And the Miss Ran Away With the Rake(62)

“So tell me this, Miss Dale,” he continued, edging still ever closer, his hand sliding along the top of the pianoforte until it was nearly around her hip, “why aren’t you at his side right this moment?” He looked around the room as if he was trying to imagine where she rightly belonged, even as he took another step toward her.

“Whatever are you doing?” she asked, for he had her trapped, cornered in every sense of the word.

“Testing a theory.” He took another step, leaving naught but a whisper between them.

In front of the entire party? Good heavens, could he now see how this looked?

“We agreed to keep our distance,” she reminded him.

“Yes, I suppose we did,” he conceded, but that didn’t stop him from leaning in, his hips nearly against hers, the wall of his chest but a sliver away from her breasts.

Daphne tried to breathe, but he was ever so close, ever around her. She couldn’t breathe without drawing him in, couldn’t move without touching him.

Didn’t dare look up at him, for then it would be too much like those reckless, dangerous moments in the folly.

Too close to deny that she desired his kiss. With all her heart.

Whatever was wrong with her? It was Dishforth who should ignite such a fire inside her, not Lord Henry. Never Lord Henry.

Oh, Mr. Dishforth, where are you?

“My lord,” she managed, daring to look up at him, “I hardly think this . . . this . . . is keeping our distance.”

He grinned. “Miss Dale, you have two choices: go and seek your perfect gentleman”—he nodded toward the crowded room—“or better yet, let’s see if he shares your opinion of me and will rescue you from my nefarious attentions.”

And with that, Lord Henry dipped his head down as if he was about to steal a kiss.

Right there. In front of everyone.

His breath teased over her ear, sending a clarion cry through her. He was going to ruin her.

Let him.

Daphne panicked. At least that is what she vowed later to Lady Essex and Harriet and Tabitha.

She put her hands on his chest, an attempt to push the loathsome beast away, but the moment her fingers splayed across his jacket, she found herself entwined by the same magic that had wound around them at the folly.

Indeed, it was a dangerous kind of folly that Daphne and Lord Henry soon found themselves in.

Especially when Lady Zillah Seldon chose that moment to wake up a bit and take stock of what was happening around her.





Chapter 8



No. I most certainly do not.

Found in a letter from Mr. Dishforth to Miss Spooner




The next morning

“What aspect of the very simple vow that we agreed upon—to keep our distance—eludes you, Lord Henry?”

Henry came to a blinding halt in the middle of the breakfast room, his thoughts too focused on the business at hand, that of uncovering the identity of Miss Spooner, to notice that the room was not empty.

And the complaints weren’t over yet. “Good heavens, I even got up an extra hour early to escape you, and still you cannot leave me be? This is unconscionable.”

He cringed. Miss Dale. His gaze swept the grand table, and at the very end he found the sole occupant.

Which also meant they were alone. Once again.

Splendid.

That always went so well for them, he mused as he gauged their surroundings.

Well, not completely alone, for Tabitha’s huge beast of a dog lay at her feet. Mr. Muggins gazed up at him with a crooked smile that suggested the big terrier wasn’t the least shocked at Henry’s arrival. Contrary to Miss Dale’s horrified greeting, the dog got up and ambled over, nudging Henry’s hand with his wiry head and then looked up at him with those great big brown, adoring eyes.

Of course, the dog was also looking over at the platter of sausages on the sideboard, as if to suggest that Henry might also make a good footman and fetch him a couple. Just between friends and all.

Some chaperone. Once fed, the dog would surely look the other way at any goings-on.

Of which there weren’t going to be any. None whatsoever. Last night had been disaster enough.

“What are you doing down here so early?” Miss Dale continued, shooting a wry glance at Mr. Muggins, one that suggested she found the dog’s attentions downright traitorous.

“I had thought to avoid you,” he said, setting his papers and writing box down at his chair near the head of the table. At least the chit had chosen a spot well away from his.