Dangerous in Diamonds (18 page)
The night’s collective annoyances crystallized in that instant. Castleford came very close to breaking the wine bottle over Latham’s head. While he restrained himself, the notion entered his head that if Latham did pursue Daphne Joyes, a good reason would inevitably be found to call him out one day. God knew the world would be better for it.
If you ever get the chance, kill him, Tristan
.
.
“Try for her if you dare,” he said lazily. “She is known as a very proud woman, however. Formidable, she is called. Not your sort, really. Not at all helpless.”
Latham thought that was very funny. He grinned into his wine while he drank.
Castleford decided he had suffered the man’s company too long. That he had been subjected to this tête-à-tête only because Daphne had caught the blackguard’s eye did nothing for his mood.
Just as he was about to take his leave, the lovely woman in question strolled by with the rest of his party. Latham noticed. He hailed Hawkeswell, who did not know better and came over. Introductions ensued.
Latham paused a five count on meeting Jonathan Albrighton. His attempt to place the face if not the name produced a frown but ultimately failed. Latham then turned his charm and eloquence on the ladies one by one, and finally on the object of his interest.
Daphne Joyes did not react much at all to the new duke’s recollection of her service in his father’s house. She did nothing to reveal her dislike of the man, either. Instead Castleford watched her smile in that cool, distant, utterly composed manner she could assume, while her gray eyes looked through Latham as if he were made of glass.
S
eeing Latham was, Daphne decided, a hideous ending to a glorious night.
eeing Latham was, Daphne decided, a hideous ending to a glorious night.
Punishment, that’s what it was.
She had barely experienced Vauxhall Gardens due to her sensual daze. Even as she talked with her friends and listened to the music, even while she strolled the grounds and watched the crowds, the entire place appeared like a magical world just out of reach, not quite real.
It was all pleasure’s fault. Shocking, extreme pleasure. Long after the physical effects had faded—and it took a good while for that to happen—the mist on her senses had not lifted.
That all shattered when she heard the voice calling Hawkeswell. She looked toward the call, and reality slammed into her hard. There, in one of the dining boxes, sat Latham. And beside him, sprawled on a chair that was not inclined to accommodate such relaxation, was Castleford.
They had been drinking wine together, she noticed when Hawkeswell dragged them all over there. Castleford did not appear especially pleased by whatever Latham had been saying, but then, now that she had the clarity to think about it, he had not appeared in good humor ever since they left the barge.
She tried not to see Latham during the introductions. She pretended he was not really there even while she responded to his recollections about meeting before. She sought sanctuary in her poise, because she would be damned before she let the man glimpse evidence of the visceral reaction churning inside her.
“Do you live in town now, Mrs. Joyes?” Latham asked. “I vaguely remember your moving north when you left the girls.”
“My husband’s regiment was in the north.”
“Mrs. Joyes is only visiting London,” Castleford said. “She lives in the country. Kent, I believe, Mrs. Joyes?”
A few of their party exchanged curious glances at that, but none corrected him. Daphne only tipped her head in what might be seen as a gesture of assent.
Verity made reference to completing their promenade. Castleford left the box to join them. No one invited Latham.
Daphne turned, grateful to escape. It was not to be, unfortunately.
“Mrs. Joyes,” Latham said, claiming her attention as they began walking away.
She turned back. She felt her party drifting away. All except Castleford, who remained near.
“Mrs. Joyes, I look forward to seeing you again before your visit in town ends,” Latham said.
“How generous of you, sir.”
He smiled. His shallow blue eyes sparkled with flirtatious appreciation. He bowed. And looked at her in a way that made her heart sink.
It was all there in his gaze, the memories from years ago and the interest now. The awareness that she knew more than he cared anyone to know. The rapaciousness that had no honor and accepted no laws.
She refused to join in this darker recognition. She left him as if he were a stranger. She turned on her heel and marched away, passing Castleford without ceremony, putting distance between herself and that supper box.
A hand on her arm urged her to slow down. Castleford fell into step beside her. She continued to look straight ahead.
“You know about him, don’t you?” he said.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“I think that you do. More than dislike is written on your face right now. You are in high color in the worst way, for the worst reason.”
She did not doubt it. She was truly distressed. Embarrassed and furious at the same time. Each step made it worse, not better.
“A month before I left Becksbridge’s house, a girl, a servant, confided in me. She worked in the kitchen,” she said. “A pretty, young, innocent girl. She had been full of joy. Then, suddenly, she became so melancholy that we feared for her health.”
She stopped and looked Castleford in the eyes. “He had forced her. She showed me bruises that even days later had not faded. I had been suspicious of him, but I knew then for certain. So, yes, I know about him. And I do not understand how you, or anyone else, could ever call such a rogue a friend.”
She strode on. Once more that hand took her arm. This time he guided her out of the crowd’s flow. He escorted her this way and that, until they were in the paths known to hide lovers and clandestine meetings. Few lanterns lit this wooded area, and long shadows kept one’s identity obscure.
He stopped her in one of those shadows and took her face in both his hands. A kiss, hard at first, almost cruel. Then softer, and sweet with care. Memories from the barge poured into her. They left little room for her anger about Latham to remain.
He turned her in his arm, and they strolled in the dark.
“Imagine for me, if you can, that you were born the first son of a duke,” he said.
“I dare not. I would be spoiled just picturing the indulgence I would have to suffer.”
