by Lily Dalton
“Lord no. I’ve come to enlist your help. Everyone else I can call on has other obligations.” Havering stood and moved to stand beside the window, where he leaned his shoulder against the frame and looked down to the street. “You’re my only hope.”
“What can I do for you?”
“I, along with their so-called cousin, Mr. Kincraig, have been tasked with chaperoning the Bevington girls and a cadre of their declared suitors on an outing this afternoon. They’ve invited three gentlemen each, their mother’s idea. Between you and me, Daphne has long insisted that she will not marry, and Her Ladyship thought this might be a way to encourage time with some suitable young gentlemen without being overly pushy in trying to change her mind.”
Daphne? Not marry? He couldn’t imagine that her passionate nature would ever allow her to live her life alone, without someone to love.
“If you have Mr. Kincraig’s assistance, why do you need me?”
“Kincraig is…undependable at best. Not to mention only ever one step ahead of the most salacious imbroglios. You name the scandal, and he’s likely had a hand in it.”
“Duels?”
“Of course.”
“Gambling?”
“He’s lost his fortune, several times over.” He smiled. “But he’s got a golden touch, it seems, in that he always wins it back.”
“No doubt he’s a seducer as well.”
“Hmmm, yes. The latest scandal involving some governess, I hear.”
Cormack lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. But at hearing the words scandal and governess from Havering’s lips, he mentally stood at attention.
“Most gentlemen of my acquaintance consider governesses forbidden quarry.”
“Let’s just say that from what I hear, while a guest at a northern hunting estate, our Mr. Kincraig was rumored to have been hunting more than the deer.”
Cormack tensed, his blood turning to ice. Could it be possible that the man responsible for his sister’s destruction existed in closer proximity to Daphne than he could have believed? That he was indeed a relative?
“Seems like I may have heard something about that. On whose estate did this take place?” He waited…waited to hear more.
“I don’t know anymore, thankfully. Only that Wolverton was furious and summoned him for a lecture.”
“Damn,” he growled, sinking again into his pillow.
“What did you say?”
“That damn, my head hurts. You called him a ‘so-called cousin.’ Why?”
Havering chuckled. “I just know I don’t trust him. There’s just something about the way he appeared out of nowhere, presented by His Lordship’s investigators as a distant relation and likely heir, when no one ever knew of his existence before. But if Wolverton is satisfied, it’s not my place to demand details. I suppose it will all be sorted out and verified before any letters patent is granted allowing him to assume the earldom. Still, that doesn’t make him a suitable chaperone for the girls. You, I have much better feeling about, despite your grievous lapse in judgment in going with Rackmorton last night.”
“Haven’t you ever suffered a lapse in judgment?”
“You aren’t supposed to ask about that.” He grinned. “It also helps that you are already betrothed. Won’t you let me formally introduce you to the Earl of Wolverton and Lady Harwick? It should be an entertaining afternoon. Have you ever been to the Monument?”
Cormack blinked, his mind registering what Havering had just said, that he was betrothed.
“Amazing. I—I only shared the details of my situation with one person.” Rackmorton.
“That’s how things work here. You whisper something to one person, and before you blink, the rest of the world knows.” Havering chuckled. “The sooner you learn, the better. It wasn’t a secret, was it?”
Chapter Nine
No, of course not.” Still, in that moment his head ached more intensely.
Had Daphne heard? It was all he could think, but why should he care if she had? Because he didn’t want her to think him a lout for kissing her when he knew full well he could never, ever marry her because of the land agreement with Sir Snaith. Still, he would have liked to have explained that to her himself. Inwardly, he battled with his conscience, knowing he ought to stay away from her.
But…Mr. Kincraig would be there, and he needed to investigate him further.
