And the Miss Ran Away With the Rake(74)

Thoroughly, passionately. Rakishly . . .

Oh, that would never do!

Dishforth, Daphne! she reminded herself. You must find sensible and reliable Mr. Dishforth.

“Miss Dale?” he said in a voice etched with concern.

Smoothing out her skirt and glancing up at him, feigning a look of surprise at his untimely arrival, she stepped around him. “Oh, Lord Henry! Whatever are you doing here?”

“On my way to the ballroom to choose my costume for the masquerade. I would have thought you would have been down there first thing, like all the other ladies.”

“I was delayed—” she replied, stealing a glance at the empty salver, then wrenching her gaze away. Bother, she’d forgotten about the costumes. “—by Mr. Muggins.” She reached over and gave the traitorous terrier a scratch on his wiry head. “I believe he spied a bird.”

“Inside the house?” Lord Henry asked, stepping back and studying her.

Daphne laughed, perhaps a little too hysterically. Drat it all, she was so terrible at lying. “No. Of course not. It was . . .” She glanced around. “Outside. Yes, outside. Just beyond the window.” She turned back and smiled at him. “Mr. Muggins and feathers! He is the very devil.”

Lord Henry’s brow wrinkled. “Yes, so Tabitha mentioned. Went so far as to ban them from the house party.”

“Good thing,” Daphne advised. “Just ask Lady Gudgeon.”

“I heard about that. He chased her across Hyde Park until he’d brought her hat to ground.”

“He did.”

“Rather wished I’d seen that,” Lord Henry admitted. “Never been overly fond of Lady Gudgeon.”

“Apparently that is a sentiment shared by many,” Daphne said.

Just then, Miss Nashe and her mother came strolling through the foyer on their way to the rooms set aside for the costumes. Both mother and daughter wore identical expressions of disapproval. They glanced at each other and Daphne could well guess what passed between them.

See. I told you she’s set her cap.

So you did.

Then Daphne glanced up and realized Lord Henry had edged closer to her, almost protectively. Then once the pair was well and gone, he shuddered.

“Allow me to escort you, Miss Dale,” he said, holding out his arm. “I fear the path ahead is plagued with trolls.”

Since she hadn’t any plausible excuse for hanging about the salver, and no desire to enlist his help in finding Dishforth, there was nothing Daphne could do but accept his offer and lay her hand down on his sleeve.

As she did, he reached over and laid his other hand atop hers, and the moment they touched, it was as it had been in the folly all over again—save without his lips covering hers.

The magic, the heat, that spark that lit inside both of them every time they touched.

Daphne yanked her gaze away from his hand and looked straight ahead, concentrating on her raison d’être.

Find Dishforth. She must find Dishforth.

Or . . . or else . . .

Well, she knew what “or else” meant.

Ruin. At the hands of this very rakish man. No matter what his harridan of an aunt claimed.

“Any word from your family?” he asked.

“Pardon?”

“Your family?” he nudged. “I just assumed you were hovering about the salver in case any word of their impending approach arrived.” He laughed a bit, as if this disastrous notion was something worthy of waiting around for.

“I wasn’t hovering about the salver, as you put it, and no, I’ve had no word from my family.”

“Truly?” he asked.

And she hadn’t the least idea if he meant, Truly you haven’t heard from your family? or Truly, you weren’t hovering about the salver?

Nor was she inclined to delve into either subject.

So she did the next best thing. She ignored him and hoped he’d leave well enough alone.

But then again, this was Lord Henry, and he was apparently as tenacious as Mr. Muggins when he spied a feather.

“And here I thought you were hiding from the impending doom of your family’s likely arrival,” he teased.

Daphne glanced over at him. Had he suddenly gone mad to joke about such a thing?

“Hardly,” she replied with the same haughty disdain that was Lady Essex’s trademark. “As I said, Mr. Muggins spied—”

“Miss Dale, you needn’t gammon me.” He shook his head and made a tsk, tsk sound. “If you wanted to escape your chaperone, you’ll get no objections from me, nor sanctions. Far from it.”