The Irresistible Rogue (Playful Brides #4)(17)
Delilah giggled. “It’s funny you should ask that, Capitaine, as I find that you are the most dashing gentleman in the room.”
Rafe pointed at himself. “Me?”
“Of course. You are always off on an adventure, are you not? You see? Dashing.”
Rafe blinked. He’d certainly never thought of himself that way but he couldn’t help but smile at the girl’s description.
“Cousin Daphne is quite dashing as well. She’s so game and full of life. Why, she’s always willing to play hide-and-seek with me and go for long rides in the country and race and run and laugh. While Lord Fitzwell is decidedly undashing. He’s always asking who someone is related to. Or pointing out who he is related to. It’s ever so dull. I simply cannot imagine Cousin Daphne living with that stuffy Lord Fitzwell.”
Rafe rubbed a hand across his chin. “Neither can I.”
Delilah sighed again. “I’ve been quite beside myself thinking of ways to stop the party.”
Rafe nearly laughed aloud at that. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, you know. I might come down with a convenient case of plague or the like.”
Rafe shook his head. “That doesn’t sound particularly convenient to me. And it seems difficult to manage, given your circumstances.”
“I agree,” Delilah answered with a resolute if unhappy nod. “Plague is far too dramatic. I continue to think upon it. The trick, of course, would be to get sick enough to send everyone home but not so sick that I cannot recover.”
“I see.” Rafe continued to smother his laugh. “And how exactly would you contract such an illness?”
“It’s not easy, obviously, or I would have done it by now. I am quite at my wit’s end. I’ve decided it may be more prudent to pretend I am ill than to actually be ill. I was in the library earlier reading about cholera and scurvy.”
“I doubt very much you could claim a case of scurvy.”
“You’re quite right. I’ve eaten at least three oranges today and Cousin Daphne’s seen me with two of them. Cholera seems an unpleasant business altogether and anything involving pox requires far too much work with a rouge pot.”
Rafe had to press his lips together hard to keep from laughing at the earnest young lady. “I beg your pardon.”
Delilah fluttered a hand in the air. “I’d settled on a megrim but I somehow doubt that would stop the party. I believe they would merely send me to bed and all that would accomplish is my not being here to keep Lord Fitzwell from proposing to Daphne.”
Rafe nodded sagely. “It does seem as if you’re in quite the bind.”
“Oh, don’t worry, Capitaine. I have a trick up my sleeve. Sacrebleu, there’s my governess. I must go.” Delilah winked at him for certain this time and scurried from the room, just before the dowager countess announced that they would all go for dinner.
CHAPTER TEN
“Lady Daphne, may I escort you for a walk about the room?”
Daphne breathed a sigh of relief. She turned to see Lord Fitzwell holding out his arm clad in a fine dark blue velvet jacket. Dinner earlier had been lovely. The men had had their drinks in the dining room and now all of the guests were together again, milling about the large drawing room.
“I would be honored, my lord,” she replied, stepping closer to him and sliding her gloved hand over his sleeve.
Lord Fitzwell led her toward the far end of the room. On the way, she endeavored to sniff at his jacket. Just a short sniff. Nothing too obvious. But her nose couldn’t seem to detect a scent. Every time she was in that rogue Rafe Cavendish’s presence, she smelled his alluring combination of soap and leather and pine and whatever else he smelled of that made her senses reel, blast him. But trying to find a scent on Lord Fitzwell was a lesson in frustration. It seemed she’d have to get even closer and that seemed unlikely. Why, she couldn’t exactly stick her nose up to his collar and sniff. That would be entirely unseemly and most likely unwelcome and probably wholly impossible to explain. A bad combination to be sure.
She decided to give up for the time being and attempted to enjoy their stroll around the room, even though Lord Fitzwell hadn’t yet said a word. Hmm. Things had got off to a bit of a precarious start this afternoon, what with Rafe skulking about and staring at her constantly. Didn’t he know how difficult it was for one’s future bridegroom to court a lady when one’s husband was glaring down one’s neck the entire time? The frustrating man. But now, at least she’d had dinner seated next to Lord Fitzwell, and even though the conversation had lagged a bit, she was quite encouraged by the fact that he’d asked her to take a turn about the room. Today, a turn about the room. Tomorrow, hopefully, a proposal.
And she was hopeful, wasn’t she? Lord Fitzwell was handsome, he was well mannered, eligible, titled, and he ran in the right sorts of circles. He was not known to have any scandal attached to his name. He was not a drinker. Most importantly, according to all of the sources she was able to consult, he was loyal. Loyal with no hint of being a rake. None whatsoever. That had been exceedingly important to Daphne. Yes, all in all, he was exactly the sort of man she should want to marry. Mama agreed. Julian seemed to approve. Lord Fitzwell was steadfast and sure, not the sort of man who would be, say, gallivanting across the Continent putting his life in danger at a moment’s notice. She was done with that sort of adventure, and with her childish attraction to that sort of an adventurer. So why couldn’t she muster enthusiasm when it came to the thought of an engagement to Lord Fitzwell?