“What the devil are you talking about?”
Daphne looked up to see Annalise gawking at them. She smiled. “Chrys needs to ask her mother about men in her bed.”
“Um, Daph, have you been drinking anything in the past half hour?”
Daphne scooted over so Annalise could sit down.
“No, of course not. Chrys and I were merely discussing annoying sleeping habits. I was telling her about yours.”
“I do not have any unsavory habits,” Annalise sniffed.
“How would you know?” Chrys asked, echoing Daphne’s earlier statement. “You are asleep at the time.”
“Well, I just know,” Annalise decided.
“She just knows, Daphne. What’dya think of that?”
“Delusional,” Daphne decided.
Chrysanthe nodded.
The three of them sighed and looked to the dance floor. It was a certainty that Daphne would not be doing much dancing throughout the night. Since they were keeping her company, neither of them would, either. It was kind of them, Daphne thought, but she did not want them to miss out.
Involuntarily, her eyes scanned the dance floor, looking for her guardian. He wasn’t dancing, either. She looked around, merely curious, when her eyes lit on him.
And she saw red. Flaming scarlet.
She was the most beautiful woman Daphne had ever seen. She had hair as black as onyx, glossy and thick and she wore it down so it cascaded down her back in magnificent ripples. Her gown was daring, vivid scarlet, revealing far more of her well-endowed chest than Daphne would ever dare. Her lips were painted to match her dress, pouting prettily.
She watched in dawning horror as James kissed her hand. She said something and he threw back his head in laughter. Daphne’s heart trembled in her chest. Surely, it was innocent, she thought, surely he would not…
She was left in no doubt of just what he was up to when the woman pressed up against him. He did not draw away. Indeed, Daphne watched as his eyes darkened with what she now knew was desire.
“Who is that?” Daphne gasped.
“Who?” Annalise inquired.
Chrys, who had been following her gaze and watching as Daphne all but fell apart at the seams, twisted her lips in disgust. It was frighteningly similar to the look Lady Sinclair had worn earlier when speaking of their hostess.
“Ze belle of ze moment,” Chrysanthe mocked in a bad French accent. “Countess le Dubois,” she snarled with disgust.
Annalise, who had finally caught on, gawked. “What does he think he is doing?”
James was now arm-in-arm with the magnificent beauty. They were…
“The balcony,” Daphne moaned.
“What does James think he is doing?” Annalise hissed. “He never consorts with women of that sort!”
“What sort?” Daphne asked dejectedly.
“The Countess is a famed courtesan of the highest order,” Chrysanthe sneered. “She came here during the Terror and, as you can see, decided to stay. She has so far gone through three husbands, a baron, an earl, and a count, in that order, along with their fortunes. Now, she mostly just takes on lovers, but I dare say she would not mind adding a Duke to that notch on her bedpost.”
Daphne looked at her shaking hands. So it had all been a lie, she thought. James had not wanted her. Or, perhaps he had, in his own way, but only for the moment. Her place was soon filled. The very next day, in fact.
Had she actually thought things could not get much worse? Well, they just had. Thank goodness she hadn’t told him what was in her heart. He probably would have laughed at her.
“D-Daphne?” Annalise tugged on her sleeve.
“Yes?” she whispered.
“Isn’t that your cousin?”
Daphne’s head snapped up, eyes wide. She stared across the length of the ballroom at a man who slouched lazily before a round table. His cravat was loose and he was steadily working his way through a decanter of what could have brandy or whiskey.
It was like looking into a mirror, if she had been a man. He was long and lean like a big, beautiful tawny cat. His gilded hair fell around a face that brought to mind a fallen angel. He had full, sensual lips and wide eyes that were wildly blue. Long, tapered fingers tapped impatiently on the table.
“Elliot,” Daphne breathed.
She started to rise, but Anna and Chrys yanked her back down.
“You can’t go over there,” Anna hissed.
“He could have been the one to do him in,” Chrys added.
Daphne shrugged. If it was a choice between spending the night longing for a man who was likely slaking his desires with a beautiful woman that eclipsed Daphne in every possible way, or spending time with a murderer, she would take the latter happily.
“Well, there is only way to continue with this wretched investigation, isn’t there?” Daphne hissed. She jerked free of their hold.
“Daphne, don’t be stupid just because—”
She sent Chrys a fulminating look. “Because I am a pariah?”
Chrysanthe shut her mouth.
* * * *
“Elliot? Is that truly you?”
The man glanced up, blinking his eyes at the vision before him. Not for the first time, he found it remarkable just how much they resembled one another. Golden curls that nearly equaled his own in color fell over rounded shoulders encased in blue and cream.
“Daphne! I haven’t seen you in ages.”
A slow smile slid across her face. “May I join you?”
He nodded dumbly, astounded. How was it he hadn’t even noticed her walk in? He had been hoping to run into her for over a month now, with no such luck.
“Forgive me for saying it, Daphne, but you look amazing.”
Her smile was genuine. “Thank you, Elliot. You look as handsome as ever, if I may be so bold. But why are you sitting here all alone?”
