Never Entice an Earl (15 page)

But there was also another man, slim and attractive, with streaks of gray at his temples,
in what was otherwise a head of dark hair.

Her mother gestured toward him. “Daphne, this is Mr. Birch, to whom your sister and
I were introduced at the Heseldon ball.”

Mr. Birch. Of course! The man her mother had blushed over so furiously when Clarissa
had mentioned his name.

“My nephew.” Lady Dundalk beamed.

“Miss Bevington, how do you do?” Mr. Birch smiled warmly at Daphne and momentarily
bent his head over her hand.

Yet his attention immediately abandoned her for Lady Margaretta, who peered back at
him, her cheeks noticeably bright. Daphne’s heart turned over just then. It had been
one thing to hear her mother might have an admirer, but quite another to see the besotted
fellow firsthand. She felt unsteady, and not altogether as happy as she should—

“Daphne,” Clarissa whispered, leaning close. “There is the man we saw in Hyde Park
yesterday afternoon.”

“What man—” But she already knew. At seeing Cormack, the words evaporated from her
lips.

He stood in the midst of a group of gentlemen, dressed impeccably in evening clothes,
looking very much like the earl that he was.

Her sister leaned near her ear and said, “I do believe he’s looking at you.”

He
was
looking at her.
Piercingly.
For someone who had complained of not having the right connections, he’d certainly
had no difficulty obtaining an invitation to the most exclusive gathering in town.
But their last conversation remained fresh in her mind, the one where he’d all but
threatened to expose her. With him standing before her, and her mother’s and Mr. Birch’s
laughter sounding from behind, she suddenly felt confined on all sides.

She back stepped. “I’ll rejoin you momentarily.”

She just needed a moment to gather her thoughts.

“Daphne?” Clarissa said, reaching for her arm.

But she twisted away, smiling as if nothing were wrong. “Truly, I’ll be but a moment.”

Daphne retreated out the doorway, avoiding eye contact with the other guests who might
seek to ensnare her in conversation, and found the short hallway that led her to Kate,
who, as was customary, had accompanied the ladies of her household to assist in them
in whatever way might be required throughout the evening.

There were several other abigails in the room, sitting in small groups gossiping,
while some, like Kate, read books. They all looked up when Daphne entered, and Kate
stood with a mild look of surprise. “Miss Bevington? I hadn’t thought to see you again
so soon. Is something amiss?”

She touched the cluster of curls behind her ear. “I believe the pins in my hair have
loosened, the ones on this side. Would you mind checking them?”

They hadn’t, of course. Kate was a veritable master at hairpins, and hers never loosened,
not without hours of dancing and activity.

“Of course,” Kate said, agreeably, though her eyes already asked questions.

Seated in the same chair from which Kate had just stood, she submitted to an entirely
unnecessary inspection.

“Are the flowers very lovely tonight?” Kate asked.

“White roses and gardenias. Very pretty and they smell divine.” Daphne adjusted her
evening glove at her elbow.

“I do hope we can hear the music from here.”

“I’m sure you will. Catalani has astounding range.”

“He’s out there, isn’t he?” Kate murmured, suddenly near her ear.

Daphne froze, remembering the way he had looked, staring at her across the drawing
room. Arrogant and self-assured. The moment had thrilled her, more than she would
ever confess.

“He who?” she replied in a cool voice.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know who I’m talking about.” Kate went through the motions,
adjusting pins and arranging curls. “Lord Raikes.”

Daphne tapped her finger on the armrest of the chair. “Of course he’s out there. All
it took was a fine horse from Tattersalls, and it’s as if he never belonged anywhere
else.”

“Is that what bothers you? That he isn’t an outsider, as you first believed?”

“No, Kate.” She straightened in her seat. “What bothers me is that he has so much
as threatened to expose me if I do not assist him with the proper introductions about
town, but not only that, to include him on the invitation list to my ball.”

“But why? Because he wants social connections, or is there something else?”

