by Rose Gordon
“Soak it up, Mr. Lentz, we have what—” Daphne craned her neck to see how far away from the dining room entrance they were— “about ten more feet.”
“Oh, I will,” he said, giving her hand a gentle squeeze that sent a tingling sensation from the spot his hand covered all the way up her arm.
Daphne bit her lip. Did she want there to be arranged seats that would separate her from Mr. Lentz and his unnerving touches or if luck would be in her favor— She squelched that thought immediately. Luck in her favor? Gracious she hardly knew the man and she certainly shouldn’t be enjoying his simple, and quite frankly, forward touches. Her second eldest sister, Charlotte, had once mentioned that rules are more relaxed at house parties, but surely that didn’t mean gentlemen took it upon themselves to be so forward with ladies they’d just met. Just as the time when she was young and her younger sister Olive accidentally spilled her lemon ice on Daphne’s skirts, a chill ran through Daphne from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. Was this man—a vicar no less—so depraved or did she give off an aura that shouted wanton?
“Are you all right?” Mr. Lentz’s sudden question startled her.
“I—I...” She looked all around the room as if she’d find the perfect response written on the wall. “I’m fine,” she said at last.
He chuckled. “That was not very convincing, Miss Cavanaugh.” Mr. Lentz steered Daphne toward the end of the table and pulled a chair out for her. “But if you feel the need to claim you’re feeling well so you spend more time with me, I’ll gladly accept that as a compliment of the highest regard.”
“I’m sure you would.” She took her seat, noting the suddenly unsure expression on Mr. Lentz’s face. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly.
He took his seat next to her then looked at her; his brows knitting further. “First you compliment me, then you're sarcastic to me about my acknowledging your compliment and now you want to apologize.” He shook his head ruefully. “As long as I live, I might never understand your sex.”
“They aren't made to be understood, Mr. Lentz,” Danby said as he passed behind them. “They're made to love.”
Daphne wasn't sure what to say to that and was spared when her great grandfather, who she'd only met for the first time a few hours earlier, placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, then leaned close and whispered. “There, I've set him straight, now it's up to you to set the hook.”
Had Daphne been the type to swoon, she might have done so on the spot. Set the hook. Even she knew enough about the atrocious activity of fishing to know what he'd meant. She just hoped Mr. Lentz hadn't heard her great grandfather's words and thought she was out to snare him. Which, she was not!
Tamping down her embarrassment, she chanced a glance at Mr. Lentz from under her eyelashes and froze. He was staring at her!
“Such a fetching color on you,” he murmured. The left corner of his mouth tipped up. “Your cheeks are a perfect compliment to your red gown.”
“I agree,” Danby said. Why hadn't he gone off to his seat yet? “I've always thought a lady's blush was the most attractive thing a man could behold.”
The gentleman seated on the other side of Daphne guffawed. “I can think of something more comely than a blush.”
A few chuckles rang out among the gentlemen seated nearby at the table, but were silenced when Danby thumped his cane. “That'll be enough of that talk, Lord Grange. Or you can sleep with the dogs where you belong.” He turned back to Daphne and said quietly, “Not all men are depraved. Scoot your chair about three inches to your left when the footmen bring the soup and you're guaranteed to have a suitable husband before the New Year.”
A heated flush washed over Daphne from head to toe. A husband before the New Year! Was even Danby trying to foist her off? She murmured something she hoped was her understanding of his suggestion, though she didn't plan to act on it, and turned her attention to her place setting that had just had a bowl of turtle soup set right before her.
“Does that help?” Mr. Lentz asked quietly after a few minutes had passed. His tone was so soft and smooth, not full of the arrogance or condescension she'd expected after her great grandfather's words.
Daphne met his eyes; they were full of concern. “I beg your pardon?”
“Does staring so intently at something you don't want to eat help you eat it?”
A small, uncontrollable giggle pushed past her lips. “Unfortunately, no.” She dunked her spoon in the bowl and fished out a turtle head. “Do you suppose Myrtle the Turtle's brain is still in here?”
