My Wicked Marquess (23 page)

Carissa's eyes had widened. “You didn't—surely?”

“Hm?” Daphne asked innocently—hoping, anyway, that she still looked somewhat innocent after yesterday.

“You let him
kiss
you?” Carissa demanded in a whisper.

She groaned. “I couldn't help it. He is a devil, I tell you!”

“How was it?” Carissa breathed, wide-eyed.

“Hm.” Daphne uttered a sigh of woeful denial to know she would never taste his lips again.

But she was better off that way.

Beyond that, she could not possibly bring herself to admit the full extent of her indiscretion. “After our drive, I declined his offer.”

“How did he take it?”

“He didn't listen to me in the least! I said no, but…he can be very persuasive.” She lifted her eyes toward the now-dark heavens and shook her head. “You have no idea.”

Carissa's jaw dropped with an inkling of understanding.

Daphne gripped her arm. “You won't tell anybody, will you?”

“Never, Daphne! Of course not.”

“Thank you. It doesn't matter what he says, anyway. My mind's made up. I am telling him tonight that my answer is still no, and that is final. Now that my stepmother's gone and complicated things again—that busybody!—it makes my task tonight even more imperative.”

“Well, you had better do something fast,” Carissa advised. “You know how quickly such juicy news will travel in the ton. Unfortunately, when you jilt him, this will be a repeat of another recent chapter in your life.”

“I know. Blast it, why did she have to tell them?” Daphne fumed. “I'm sure she's been just bursting to reveal it for days!”

Carissa shook her head sympathetically. “She
is
making matters worse. By spreading word of Lord Rotherstone's proposal, your stepmother's making it all the harder for you to back away from this.”

“God, she'd do anything to get me out of the house.”
Very well, slight change of plans
, Daphne thought. Giving Max the cut direct on the dance floor would just be too scandalous—and too hurtful. She had never wanted to make a fool of him in front of everyone, not when he was already vulnerable to Society's disapproval. “Come on,” she said to Carissa.

“What are you going to do?”

“I have to get to him first, before anyone else does. Will you come with me? For moral support?”

“You know I would never desert you.”

Daphne gave her a grateful look, then nodded toward the shining ballroom inside the manor house. “Let's go. We've got to go up to the entrance straightaway. I'll have to intercept Lord Rotherstone the moment he arrives, and hopefully head off disaster.”

With Carissa by her side, Daphne began walking quickly across the grounds up from the refreshments tent. The night was growing darker by the minute. She ignored the baffling eagerness in her heart at the prospect of seeing him any minute now. It really made no sense.

“I'm surprised to hear you say he's even coming here tonight,” Carissa remarked as they strode through a loitering group of young gentlemen who parted like a sea before them, smiling and bowing and trying to draw them into conversation.

Daphne knew she had met them at some point, but couldn't remember any of their names. Nor did she care.
Had she ever met another male who had made as powerful an impression on her as Lord Rotherstone? She could not remember any. With a few friendly and noncommittal greetings, the girls pressed on, promptly continuing their private conversation.

“I mean, think of it!” Carissa pointed out. “For years, he barely bothers with the ton, but now he's everywhere—apparently in hopes of seeing you! Oh, Daphne!” She gripped her arm and giggled. “How thrilling for you, honestly! Admit it. It must be a huge feather in your cap to be having such an impact on a rakehell of the first order.”

“No, no!” Daphne protested, blushing and trying not to smile. “I have no impact on him at all. Unfortunately, his skull is made of stone. Believe me, I've had no success even getting my refusal through his hard head.”

“Maybe he thinks you're just playing hard to get?”

“Well, if there's any chance he has misinterpreted me, I shall take extra pains tonight to disabuse him of the notion. He's not going to like it,” she warned. “This could get unpleasant.”

Carissa let out a mischievous laugh. “It sounds to me like he is perfectly desperate for you! Come, you can tell me. Aren't you the least bit tempted to accept him?”

Daphne stopped and scowled at her.

“I would be!” Carissa said with a grin. “Marquesses don't grow on trees, you know. You must admit he is handsome.”

