And the Miss Ran Away With the Rake(50)

Why wouldn’t he? Before him stood a lady who could have been mistaken for a watery nymph. Her fair hair coiled in long curls down from her head, her fair skin made even more translucent by the chill in the air, quite in contrast to the luscious pinkish rosy color of her cheeks and lips.

Only the smattering of freckles across her nose gave any indication that she was not some ethereal creature come to tempt him. Lure him to his doom.

Unfortunately for him, Miss Dale was all too real.

And she tempted him more than he cared to admit.

She repeated herself. “Lord Henry, it isn’t mannerly to tease a lady so.”

“Miss Dale, I do not tease.” Taking a deep breath, he took another step—figuratively. For if he did it literally, he would have been straying dangerously close to temptation. “You are a beautiful woman. Too much so.”

They stood there—and once again Henry had the sense of being lost within their own world—with the only sound the pattering of rain all around them. The deluge was beginning to let up, and now the drops competed with the large plops of water dripping from the trees and shrubberies that hid them away in this quiet corner of Owle Park.

Neither of them moved, just stood there, expectantly.

It was the sort of moment that was more Preston’s forte than Henry’s, but that didn’t mean he didn’t know what to do . . . or rather what he’d promised not to . . .

She pursed her lips as she watched him, her lashes fluttering softly. “Lord Henry, I—”

He didn’t want to hear what she had to say. Didn’t want to hear her protest. Or a confession of her own.

So he did the only thing left to him.

The same thing that his rakish ancestors had always done so well.

Daphne might be from Kempton and considered a bit naive—rightly so—but she wasn’t so inexperienced with men that she didn’t recognize the rakish gleam in Lord Henry’s eyes as he declared her “beautiful.”

Too much so.

Her heart took a tremulous leap. And wrapped as she was in his greatcoat, surrounded by the fine wool and the masculine air that clung to the threads as if it was woven in . . . bayberry rum and something so very male . . . she couldn’t help but feel surrounded by him.

Then she looked again into the piercing blue gaze of Lord Henry Seldon and knew . . . knew down to the squishy soles of her boots why every Dale lady was warned to give the Seldon males a wide berth.

Because the light of passion burning in his eyes left her trembling . . . shivering despite his warm coat around her shoulders. Probably because of it.

For it was like having the man himself holding her.

Almost. For she knew what that was like. All too well.

Just then the rain stopped. As if the heavens had decided the green fields had had enough and that was that. The steady patter abruptly ended, broken only by the occasional drip and plop, leaving Daphne standing and staring at this man in a still air of wonder.

Did he truly think her beautiful?

One more glance told her the truth. And more.

Not only was Lord Henry telling the truth—he did find her beautiful—but the gleam in his eyes also said he found her desirable.

Her legs pressed together and she gathered her arms around herself, either to ward him off or to hold fast to the delicious sense of yearning that was spiraling through her.

Desirable. Oh, such a notion brought with it a heady, wondrous feeling. Made only that much more dangerous because it came from someone as rakish and dangerous as Lord Henry.

Oh, Harriet could claim all the way to Scotland and back that Lord Henry was a dull stick, an anomaly of the Seldon bloodlines, but nothing could be further from the truth. Daphne saw him exactly for what he was, in his true light.

For here she stood, with her toes curled up inside her damp stockings, her soaked boots, and it was all she could do not to take a step closer to him.

She needn’t. He did it for her.

Coming closer and reaching out to push a stray tendril of her hair off her face. His fingers brushed over her cheek, her temple, and she shivered.

“You’re chilled,” he whispered.

“Not in the least,” she admitted. Not when he touched her like that. Her insides seemed to catch fire.

“No?” he asked again, teasing another strand out of her eyes.

Teasing her.

All the denial Daphne could manage was a slight shake of her head.

He reached down and took up her hands in his, holding them together as if they could ward off any chill.