Mr. Lentz's blue eyes lit and he choked on his laughter. “I never thought about that. I was always put off by the eyeballs staring up at me from my bowl.”
She cringed. “I try not to look.”
“I'm sure tonight it helps that you have such a handsome gentleman you can look at instead.”
Daphne made a show of turning to her right and giving a nice long perusal of Lord Grange. She turned back toward Mr. Lentz and flashed him her best smile. “I daresay, you are correct, Mr. Lentz. Lord Grange is quite dashing with his purple nose and the small bush of curly grey hair poking out of his ear.”
“Good.” Mr. Lentz gave her what could only be termed as a nod of approval. He lifted an unidentifiable piece of turtle from his bowl. “Now, if only the meal was as charming as the company you're surrounded by.”
“I'd say they're equivalent,” she quipped, garnering the most handsome smile she'd ever seen.
***
Aaron released a deep breath and studied his soup one final moment before the footmen would recollect his bowl. What was it about this young lady that intrigued him so?
All too soon dinner was over and the drawing room buzzed with guests chatting and mingling. As much as Aaron's body fought against him, he managed to detach himself from Daphne's skirts and allow her to have some time in the company of her cousins, Hope and Grace.
Though his body was a room apart from her, his eyes were a different matter. No matter where he looked, she somehow caught his attention. Her long, red evening gown. Her perfectly coiffed hair that he'd have no reservations about taking down and running his fingers through, were they alone—and married—of course. Her porcelain face. Her plush red lips... There was always something about her that managed to catch his attention and hold it longer than was polite.
As the clock struck ten and some of the mamas began whisking their unmarried daughters off to their rooms, Aaron made his way over to the brightest diamond in the room: Miss Daphne Cavanaugh.
“I hope you enjoyed your evening,” he said.
“I did. And you?”
“Very much.” Aaron ran his hand through his hair and racked his brain for something witty to say. Nothing came to mind.
Daphne's delicate hand landed on his forearm. “Goodnight, Mr. Lentz.”
Instinctively, Aaron covered her hand with his then leaned near her ear, her soft blonde hair brushing against his lips. “Goodnight, Miss Cavanaugh. I'll see you on the morrow.”
Chapter Three
December 20, 1816
After a full (sleepless) night to think about it, Aaron still couldn't say why, but there was something about this slip of a young lady that called to him like a beacon to a lost ship in the dead of night.
Ever since Miss Cavanaugh descended her carriage, he was drawn to her. He ran his hands through his hair, then scrubbed his fingers over his face. No. Love was a dangerous game. A game he'd once gambled at and had lost everything. He'd vowed never to do that again and yet, here he was following this young lady around as if she contained the very air he needed to breathe. This needed to stop. Now.
Well, not now, but today.
Yes, today, he committed to himself as he made his way down the hall to the library. Before breakfast he'd received a missive, presumably from the duke, instructing Aaron to meet him in the library at ten o'clock. The old codger had added a subscript to the bottom of the missive that ten o'clock meant ten o'clock, not two ticks p
ast ten and not two ticks before ten. Aaron shook his head. Gads, the man was precise. All the more reason to leave today. An image of the lovely Daphne formed in his mind, complete with porcelain cheeks with a small flag of red in the center of each. He smiled—then grimaced. He did not need to be thinking of her. He straightened his blue coat and steeled his resolve. Likely the duke wanted to talk to him about his plans for who he'd be arranging to marry whom. Aaron would agree to perform the ceremony. That was fine. Aaron would do that. He'd show up when he was needed to perform the ceremonies and the rest of the time he'd be at home where his heart would be safe.
Aaron checked his pocket watch and hastened his step. He'd hate to be late for his meeting with Danby. Just outside the open door, he came to an abrupt halt.
Inside the library was a card table with three people seated around it: Lord and Lady Worthe and the beautiful Miss Daphne. Aaron couldn't be certain, but the way she looked sitting in front of the window with the sun illuminating her made her the most majestic being he'd ever seen. He drew in a deep, calming breath, then said, “Am I late?”