“Indulgence enough. But also, as soon as you could speak, lessons and preparation. Not for a minute are you allowed to forget the station waiting. Everyone treats you differently. Even your tutor defers to you. Then you go off to school, and it is worse with the dons and the beadles and with the other boys. Even sons of earls curry your favor and friendship because of who you will be one day.”
“Not Hawkeswell, surely. Not Lord Sebastian.”
“It took me a good long while to accept neither had ulterior motives. Years. It was not anything I blamed people for. It simply was the way it was. I expected it. Even now I do.”
She wondered what that was like, to always assume gestures of friendship were the giving that anticipated a larger taking.
“Latham, however, was just like me,” he said. “Is it any wonder we became friends as boys? Our alliance was of no special benefit to either one of us. We would never have cause to seek each other’s patronage. Since we would both be dukes, we did not have to play the future duke with each other either.”
She did not want to accept what he said. She preferred to believe that Latham’s character would be obvious even so. Except she knew it would not be. Almost the whole world still did not comprehend what he was. It had even taken her a long time to see the truth.
“When did you know the friendship would not last?”
He shrugged. “I sensed it by the time I reached my majority. We had wallowed together in hell by then. He insisted on labored discretion, because of his father he said, and those bishop uncles. But that gave him a freedom that he used ignobly. I found some of his actions increasingly distasteful. He took pleasure in the worst kinds of badness.” He paused, then spoke more thoughtfully. “He took pleasure in being cruel. To horses, to people. He showed no conscience about it.”
“And now he is a duke, and he can be cruel and no one will gainsay him. Small wonder he appeared so happy tonight.”
They reached the end of the path. Lanterns beckoned ahead and the noise of the gardens flowed in a low din.
“He seemed much taken by you,” he said. “He sought me out to learn who you were for certain.”
“I wish he had not seen me or learned my name now.” She fought to keep fear from her tone, but the idea that Latham now knew her name terrified her. “I do not think he was much taken at all. He guesses I know the truth about him. He does not like the fact that I am friends with people whose opinions may matter.”
“Perhaps that is all it is. Perhaps not. If he pursues you, you must tell me.”
She laughed. “There are men who might be rivals for you, Castleford, but he is not one of them.”
“All the same, you must tell me.”
They sought out the rest of their party and headed back to the stairs. Castleford hailed the barge, which waited down the riverbank.
Celia gave Daphne a knowing look as they stepped onto the deck. “You do know he is nothing but trouble,” she said privately.
Daphne thought she meant Latham, and was about to agree. Then she realized her friend had drawn conclusions about her time alone tonight with Castleford.
Celia tipped her head closely. “Although, it is said, he gives his lovers magnificent gifts, so if one is of a mind to be foolish—well, my mother always said one can court scandal with a rich man as well as a poor one.”
The mention of gifts made Daphne’s gaze dart to the table. She went up to the dinner table and peered down. No sparkles flashed near where she had sat. She wondered if the diamond had rolled onto the floor, or if one of the servants or crew had taken it.
“I have it.” Castleford stood at her shoulder. “I took it back, to have it set. Ear bobs, I have decided. That means it needs a mate.”
“I do not need diamond ear bobs. I do not want you to do this.”
“I know. But you will have them anyway, so I can see you in them—and nothing else, I might add. You can sell them afterwards, if you want.”
Afterwards.
Never let it be said that the Duke of Castleford did not make his intentions clear. All of them.
Chapter Twelve
T
he weather turned hot the next day. So hot that Castleford, while he lay abed the next morning, actually entertained the notion of going down to the country.
he weather turned hot the next day. So hot that Castleford, while he lay abed the next morning, actually entertained the notion of going down to the country.
That was peculiar. He loathed the country.
Only this time, if he went, he would take Daphne. They could make love in the lake. He had never found that notion appealing before, but imagining her naked and slicked with water was changing his thinking on it.
His mind was full of such images when the mail came up with his coffee. He flipped through the letters, stacking them against his naked chest while he sipped. He decided they could all wait for Mr. Edwards’s return. At the bottom of the pile, however, he found a fat letter from Mr. Edwards himself.
It would hardly do to hand the man his own letter to answer, so he tore it open. Four pages unfolded.
After beginning with aggrieved complaints about bedbugs, Edwards moved on to a lengthy, boring, exacting description of the engineers’ progress.
At the bottom of the third page, the tone and penmanship changed. Mr. Edwards broke off his report abruptly, then scrawled with visible agitation that a stranger had just been seen on the property, spying on the house. He had given chase to no avail—his words managed to convey his breathlessness from the run—but he worried now about the ladies, if this enterprise had attracted attention to the point where strangers trespassed.
He begged His Grace to advise him on what to do with this dangerous complication that jeopardized both the privacy of His Grace’s business and the safety of the women he had been commanded to protect.
He closed by saying he was writing from the ladies’ house, where he had taken position in the front chamber, pistol at the ready, and asked whether he should write and inform Mrs. Joyes of this development.
The last words made Castleford sit up straight and curse.
He set aside the coffee tray and threw back the sheet. He went to his writing desk and penned a reply without bothering to don a robe.
He exhorted Mr. Edwards to of course do what was necessary to protect the ladies but to also exercise good sense. He suggested that Mr. Edwards remain at the house in the future and allow the men to report on their progress there. He explained that this stranger probably represented no real danger. He assured his secretary that he had every faith in his judgment and courage but that it would probably be best not to shoot anyone if it could be avoided.
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