Never Entice an Earl (18 page)

“I’m certainly not the only one saying it.” He chuckled, and rubbed a hand to his
forehead, looking put out. “God, I wish I had a smoke. These sorts of obligatory outings
drive me absolutely mad. Aren’t you Daphne’s chaperone? Lord knows it’s not me. Hadn’t
you best go and find her?”

For a moment, he hovered, caught between duty and desire to find her.

“You are right, of course.”

Cormack paused only a moment more to take in the sight of the buildings, spires, and
roadways, and the carriages, wagons, and pedestrians that scuttled between them like
beetles. The Thames, which abutted the city to the south, glimmered a dull greenish-gray.

He backed away from the edge and moved alongside the railing, searching, but she was
nowhere to be seen. Clarissa and her three suitors took turns peering through a looking
glass out over the city. Fox stood several feet away, looking off into another direction.

“Look,” Clarissa said, “I can see all the way to the river. How impressive. Why have
I never come here before?”

The gentlemen vied for her attention, each striving to point out the most interesting
landmark.

But Daphne. Where was she? His heart still beat heavily from the climb, and it sent
an exhilarating rush coursing through his blood. He felt like a stalking animal, consumed
by mindless craving, an all-consuming need. He scanned the platform. The wind gusted,
not severely but enough to lift his hat, which he removed as he strode along the parapet.
He rounded the bend, to find her standing back to the rail, the city of London spread
out behind her—a sensual fantasy, suspended in the clouds.

“You think you’re a man because you’re the only one to make it to the top?” she asked,
her eyes sparking fire. “Well, you are wrong.”

He shook his head slowly. “You know I’m right. They are wrong for you.”

“Who are you to decide? Why did you come this afternoon? You are my blackmailer, not
my friend. You’ve ruined everything!”

“Havering invited me—”

“You should have declined.”

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“Whatever you have to say, I don’t want to hear.”

“Listen—” He stepped closer.

She backed away. “Leave me alone.”

“Don’t you understand, I
can’t
?” Only once he’d said the words did he realize the truth of them.

“You are
betrothed
,” she accused, her cheeks flushed and eyes bright. “You are betrothed to another
woman and you kissed me. Now stop interfering in my life, when you have absolutely
no right to do so.”

He turned from her, rubbing a hand across his face, in an effort to force away the
frustration, the need for her. He should walk away. Join the other group, or go to
the carriage and wait. But once again he faced her. God, what was he doing? He couldn’t
walk away.

“Could you not plainly see that all of your family and friends are dismayed? Truly,
Daphne, those three fops are your choices?” he remarked bitterly. He gripped the umbrella
in his hands.

“They are all three fine gentlemen, which is more than I can say for you. Bamble is
sweet natured and—”

“A complete ninny,” he interrupted, moving to stand close beside her, his palm skimming
flat over the top of the railing to rest adjacent to hers. “He would never pay you
a moment’s notice, because he’s too besotted by his books.
And
his perceived infirmities.”

She snatched her hand away, and stepped back.

“Captain Sheridan—”

“—will be gone in two months’ time,” he interrupted, pivoting sharply, and closing
the distance between them. “Returned to the far side of the earth, for God knows how
long. Because he is more in love with the ocean and the camaraderie of the service
than he could ever be with you.”

Without realizing it, she’d backed herself into a corner, and could go no farther.
She bumped against the rail, and her eyes widened in alarm—and fury.

“Perhaps so, but Sir Tarte is a delightful fellow—” she blustered, her cheeks filled
with high color.

Cormack lowered his face so they were nose to nose. “Sir Tarte is wearing rouge.”

“I—I hadn’t noticed.” She blinked rapidly, her voice distinctly cool.

“The rouge? Or that he is clearly more interested in me than you?”

Her eyes flew open in outrage. “How dare you imply—”

“All I’ve implied is that he has exquisite taste,” he teased, before growing instantly
serious. “Daphne, why would you choose any one of those three earwigs when you could
have any eligible man you wanted at a snap of your fingers? It’s as if you don’t want
a man who will satisfy you—”

“If you must know, I don’t intend to marry. Ever. It was decided long ago.”

Yes, he recalled Havering saying the same. He frowned, catching her chin in his hand,
and gently urging her to look into his eyes. “Decided by whom?”

She turned her face, and sidestepped, escaping him.