“He’s trying to find someone. A man whom he believes moves in these circles. Don’t
you see, it is the worst sort of betrayal? He is nothing but a rogue! He kissed me
in a way I don’t think I’ll ever forget, but all he wants now is to use me to satisfy
some quest for revenge against a mysterious villain he refuses to name.”

“It would certainly liven up the evening, having him there. Or are you concerned he
will murder someone on the way to get a sandwich from the sideboard?”

Daphne bit into her bottom lip. “He promised not to.”

“I say invite him.” Kate smiled broadly.

“Did you not hear everything I just said? Fig! It is vexingly hot in here.” Daphne
fanned herself, and restlessly readjusted her bodice, which felt unbearably close
against her skin. “Someone should open a window. You must all be very uncomfortable.”

She glanced about at the other girls. No one nodded or voiced agreement for a good
five seconds, then everyone’s heads went to bobbing.

“Oh, yes, Miss.”

“—terribly warm.”

One of them jumped up. “I’ll open the window.”

“You’re the only one who’s suffering,” Kate whispered under her breath. “Don’t think
I don’t know why.” She let out a delighted giggle. “You’re intrigued and despite everything,
you like him.”

Daphne turned her head to the side. “I can see I will receive no sympathy or comfort
from you.”

“You reap what you’ve sown,” she chided, but in a teasing tone. “Regardless of your
motivations, a young lady like you, with your name and your good breeding, should
not have gone off like that, unaccompanied, and pretended to be someone you weren’t.
Every time I think of what could have happened—” Now her face grew serious, and her
hand tightened on the comb. “If he had not saved you, I’d have never forgiven myself
for my part in your coming to harm. No matter what you say, I’m forever indebted to
him, obviously, in more ways than one.”

Daphne rolled her eyes. This had to be at least the thirtieth time she’d been submitted
to the same speech over the last twenty-four hours, with Cormack always the celebrated
savior and she the impetuous fool.

“Very well, I shall just leave, then,” Daphne sniffed, and half-rose from the chair.

“Oh, sit down, Daphne.” Kate’s hands pushed her back down.

At hearing that sharp command, spoken so familiarly by a maid to her lady, several
of the girls nearby stared at them in wide-eyed dismay. Daphne, and Kate as well,
smiled sweetly until attentions were diverted elsewhere.

Daphne whispered, “To think I came here to feel safe, and all you’ve done is ridicule
me and make me feel worse.”

“Lord Raikes isn’t going to hurt or embarrass you.”

Daphne stared at her, eyes wide and accusing. “You make him out to be some sort of
angel, but Kate, he is badness personified. I don’t understand why you persist in
defending him.”

“He saved my dearest friend and paid my father’s debt. I simply can’t believe he is
a devil as you have made him out to be. I think if the two of you just talked—”

“Well, that’s not going to happen. I don’t wish to speak to him ever again.”

A resonant
bong
sounded, filling the room with its deep baritone.

Daphne stood from the chair. “Ah, well, that’s the first gong. The musicale is about
to start. I suppose I must rejoin the others or they will come looking for me.”

Her cheeks flooded with heat, she knowing it was only moments until she’d see him
again. She’d only just passed into the corridor—

When a hand closed on her wrist, and she felt herself firmly pulled into the shadowed
alcove of a nearby doorway. However, shadows didn’t conceal the identity of the broad-shouldered
man who handled her so assertively. Her heart pounded in her throat. “Cormack, what
are y—”

He dipped, his head and shoulder blocking all light, to smother her words with his
mouth. Daphne’s resistance fell away to an overwhelming rush of desire.

H
is hand, warm and long fingered, came beneath her chin. Another laid claim to her
waist, then sensuously slid over her dress to seize the curve of her hip. Her body
went hot there…
everywhere
…and her heartbeat came alive.

