When Only a Rake Will Do (10 page)

Finally he gave up.  For her well-being, as well as his own sanity, he needed to warn her away from Bouqefort and any other man for that matter.  Somehow he needed to convince her that this reckless pursuit of hers was liable to do her far more harm than good and to make her understand that if she continued upon the path she’d chosen she was likely to get hurt. 

Leaving the study he strode down the hall, climbed the stairs and made his way purposefully to his bedchamber, summoning his valet along the way.

“Gervais, I’m going out,” he said, as the accommodating Frenchman followed him into the room and immediately began the task of setting out his evening clothes.

“And which event will you be attending this evening, my lord?” Gervais asked as he selected a pristine white cravat from a drawer within the large armoire that sat against the far wall.

“To be honest, I haven’t the slightest idea,” Brendon replied as he set about unbuttoning his shirt.

It took him three, excruciatingly long hours to find her.  However, considering that the Season was at its peak, in addition to the sheer number of social gatherings being hosted in London each and every evening, it was a wonder that he’d found her at all. 

Now, standing in a shadowed alcove along the edge of the Wittingham’s ballroom, Brendon watched her as she moved from one partner to the next. She looked like a golden goddess in a gown of pale-yellow silk and cream-colored lace, the lustrous fabric shot through with tiny golden threads that caught the light whenever she moved.  And remarkably, for one who claimed less than a week ago to have little but a life of misery ahead of her, she appeared to be in exceedingly good spirits, he noted with a frown.  Was it because Bouqefort had agreed to do for her that which he had denied, he wondered irately? 

Despite the fact that it was none of his dammed business, he intended to find out before the night was through, one way or another.

For Daphne, the Wittingham soiree was shaping up much like any other social gathering as she smiled, laughed, danced and conversed with those in attendance, all the while doing her best to meet Edward Duntton’s exacting expectations.  As was his custom, the earl stood now as he so often did within the edges of the crowd, watching from the sidelines as she continued to enact the role he’d assigned her.  And while he’d said nothing further about announcing their engagement prior to the Season’s end, she remained apprehensive, knowing that he could change his mind at any given minute.

Even now she could almost feel the weight of his eyes upon her as she danced with her latest partner, the newly-appointed Viscount Hemswhich, a pleasant young man with a quiet demeanor, flaming red hair and a smattering of freckles atop his nose and cheeks, and not much older than her.

“My apologies,” he uttered contritely as he trod upon her toe a moment later, effectively distracting her from her thoughts of Blackburn, at least for the moment.

“It’s quite alright,” she replied with a gentle smile.  “I’ve trouble with the steps myself at times.”

“I doubt that,” Hemswhich replied, returning her smile even as a blush colored his cheeks nearly the same shade as his hair.  “But you’re extremely kind to say so, my lady.”

Fortunately the young viscount managed to keep from mashing her toes a second time as he focused his gaze upon his shoes for the duration of their dance.

It wasn’t until Hemswhich had escorted her from the floor and taken his leave that she darted a furtive glance in the Earl of Blackburn’s direction.  Much to her relief, for she was in desperate need of a moment to herself, she saw that his back was to her now as he stood conversing with a group of older gentlemen on the opposite side of the room.  Another quick glance showed that Thomas was still standing at Miss Flemming’s side, nattering with the girl and her mother as he had been for the past quarter-hour.  

Eager to take advantage of the opportunity, Daphne scanned her surroundings, ultimately focusing her gaze upon a set of French doors positioned along the east side of the ballroom that presumably lead to one of the side terraces, and quickly hastened toward them.

Observing Daphne’s movements from his position within the darkened alcove, Brendon followed her with his eyes as she made her way toward a set of doors that led outside, skirting the crowd and for all appearances doing her best to go unnoticed.  Was she meeting someone out there, he wondered?  Bouqefort perhaps?  Though he hadn’t noticed the marquess upon his initial scrutiny of the room, that didn’t mean he wasn’t there, for there had to be at least three hundred guests crowding the overflowing ballroom, if not more. 

