The Irresistible Rogue

by Valerie Bowman

  She held her breath. The conveyances of the guests who had not been invited to the house party arrived in a steady stream at the front entrance. The ton was abuzz tonight and this was her engagement ball. That was all there was to it. Now the potential bridegroom merely needed to do his bit and propose.

  She’d finally reached an agreement with Delilah, that little thief, before the ball tonight. The girl promised to occupy Rafe’s attention and keep what she knew to herself in exchange for another month’s pin money, Daphne’s new light pink bonnet, a second fan, and a new pair of gloves. Daphne had no idea how she’d explain all of that to Mother. But she’d worry about that later. Tonight she had more pressing concerns, like securing an engagement with her husband in the room.

  She certainly looked more confident than she felt. She wore a sparkling silver gown that made her feel like a diamond. A string of sapphires laced through her hair and a sapphire shrug draped around her shoulders. Her hair was up in a chignon with curling pieces framing her face. She’d pinched pink into her cheeks per Delilah’s suggestion just before she’d left her bedchamber. Delilah and her maid had both assured her that she was a vision. But Daphne didn’t feel like a vision. She felt like a roiling mass of nerves. Yes. It was definite. She looked much better in the looking glass than she felt on the inside. That was certain. Inside, she felt as if she might just cast up her accounts.

  Daphne took one last deep breath and nodded to her brother.

  “You are stunning tonight, Daph,” Julian said from her side as they waited at the top of the stairs to be introduced.

  “Thank you,” she replied in a shaky voice. “I only hope Lord Fitzwell thinks so.”

  Julian’s gray eyes met hers. His were filled with concern. “Are you sure, Daphne? About Lord Fitzwell, I mean. If you have any doubts, you don’t have to go through with any of this.”

  Daphne pressed her gloved fingertips into Julian’s fine black sleeve. “What do you mean?”

  “I was speaking to Cavendish earlier and he said—”

  Daphne’s breathing hitched. Despite the gloves, she dug her nails into her brother’s coat. “You’re listening to Captain Cavendish when it comes to my marital prospects?”

  Julian arched a brow. “It is a bit ironic, isn’t it?”

  Daphne shook her head. “I was quite deliberate, Julian. I made a list. Lord Fitzwell is eligible and—”

  “Being eligible and being correct are two different things.”

  “The Earl of Swifdon and Lady Daphne Swift,” Pengree intoned, announcing them to the masses in the ballroom. Without saying another word, Julian stepped forward, bringing Daphne with him. All eyes turned to stare at them. Daphne searched the crowd. It wasn’t until moments later that she realized she’d been looking for Rafe, not Lord Fitzwell. Blast it.

  She and Julian made their way into the room together and Daphne kept her smile pinned to her face. It hurt to smile so much. She’d never realized it before. People greeting her were a blur. The room spun. She clutched at Julian’s arm to steady herself. Thank heavens for her tall, composed brother.

  “Daphne,” her mother’s voice rang out. A bit of space opened up and Daphne followed her mother’s voice over to their small group where Mama and Aunt Willie stood near the French doors that led out onto the terrace.

  “I’ll leave you here with the ladies,” Julian said. “I’m off in search of my wife.”

  Daphne reluctantly let go of her brother’s sleeve, reminding herself that she could hardly find herself engaged by the end of the evening if she clung to him all night. As soon as Julian glided away, Daphne took a deep breath and turned to the other ladies. Before she could say a word, Delilah came skipping up to them.

  “Good evening, Cousin Daphne,” she said, curtsying prettily.

  Daphne curtsied back. “Delilah, what are you doing here?”

  “She wouldn’t stop begging me to make an appearance tonight,” Mama explained. “I’m only allowing her in here because I know well and good that if I didn’t she’d be hiding behind a door and peeking out in her night rail.” She turned to Delilah. “But as I said, miss, you’re only here for bit. Then, it’s off to bed with you. I mean it.”

  Delilah nodded. “I know. I know.”

  “Oh, let the girl have her fun,” Aunt Willie added. “I daresay being here is preferable to being cooped up upstairs with that sour-faced governess of hers.”

  “She is sour-faced isn’t she, Aunt?” Delilah replied with a long-suffering sigh. “I often think so.”