“The fact that you’re not in the market for a wife and that I can vouch for your honor—”
He held silent, not splitting hairs with Havering. No, he wasn’t formally betrothed, but he might as well be, because one day he would indeed marry the Snaith girl, and in doing so, complete his intended destiny. His loyalty must be to his family, and as part of that, he would have a closer look at Mr. Kincraig. This afternoon, in fact. He knew better than to condemn the man on the spot, but this was precisely the sort of information he’d hoped his efforts would provide. Was Kincraig a member of the Invisibilis? And had he ever visited the hunting lodge of the Duke of Rathcrispin? Those were the questions he had to answer before deciding his next course of action.
“Can you vouch for my honor?” With a groan, he rolled from the bed, taking the sheet with him, for modesty’s sake. The world tipped and swayed, but he held himself steady, and after everything righted itself, he padded across the carpet to the washbasin.
“I’ve got good instincts,” Fox assured, raising a fingertip. “I know you’d make a suitable and, most important, a formidable chaperone, to assist me in keeping the overeager bucks, fortune hunters, and scoundrels in line—and they are myriad, my fellow, converging at any given moment like hungry hounds. I can’t claim to understand the workings of a woman’s mind. By my observation they seem to lose all sensibility over the most black-hearted fellow, the one who will, in turn, break their heart. But these two angels—both of whom are far too trusting of the male gender—are my girls and I’ll do whatever necessary to protect them.”
Cormack glanced at his visitor in the mirror. “What makes you a suitable chaperone? Are you married or spoken for?”
“No, not yet.”
Cormack fixed the sheet at his waist. “Then why don’t you marry them? Or, er…one of them.”
He bent over the basin to splash water on his face.
“Heavens no, that would be like marrying a sister. A little bratty sister whom you adore to pieces, but…no. Not marriage.”
Cormack reached for the towel. “How did you come to be so tight with the family?”
“We grew up in the country together, as neighbors.” He chuckled. “Their older brother, Vinson, was my best friend.” His voice lowered as he said this.
“Was?” With a linen towel, he blotted the moisture from his face.
A shadow moved over Havering’s face. “You wouldn’t know that story, would you, being so new to these circles. It was in all the papers. He died. Drowned, four years ago, while we were on an expedition to New Guinea. He was always interested in plants and bugs and scenery and the people of the world. He wanted to see all these things, not just read about them in books, and I’d agreed to go with him.” He broke off. “But that’s a story for another time.”
A moment of silence passed between them, then Cormack said quietly, “Again, your marrying into the family would seem the obvious choice.”
He might be able to abide that, Daphne marrying Havering.
“To be blatantly honest, I did once have quite a tendre for the eldest, Sophia.” He smiled over steepled fingers. “But she is most happily married now, and a duchess, and I am proud to call His Grace a friend. We shall see what else life throws at me.”
There was something rueful and restless about Havering, as if he were a man who hadn’t yet found his place.
“As for this outing today…Rackmorton, is he one of the Bevington suitors?” Cormack asked, in all nonchalance.
Fox’s eyebrows went up. “He has certainly made his interest in Daphne known, but I do not believe she shares the sentime
nt. I think she has good instincts.”
“After what I witnessed last night, I am relieved to hear that. I feared that you and he were close friends.”
“It’s a dreadfully small world that converges every year for the season. For the most part, we all know each other, but I wouldn’t call Rackmorton and me close, or even friends.” He pulled his watch from his pocket. “Come along now, we’ve only just enough time.”
*
Clarissa tied the wide pink ribbon of her hat under her chin. “So we’ve decided on the Monument, then?”
They made their way from their rooms to the staircase.
“Mother says the view of London is magnificent—if you can make it to the top.”
“You didn’t invite Rackmorton, did you?” Clarissa’s voice dipped low.
“Of course not.”
“Good, because last night he acted as if the two of you already had an understanding.”
“Which is precisely why I didn’t invite him.” Nothing about her season thus far had changed her mind. She wasn’t marrying anyone, most especially him. There was also the small detail that she’d seen him in London’s seediest gaming hall, in the company of two prostitutes. Unlike Cormack, who had been at the Blue Swan searching for someone, the marquess most assuredly hadn’t been there looking for anything but women and spirits and a table at which to gamble. She remembered his predatory smile, and the way he had lustily reached for those women. She couldn’t share that detail with her sister—or with anyone, for that matter—but she’d never forget. How could she admire or respect a man, after having seen him revel in such depraved environs?
