Daphne saw the frown on his face. The high spirits enjoyed since Lord Quinton’s revelations regarding Miss Oakswine— her Fatal Flaw!—lowered.
She determined she must put up a guard against the tender feelings for Lord Ravenswood his person evoked in her, but this foolhardy notion flew out the tall windows of the room the instant he placed his strong, white-gloved hand at her waist.
For his part Anthony swung her easily into the steps of the waltz. She was so feminine, so delicate. His heartbeat quickened when he smelled her light, flowery perfume.
Daphne noticed he watched her intently, and his interest did strange things to her breathing.
She missed a step.
Without delay, his arm tightened around her.
Daphne chided herself for her clumsiness; all the while her heart jolted and her pulse pounded at the intimacy of the way he held her. “Do forgive me, my lord,” she whispered.
Anthony bent his head to catch her words, bringing them even closer together. He had a mad desire to crush her to him. Good God, why must the chit have this effect on him? He felt like tearing his hair out. “It is of no consequence, Miss Kendall. You have danced every dance, have you not? I imagine you are growing weary.”
“No, I am not,” Daphne said. What was he about? Why did he look at her in that captivated manner, then speak to her with a harsh edge to his voice?
“I have seen you dance twice with that spotty-faced young puppy, Piers Fitzwilliam.” Anthony knew he was acting peevish and could not for the life of him understand why he could not bring himself under control.
There was a short silence between them that grew tight with tension.
Then Daphne said, “Mr. Fitzwilliam was a charming partner, ever conscious of my pleasure in our dances. I judged myself honored by his company, especially his lively sense of humor. If his pursuit of partners this evening has not flourished because of the unfortunate condition of his complexion, then the ladies in question are the ones to suffer a loss.”
This speech, which Anthony deemed overly noble, had the irrational effect of setting up his back even more. “Fitzwilliam has found a champion indeed.”
“Is kindness so very foreign to you, then, my lord?” Daphne snapped, out of reason cross.
His straight glance seemed to accuse her coldly. “There is a line where once crossed, kindness becomes gullibility.”
She could not know he was thinking of his father’s naive response to Isabella.
“I like to believe compassion and benevolence are things we want for ourselves and should therefore give to others,” Daphne said.
Lord Ravenswood turned a jaded eye on her. “Tsk, tsk, Miss Kendall. A limping footman, a companion who had been accused of thievery, a nearly blind butler, a drunken cook. What else? A deaf lady’s maid?”
“No, she suffers from aching joints and a stiffness, mainly in her hands,” Daphne said guiltily.
“You are a pigeon ready for plucking. It will not serve you well in this world.”
Daphne drew in a quick breath. “Perhaps not, my lord. But surely it is better than closing oneself off to deeper feelings.”
The barb struck home. Ever since that last bitter argument with his father over Isabella, Anthony had not permitted himself to become close to anyone.
Daphne’s perception of this fact caused him to quickly reach the end of his tether. He glared down at her haughtily. “I have always regarded as horrendous the thought of becoming attached to a female with a sharp tongue.”
Daphne, who had noticed Lord Ravenswood’s disappearance into the refreshment room earlier with Miss Blenkinsop, looked pointedly at where Elfleta stood with her mama. “Well, my lord, you may be easy. You are certainly in no danger whatsoever.”
That silenced him.
Across the room by the chaperons, two eager observers to the scene were standing together and becoming increasingly anxious.
“Eugene,” Miss Shelby whispered apprehensively. “We must do something. They are cross as crabs with one another.”
The manservant’s normally serene countenance crinkled with concern. Just as his master and Daphne waged war with each other, a war was waging inside him. He had learned at a young age that his powers could be a blessing or a curse. Eugene used them sparingly and only when he had ascertained they would cause positive results.
He rarely made an error in judgment, the last time being with that elephant at Astley’s. He had meant only to give a fright to that loathsome woman and instead—but he would not think of it now.
Miss Shelby twisted a fold in her coral-colored gown. “Eugene, please.”
He slowly turned and looked deep into her eyes. What if she turned away from him in aversion or fear? “Leonie, mayhaps you should leave the room for a moment.”