Daphne snorted as they sped up the pathway to the terrace. “You don't understand. First of all, he's as highhanded as some Oriental potentate. Secondly, this is all a game to him. He is like a-a terrier with his jaws clamped on what he believes is
his
bone. Well, I am not a bone. I am not a prize. I am a human being.”

“Amen.”

“Unfortunately, just like Albert, Lord Rotherstone refuses to understand that.
Unlike
Albert, however, he seems prepared to go to much greater lengths to get what he desires. He's been quite ruthless. But all that ends tonight,” she concluded grimly. “Penelope has pushed this past the line of all toleration.”

“What are you going to do?”

“As soon as he gets here, I am going to tell him that if anyone dares be so bold as to ask him if Penelope's claim is true, he should deny it, and say it's all just a silly rumor.”

“What if he won't go along with that?”

“For the sake of his own pride, he had better! Otherwise, I'm afraid the great Lord Rotherstone is going to end up just as embarrassed as dreadful Albert was.”

“You are a very disciplined woman,” Carissa murmured, eyeing her intently. “I wouldn't be able to do it.”

“Egads, not a moment too soon!” Daphne whispered as soon as they had crossed the terrace, halting at the threshold of the ballroom. “Look!” Carissa turned with a wide-eyed stare in the direction Daphne had nodded. “They're here.”

Carissa blanched. “God, they're big.”

It seemed the Demon Marquess had brought reinforcements with him tonight. Beelzebub and Mephistopheles—good friends of his, no doubt, fellow princes from his kingdom in the netherworld.

The majordomo announced each man as the magnificent trio sauntered in. “His Grace, the Duke of Warrington. My Lord, the Marquess of Rotherstone. My Lord, the Earl of Falconridge.”

“Oh, look at them,” Carissa whispered in awe as the glittering and formidable men paused for a leisurely perusal of the ballroom before advancing into the room at a wary prowl, as if they knew full well they were venturing more or less into enemy territory.

Every woman in the room appeared riveted by the three, and indeed, they were a breathtaking sight to behold.

The giant Duke of Warrington wore a showy plum coat with black trousers. His long hair was gathered back in a queue, his neck cloth secured by a black pearl cravat pin. He had a star-shaped scar above the corner of his eyebrow.

Lord Falconridge was a creature of sleek elegance, keen-eyed, quietly smooth-mannered in his demeanor, his sandy hair cropped short; he wore a dark olive tailcoat and ivory trousers.

Between them was Lord Rotherstone, his hair as black as his impeccably tailored coat, which he wore with charcoal-gray trousers, topped off with his usual attitude of bold aplomb.

The ton immediately began to buzz at the scandalous trio's arrival, and the girls began advancing bravely into the ballroom. But the moment Max spotted Daphne, she gulped, for when his stare homed in on her, his pale eyes seemed to gleam with his intimate knowledge of her body.

He gave her a dangerous half smile that sent a feverish tremble through her.

“I fear we are outnumbered,” Carissa squeaked, clutching her arm.

“We must not falter.” Her heart was pounding, but both girls held their ground as the three Inferno Club hellions strode toward them in a brawny line.

Max's appreciative gaze traveled downward over her white-clad body, with a fond, possessive smile at the pink rose adornments on her gown. As he joined her, he immediately took her gloved hand between his own. “Miss Starling, how perfectly delightful to see you again,” he purred. “You look, as always, stunning.”

She regarded him uneasily. He gave Carissa a gallant smile, then gestured toward his comrades.

“Allow me to present my friends, Rohan Kilburn, the Duke of Warrington, and Jordan Lennox, the Earl of Falconridge. Gentlemen,” he said to them with an air of pride, “this fair goddess is the Honorable Miss Daphne Starling, the one I have been telling you about. And her lovely companion would be…Miss Portland, I presume?”

Carissa blinked at the acknowledgment. “Why, yes, my lord. How ever did you know?”

“A lucky guess,” he countered smoothly.

“My lord?” Daphne addressed him.

He bowed to her, a hand on his heart. “At your service, my love.”

She gave him a warning look in response to his cheeky endearment. “We need to talk.”

“Aren't we going to dance? I trust you've saved your first
waltz for me. You have a debt of honor on this point, as I recall.”