The night after they’d escaped the Blue Swan, he’d smelled of rainwater and soap.
Tonight he smelled expensive, like crisp linen and whatever tonic his valet had used
when shaving him. She had feared they’d never touch again, but he had come to find
her for this. She inhaled, greedy and wanting more. More kissing, more knowledge of
his fascinating male body, more Cormack. They twisted, melting into each other, his
hands sliding up her torso to graze, ever so teasingly, the undersides of her corseted
breasts.

But then—

“Oh, you.” She pushed at his chest, outraged, but only managing to wedge herself more
deeply into the wood-paneled corner, because pushing against him was like pushing
against a stone wall. “I am angry with you.”

“You shouldn’t have lied to me,” he uttered quietly, bracing her chin between his
fingers and thumb. “And I concede I shouldn’t have lied to you. But I believed you
when you told me you were a maid. I didn’t want to make you feel any more uncomfortable
than you already were.”

“As if now is the time for explanations, when you have made it more than clear that
you refuse to hear mine. Truly, Cormack, how dare you kiss me!”

“I was under the impression you liked kissing me,” he said in an almost playful tone.

Oh, she did like kissing him. Terribly much, and that was the problem. So much that
she wanted to forget every ugly thing he’d said to her yesterday afternoon in Hyde
Park and again last night outside Wolverton’s library window, and just stay here forever
in his arms.

But she had more pride than that.

“Well, I don’t like kissing you, so don’t expect any more of it.” She exacted a glare
upon him, and gave another push against his stonelike chest—

He only looked amused by her failed efforts to move him, lingering there, scandalously
close. As if to prove his physical superiority, he easily planted a kiss on the tip
of her nose. “There you go. That’s what I think of ‘no more kisses.’”

Everything inside her warmed at his easy little gesture of affection, which sent her
spirits crashing beneath a landslide of shame. She shook her head vehemently, and
swiped her nose with her hand.

“The nerve of you, after—”

“By the way, I can’t help but notice Lord Rackmorton has taken an interest in you.”

“And?”

“I don’t wish to go into explanations—”

“No, you wouldn’t, being that you’re so dead set against facts and rational information.”

“Don’t entertain him as a suitor.” His gaze went oddly dark.

She drew back, shocked. “I’m afraid you’ve no say.”

“He is no gentleman. No matter what else is said between you and I, you must remember
that.”

“As if you are!” she replied. “You’ve said far too many terrible things to me and
threatened me with public humiliation. Never once have you allowed me to explain my
side of the story, of why I came to be at the Blue Swan that night.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore.” His lips bent into a satisfied smile. He backed away,
to rest casually against the opposite wall, appearing in complete control of himself
and the situation at hand. His gaze drifted admiringly over her neck and shoulders.
“All that matters is that you were there. And that you have placed me on your invitation
list as I asked.”

“I haven’t.” She tossed her head defiantly. “Yet.”

“But you will.”

“You were invited tonight, with no help from me—”

“Simply because Rackmorton wanted to show off.” He shrugged. At speaking those words,
his jaw tightened and his eyes darkened. “I’ve no guarantees of additional invitations.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Are you declining to do this favor for me?” he teased. Or did he?

“What if I am?” She wanted him to say the words. To threaten her. Because he hadn’t
outright ever done so, he’d only ever implied, and she couldn’t fully despise him
until he did. Against all rationality, her heart still argued on behalf of the man
she’d once believed him to be.

“Why don’t you find out?”

She glared at him.

“That’s what I thought.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I believe I could come
to embrace this new role as a blackmailer.”

“I’m not at all surprised. It should come quite naturally to you, being that you are
also a complete and utter blackguard!” She jabbed an angry finger in his direction.
“Not only that, but you have a black heart, and a black soul—”

He chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the edges, appearing nothing less than delighted.

At that moment, Kate entered the corridor. “I thought that was your voice I heard.”

Only then, she saw Cormack, and her eyes widened.

“Hello,” he said, one eyebrow raising up.