“By me.” She whirled and backed away, her gloved hand on the railing. “Because it’s
my choice. Everyone in my family knows, but Mother, being a mother, hopes I will change
my mind, and so she had this idea for an afternoon out with several suitors, where
there wouldn’t be any pressure to favor any one person over the other. I confess,
I humored her. I invited three gentlemen who are long-time friends, because I thought
we’d all have a lovely afternoon together, and that would be all. But of course
you
came.”

With a glance over his shoulder to confirm no one observed them, he again closed the
distance between them.

“Stop doing this,” she said. “It is wrong for you to pursue me when—”

“I’m not pursuing you.”

“Then what are you doing?” She stared up at him, her eyes unwavering.

“I hate things the way they are between us,” he said through gritted teeth.

“You made them that way,” she accused.

He looked to the sky, and gave a low, rueful laugh.

“If only you did not provoke and madden me so.” He closed his eyes, and breathed.
“I am
not
betrothed,” he growled, moving so close he smelled her fragrance, so close he could
kiss her if he so chose. “I would not have kissed you if—”

“You are lying to me, and I don’t believe you.”

“Daphne.”

Her gaze darted over his shoulder because obviously she had no wish to be observed,
or overheard, either. The wind caught her curls and plastered the gauzy fabric of
her dress against her body, revealing every delectable curve and valley to his hungry
eyes, and eliciting a needful response. For a moment, a forbidden fantasy invaded
his thoughts, of pressing her to the wall behind them, and kissing her until she melted,
of tugging her dress from her shoulders and kissing her bared breasts as the city
bustled below, unseeing and unaware of the passion raging between them, high above.

He moved closer, scandalously so, so that his chest brushed against her breasts. Every
time he allowed himself to get this close, his thoughts went heady and he could only
react with touch. This time was no different. His hand covered hers on the rail, wrapping
round it tight.

Her eyes went smoky. He bent to kiss her.

Her eyes flew open wide, and she swung sideways, her bodice tightening against her
bosoms to form a tantalizing cradle. “Don’t.”

Just then, Clarissa and her troupe rounded the corner, with her chattering at the
center.

Daphne stormed away, to stare out over the city. She looked so angry and distant and
unobtainable. He could think of nothing else but to change that.

“Where are the others?” Havering inquired.

“Bamble has asthma, and a fear of heights,” responded Daphne, over her shoulder. “Captain
Sheridan was kind enough to stay below to entertain him with tales of the high seas.”

“What about Sir Tarte?” asked Clarissa.

Cormack provided that answer. “He has turned his ankle.”

That brought chuckles from at least two of the gentleman, and a sharp glance from
Clarissa. She reached for the arm of the third. “You said we could see Buckingham
from this perspective?”

The young man led her away, and the others followed.

In that moment, rain pattered down all around. Daphne whirled round, looking up to
the sky as if it betrayed her. Cormack opened the umbrella and held it between them,
extending the offering of shelter to her, yet she only stared at him, refusing to
budge.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He strode forward, covering her. Raindrops glistened on her
skin. “Come out of the rain.”

“I can’t be close to you.” She stepped out from beneath.

He grasped her wrist and—

“Unhand me.” She jerked in an attempt to free herself.

Havering turned back toward them. Cormack instantly released her, and they mutually
pretended to admire the view.

“If it gets much worse, we’ll have to go back down,” Havering called.

“It’s only a sprinkle,” Cormack said. “Let’s give it a few moments.”

Fox nodded, and rejoined the others, who had all opened umbrellas and now looked like
a cluster of mushrooms.

“Listen to me,” he uttered quietly.

“There is nothing you can say—” Daphne broke free, shunning the shelter of the umbrella
as if to follow the others.

He ought to let her go. He ought to set her free. But he had never seen any woman
more beautiful than Daphne in this moment, walking away. His heart exploded and the
resulting reverberations soundly overrode all common sense. He caught her by the arm
and pulled her back, lowering the umbrella to shield them from view.

“Lord Raikes!” she cried, but a gust of wind carried her voice toward the city.

“Don’t call me that.” He seized her against his chest. She closed her eyes, as if
in pain. He pressed his mouth fervently to hers. “Not you, Daphne. I am Cormack. You
know me.”

The sound of Clarissa’s voice, cooing at the pigeons, came from not ten feet away.