Elliot sent a caustic look towards the doors that led onto the balcony. “I was escorting a woman who, apparently, finds my company much too staid for her pleasures.”
Daphne quivered. “Ah, yes, the lovely Countess. I saw the way the wind is blowing. I didn’t know he had it in him.”
“Him?” Elliot repeated dumbly.
“His Grace, the noble Duke,” she murmured painfully.
“Is that what you call him?”
“Only to his face,” she teased.
Elliot smiled. “You have become bold, Daphne. Forgive me, but I remember a quiet girl in the country. You have transformed into quite the social butterfly.”
She shrugged. “Merely a façade, Elliot. I truly detest all this. Indeed, I hope I shan’t be here much longer.”
His brows lifted. “An offer of marriage already? I am impressed.”
She shook her head and managed a wry smile. “None that I would consider. Surely you have heard of all the scandals they are spreading about me.”
“I fear not, Daphne. Damnation, you caused a scandal. I would never think it of you!”
“Well, I didn’t, but you know how people lie. Anna says it is all about jealousy because of how Papa wrote the will, and because my guardian is a respectable Duke and all that. They are saying that I carry on for him or some such drivel. Truly ridiculous. I can hardly stand to look at the man, much less speak with him.”
Elliot found himself gawking. Brazen and honest, with a delightful sense of humor. He shook his head, cursing the liquor he had already consumed. It was making him slow. Preparation for facing the winsome countess, of course, but damn if he’d known he would run across Daphne, he would never have drunk so much.
“I was sorry to hear about Uncle,” he said in what he hoped was a consoling voice. It wasn’t that he had not cared for Daphne’s father, but that he had so rarely seen them.
“Surely you exaggerate, Daphne. Your Duke can’t be so bad.”
She snorted. Her Duke? If he was hers, he would not be out consorting with women of a less than savory reputation.
“Yes, his high and royalness is so generous and kind,” she mocked. “It does have its benefits,” she hurriedly added when he frowned. “His sister, Annalise, was one of my dearest friends throughout boarding school. Truly, it is because I needed to be close to her that I consented to this accursed Season.”
That, and the need to discover the truth. Oh, Elliot, Daphne thought desperately. Do not be involved.
“I am sorry to hear things are not going well for you, Daphne. If there is anything I can do…”
She shrugged, as though it did not matter so much. “Don’t quibble about my dramas, Elliot. Tell me everything that has been going on in your life. I have missed you sorely all these years.”
He smiled. The orchestra began a waltz. Although he was not quite steady on his feet, he could not imagine that he was beyond rounding the floor with a beautiful woman.
He gave her his most disarming smile and extended his hand.
“Care for a dance, fair beauty?”
Chapter Thirteen
James did not think the night could get much worse. Daphne was not talking to him, much less looking at him. He had tried to catch her gaze throughout the opera and the short ride to the damnable ball, all with failed results.
Then that cursed tabby Lady Henley dared to insult her. Her husband was hardly any better. Daphne had been humiliated and hurt and God only knows what else and he was helpless to do a thing about it. If he said aught, it would only make matters worse for her.
He still did not understand what had possessed him to take on the vivacious countess. He had not intended to see her flirtations through, that was for certain, but the woman was apparently unaccustomed to being denied. She oozed blatant sexuality from every pore, and as he had stared down at her, as she had stolen a single kiss, he had felt nothing but disgust.
My fears are correct, he thought unhappily. No woman but Daphne could please him now that he had tasted her. It was humiliating. Confronting a livid woman spouting obscenities which burned even his seasoned ears was no stroll through Hyde Park, either.
As he returned to the ballroom, luckily bereft of the lady in red, he thought to seek out his sister and his ward and call it a night. He did not want to tempt fate to throw yet another obstacle in front of them. He changed his mind immediately.
It was enough to stagger him, turn his legs to unsteady stilts, ready to collapse at a moment. It was enough to have him balling his fists. It was certainly enough for him to do murder cheerfully.
Daphne. In another man’s arms. Smiling.
James forced himself to take a long, deep breath. He could not attack another man for dancing with his ward. He had to wait until the bastard let his hands roam. Then he could kill him.
The golden prince did not move his hands.
They looked good together, James thought painfully. Daphne’s gilded curls and petite, feminine form against his golden perfection and lean body. He was younger than James was, too.
He cursed.
There wasn’t a damn thing he could do, he told himself. Daphne was certainly within her rights to accept a dance. Hell, how else was she going to find a husband?
His heart shuddered.
James was afraid, and he would gladly admit it to anyone who asked. Ever since he had tasted her passion, he had been desperately afraid of what he had done. Daphne had once been blissful in her innocence, unaware of the passions that lay stagnant deep within. He had changed that. He had kissed her in ways only a husband should kiss her, touched her in ways that would scorch the gossip mongers should they ever hear of it.