Her sister drew on her gloves. “It’s as Sophia said, there’s something about the eyes.…On the other hand, it would have been nice to invite that dashing Lord Raikes. His eyes are nothing short of heaven.”
At hearing Cormack’s name from her sister’s lips, Daphne feigned insouciance. “Why didn’t you, then?”
“It wasn’t me he was looking at so intently last night. But didn’t you hear?” She tilted her head. “Oh, perhaps not. I think you were chatting with Kate this morning when Mother told me. I was trying to decide which three gentlemen to invite on this afternoon’s excursion, and of course, the earl came instantly to mind—but she told me Lord Raikes is betrothed. All the ladies are devastated.”
Daphne gripped the banister, frozen between steps. Betrothed. Cormack…? For a moment, everything went black. She couldn’t see or breathe.
“You’re certain?” she asked, through lips numb with shock.
What sort of man went around kissing young ladies when he was already betrothed? Only the most dastardly of men, that’s who.
“Quite. You know how things are. The moment he walked into the room last night, there were those who made it their business to know.” She gave a rueful snort. “Lucky girl! She’s from the country, I hear, someone he knows from his family’s seat. Daphne, are you coming?”
“Yes…of course.”
Clarissa continued to the drawing room, where her mother and grandfather could be seen and heard speaking with Havering and Kincraig, who at Her Ladyship’s request were to chaperone them on their afternoon excursion.
Daphne, however, hurried in the opposite direction, toward the conservatory—desperate now to reclaim the invitation she’d written out the night before. She would not invite Lord Raikes to her ball. Oh! She would blackmail him in return with a threat to tell everyone he had deceived and kissed her. No London ballroom would ever welcome him then.
Only she’d never actually tell anyone, because it would be too embarrassing a truth. Yet upon entering the conservatory, the sight of an empty table met her.
“Mr. Ollister is delivering your invitations at this very moment,” said the housekeeper, breezing in behind her, returning a cloisonné vase to a cabinet in the corner of the room. “You must be so excited, Miss Bevington! Two weeks from now, and the house will be transformed, all in celebration of you.”
“Yes,” she answered weakly. “I’m very…excited. Thank you, Mrs. Brightmore.”
Not wanting Mrs. Brightmore to see the expression on her face, which would certainly tell the opposite story, she approached the birdcage and trailed her finger along the wire frame. Inside, the little creatures sidled along their perch, eyeing her and each other.
She had kissed the fiancé of another woman. The knowledge devastated her. She could not help but feel doubly duped by Lord Raikes, and betrayed.
Mrs. Brightmore quit the room, but someone else entered. She stifled the urge to cry out to the intruder that she needed a moment alone.
“You sent him an invitation to your ball, didn’t you?” Kate asked.
Daphne closed her eyes. How could she have been such a fool? “I’m sure I don’t know who you mean.”
“Don’t be coy. Lord Raikes!”
“The footman has already taken them.” Daphne laughed in an attempt to sound lighthearted, but the sound came out thick and rueful. “So it appears I have.”
Kate drew closer. “How thrilling. He really is the most impressive gentleman. I had such a strong feeling about him. I like him, Daphne. I can’t help but hope he’s the one to convince you to marry.”
“He is betrothed to someone else.”
Kate gripped her arm, her expression furious. “Daphne, no. The way he looked at you last night, why, I felt certain he had intentions. And he…why, he kissed you last night as well! Didn’t he?”
“No,” Daphne denied emphatically, with a shake of her head. “He did not.”
“He did!” her friend exclaimed. “Your face confesses everything.”
“Oh, very well! He did,” Daphne confirmed.
“How could I have been so deceived? He is a rake of the lowest sort!”
Daphne grabbed both of Kate’s hands in hers. “You mustn’t tell anyone, most especially Mother. There’d be a terrible fuss.”