  “Well, you certainly look pretty tonight, Delilah,” Daphne interjected before anything more could be said about the poor, sour-faced governess.

  Delilah was wearing a smart white gown with a turquoise sash around her waist and a matching turquoise bow on the top of her head … of the large variety as usual. She spun in a small circle. “Thank you. I smell good, too.”

  “Turn around, Delilah,” Mama said. “I believe your skirt is hitching up in the back.”

  Delilah turned, trying to look at her backside in a maneuver that reminded Daphne as nothing so much as a puppy chasing its tail. “It’s not the skirt, Auntie. It’s me.”

  A footman walked by carrying a tray of champagne glasses. “Here, young man.” Aunt Willie swiped a drink from the tray.

  “Care for one, Daphne?” Aunt Willie waggled her eyebrows.

  “No, Aunt.” Daphne shook her head and waved the tray away.

  “Ah, so Captain Cavendish was right about you?” Aunt Willie smiled at her, lifting the drink to her mouth.

  Daphne pressed her lips together, hard. Captain Cavendish was not right about her. Why, of all the—

  “I’ll take one!” Delilah piped up.

  “No, miss,” Mama said to Delilah. “You may be at a ball, but you’re still a bit too young for champagne.”

  “J’adore a ball. J’adore champagne,” Delilah declared, her hands clasped together near her ear.

  “That’s just silly. How many balls have you been to?” Mama replied, shaking her head.

  “Only just this one,” Delilah replied, spinning to allow her skirts to swirl around her ankles. “But I am enjoying myself immensely and I’m certain all balls are as enjoyable.”

  “I refuse to ask how many glasses of champagne you’ve had.”

  “That’s probably best, Auntie,” Delilah replied.

  “You look adorable,” Daphne offered, smiling at Delilah and patting her on the head.

  “Well,” Aunt Willie said, motioning to Daphne with her champagne glass. “You’re not going to get yourself engaged standing here with the three of us. You’d best be off in search of a gentleman to ask you to dance. If I were you I’d begin with Captain Cavendish.”

  Aunt Willie waggled her eyebrows again. Eyebrow waggling seemed her favorite pastime.

  “Oh, ignore her,” Mama said. “I believe Lord Fitzwell is over by the refreshment table. I’m certain he’ll be along presently.”

  “I’ll just go and greet Cass,” Daphne said, spotting her sister-in-law across the room.

  Daphne took leave of the small group and dashed over to where Cass, Lucy, and Jane were standing together in the corner. Cass was wearing a gorgeous lavender gown. Lucy was dressed in deep emerald, and Jane looked stunning in ice blue.

  “Ah, Daphne, dear,” Cass said, holding out a hand and pulling Daphne into their little circle. “You look absolutely breathtaking.”

  “Thank you.” Daphne pressed a hand to her churning stomach. “I certainly don’t feel breathtaking.”

  “Whatever do you mean?” Lucy asked, sipping from a champagne flute.

  Daphne closed her eyes. “What if Lord Fitzwell doesn’t offer for me tonight?”

  “Then he’s a fool,” Jane stated loyally. Daphne smiled at that. Jane had a book in her hand and while she was tapping her foot in time to the music, Daphne knew she’d much rather be off in a quiet corner somewhere reading. It was nice of Mrs. Upton to come to the ball tonight, for Daphne
’s sake.

  Cass searched Daphne’s face. “Do you have any reason to believe Lord Fitzwell won’t offer for you?”

  Daphne shook her head. “No, but I have yet to see him tonight. Perhaps his nosebleed was more serious than we thought.”

  Lucy winced. “Yes, that was extremely unfortunate, but don’t worry, dear. I’m sure he’s fine and you’ve only just arrived. You have all evening.”

  Daphne twisted her third finger. “I know. I know. But…” She glanced around. “Where’s Julian? The last time I saw him he said he was coming to find you, Cass.”

  “Oh, he found me.” Cass laughed. “He stopped by briefly after escorting you in but I do believe he’s already retired to the study.”

  “With my husband, of course.” Lucy snorted.

  “And mine,” Jane added, pushing up her spectacles on her nose.

