Observing Daphne’s movements from his position within the darkened alcove, Brendon followed her with his eyes as she made her way toward a set of doors that led outside, skirting the crowd and for all appearances doing her best to go unnoticed. Was she meeting someone out there, he wondered? Bouqefort perhaps? Though he hadn’t noticed the marquess upon his initial scrutiny of the room, that didn’t mean he wasn’t there, for there had to be at least three hundred guests crowding the overflowing ballroom, if not more.
Keeping his gaze focused upon Daphne, he watched as she reached the doors, opened one and then quickly slipped outside. He waited then to see if anyone followed her, but after several minutes of surveillance he saw no one else moving in that direction. Of course it was entirely possible that someone was already outside, waiting for her to join them. In any case he intended to see for himself who it was, if anyone, that she was meeting. And so, pushing away from the wall he left the alcove, keeping to the ballroom’s shadowy periphery as he moved determinedly toward the same set of doors she’d exited through.
Having walked out onto a small terrace that overlooked a narrow, unadorned stretch of grass running along the side of the Wittingham’s townhouse, Daphne relished the moment of solitude as she allowed the gentle evening breeze to blow softly across her cheeks. Grasping the cool marble balustrade that ran the length of the small space, she looked up at the moon just visible through the dense haze that so often shrouded London like a thick, heavy blanket. Not surprisingly, it was nights like these that made her miss the country and the beauty of its star-filled skies the most. However, she had to admit that the existing gloom was far more befitting of her present mood.
Closing her eyes, she simply stood there for a time, contemplating her future. Since the debacle with Brendon Leighton, she’d tried her best to come to terms with the life that lay ahead of her, but today, seeing him at the museum had brought all of the emotions she’d been trying so hard to repress bubbling back to the surface. And now here she stood, wallowing in self-pity once again and lamenting what would never be.
Curling her fingers more tightly around the balustrade, she silently prayed for strength. For truly, if this was all she had to look forward to in the coming years, struggling through each and every day and night with fake smiles and feigned laughter, forced to convey a false sense of contentment with her life, all the while knowing that they were naught but lies, she wasn’t entirely certain that she would be able to endure it? How could she?
“Because you must,” she finally whispered aloud, even as a single tear rolled slowly down her cheek.
Opening the door to the side terrace, Brendon was greatly relieved to find Daphne standing there alone, as he wasn’t entirely certain what he would have done if he’d found her with Bouqefort. Even so, he had little doubt that whatever it was would have been extremely unpleasant for the hapless marquess.
Startled by the sound of the door opening and closing behind her, Daphne spun around in surprise, her eyes widening when she saw that it was Brendon Leighton who stood just a few feet away.
As she turned to face him the last thing Brendon expected to see was the lone, glistening teardrop that rested upon Daphne’s cheek; but there it was, clearly visible in the moonlight’s faint glow. He stood there for a moment in shocked silence, studying her face. Clearly this wasn’t the same young woman he’d seen smiling and laughing just minutes ago. It was then that he realized what he should have suspected all along, that it was all just an act. The smiles, the laughter, the gaiety; they were nothing more than pretenses.
“My lord, I…,” Daphne faltered, disconcerted by his sudden appearance and intense regard, entirely unsure of what to say. “This is a surprise. Er…that is to say… I wouldn’t have expected to see you at an event such as this,” she uttered lamely.
“Yes well, ordinarily I wouldn’t be,” he admitted with a faint smile. “But as it happens I came here tonight looking for you.”
“Me?” Daphne’s brows drew together questioningly, for considering their previous encounter that was the last thing she would have expected him to say. “Why were you looking for me?”
He paused a moment before answering and then decided to simply tell her the truth. “To be perfectly honest, the reason that I came here tonight was to warn you about Bouqefort and to try and dissuade you from your course.”
