The Irresistible Rogue (Playful Brides #4)(36)

She put her hand on his cheek and fire leaped between them. “You must tell me a secret.”

Rafe pulled her hand away and offered his arm. “I think we’ve had enough conditions for each other for one weekend.” He tugged her hand lightly, hoping to help her from the bench safely.

Daphne didn’t budge. Her slippered feet remained firmly planted on the stone bench. “Fine, then. I’ll tell you a secret.”

Rafe’s head snapped up. She’d certainly got his attention. “What’s your secret?”

She leaned down and the softness of her breath was a strawberry-scented whisper against his ear. “I liked kissing you the other night. I thought it was exceedingly memorable.”

“Is that so?” he drawled. He briefly considered kissing her again. A sober Daphne Swift was tempting to be certain. An inebriated one, also tempting, but he wasn’t about to take advantage of a young lady who was obviously going to have the devil of a head come morning. He didn’t envy her.

“Yes, that’s so,” she announced, straightening back up again and eyeing him down the length of her nose. “What do you think?”

He shook his head. This couldn’t end well. “I think you’re a bit worse for drink and I’d better get you back to the house.”

“So much for being adventurous, Captain.” She laughed. Before Rafe had a chance to ask her what exactly she meant by that, Daphne leaned down again. For a moment, he was certain she was going to kiss him. But there were footsteps on the gravel path coming toward them. The odds of it being Lucy Hunt again were far too low. They could not be seen kissing. It would ruin Daphne. Rafe took a step back to avoid her kiss and she tumbled off the bench onto him. They both fell onto the soft grass, Daphne completely splayed atop him.

Just as Lord Fitzwell came around the hedge.





CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO




“Lady Daphne? What is the meaning of this?” Lord Fitzwell demanded, hands on his hips.

Daphne turned her head and looked up at him and began to giggle uncontrollably. “I … I fell off the bench.”

“Directly onto Mr. Cavendish?” Fitzwell’s eyes were narrowed and suspicious.

“That’s Captain Cavendish,” Rafe said, struggling to pull Daphne off him and stand up without hurting her. “And yes, it was entirely an accident.”

“It looked like a bit more than an accident,” Lord Fitzwell said, pulling at his lapels, a deep frown on his face.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Rafe maneuvered himself to his feet and helped Daphne up as well. She continued to laugh, which was not helping things. Not in the least.

Daphne turned and bent over, apparently searching for something in the hedge. “I’ve lost my reticule,” she said. She clearly wasn’t comprehending the import of her would-be groom’s presence, nor his insinuations.

“Daphne, stop,” Rafe said.

Daphne swung around, her giggling ended, a surprised look on her face.

Lord Fitzwell raised his brows in total effrontery. “You’re calling her by her Christian name?”

Rafe straightened to his full height and assumed his rigid army-captain stance. “I assure you, Lord Fitzwell, absolutely nothing untoward happened here tonight between Lady Daphne and myself.”

Fitzwell turned to Daphne. “Lady Daphne, is this true?”

Daphne raised her nose in the air. “Lady Daphne, is this true?” she echoed, and then burst out laughing again.

“Lady Daphne, please,” Lord Fitzwell said. “Why, I, if I didn’t know any better, I’d wonder if you were … intoxicated.”

“There’s no need to wonder. I am intoxicated,” Daphne said, still giggling. “I’m ever so intoxicated and at present I’m wondering why I haven’t been intoxicated more often.”

“No. No,” Rafe said. “She’s not intoxicated. She’s just—”

“I am intoxicated!” Daphne insisted, stamping her foot.

Rafe groaned.

She brushed a bit of grass off her sleeve. “I am quite pleasantly intoxicated. And I have one question for you, Lord Fitzwell.”

“Daphne, don’t,” Rafe warned.

“I’ll thank you to stop using Lady Daphne’s Christian name,” Fitzwell added.

Rafe gave the baron a condemning glare.

“I have one question for you,” Daphne repeated, pointing a finger high in the air.

“What’s that?” Lord Fitzwell said, still tugging on his lapels.

“What does your backside look like?”

Lord Fitzwell’s face contorted into a look of such utter confusion and horror that Rafe wondered if his nose would begin spontaneously bleeding again.

“Pardon me?” Lord Fitzwell asked. His valet would never get that coat right again after all the tugging the baron was subjecting it to tonight.

“I asked what your backside looks like. Please turn around. I’d like to see it, to compare.”

“Lady Daphne, you’re not well. Allow me to escort you back to the house.” Rafe grabbed her elbow. If she said another word there would not only not be an engagement, but Daphne’s reputation might be shredded past all repair.

“I am perfectly fine,” Daphne said, struggling to pull herself from Rafe’s grasp. “I would like another glass of champagne, actually.”