  “It’s funny how married men aren’t particularly keen on dancing.” Cass shook her head.

  “Yes. Quite unfortunate,” Lucy replied. “As they tend to make the best partners.”

  All of the ladies laughed at that.

  “It’s a pity we don’t have some sort of plot to keep us occupied these days,” Lucy said, tapping a finger against her cheek.

  Daphne was barely listening. Instead, she was standing on tiptoe and craning her neck. “Where’s Captain Cavendish?” She returned her attention to her friends in time to see the three of them exchange a knowing glance. Daphne tugged at her necklace.

  “Do you mean Lord Fitzwell?” Lucy asked Daphne, a sly smile on her face. Cass gave Lucy a warning look. Daphne pressed her hand to her middle again. She just might cast up her accounts after all. Did Cass know? Daphne hoped the duchess hadn’t told what she saw in the library the other night but perhaps she had changed her mind.

  “I was merely wondering if Captain Cavendish was in the study with the other gentlemen.” Daphne did her best to answer the question with nonchalance but even she heard the edge to her voice. “I cannot afford to have him poking his nose into my courtship with Lord Fitzwell. He behaved quite outrageously today during charades.”

  “That’s true enough,” Lucy allowed. Her champagne glass dangled from her gloved fingers.

  “I do believe Captain Cavendish is in the study as well. Though I haven’t seen him,” Cass added.

  Daphne began to breathe a sigh of relief but stopped herself. Why wasn’t Rafe out here trying to cause more trouble? Had he given up? Did he no longer intend to keep an eye on her? Did he no longer think she needed him? Or was he merely sufficiently chagrined by his own rude behavior during charades this afternoon? And how dare he say that she’d had every blow softened for her by her family. It was preposterous. It was outrageous. It was … The memory of her asking Julian to throw Rafe out of the house and secure the annulment flashed through her mind. Very well. Rafe had a small—very small—point. She would stop asking Julian for help. She didn’t need him to handle Rafe. She could deal with him herself. The memory of her asking Delilah to help her keep him distracted flashed through her mind. Fiddle. Why was she thinking about Rafe at any rate? She needed to find Lord Fitzwell.

  “I think it’s high time we went into the study and brought the menfolk back out,” said Jane. “They may be enjoying a bit of brandy and some male talk but I, for one, would like a suitable dance partner.”

  Cass nodded. “You’re perfectly right, Janie. Not to mention Julian needs to remain available if he’s to entertain a proposal from Lord Fitzwell.” She patted Daphne’s arm.

  Daphne gulped. This was it. The night of the engagement.

  “Don’t worry, Daphne,” Lucy said. “We’ll help you. Just leave everything to us.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The night was more than half through by the time Daphne found herself standing in a group with Julian, Cass, Lucy, and Derek. “Has Lord Fitzwell asked to speak with you alone, Julian?” she asked, twisting her ring finger.

  “Not since the last time you asked me. What was that, twenty minutes ago?” Julian replied. The men had been summoned from the study by their wives and had danced, laughed, and drank their way through the evening. The only problem was, every time Daphne caught a glimpse of Lord Fitzwell, he seemed to disappear.

  Cass nudged her husband. “Be kind. Daphne is having a difficult evening.”

  Cass was correct on that score. Not only had Lord Fitzwell not yet asked to speak to Daphne’s brother, let alone her, she’d only ever danced with him once and they’d barely said two words to each other. What was happening? He intended to offer for her, didn’t he? He’d been courting her for weeks. They’d gone on rides in the park. He’d introduced her to his mother. They’d talked. They’d laughed. They’d enjoyed each other’s company. Or so she’d thought. He’d accepted the invitation here this weekend. She couldn’t be wrong about it. She just couldn’t.

  “Perhaps you should have a drink, Daphne.” Lucy plucked two glasses of champagne from the tray of a passing footman.

  “Daphne doesn’t drink,” Julian replied.

  “Oh, that’s right,” Lucy replied. “Captain Cavendish said as much earlier.”

  “Excuse me, please.” Daphne couldn’t keep the edge from her voice as she left the small group. The night was turning into a colossal disaster and she had no idea how to salvage it.