“Dissuade me from my course?” Daphne regarded him in confusion. “I’m afraid I don’t understand. What does the Marquess of Bouqefort have to do with-” she stopped in mid-sentence, the words lodging in her throat as comprehension slowly dawned. Horrified, her eyes went wide. When she tried to speak her voice was little more than a whisper. “You thought that I…that I…,” she trailed off, unable to continue. Dropping her gaze to the floor she felt fresh tears well within her eyes. Dear God, how little he must think of her to assume that, having rejected her plea, she would simply seek out another man to take his place. No wonder his manner had been so cool at the museum.
Seeing her wounded expression, Brendon could have bitten off his own tongue. “Daphne I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…” He sighed in frustration, furious with himself. “I’m a fool,” he said vehemently, stepping toward her. “Please forgive me.”
“There is nothing to forgive,” Daphne said quietly, shaking her head as she continued to stare at the ground. “Considering my shameless behavior the other night, it was a logical assumption,” she continued, her voice thickening as she choked back her tears.
“No, I-” Taking another step toward her, Brendon reached out and lightly grasped her chin. “Daphne, please look at me,” he said, urging her head up with the gentle pressure of his hand.
She did as he asked, focusing upon his face, even as the tears she could no longer stem slid slowly down her face.
For Brendon, watching the crystal droplets roll slowly down Daphne’s cheeks was like being punched in the gut. “Please don’t cry,” he murmured as he raised his hands, his thumbs moving to lightly brush the moisture from her face as he stared into the depths of her expressive green eyes. What he saw there was heartbreaking to behold, and then, before he knew what he was about, his head bent forward and his lips descended upon hers.
Daphne stood motionless, her senses reeling as Brendon’s lips settled softly upon hers. And then he was kissing her. It was a tender, undemanding kiss, his lips moving ever so gently as they molded and shaped themselves to hers. It was both entirely unexpected and absolutely wonderful.
Though the rational part of his brain ordered him to stop, the completely irrational part of him stubbornly ignored the silent command as he willfully explored the delicate contours of Daphne’s lips with his own. They were incredibly soft and warm and delightfully pliant beneath his, so unlike the practiced kisses he was accustomed to. He felt his body tremble as he fought for control, for her innocent response, incredibly sweet and wholly unaffected, was far more arousing than the caress of the most skilled courtesan. And when she leaned into him in the next instant, a gentle sigh escaping her lips, it fired his blood like the most potent of aphrodisiacs.
Lost to the wonder of her first kiss, Daphne was oblivious to all but the amazing sensations flooding through her as Brendon’s lips played upon hers. Thus, she was totally unprepared and more than a little disappointed when it ended so abruptly.
“Shh,” Brendon mouthed quietly as he lifted his head. Putting his finger to his lips, he listened as the unmistakable sound of voices, one male and one female, drifted toward them from one of the neighboring terraces.
Daphne heard them too and immediately tensed, for she understood all too well that if anyone chanced to see them there in the darkness her reputation would be in tatters. And Blackburn, good lord, she didn’t even want to consider what his reaction would be.
Brendon grasped her arm then, pulling her toward the wall and deeper into the shadows, their bodies mere inches apart as they waited, silent and unmoving until the other couple’s voices grew ever fainter
as they moved in the opposite direction.
Drawing her from the shadows once the danger had passed, Brendon spoke quietly, “Daphne, I-”
“Please,” she said, sensing that he was about to apologize, “don’t say you’re sorry,” she continued with a faint smile and a gentle shake of her head, for she didn’t want anything to ruin what would surely become one of her most cherished memories. She stepped away, raising her hands to brush the lingering dampness from her cheeks. “I should get back before I’m missed,” she said then, turning away.
Standing there in the shadows, Brendon’s thoughts were racing. He had to make a decision, right then and there. And while he knew that he was in all likelihood about to make a terrible mistake, he couldn’t seem to stop the words from leaving his mouth. “Daphne wait.” Stepping forward he caught hold of her arm, turning her to face him.
Daphne stilled, standing motionless before him as their eyes met and held.
“I wasn’t going to apologize,” he said in a husky whisper.
