And the Miss Ran Away With the Rake(23)
Harriet glanced up. “Lord Henry?”
“Yes, of course, Lord Henry! The man is wretched. I deplore him.”
“Didn’t look that way earlier,” Harriet said. “The two of you looked quite cozy.”
“He tricked me,” Daphne avowed. Though she knew that was only partially true. She’d tricked herself. “He lulled me with his charm.”
Harriet’s eyes widened, a slight smile tugging at her lips. “So what you are saying is that Lord Henry is charming . . .”
Daphne found herself being herded toward a confession she wasn’t going to make.
Ever.
“He can’t help it,” she said, mostly in her own defense. “Look at him over there now, flirting with Miss . . . Miss . . .”
Oh, bother, it was impossible to think of the girl’s name when her gaze kept straying to Lord Henry’s bright smile. And never mind that she knew exactly where he was. She was willing to concede that the Seldon males were overly handsome and eye catching.
Most likely every woman in the room knew exactly where that Lothario stood.
It was their curse, their charm. Daphne cringed at that last thought. Lord Henry Seldon was too charming.
“That’s Miss Lantham,” Harriet supplied.
“Yes, well, poor Miss Lantham. For there she is getting her hopes up that he’s taken notice of her, and he won’t. For in about two minutes he will be on to his next conquest.”
Harriet cocked her head to one side as she looked at Daphne. “And you would know this because . . . ?”
“Because that is exactly what he did to me. At least what he attempted to do,” she said. “I can hear him right now. ‘Oh, Miss Lantham, I would remember meeting you—how is it I have yet to have the pleasure of your acquaintance?’ ”
Harriet laughed at her imitation.
But Daphne wasn’t done; she nodded at the pair across the way, and when Miss Lantham began to chatter, she filled in the words for Harriet.
Miss Lantham: “Lord Henry, I avow I’ve always wanted to meet you.”
“And I you, Miss Lantham,” Daphne added, with a deep rakish voice.
Miss Lantham: “I have a very large dowry I would love to show you.”
Lord Henry: “I possess a great fondness for large dowries and ladies who delight in sharing.”
“Daphne, you are being wicked,” Harriet complained as she laughed. “Do stop, or you’ll have Lady Essex over here to discover why we are having fun and not out dancing with the Lord Middlecotts of the world.” Having composed herself, Harriet dared not look over at Lord Henry, but in his defense she said, “I hardly think he is as bad as all that.”
“He is an unpardonable rake.”
Harriet looked sideways at her. “Daphne Dale, I’ve never known you to be prone to such dramatics. Lord Henry is no rake. By all accounts, he’s considered quite dull.”
Against her better judgment, Daphne glanced across the room where he still stood charming Miss Lantham.
Dull? Hardly.
Not for all the silver in the King’s treasury would she admit the treacherous thoughts that had sprung to mind when Lord Henry raised his heart-stopping gaze and turned ever-so-slightly to look at her.
As if he’d known she’d been watching him.
Wrenching her gaze away, Daphne feigned indifference. Her insides were a little more difficult to tame, for her heart raced, and something wild and tempting uncoiled inside her, teasing her to look again.
Well, she wouldn’t.
“Whoever is your partner for the supper dance?” Daphne asked her friend, hoping this would change the subject.
“Oh, just Fieldgate,” Harriet said, casting the name aside with a breezy wave of her hand.
“Fieldgate!” Daphne made a tsk, tsk. “But you’ve danced with him twice tonight. I hope Lady Essex hasn’t noticed. She’s already vexed that I’ll be dancing with Lord Henry twice, but another round with Fieldgate? Harriet!” She wagged her finger at her friend. “She’ll complain to Roxley.”
“I know,” Harriet said, a slight grin tipping her lips.
“You deplore the viscount, Harriet.”
“I do indeed.”
“And Roxley avows he is a scandalous, scurrilous fellow.”
“Precisely his appeal,” Harriet said, once again smiling like a well-pleased cat.
Daphne shook her head. “You’ll push Roxley too far.”