Keeping his gaze focused upon Daphne, he watched as she reached the doors, opened one and then quickly slipped outside.  He waited then to see if anyone followed her, but after several minutes of surveillance he saw no one else moving in that direction.  Of course it was entirely possible that someone was already outside, waiting for her to join them.  In any case he intended to see for himself who it was, if anyone, that she was meeting.  And so, pushing away from the wall he left the alcove, keeping to the ballroom’s shadowy periphery as he moved determinedly toward the same set of doors she’d exited through.

Having walked out onto a small terrace that overlooked a narrow, unadorned stretch of grass running along the side of the Wittingham’s townhouse, Daphne relished the moment of solitude as she allowed the gentle evening breeze to blow softly across her cheeks.  Grasping the cool marble balustrade that ran the length of the small space, she looked up at the moon just visible through the dense haze that so often shrouded London like a thick, heavy blanket.  Not surprisingly, it was nights like these that made her miss the country and the beauty of its star-filled skies the most.  However, she had to admit that the existing gloom was far more befitting of her present mood.

Closing her eyes, she simply stood there for a time, contemplating her future.  Since the debacle with Brendon Leighton, she’d tried her best to come to terms with the life that lay ahead of her, but today, seeing him at the museum had brought all of the emotions she’d been trying so hard to repress bubbling back to the surface.  And now here she stood, wallowing in self-pity once again and lamenting what would never be. 

Curling her fingers more tightly around the balustrade, she silently prayed for strength.  For truly, if this was all she had to look forward to in the coming years, struggling through each and every day and night with fake smiles and feigned laughter, forced to convey a false sense of contentment with her life, all the while knowing that they were naught but lies, she wasn’t entirely certain that she would be able to endure it?  How could she?

“Because you must,” she finally whispered aloud, even as a single tear rolled slowly down her cheek. 

Opening the door to the side terrace, Brendon was greatly relieved to find Daphne standing there alone, as he wasn’t entirely certain what he would have done if he’d found her with Bouqefort.  Even so, he had little doubt that whatever it was would have been
extremely
unpleasant for the hapless marquess.

Startled by the sound of the door opening and closing behind her, Daphne spun around in surprise, her eyes widening when she saw that it was Brendon Leighton who stood just a few feet away.

As she turned to face him the last thing Brendon expected to see was the lone, glistening teardrop that rested upon Daphne’s cheek; but there it was, clearly visible in the moonlight’s faint glow.  He stood there for a moment in shocked silence, studying her face.  Clearly this wasn’t the same young woman he’d seen smiling and laughing just minutes ago.  It was then that he realized what he should have suspected all along, that it was all just an act.  The smiles, the laughter, the gaiety; they were nothing more than pretenses. 

“My lord, I…,” Daphne faltered, disconcerted by his sudden appearance and intense regard, entirely unsure of what to say. “This is a surprise.  Er…that is to say… I wouldn’t have expected to see you at an event such as this,” she uttered lamely.

“Yes well, ordinarily I wouldn’t be,” he admitted with a faint smile.  “But as it happens I came here tonight looking for you.”

“Me?”  Daphne’s brows drew together questioningly, for considering their previous encounter that was the last thing she would have expected him to say.  “Why were you looking for me?”

He paused a moment before answering and then decided to simply tell her the truth.  “To be perfectly honest, the reason that I came here tonight was to warn you about Bouqefort and to try and dissuade you from your course.”

“Dissuade me from my course?”  Daphne regarded him in confusion.  “I’m afraid I don’t understand.  What does the Marquess of Bouqefort have to do with-” she stopped in mid-sentence, the words lodging in her throat as comprehension slowly dawned.  Horrified, her eyes went wide.  When she tried to speak her voice was little more than a whisper.  “You thought that I…that I…,” she trailed off, unable to continue.  Dropping her gaze to the floor she felt fresh tears well within her eyes.  Dear God, how little he must think of her to assume that, having rejected her plea, she would simply seek out another man to take his place.  No wonder his manner had been so cool at the museum.