Kate stared into her eyes. “I won’t,” she whispered, the rigid line of her shoulders easing a degree. “Of course I won’t. Just don’t be alone with him ever again. You must promise me.”
“You don’t have to coax an agreement from me.”
Steps sounded at the door, and once again Mrs. Brightmore entered. “Miss Bevington, your guests have arrived, along with the carriages. Everyone’s waiting in the vestibule.”
“You must go and have a wonderful time,” Kate urged. “It’s the most certain way to forget him.”
“You are right, of course. It really doesn’t matter that the invitation went out. Even if he does attend, I’ll be so busy enjoying myself, I’ll never see him.”
“And isn’t that for the best?”
“It is. Lord Raikes who?” Daphne exclaimed.
“Perfect! Now tell me, who did you invite this afternoon?” Kate’s demeanor brightened. “That handsome Sir Whinton, or perhaps the dashing Lord Batley? They both sent you the most beautiful arrangements with the most charming sentiments written on their cards.”
“I didn’t invite either of them.” Daphne put several steps between them.
Kate tilted her head in question. “Then who? Daphne, please tell me you invited someone you actually like. As in for a possible future husband.”
The sound of male laughter echoed from the direction of the house entrance, along with her sister’s delighted giggle.
“Oh, fig. There’s no time, I’ll tell you later. Everyone’s waiting on me.”
Parting ways with Kate, she neared the vestibule. Kate was right. She must simply do as she’d always planned. She must throw herself into the gaiety of the season. Once it was over, she’d have such happy memories to cherish in those ensuing years when she fully intended to devote herself to her family.
Pushing her shoulders back, she took a deep breath and pushed into the room and—
The breath died her lungs.
Cormack! He stood beside Havering, staring at her with smoke-and-cinder eyes.
Well, of course he did, becaus
e she couldn’t imagine anything worse than seeing him now with her nerves all in tatters, and today was apparently her day to suffer a thousand torments as atonement for the sins of her past.
Well, she wasn’t going to run. She was going to have a splendid afternoon with her three “suitors,” who in truth were just three dear friends, none of whom had any true aspirations to wed her.
“Miss Daphne,” said Havering. “You remember Lord Raikes? I’ve recruited him to assist me and Kincraig in chaperoning today’s affair.”
Daphne pushed out a smile, one she hoped appeared radiant and blasé. “Lord Raikes, you say? Oh, yes. Now I remember. From the park. You weren’t at the musicale last night. Oh, you were? I must not have seen you.”
Fox’s eyes narrowed. Cormack stepped smoothly forward and extended his hand. She stared at it, at his long fingers with their squarish knuckles, plainly discernible through his fitted gloves. He had such masculine hands. Those hands had touched her. Sweetly in the past, but far more intimately in her dreams. Those dreams crowded her mind, making her blush.
Everyone watched and waited. Breathing through her nose, she lowered her hand into his.
Even through two layers of leather, the contact shocked, moving through her palm and up her arm to spiral in glorious, dazzling circles through both of her breasts, which was the oddest thing, because he hadn’t even touched her there. Though last night, for the briefest moment, she’d wanted him to. She remembered the dream, and what he’d done with the flowers, and his mouth—
He hesitated, glancing darkly into her eyes, then bowed, lightly pressing his lips…to her knuckles.
Her legs weakened—
She swayed, nearly toppling, but Kincraig, of all people, caught her by the arm and waist. Her mother called her name. Cormack reached as well but stopped short of touching her. Other male figures crowded about, all inquiring over her well-being.
“Daphne,” he urged. “Let me lead you to a chair.”
“No, please.” She sank against him, but just as quickly pushed away. “I’m not dizzy. I did not faint. Nothing like that! I—I simply lost my balance. It’s these mules. They are new and the soles polished, and we are on marble. I slipped. I’m so sorry to have concerned everyone, but you are all…overreacting.” She forced a laugh, her cheeks burning.