“No.” She turned her face. “I don’t. I thought I did but then you changed, and you
threatened to blackmail me.”

“Just words. Do you believe I could ever hurt you?” he demanded.

“Then why did you say them?”

“Because the moment I saw you in the park in that carriage, everything in the world
turned upside down. That first night, after the Blue Swan, I felt like a hero in your
eyes. But when I realized who you really were, I became just another admirer, eager
for your glance.”

“Stop, Cormack.”

But he caught her chin, and kissed her.

“She is twelve,” he murmured raggedly against her lips.

Daphne blinked dazedly. “Twelve…?”

A glance behind the umbrella proved they were alone again, their company having moved
round the corner to the next viewpoint.

“Ernestine Snaith is twelve years old. While it is true I have entered into an understanding
with her father that we will marry when she is nineteen, in order for my family to
regain lands that have been in our possession since shortly after the Conquest, we
are not formally betrothed, and will not be for some seven years.”

He bent to kiss her again. “I wouldn’t have kissed you otherwise.”

“Cormack,” she whispered, softening against him.

He deepened the kiss, his tongue darting urgently between her lips and over her tongue
and teeth, desperate to claim her more completely. He inhaled and savored her lemon-and-mint-sweet
breath. She moaned, tilting her head up and spreading her hands at the front of his
coat.

The fantasy returned, and in his mind he was already lifting her skirts and raising
her bare bottom against the stones—

Daphne twisted away, installing several feet between them, and raised her fingertips
to her lips. Eyes glazed, she stared at him in silence, as drops glistened on her
cheeks and hair and like diamonds against her skin.

“What?” he growled in frustration, and once again came to stand beside her, shielding
her from the rain, his blood simmering with frustration. “It’s true, I can never marry
you.”

“Why would you even feel the need to say that?” Her eyes flared wide. “I’ve already
said I’ve no intentions of marrying you or anyone else.”

“Then what?”

“I’m afraid.”

“Why?”

“Because when the time came, I might not be able to let go.”

At that moment, Clarissa again came round the corner again between two of her suitors,
her arms tucked into theirs. The third followed behind, his face a scowl, holding
two open umbrellas, one which he held over Clarissa and his competitors. Havering,
for his part, chuckled behind them.

“It’s getting far too damp!” she called. “We’re returning to the carriages!”

“Where is Kincraig?” Cormack asked, trying not to sound overly interested.

“Downstairs already,” Fox answered.

“Go on,” Daphne replied. “We will be right down, after one last look.”

When alone again, neither of them moved.

He turned toward her, bracketing her against him, his arm at her waist. “A man disgraced
my sister, Laura, and now she is dead. It’s why I came to London. That is the man
for whom I search. I would never disgrace you the way he did her. I would never hurt
you.”

“I know that. Somehow I always have.”

“Then let me kiss you again.” He bent toward her face. “Let me touch you. Let me take
you somewhere that we can be alone—”

She pressed her fingertips against his mouth. “I can’t.”

He exhaled, holding her tighter.

She pressed against his arm. “Let me go, Cormack.”

“I don’t know if I can.”

“Then you must try harder.”

With that admonition, she twisted free of him and ran through the rain to disappear
down the stairwell.

T
here is nothing quite like a Vauxhall Gala night.” Fox grinned at him from the opposite
bench.

Cormack peered out the window. “Just look at all those lights.”

He could not help but think of Laura in that moment, and how much she would have enjoyed
such a magical sight. A thousand variegated lanterns shone in the darkness, revealing
in golden cast throngs of guests moving through the trees. Daphne would be here, and
he had no doubt whatsoever that they would cross paths. He would show her they could
still be friends. That he could stand aside while she found happiness, and be the
first to wish her well.

Now, with the benefit of being separated from her for several hours, he had talked
sense into himself. Where, after all, had he thought all that marvelous kissing would
lead?

Thankfully, Daphne had thrust the necessary boundaries between them. Which was one
reason he’d accepted Fox’s invitation to the Vauxhall Gala tonight. With Havering’s
help, he’d simply recalled the Duke of Durden’s impeccable staff to man the house
and stable, as he ought to have arranged from the start. To anyone else he looked
like the perfect gentleman. By God, it was time he started acting that way.