Seeing her wounded expression, Brendon could have bitten off his own tongue.  “Daphne I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to…”  He sighed in frustration, furious with himself.  “I’m a fool,” he said vehemently, stepping toward her.  “Please forgive me.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” Daphne said quietly, shaking her head as she continued to stare at the ground.  “Considering my shameless behavior the other night, it was a logical assumption,” she continued, her voice thickening as she choked back her tears.

“No, I-” Taking another step toward her, Brendon reached out and lightly grasped her chin.  “Daphne, please look at me,” he said, urging her head up with the gentle pressure of his hand.

She did as he asked, focusing upon his face, even as the tears she could no longer stem slid slowly down her face.

For Brendon, watching the crystal droplets roll slowly down Daphne’s cheeks was like being punched in the gut.  “Please don’t cry,” he murmured as he raised his hands, his thumbs moving to lightly brush the moisture from her face as he stared into the depths of her expressive green eyes.  What he saw there was heartbreaking to behold, and then, before he knew what he was about, his head bent forward and his lips descended upon hers.

Daphne stood motionless, her senses reeling as Brendon’s lips settled softly upon hers. And then he was kissing her.  It was a tender, undemanding kiss, his lips moving ever so gently as they molded and shaped themselves to hers.  It was both entirely unexpected and absolutely wonderful. 

Though the rational part of his brain ordered him to stop, the completely irrational part of him stubbornly ignored the silent command as he willfully explored the delicate contours of Daphne’s lips with his own.  They were incredibly soft and warm and delightfully pliant beneath his, so unlike the practiced kisses he was accustomed to.  He felt his body tremble as he fought for control, for her innocent response, incredibly sweet and wholly unaffected, was far more arousing than the caress of the most skilled courtesan. And when she leaned into him in the next instant, a gentle sigh escaping her lips, it fired his blood like the most potent of aphrodisiacs.

Lost to the wonder of her first kiss, Daphne was oblivious to all but the amazing sensations flooding through her as Brendon’s lips played upon hers.  Thus, she was totally unprepared and more than a little disappointed when it ended so abruptly.

“Shh,” Brendon mouthed quietly as he lifted his head.  Putting his finger to his lips, he listened as the unmistakable sound of voices, one male and one female, drifted toward them from one of the neighboring terraces. 

Daphne heard them too and immediately tensed, for she understood all too well that if anyone chanced to see them there in the darkness her reputation would be in tatters.  And Blackburn, good lord, she didn’t even want to consider what his reaction would be.

Brendon grasped her arm then, pulling her toward the wall and deeper into the shadows, their bodies mere inches apart as they waited, silent and unmoving until the other couple’s voices grew ever fainter as they moved in the opposite direction.

Drawing her from the shadows once the danger had passed, Brendon spoke quietly, “Daphne, I-”

“Please,” she said, sensing that he was about to apologize, “don’t say you’re sorry,” she continued with a faint smile and a gentle shake of her head, for she didn’t want anything to ruin what would surely become one of her most cherished memories.  She stepped away, raising her hands to brush the lingering dampness from her cheeks.  “I should get back before I’m missed,” she said then, turning away.

Standing there in the shadows, Brendon’s thoughts were racing.  He had to make a decision, right then and there.  And while he knew that he was in all likelihood about to make a terrible mistake, he couldn’t seem to stop the words from leaving his mouth.  “Daphne wait.”  Stepping forward he caught hold of her arm, turning her to face him. 

Daphne stilled, standing motionless before him as their eyes met and held.  

“I wasn’t going to apologize,” he said in a husky whisper.

She swallowed hard, noting the sudden intensity in his gaze.  “No?”

“No.”

For what felt like an eternity but was surely only a matter of seconds, the unspoken question seemed to hang in the air between them.

Reaching out, Brendon brushed the last little bit of moisture from Daphne’s cheek with the pad of his thumb.  “Tell me, my lady,” he began quietly, “are you absolutely certain that the path you have chosen is truly the one you wish to take?”

Looking deep into his eyes, Daphne understood exactly what he was asking, what he was offering.  Stunned, she felt the breath catch in her chest.  Nonetheless, she hesitated only the briefest of seconds before answering.  “Yes, I’m certain”