She swallowed hard, noting the sudden intensity in his gaze. “No?”
“No.”
For what felt like an eternity but was surely only a matter of seconds, the unspoken question seemed to hang in the air between them.
Reaching out, Brendon brushed the last little bit of moisture from Daphne’s cheek with the pad of his thumb. “Tell me, my lady,” he began quietly, “are you absolutely certain that the path you have chosen is truly the one you wish to take?”
Looking deep into his eyes, Daphne understood exactly what he was asking, what he was offering. Stunned, she felt the breath catch in her chest. Nonetheless, she hesitated only the briefest of seconds before answering. “Yes, I’m certain”
Chapter 7
As Brendon had instructed before sending her back into the Wittingham ballroom, Daphne was seated at one of the small outside tables in front of Button’s, one of the fashionable café’s scattered along Park Lane, two days later. Glancing about, her heart was racing as she anxiously scanned the surrounding area, for having assured her that he would handle all of the details regarding their upcoming assignation, she knew only that she was there to receive further instruction in some form or another.
She’d brought Charlotte along with her, having enticed her sister with the promise of a flavored ice, followed by a visit to one of the nearby booksellers. And thank goodness she had, for her sister’s non-stop chatter was a welcome distraction.
“And Mr. Dickens said that my posting has improved tremendously,” Charlotte said then, continuing with the summary of her latest riding lesson.
“That’s wonderful,” Daphne replied with an encouraging smile. “Not too much longer and you shall be ready to accompany me to the park, I should think.”
Charlotte beamed and likely would have continued on with the summation of her lesson, but the waiter arrived then, carrying a small tray with two scrumptious-looking ices in glass stemmed desert dishes, one strawberry and the other pineapple.
“Here you are, Miss,” he said, setting the strawberry ice before Charlotte. “And for you, my lady,” he said, reaching for the pineapple-flavored ice. However, unlike with Charlotte’s dish, he discreetly placed a small white envelope beneath hers as he set it upon the table in front of her.
“Thank you,” Daphne murmured, flicking a self-conscious glance toward the envelope as the waiter bowed politely and took his leave. Then, while Charlotte’s attention was focused upon the tasty treat in front of her, she surreptitiously slid the envelope out from underneath her dish and slipped it into her reticule.
It wasn’t until Charlotte was busily combing the shelves of the children’s section within a neighboring bookstore, however, that Daphne was able to slip the envelope from her reticule and break open the wax seal.
Removing the single sheet of paper she quickly scanned the first paragraph of the hand-written note, her eyes widening in surprise, for Brendon had arranged for them to share not just a brief, solitary encounter as she had expected, but rather an entire weekend together. It was altogether shocking, slightly unsettling and deliciously spine-tingling at the same time. Good heavens, a weekend with Brendon Leighton she thought in wonder, it was more than she could have ever hoped for.
As she continued to read, however, she received another, far more discomfiting surprise, for apparently Brendon had enlisted the help of an accomplice to aid in their assignation, the Dowager Marchioness of Roxleigh. And while she couldn’t begin to fathom why Lady Roxleigh would have agreed to assist them in such a scandalous endeavor, she could only assume that Brendon knew what he was doing.
“Is something wrong?”
Startled, Daphne looked up from the note to see Charlotte standing in front of her, eyeing her curiously. “No, of course not. I was merely woolgathering,” she replied with an overly bright smile. Folding up the note, she returned it to her reticule. “Did you find something that interests you?” she asked then, noting the book Charlotte was holding.
Charlotte nodded. “It’s called Memoirs of a London Doll, Written by Herself,” she said, holding the book aloft for Daphne to see. “It’s about the life of a wooden doll named Maria Poppet.”
“Oh, well that sounds fascinating. Shall we purchase it then?”
Charlotte’s eyes lit up. “May we?”
“Yes of course,” Daphne replied. “And we shall read it together as soon as we get home.”
Charlotte clutched the book to her chest, her expression jubilant.
