom against the stones—
Daphne twisted away, installing several feet between them, and raised her fingertips to her lips. Eyes glazed, she stared at him in silence, as drops glistened on her cheeks and hair and like diamonds against her skin.
“What?” he growled in frustration, and once again came to stand beside her, shielding her from the rain, his blood simmering with frustration. “It’s true, I can never marry you.”
“Why would you even feel the need to say that?” Her eyes flared wide. “I’ve already said I’ve no intentions of marrying you or anyone else.”
“Then what?”
“I’m afraid.”
“Why?”
“Because when the time came, I might not be able to let go.”
At that moment, Clarissa again came round the corner again between two of her suitors, her arms tucked into theirs. The third followed behind, his face a scowl, holding two open umbrellas, one which he held over Clarissa a
nd his competitors. Havering, for his part, chuckled behind them.
“It’s getting far too damp!” she called. “We’re returning to the carriages!”
“Where is Kincraig?” Cormack asked, trying not to sound overly interested.
“Downstairs already,” Fox answered.
“Go on,” Daphne replied. “We will be right down, after one last look.”
When alone again, neither of them moved.
He turned toward her, bracketing her against him, his arm at her waist. “A man disgraced my sister, Laura, and now she is dead. It’s why I came to London. That is the man for whom I search. I would never disgrace you the way he did her. I would never hurt you.”
“I know that. Somehow I always have.”
“Then let me kiss you again.” He bent toward her face. “Let me touch you. Let me take you somewhere that we can be alone—”
She pressed her fingertips against his mouth. “I can’t.”
He exhaled, holding her tighter.
She pressed against his arm. “Let me go, Cormack.”
“I don’t know if I can.”
“Then you must try harder.”
With that admonition, she twisted free of him and ran through the rain to disappear down the stairwell.
Chapter Eleven
There is nothing quite like a Vauxhall Gala night.” Fox grinned at him from the opposite bench.
Cormack peered out the window. “Just look at all those lights.”
He could not help but think of Laura in that moment, and how much she would have enjoyed such a magical sight. A thousand variegated lanterns shone in the darkness, revealing in golden cast throngs of guests moving through the trees. Daphne would be here, and he had no doubt whatsoever that they would cross paths. He would show her they could still be friends. That he could stand aside while she found happiness, and be the first to wish her well.
Now, with the benefit of being separated from her for several hours, he had talked sense into himself. Where, after all, had he thought all that marvelous kissing would lead?
Thankfully, Daphne had thrust the necessary boundaries between them. Which was one reason he’d accepted Fox’s invitation to the Vauxhall Gala tonight. With Havering’s help, he’d simply recalled the Duke of Durden’s impeccable staff to man the house and stable, as he ought to have arranged from the start. To anyone else he looked like the perfect gentleman. By God, it was time he started acting that way.