“You underestimate me, Eugene,” Miss Shelby informed him. She returned his gaze unwaveringly.
Eugene studied her carefully and then his face relaxed. “Very well.” He turned and looked at Daphne, one hand reaching up to touch the eye-pin nestled in his turban. He concentrated hard.
Waltzing with Lord Ravenswood, Daphne was not enjoying her victory. Neither she nor his lordship had spoken a word since her tart comment regarding Miss Blenkinsop. Why, she asked herself, had it come to this?
Her annoyance at the situation increased when she found her hands were shaking. Surely he could feel her hand trembling in his. Tiresome man!
The dance ended, and Daphne was grateful. A wave of treacherous heat was invading her body. She had heard older ladies confide about sudden feelings of being hot, but surely she was too young for such maladies.
A second later she believed she might have to rethink this idea. Her head spun, and she felt disoriented. If only she were not so very warm. She raised a hand to her brow.
“What is it, Miss Kendall?” Lord Ravenswood asked, seeing her distress.
“’Tis nothing, my lord,” she lied, then swayed a little. “Perhaps the heat of the room ...”
“By the Lord, you are ill. Come with me.” Lord Ravenswood drew her hand firmly through his arm. He adroitly guided her through the ladies and gentlemen changing partners for the next set. Leaving the ballroom, they proceeded through the refreshment room and out into the hall.
Back by the chaperons, Miss Shelby craned her neck, watching them go. “Dear me, as Daphne’s companion I really should not let her go off with a gentleman unchaperoned.”
She turned to Eugene, and her lips spread in a mischievous grin. Eugene’s wrinkled, tanned face mirrored the action.
Out in the hall, Lord Ravenswood found an open door a few steps away. They walked into a deserted anteroom, and he closed the door firmly behind them.
The anteroom was dark except for the light coming in the tall windows from the full moon. Daphne leaned heavily on Lord Ravenswood’s arm. She felt like she was suffocating from heat.
“Here, Miss Kendall, can you sit down on this settee for a moment while I fetch some punch?”
“Yes. Thank you,” Daphne said weakly, and carefully seated herself. “I do not know what has come over me. Nothing like this has ever happened to me before.”
“Do not worry,” Lord Ravenswood assured her, although his brow was creased with concern. He chastised himself for his boorish behavior, which, in his view, may very well have brought on Miss Kendall’s sudden disorder. “You shall be put to rights after partaking of something cool to drink.”
Daphne favored him with a tremulous smile, and he walked quickly out into the hall. She fanned herself, but the heat would not go away.
In seconds he returned and offered her a glass. She accepted it after a murmured thanks and sipped gratefully. It was an arrack punch, and quite potent, but Daphne did not care.
He waited until she finished the drink and then said, “Are you better? I fear I should have summoned Miss Shelby for the sake of propriety.”
Daphne raised a forestalling hand. “I do not wish to alarm her. Certainly I was only too warm and shall recover presently.”
Lord Ravenswood crossed the room to the tall windows. He opened the latch, and the window swung open. He returned to Daphne’s side and offered her his hand. “Come, the night air is cool.”
“How resourceful you are, my lord,” she said, and rose. She reached the window and inhaled a deep breath.
“Is the air helping?” Lord Ravenswood inquired.
The gentle breeze coming in the window was indeed restorative. Daphne felt the heat begin to seep from her body in gradual degrees. “Yes, thank you.”
He stood close to her in front of the open window, and the light of the moon showed Daphne the worry on his face. She could see his feelings toward her were sympathetic, and his behavior had been most charitable.
The combination of the strong punch and the night air had brought about a rejuvenation of her spirits. Adding to this was her pleasure in his care.
“I am feeling much more the thing, thanks to you, my lord,” Daphne told him. The moonlight shone on his dark hair. She was suddenly acutely aware that they were alone.
“There is no need to thank me,” he said quietly. “I fear it was my churlish behavior during our dance that caused you to become ill.”
Impulsively Daphne reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Nonsense.”
Anthony felt as if her hand touched his bare skin through his coat, so powerful was the effect she had on him. “I must beg your pardon for the things I said to you. I do not know what came over me.”