Besides, he couldn’t stay away if he wanted to. The man he still pursued socialized
in these circles. Was it Mr. Kincraig? Whatever the case, he was more determined than
ever to find out, and knowing the man would be here tonight, as well as Rackmorton
and countless other members of the Invisibilis, filled him with the compulsion to
end this thing once and for all, tonight if possible.

Moments later, Jackson let them out from the carriage, amidst a sea of other carriages
and arriving guests.

“Be on your guard,” the young man warned, securing the door, and scanning the crowd.
“While all of the
ton
may well be here tonight, there is always a dangerous element lurking about, eager
to lighten your purse or steal your boots, sometime at the expense of one’s life.
We’ll wait over there, in the field for you, with the other conveyances. Just whistle,
and we’ll come.” He climbed onto the rear perch, and the new driver snapped the reins.
Jackson saluted as they rolled into the shadows to join what appeared from this distance
to be scores of other carriages.

Cormack joined Havering on the pavement, and together they entered the gate, showing
tokens to the private gala at the Pavilion. “Your man is right. The gardens can be
dangerous.”

Cormack listened, but felt no qualms about delving into the darkness and jostling
elbow to elbow with strangers. When had he ever not been on guard? Having lived six
years in the wilds of Bengal, under no one’s protection but his own, he’d learned
to exist in a constant state of vigilance, one he’d been unable to put to rest even
upon returning to England.

“Who brought Lady Harwick and the young ladies tonight?” he inquired.

Fox responded with a wink. “Mr. Kincraig, who is still a bit rough around the edges,
but at least he is making more efforts to be part of the family than before. He actually
insisted on bringing them tonight, without having to be summoned by Wolverton.”

Good. He would make every effort to befriend the man, as he had done with Rackmorton,
and extract whatever answers he could.

They moved in and out of the light, along the colonnade. Everywhere, people laughed
and danced and played. The music grew louder, and at last he saw the orchestra stand,
constructed of several ornately colored floors, and housing the musicians whose skilled
efforts set the tone for the night. Here, beneath enormous hanging flower bouquets
and Turkish chandeliers, danced the
ton
, markedly different in appearance from the common people crowding the rest of the
park. The ladies wore silk dresses and sparkling jewels, and the gentlemen dark evening
clothes.

He searched the colorful tumult for Mr. Kincraig, but when his gaze instead found
Daphne, it felt like a sudden and forceful kick to his gut. She danced with a handsome
dark-haired fellow who smiled down at her in obvious enchantment. She smiled back
at him, too, but in keeping with the steps of the dance, she twirled free and joined
with the next partner, who appeared as equally besotted as the first. Clarissa danced
in the same grouping, along with a number of other stylish young people.

Lady Harwick warmly smiled at them on their approach. She reached for and squeezed
his hand. “Welcome, Lord Raikes. Havering tells me you were the most devoted chaperone
to Daphne this afternoon. Thank you for giving your time. We are all most appreciative.”

“I was happy to do it.” He ought to feel guilty, accepting such praise. After all,
he’d been wholeheartedly in favor of seducing her daughter just hours before. But
his and Daphne’s flirtation or dalliance or whatever they’d shared was now ended.
It felt very nice to stand here beside Lady Harwick and to be considered to be one
of her friends.

A taller, mature fellow stood beside her, his expression attentive, and his gaze clearly
adoring on Her Ladyship.

“Hello,” Cormack said.

“Forgive me,” said Lady Harwick. “This is Mr. Birch.”

They all three chatted for a moment, before Mr. Birch went in search of lemonade for
the marchioness.

Together they watched the dance, Cormack finding it harder to watch Daphne in the
arms of other men, dancing and laughing so gaily, than he had expected. He had bared
his soul to her that afternoon and felt she had done the same. Despite their having
made peace, he felt completely adrift.

Her Ladyship sighed. “Thank heavens she is spending time tonight with other gentlemen
and not Sir Tarte, or Captain Sheridan or Lord Bamble.” She laughed anxiously. “Each
of whom I find an admirable fellow in his own right but do not perceive as a suitable
match for my daughter.”

“I do believe she came to the same understanding this afternoon.”

Lady Harwick’s expression brightened and she rested her hand on his arm. “You don’t
know how relieved I am to hear you say that. You are the most delightful man. My husband
used to do the same thing, sense my fears and know just how to soothe them. That’s
how I know you will one day make a very good husband for your betrothed. I only wish
my Daphne could find someone like you.”