He had shown her what it was to desire. He had, or at least he hoped he had, introduced her to pleasure. Now, damn his eyes, he was terrified it would not be enough. If he left her wanting, aching with the need of it, would she reach out to the first man who showed her an interest? James had not slept at all last night as his mind shoved terrible image after terrible image through his brain.
Daphne kissing another man. Daphne wrapped around another man. Another man’s hands caressing her ripe body. Another man’s lips giving her pleasure. Another man doing the things James could not allow himself to do.
Just seeing it again, this time with the faceless man replaced by this perfection of manhood, left him shaking with the need for blood. If she ever did accept a proposal, he doubted he could keep his sanity without killing the lucky bastard.
The instant the dance was over, James marched over.
Daphne glanced up at him, then away, lowered lids hiding her expressive eyes. It all he could do not to force her to look at him.
“Daphne, are you ready to leave?” he asked abruptly.
She shrugged. “Certainly, Your Grace,” she murmured.
The golden boy was glaring at him. “Where is the countess?” he inquired mildly.
James blinked at him. “Countess le Dubois?” He shrugged, as if the woman was not one of the most sought-after courtesans in all of London. “She was given an offer she could not refuse.”
Still, golden boy stared at him. “She left with someone else?”
Slowly, James nodded, though he did not see how it was any of the lad’s concern.
Oddly, the man relaxed. His lips spread into what could only be termed as a brilliant smile. “Good, I can leave, too.”
Daphne sent him a winsome smile. “Thank you for the dance, Elliot,” she murmured shyly.
“I never could deny a beautiful lady.”
James growled as golden boy kissed Daphne’s hand lavishly. She giggled, actually giggled.
To his acute irritation, they reached the foyer at the same time. Annalise was looking between the golden boy and Daphne as though she expected something. Daphne sent her a vapid look and shrugged.
He roughly helped the girls into their wraps and all but shoved them out the door. They waited for the carriage to be brought around. Daphne was smiling as she watched her little golden boy leave, while James tapped his foot impatiently. First priority was to find out who the lad was and make certain he never came within spitting distance of Daphne Davernay again.
Disgusted, James watched his retreating back. He didn’t walk. He strutted like a proud peacock. It was enough to turn a grown man’s stomach.
If he had not been so absorbed in his maudlin thoughts, he might have seen what was happening and managed to shout a warning. As it was, he was taken aback as everyone else when all hell broke loose.
A carriage rolled by at neck breaking speed, rolling dangerously close to the sidewalk where the pretty golden boy stood. Obviously, he heard something. He half-turned just as a gloved hand shoved out the window. A loud bang permeated the darkness.
It seemed to happen in slow motion. The carriage sped by, quickly moving out of sight. The golden boy, eyes wide, began to fall. There was a loud thud as he hit the pavement.
“Daphne!” James roared as she sprinted down the stairs towards his prone body.
She was helpless to his shouts. Cursing her, he followed. There could be more gunmen waiting, he thought frantically. What if he didn’t get to her in time? What if he could not save her?
She had removed her wrap and was struggling to press it into the wound. James knelt down beside her. The lucky bastard had only been shot in the shoulder, he thought. With luck, he would live.
“Elliot,” Daphne wept.
That turned his attention. “You’re on first-name terms with him?”
Daphne jerked at the harshness of
his voice. She peered at him with wet eyes. “Please help him, James. Please,” she hissed.
She grabbed a hold of his coat and made to shake him. He took hold of her wrist, pushing her away. “Daphne, what is going on?”
“Please help him, James,” she sobbed. “Don’t let him die. I couldn’t bear to lose him, not now.”
“For Christ’s sweet sake, you only just met him.”
James tried to pull her away. He would send someone for the doctor and get her home. To his shock, she began to beat on his shoulders.
“Damn you, James, help him!” she sobbed. “Elliot is my cousin.”
* * * *
“This has been a difficult night for you,” Annalise murmured.
Daphne and Annalise were in the parlor, where they had been almost since the moment James brought them home. He had intended to stay with them, but Daphne had begged him to watch over Elliot for her. Annalise was the one shocked when, snarling about women and tears, he marched right back out and did exactly as she had asked.
“The blood, Anna; there was so much blood,” Daphne whispered.
She looked down at her hands, as though she could still see it in her mind’s eye. Edith had taken Daphne upstairs the moment James had left, scrubbing her clean and dressing her in her night-rail and dressing gown. Unable to wait in her room for news, she had joined Annalise in the parlor.
“It was just his shoulder,” Annalise murmured, although her voice, too, was filled with concern.
“There are still dangers,” Daphne wailed. “Oh, God, Anna, what if he dies? What if that bullet was meant for me and Elliot dies because of it?”
“Don’t jump to conclusions,” Anna snapped, although that possibility had also occurred to her. “Elliot could have had dangerous enemies, Daphne, or…”
“They could be trying to kill him the way they did Papa,” she finished for her. “Surely this proves his innocence?”
“Not quite,” Annalise whispered. “Chrys said she would have her uncle check on him as soon as possible. Until then, you should consider all parties guilty until proven innocent,” she advised wisely.
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