“Never mind that, you rogue.” She shrugged off a twinge of guilt for her earlier plan, and noticed Albert Carew at some distance through the crowd. He was watching their whole exchange with a nosy stare. “Would you please come with me, my lord?”

“To the ends of the earth,” he declared.

His friends laughed.

Daphne and Carissa exchanged a long-suffering glance.

“I'd be happy with a turn around the gardens if it's not too much trouble,” she said. “
Now
.”

“Yes, ma'am.” He sent his friends a crafty smile that seemed to say,
She wants me
. Daphne ignored it and turned to Their Lordships. “Your Grace, Lord Falconridge—it might be best if you two and Miss Portland would also come along.”

“I say, Miss Starling, what exactly do you have in mind?” the blond earl asked with a raffish flash of a smile. The giant duke gave him a wicked look askance, but Carissa eyed both big men warily.

Daphne could only conclude she must be getting used to Max's racy brand of humor; she stifled a huff, pretending not to grasp the innuendo.

Boys, no matter their age, would still be boys.

“Come along, if you don't mind, gentlemen,” she said archly. “I must have a private word with your friend.”

“Don't get too excited, Jord. I think we're just the cover,” the Duke of Warrington said.

He was right. Daphne knew that if they all took a turn around the gardens as a group, her exchange with the marquess might appear slightly less suspicious.

“Well, then. Shall we?” Max offered her his arm, but Daphne stopped herself from taking it.

“Wait—Carissa?”

“Me?”

“Here.” She pulled Carissa over to walk with Max. “You go with him. I'll mind these two. Watch what you say to him, too. He's a thoroughgoing slyboots.”

“I?”

“Lord Rotherstone,” she continued with an insistent smile, “don't you remember I told you I wanted you to meet Carissa?”

“Extraordinary,” Max remarked. But he offered his arm to her friend with a look of amusement. Carissa took it with a wry, uncertain smile. “I wonder what is going on.”

“Dashed if I know,” said the duke.

“Better not question it,” Lord Falconridge advised. “I have a feeling the lady knows exactly what she's doing.”

“A man of eminent sense,” Daphne said in approval. “Gentlemen, if you don't mind?”

Warrington and Falconridge each simultaneously offered her an arm. Daphne took both, and, at last, they all five strolled out in a pack to the moonlight gardens with, what Daphne sincerely hoped, resembled a degree of decorum.

Albert and his two brothers stared after them. Daphne looked over her shoulder at the unpleasant Carew brothers, then she thrust them out of her mind. She had bigger things to worry about as they went out to enjoy the balmy evening.

“Well, Miss Daphne Starling!” Lord Falconridge began. “At last we meet. We have so enjoyed hearing lately how you've been torturing our friend.”

“Pardon?” she murmured, cocking an ear to try to hear the conversation going on ahead of her, between Max and Carissa. It went thusly:

“So, Miss Portland, I hear you are something of an amateur spy.”

I'm going to kill him.

“You must enlighten me sometime about the techniques you've found effective in this town,” Max was saying to Carissa a few steps ahead of them.

“Lord Rotherstone,” her friend exclaimed, “are you insinuating that I am a gossip of some kind?”

“Oh, that is such a harsh word!” he denied in a mild tone. “No, you are, as I prefer to call it, a lady of information,” he declared. “As it happens, gathering certain intelligence is a hobby that I also find amusing.”

If he was setting out to cast his charm on Carissa, too,
heaven help the girl, Daphne thought. But meanwhile, she was not faring much better. His two inquisitive friends were not about to pass up this brief opportunity to interview a woman they believed had set her cap at their Inferno Club brother-at-infamy.

“So, Miss Starling, where were you born?”

“And you are how old?”

“Was all your education in the home, or did you also attend a finishing school?”

“Do you speak French? Play piano?”

“Yes, what are your accomplishments?”

“More importantly, what are your thoughts on a gentleman maintaining ties with his old bachelor chums after marriage?” the duke asked pointedly.

“We are not at all in favor of that stale, old, stodgy practice where newlywed wives force their husbands to sever ties with their bachelor friends.”