***
A whirlwind of emotions swirled within Daphne at the sound of his voice. She'd dreamt of him the whole night and if it were possible in the light of day he was even more handsome than he'd been in her dreams.
“No. You're right on time, Mr. Lentz.” Jane waved him over. “Come on in.”
Mr. Lentz strolled into the room and made his way to the card table they'd set up. “Don't you need a fourth player for whist?”
“Last time I played we did,” Gareth said, clapping Mr. Lentz on the shoulder. “Which means you're right on time.”
“But the duke wanted to play a game of whist with us,” Daphne blurted. It was true. The duke had sent Gareth a note this morning asking for them to meet him in the library for a game of whist.
“I doubt he'll show,” Mr. Lentz drawled.
“And if he does, I'll give him my seat,” Gareth said easily, passing all the cards to Daphne.
Jane and Daphne exchanged a look and Mr. Lentz lowered himself into the empty chair across from Daphne.
“I'd be delighted to join your game.” Mr. Lentz scooted his chair to the table. “I'd hate to leave a damsel in distress.”
“I'm not in distress,” Daphne said quickly, her voice terribly uneven even to her own ears.
Mr. Lentz flickered a glance down to where Daphne was still trying to get all the haphazard cards organized in her small hands so she could shuffle them. She'd never been good at shuffling cards, but that didn't make her a damsel in distress, did it? She picked up the cards and half of them fell from the middle. Apparently, it did.
Forcing a smile that wobbled more than a carriage on a deeply rutted road, Daphne extended the cards to Mr. Lentz.
Slowly, almost thoughtfully, Mr. Lentz took the cards from her hands and shuffled them, then handed them back to her for her to deal.
Just as Daphne had dealt everyone their final card, a faint scratch from the door drew their attention. Dawson, the butler, emerged, holding a silver slaver. He wordlessly walked across the room. “Lord Worthe.”
Gareth retrieved the parchment in the middle of the slaver and read it to himself. “Thank you, Dawson,” he said, tucking the missive into his breast pocket. “Mr. Lentz, can I trust you?” His tone and expression gave nothing away.
Daphne's eyes darted back and forth from Gareth to Mr. Lentz. What was going on?
Mr. Lentz nodded. “I am a vicar after all.”
Gareth half-scoffed, half-laughed. “You've been a male longer than you've been a vicar.”
“Indeed,” Mr. Lentz agreed.
Gareth cleared his throat. “As it would happen, Jane and I need to take our leave. Mr. Lentz, Daphne.”
“Oh,” Daphne started, “then I—”
“Need to show Mr. Lentz one of your card tricks,” Gareth cut in.
“But Jane's my chaperone,” Daphne pointed out, blushing.
Jane's curious and perhaps slightly hesitant eyes darted back and forth between Daphne and Mr. Lentz. “I think as long as the door stays open…”
“Then perhaps we should shut it on our way out,” Gareth muttered quietly.
“Gareth,” Jane chastised. “If the two of you would like to stay and play cards, I'm sure it'll be all right. We're visiting family in the country and all.” She bit her lip. “Perhaps, I'll send Thea in.”
Then with that, Gareth gripped the back of Jane's chair and they were gone.
“He's shameless,” Daphne murmured as soon as Gareth and Jane were out of earshot. She highly doubted that Thea would be making an appearance, either. But there was no reason to voice that assumption.
“Which do you find more shameless, the duke or the earl?” Mr. Lentz wondered, mindlessly shuffling the cards.
“It's hard to say. They're both deplorable.” She held her hand out for the deck.
He handed the cards to her, his ungloved fingers lightly brushing across the bare skin of her wrist just at the top of her glove, but beneath her lacy cuff. That feather light touch burned her skin as if it had been a branding iron that had touched her. Swallowing, she held the deck in one hand and reached for all of the other cards on the table. She stacked them on top of the deck. They'd all be shuffled and dealt and kept face down so they were just as good as still all shuffled.
“Have you ever heard of the four valiant kings?” she asked as she quickly looked through the deck of cards and pulled out the four kings and the black jack of spades. She'd always thought he looked devious.