“How do you do?” she answered, blushing, and throwing a look of alarm to Daphne.

“I have certainly been better,” he answered smoothly. “I have just been called a veritable
library of hateful names. What is yours?”

“Kate Fickett, sir, and you…” She glanced to Daphne, then to Cormack again. “Why…you
must be Lord Raikes.”

“I’m flattered that you would know.”

She pressed her fingertips to her lips, and curtsied. “Oh, my lord, thank you for
what you did. For saving my dear Miss Bevington, and for…for…” Her voice thickened,
and tears came into her eyes. Daphne wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Only then
did Kate push out the words: “—for settling my father’s debt.”

Daphne saw it. The ice in Cormack’s eyes melted a fraction, and his smile lost its
dangerous edge.

“You are very welcome,” he answered quietly.

“I must repay you.”

“I wouldn’t hear of it,” he responded with a tilt of his chin. “It’s only money, and
fortunately I have plenty. I’m pleased to have put it to good use.”

“Even so, sir, I’m so sorry you were drawn into such an unpleasant situation.”

“No apologies are necessary,” he assured, his gaze unwavering. His lips tightened
into a thin smile. “Not from you.”

His gaze shifted obviously to Daphne, and he nodded curtly. “Good evening to you both.”

He pivoted on his heel and strode away. She and Kate stood for a few moments in silence.

“
Oh, my
,” whispered Kate.

“Yes,” Daphne said curtly. “I know.”

Cormack hadn’t intended to kiss her, just to talk—because to be honest, after seeing
her in the drawing room, he could not stay away. Then, she had looked so lovely when
she’d emerged from the cloakroom, a goddess in white silk, caught somewhere between
light and half-light. There was something about Daphne Bevington in shadows, with
her skin so golden and eyes so brilliant and blue…one glance, and he’d lost control
of himself all over again. He’d thought if they talked he could instill some distance
between them, at least on his part, but with each interaction his feelings for her
grew that much more tangled.

He returned to the drawing room, now filled wall to wall with guests. Ladies in ball
gowns and gentlemen in trousers and dark coats. Everyone made their way to sit in
the orderly rows of chairs that had been placed around the room. His new friend, the
duchess, situated herself in the front row, closest to the piano. Cormack could not
help but notice the way Rackmorton hovered along the edge of the crowd, directing
others to their seats, as if he oversaw the activity himself. That is, until he saw
Daphne, who moments later appeared flushed and smiling, as if nothing at all had just
occurred.

The muscles along Cormack’s shoulder’s clenched.

Rackmorton moved quickly, claiming her, leading her toward the front row as well to
sit two chairs away from his mother. Her own mother, Lady Harwick, and younger sister—whose
appearance was charmingly similar to Daphne’s—sat just behind, solemnly watching their
approach. He did not miss the look of concern that passed between them. Above the
heads of the seated guests, Daphne looked back to where he stood, pinning him for
a moment…then she smiled at Rackmorton, gaily tossed her head and, with his hand on
her back, lowered herself into the chair. Rackmorton, of course, took the one beside
her.

That look she’d thrown him—

God, he felt incinerated, from the inside out. It told him exactly what she felt,
that he had no say in her life. He didn’t, of course. She was right. All efforts to
blackmail her aside, their dalliance had taken place in shadows and could never emerge
into the light, could never become anything more. He certainly couldn’t marry her,
as he was obligated elsewhere. Marrying the Snaith girl when she became of age was
his only chance of putting the Northmore legacy back together again.

Rackmorton, on the other hand, could marry Daphne, and if that was what Daphne wanted,
it was her decision. Why the temptation to meddle in her private affairs?

Besides, if he interceded, who was to say she might not be married off to some other
lecher a thousand times worse?
Ton
marriages were rarely undertaken for anything as gauche as love or affection or the
prospect of happiness, but to create dynasties powerful enough to sustain future generations.