  The only good thing about this evening was that she’d managed to evade Rafe so far. Since he’d emerged from the study with the other gentlemen, Delilah had kept him occupied. The girl was like a hound with a scent. She hadn’t let the man out of her sight all evening. Good girl, Delilah. At least she was earning the king’s ransom Daphne had promised her. But Delilah would be sent to bed soon and then Daphne might have to contend with Rafe herself. If only Lord Fitzwell would offer for her. They could make the announcement and this whole awful charade could be over. Well, after Rafe granted her the annulment.

  * * *

  An hour later, Delilah had gone to bed, Daphne had danced with nearly every gentleman in the room (except Rafe), and Lord Fitzwell remained nowhere to be seen. She was just finishing her second dance with Sir Roderick when Julian strolled up. She thanked Roddy for the dance and excused herself to speak to her brother.

  “Nothing from Lord Fitzwell yet?” Daphne asked.

  “My dear sister, has it occurred to you that if the chap does ask me for your hand, I’d be offering them both? One is already taken at present.”

  Daphne glanced around to ensure no one could overhear them. “Only temporarily taken. Quite temporarily.”

  Julian slid his hands into his pockets. “Very well. I’ll say yes if it’s what you wish but the truth is I haven’t even seen him tonight.”

  Daphne scanned the ballroom. She wished she had a chair to stand upon. It wasn’t easy to see over the sea of coiffures and pomaded heads. “Wait. There he is. Over there.” She pointed a gloved finger.

  “Ah, yes, there he is,” came a familiar voice over her shoulder.

  Daphne spun around. Rafe was standing not a foot behind her, holding two champagne glasses.

  Julian cleared his throat. “Yes, well, I’ll just go make myself available should Lord Fitzwell have anything to discuss.”

  Daphne’s smile at her brother faded as he left her alone with Rafe.

  “I’d offer you one of my drinks,” Rafe drawled. “But I know you wouldn’t take it. I’d say it’s a pity, but more for me.”

  That was it. Daphne had had enough. Enough of this wretched night. Enough of everyone’s preconceived notions about her drinking habits. And enough of Rafe Cavendish jabbing at her with his words. She reached out and plucked the glass from his hand, brought it to her lips, downed the entire contents, and shoved it back into his hand.

  Rafe’s brows shot up. He whistled. “Impressive.”

  A footman carrying a tray of bright, gleaming champagne glasses walked by just then and Daphne took another. She downed its contents quickly.

  “Be careful, love.”

  “I�
��m not your love.” Daphne marched over to a table against the wall and discarded her empty glass. Rafe followed her.

  “Aren’t you, Grey?”

  “I can drink, sometimes, if I choose to. I just don’t normally choose to. That is all.”

  “Ah.”

  She folded her arms over her chest. “I’m not a goddess.”

  “Ah.”

  “I’m not pristine.”

  “Ah.”

  “Stop saying ‘ah.’”

  His grin was unrepentant. “Why are you choosing to drink tonight, then? Disappointed that Fitzwell isn’t holding up his end of the bargain?”

  Daphne glared at him. “You’d know about not holding up bargains, wouldn’t you?”

  Rafe casually sipped his own glass of champagne. “Ouch. Have a care, love.”

  She curled her hand into a fist. “Stop calling me love, and Grey—don’t call me that, either.”

  “What would you prefer I call you then?”

  “I prefer you not call me anything. I prefer you leave.” She ground the toe of her slipper against the parquet floor.

  “And miss seeing how this evening turns out? After you’ve had two glasses of champagne? Not a chance.”

  She stuck her nose in the air and turned her face away from him. “You think you know me so well, but you don’t. You don’t know me at all.”

  “So it seems,” he drawled. “What else don’t I know about you?”

  “That I’m about to have a third glass of champagne.” She turned on her heel and left.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  One hour later, Rafe was smoking in the gardens. The hedges and flowering bushes formed a bit of a maze and provided a great deal of privacy. He’d gone to the far end of the property and had propped one booted foot upon a stone bench that sat next to a small fountain. He breathed in the cool night air and glanced up at the stars. Stars had been some of his only friends when he’d been a child. They’d been some of his only friends while he’d been a prisoner in France, too. He had a relationship of sorts with the stars. They might be cool and distant, but they were good listeners.