*****
Six days later, as Daphne stood watching out the parlor window, her already racing heart began to beat even faster as the Dowager Marchioness of Roxleigh’s elegant traveling coach, accompanied by two liveried outriders, came into view and then drew to a stop along the pavement out front.
Seconds later, Hughes appeared in the doorway. “My lady, the Roxleigh coach has just arrived,” he announced.
Having purportedly accepted an invitation to spend the weekend with Lady Roxleigh at her country estate, Daphne’s imminent departure had been anticipated by their butler as well as the other members of their household. “Thank you, Hughes. I shall be along directly,” she managed to get past the sudden lump in her throat. Oh dear lord what have I got myself into, for surely this is madness, she thought with a sudden sense of panic.
“Very well,” he replied with a nod. “I shall have Henry see to the loading of your traveling cases.”
As Hughes retreated, Daphne closed her eyes and spoke silently to herself. Don’t be a coward, Daphne! You wanted this, remember. You still want this. Don’t allow your nerves to get the best of you. Not now. Taking a deep breath she opened her eyes and with sheer force of will compelled her feet to move in the direction of the doorway.
Having said goodbye to Charlotte just a few minutes earlier and to Thomas the night before, there was nothing to delay her as she made her way to the foyer, out the front door and along the paved walk to the waiting vehicle. Then, grasping the fabric of her apricot-colored, muslin skirt in one hand, she allowed the waiting footman to hand her into the conveyance.
“Good morning, Lady Roxleigh,” she greeted courteously as she settled onto the rear-facing velvet-covered seat across from the marchioness.
“Good morning, my dear,” the older woman returned, her expression amiable as she regarded Daphne. “How are you this morning?”
“Very well thank you,” Daphne responded evenly, even though it felt as if a dozen butterflies had suddenly taken flight in her stomach. “And you, my lady?”
“Right as rain, dear. But Sebastian here,” she said, stroking the fluffy white coat of the feline lying on the seat next to her, “is a bit out of sorts, I’m afraid.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” Daphne replied, eyeing the blue-eyed cat as he lazed idly upon the red, velvet-covered seat cushion.
“I’m sure it’s nothing a healthy dose of country air can’t remedy,” the marchioness said, scratching him behind the ears. “He’s n
ever particularly cared for city life,” she continued. “But I simply cannot bear to leave him behind when I come to Town.”
“That’s quite understandable,” Daphne said with an empathetic smile. And indeed she did understand, for her younger sister Charlotte had delayed their most recent trip to London by an entire day when Whiskers had turned up missing less than an hour before their scheduled departure. Thomas had been beyond frustrated, of course, but with Charlotte in tears he’d reluctantly set the entire household to the task of locating the wayward feline. By the time Whiskers had been located, however, it was near dusk and their leave-taking had to be rescheduled for the following morning.
“My lady, may I ask you something?” Daphne said then, not wishing to leave the question hanging awkwardly between them for the duration of their journey.
The marchioness regarded her with a knowing expression. “You wish to know why it is that I have agreed to assist you and Brendon in this delicate matter.”
“Yes, if I may be so bold.”
“Of course, dear,” she replied with a warm smile. “I would be curious too, if I were you. And the truth is that I am doing this for two reasons, the first being that I owe Brendon an enormous debt of gratitude, a debt that I will never truly be able to repay.”
Daphne sat quietly, waiting for Lady Roxleigh to continue.
“Roxleigh Park, our family’s country estate, borders the Duke of Sethe’s property to the west, and being neighbors our families have been closely acquainted for generations. As such, I have known Brendon since he was just a babe in leading strings. In fact, the dear boy is much like a son to me, for he and my youngest child, Andrew, were born just months apart and practically grew up in each other’s pockets.”
“Oh, I see,” Daphne replied, though in truth she was still puzzled, for it hardly seemed reason enough for the marchioness to do something so iniquitous as this.
When Only a Rake Will Do Page 9