Though he needed her to penetrate the closed doors of the
ton
, in all other aspects he had to let her go.

Everyone grew silent as a slender woman in a silver gown took the floor, stood beside
the pianist, and began to sing. Such a voice. Beautiful and rich, with a range that
filled the room. She held everyone’s rapt attention. Which was what he’d hoped for.
He moved along the shadows at the back of the room to slip out the door and returned
to Rackmorton’s study. The small lamp they’d used before had burned out, leaving the
room in darkness, with only the light through the window to see. Moving quickly, he
took the key from the drawer, and hurried to the corridor, and the locked door. With
a turn of the key, the lock clicked, and he entered the room, leaving the door open
so that he could see. He avoided looking at the pictures on the walls, feeling as
if he’d entered a gaol full of wrongly imprisoned women and yet was unable to set
them free.

Most especially the picture of Daphne. He wanted to destroy it. Burn it. Blot it from
his memory, but most of all from Rackmorton’s. But if the painting were to go missing,
Rackmorton would know he’d taken it. He couldn’t chance being called out by one of
the
ton
’s most influential lords and being locked out before he found the man who was responsible
for Laura’s ruination.

At the desk, he removed the notebook. As with the painting, he considered taking it
and immediately leaving, but how soon before Rackmorton would notice it gone? Would
he be immediately determined to be the culprit, or would someone like the innocent
housemaid stand accused? He didn’t feel comfortable taking that chance, because he
didn’t really know what he was dealing with in Rackmorton, whether he was truly dangerous
or simply vulgar. Squinting, he found a match in his pocket and after a few attempts,
struck light against the table. Opening the cover he examined the first page, slightly
yellowed with age. Bloody hell, the bastard had horrible handwriting, and from the
looks of things, the first page had been written by an adolescent boy. Legibility
only slightly improved as he continued through the pages, but even when he could make
out the letters, there was very little he understood. Everything appeared to have
been written in coded jibberish, and even the names listed, which he assumed to be
members of the Invisibilis, were clearly not real ones. Scrofulous Seymour and Blight
Wither? Still, he read each name, doing his best to commit them to memory, noting
that several had been marked through with thick black lines of ink, as if they no
longer existed.

He struck another match. Silence pressed thick into his ears, making each turn of
the page sound thunderous. Instinct told Cormack it was time to leave, and time to
leave now. Yes, the musicale would remain underway for another hour at least, but
go, yes, go he must, before he was discovered creeping about like a thief.

Taking one final glance through the pages of words that made no real sense, he closed
the leather cover and returned the notebook to the drawer, and for a moment stared
into the flat, dead eyes of the Medusa. He shunned the portrait of Daphne, vowing
to return at some point and see it removed from Rackmorton’s wall, and destroyed.
A moment later, and he’d turned the key in the lock and made his way toward the marquess’s
desk. He’d only just returned it to its place, and shut the drawer, when the door
opened. His heart nearly leapt from his throat as Rackmorton appeared.

“What are you doing in here?” said Rackmorton, his expression blank.

“Ah…well, I hope you don’t mind, but I bloody well needed a smoke, and I didn’t know
where else to go without appearing rude.” Cormack produced a cigarette from his pocket,
the French sort that he’d taken such a liking to in Bengal. “I was hoping to find
matches. I forgot mine.”

Rackmorton grinned. “Things started to feel close in there for you, did they? I feel
the same. Do you have another one of those?”

“Of course. Do you mind if I open your window?”

“It sticks, so allow me.”

Beside the open window, they lit the cigarettes and smoked together in silence for
a few moments. The sound of music came through the open door, and through the glass
he could just make out Daphne’s face.

“So some of the others and I are going out after tonight. Care to come along?”

It only made sense that Rackmorton’s set would be made up, at least in part, of members
of the Invisibilis. This might be his chance to find out who might have visited the
Duke of Rathcrispin’s hunting lodge three years before. “Yes, I would. Thank you for
the invitation.”