Daphne gave a little shake of her head. “I do not wish ever to quarrel with you, my lord.”
Anthony was so touched by this sentiment, he placed his fingers on the side of her cheek in the barest of caresses.
That was when he lost control.
Daphne stood transfixed by the magnetic pull of his dark eyes. She saw his mouth lower to hers in a kind of dream. She knew immediately she craved his kiss. Had been craving it.
His lips pressed against hers, and then gently covered her mouth. Daphne felt the warm firmness of his mouth in every fiber of her being. Her hands came up and wound around his neck. She returned his kiss with a hunger that belied her outward calm.
Anthony’s head reeled. As he roused her passion, his own grew stronger. His hands went around her back to hold her against him. Abruptly he stripped off the glove from his hand, enabling him to reach up and feel her hair with his bare fingers. It was as soft as kitten fur. He moved to stroke the smooth skin of her face, all the while smothering her lips with demanding proficiency.
A loud burst of laughter from down the hall brought him reluctantly to his senses.
He raised his head and placed a quick kiss on her forehead. “We must go back to the ballroom before we are missed,” he told her. His voice was very low and hoarse.
They looked into one another’s eyes, and Daphne gloried in the shared moment. She felt wrapped in a silken cocoon of happiness. This was the feeling she knew her parents had shared. The feeling she had been waiting for.
She was in love with Lord Ravenswood.
The earl moved a little away from her so he could deftly put his white glove back on. Neither of them spoke. Daphne felt neither of them wished to break the enchantment of that first long kiss.
He offered her his arm, and they walked down the hall to the entrance of the ballroom. A couple stood just inside the doorway, apparently new arrivals.
The gentleman looked near seventy years of age. The lady seemed much younger, not yet past her fortieth birthday, and was tall and expensively gowned in a rich Turkey red silk. Diamonds shone around her neck, her wrists, and at her ears. Bright gold hair curled about her face in the latest fashion.
Daphne felt Anthony tense at her side. She looked up at him questioningly, but his gaze was fastened on the lady. At that moment the blonde turned and saw him. Her face hardened. “Anthony.”
Lord Ravenswood’s voice was curt. “Hello, Isabella.”
Chapter Eight
A thin chill hung in the air.
Anthony suddenly felt himself back at Raven’s Hall. His father was alive, and they were engaged in a hell of a row about Isabella’s bills. She sat languidly on a chair, one dainty foot swinging off to the side, while she tried to stifle a yawn.
As usual, he could not convince his father of any wrongdoing on the young countess’s part, and only succeeded in widening the gulf between them.
It could have been any one of a number of such occasions. He experienced all the old feelings of frustration, fear...
“Anthony, have your wits gone begging?” Isabella scolded, bringing him back to the present. “I have just introduced my new husband, the Marquess of Lamberton.”
Civility forced Anthony to incline his dark head briefly in his stepmother’s direction and to bow to Lord Lamberton. From the marquess’s nervous looks toward the doorway, Anthony surmised he knew something of the nature of his wife’s relationship with her deceased husband’s son and wished to be no part of their encounter.
Before Anthony could present Miss Kendall, Isabella spoke again in a tone of voice he knew well from the past.
“Lamb, darling, do run off to the card room,” she positively cooed to the marquess. “I know how these parties weary you so.”
The relief on Lord Lamberton’s face was comical. “Zooks! You have the right of it, Bella. There’s my good girl.”
“I hope to goodness I know what my Lamb needs!” Isabella crooned, and blew him a kiss.
Lord Lamberton scuttled away muttering, “Buy you another bauble with my winnings.”
Isabella turned hard eyes back to Daphne and Anthony. “And who have we here, Anthony?”
Stiffly he performed the introductions, all the while wishing Isabella would disappear, and that he never again had to lay eyes on the woman responsible for driving his father into an early grave. But she was here. And now she was a marchioness. He gave her credit for success in her ambitions, if nothing else.
He glanced at Miss Kendall as she exchanged pleasantries with Isabella, and thought he detected a hint of curiosity about her expression. What must she think of this strange meeting? And what had he been about earlier, kissing her with a passion he had not realized he felt for her? He brutally pushed the memory from his mind. He could not think of it now.