“I presume you're not talking about Henry the Eighth, James the First, Louis the Fourteenth, and our current monarch, King George the Fourth?”
“We can call them that, if you'd like.” Holding the slim stack of cards she'd separated out from the deck, she set the remaining deck of cards face down on the table and carefully straightened it. Satisfied, she fanned out the cards she'd kept in her hands, revealing one jack and four kings. She turned the cards around so Mr. Lentz could see them, too. “Long, long ago, kings and knights were considered the bravest and most powerful in any land. Far and wide their names were known and wherever they traveled the people cheered and chanted their names! But for one knight named Simkin the Dashing —” she collapsed her small stack of fanned out cards and slammed them on top of the big deck— “it wasn't enough.
“See Simkin the Dashing, quite strong and dashing though he be, wanted more.”
“More?”
“More!” Daphne confirmed. “More money. More love from the people.” She placed her fingers on the top card. “More swooning young ladies.” At his chuckle, she grinned. “So when all the kings across the continent came together for a great feast, Simkin the Dashing ran off to rally with the other knights, or jacks in our case, to steal the kings' queens and overtake their kingdoms!” she exclaimed as she took the top card and shoved it somewhere in the middle of the deck.
“Mighty ambitious knight,” Mr. Lentz murmured.
“Yes, but do not forget he was dashing,” she reminded him, wagging her finger at him playfully.
Inclining his chin a good three inches past what could possibly be comfortable, Aaron gripped the top of his coat just under the lapels and gave it a quick tug. “Not as dashing as I am, I'd wager.”
“Oh no, he couldn't have been,” she agreed with a giggle. “Are you on the hunt for more swooning young ladies?”
“No,” he said slowly. “Just one.”
Daphne's blood rushed through her veins and thundered in her ears. Was she the one he was speaking of? Excitement overtook her and she took a deep breath. No, surely not, they'd only just met. “Am I a dalliance, then?”
Mr. Lentz choked and his expression sobered. “No.” His voice sounded just as rough as hers had. “Perhaps we'd better get back to Simkin the Dashing and his plans of debauchery…” He trailed off and it sounded oddly as he said something about discussing Simkin's depraved ambitions was safer than discussing his own
genuine ones.
Daphne bit her lip and the blood thundered in her ears anew. Except this time it didn't send a thrill of excitement through her body as it had earlier. Instead, it was a wave of mortification at having just ruined any favorable thoughts he might have had toward her. She nearly snorted. Why did that even matter? She wasn't going to marry him. Especially now that she'd all but accused him of being a debaucher of innocents. “Don't you have somewhere else you need to be?” She did: anywhere but there.
Mr. Lentz folded his arms across his chest and shook his head. “No. Not until I find out what happens to Simkin the Dashing.”
“He didn't survive,” she said flatly. “The kings found him and ordered him a punishment worthy of any such immoral and devious man: drawn and quartered.”
Aaron winced. “Bloodthirsty wench.”
“Didn't you know all of my sex are bloodthirsty,” she teased, reaching for the deck.
Aaron's hand covered hers. “I don't believe they all are.” He gave her hand a slight squeeze. “Now that I know how the tale ends, I'm curious to know how Simkin is caught.”
Daphne sighed. “I don't think—”
“Sometimes that happens to me, too,” he cut in with a quick grin. “I shouldn't have said what I said so soon. So let's call this even, shall we?”
“So soon?”
The corners of his eyes crinkled and he sent his left shoulder up in a lopsided shrug. “Your trick, Miss Daphne.”
“Right, my trick—” she licked her lips— “your hand.”
Mr. Lentz removed his hand from hers, but not before running the tips of his fingers over her knuckles.
Daphne cleared her throat. “When word of Simkin's betrayal reached the kings—”
“Who were feasting on turtle soup.”
“And enjoying it far more than we,” Daphne added. “They were furious and four of them who had somehow learned the secret of reincarnation, or perhaps knew how to travel through time, decided to go after Simkin and capture him.”