Cormack pressed his lips together, wondering if it would be better to remain silent.
But he could not. “Miss Bevington told me this afternoon that it has long been her
intention never to marry.”

“Indeed, what she says is true.” Her Ladyship sighed. “And I hope I do not press her
too much in my hopes that she will reconsider. I truly do respect her choice. However
I fear that same choice is grounded in the misguided belief that she bears the blame
for her father’s death. You see, she was riding the horse that reared up and struck
him. But there was a lightning strike, and the animal startled. There was nothing
anyone could have done.” Her voice softened to nothing, and her eyes misted over.

“How terrible. I’m very sorry you suffered such a tragedy.”

“Thank you.” She touched a hand to his arm. “But I fear Daphne has always believed
she must pay some sort of penance, by selflessly devoting her life to me and her grandfather
and her sisters at the expense of denying her own dreams.”

It hadn’t made sense to him that such a lovely young woman as Daphne wouldn’t want
to find love, or marry. Now he understood completely. The danger she’d faced to help
Miss Fickett. Her devotion to her family. She placed everyone’s cares above her own.

Mr. Birch reappeared from the shadows. “I have returned with lemonade for all.” He
balanced three cups of the stuff, which they all quickly dispatched.

The song ended and the dancers moved across the wooden floor, some remaining for the
next set, while others abandoned their places to find friends in the adjacent supper
boxes or to make merry under the canopy of the trees.

Her Ladyship still stood between them, silent and pensive, watching Daphne, worrying
about her daughter’s future happiness, he knew—and, he suspected, wanting to join
in the fun.

It seemed the perfect moment for Mr. Birch to ask Her Ladyship to dance, but the fellow
remained silent.

At that very moment, he saw Mr. Kincraig on the far side of the dance floor, speaking
to several men. His curiosity piqued, he glanced down to Lady Harwick.

“Would you…like to dance, my lady?” he asked her.

Her eyes widened with surprise. “Why…yes, I would love to.”

Cormack did not miss Mr. Birch’s momentary expression, one of abject failure, with
his eyes closed and his mouth a tight line. Maybe the fellow was shy or simply did
not know how to dance. Well, perhaps he could help Mr. Birch get over his fears. He
knew better than anyone that there was nothing like seeing the woman one adored in
the company of another man, to compel one to action. Every time he saw Daphne whirl
past in the arms of another man, he had to prohibit himself from doing the same.

Whatever the case, he led her to the floor. As they took their places, he happened
to see Daphne staring at him from across the clearing. She was lovely, every moment
of every day, but there was something about the light from the lanterns, playing with
the shadows on her skin and the high flush on her cheeks, that made her even more
bewitching—especially when she smiled at him, as she did now.

In a night painted in shadows, she stood out like a brilliant jewel. She wore an azure
gown, trimmed with gold, and crystals shimmered in her upswept hair. His gut twisted
with desire, and for a moment, he savored the sensation, but he closed his eyes and
after a moment, the music started, a lively country dance.

The next moments passed in a blur of music and movement. He guided Lady Harwick to
the right, to the left, and they parted to circle round the next person in line, to
join hands again. Faces flashed by, smiling and laughing. Kincraig, he observed, spoke
with Rackmorton and that fellow from the night of the musicale…Dump Dump Dinglemore.
Ah, yes, and there was Charlie Churlish as well, with several others. He would endeavor
to join them as soon as the dance was done. It wasn’t, after all, as if he’d come
here to dance.

Even so, Lady Harwick shouted above the din, “You are such a good dancer!”

Of course he was. Laura had needed a practice partner all those years ago, when she
was learning her steps, and dreaming of growing up into a young lady to experience
nights like this. Strange that in this moment, when he was surrounded by a heaving
mass of people, he should miss her so much. Knowing that the man who had ruined her
might be here tonight, laughing and carrying on as if she had never existed, only
renewed his hatred.

They repeated the same steps, traveling down the line, crowded on all sides by other
dancers, who at times broke through. Rather than break the rhythm of the dance, it
only added to the Bacchanalian revelry of the night

Then, when it was time to change partners, Lady Harwick twirled off into the arms
of another man, a tall fellow with a mustache…and Daphne was suddenly in his.

“I think you went in the wrong direction,” he said. Shadows revealed the hollows beneath
his cheekbones, and lips that did not precisely smile. His heart beat strong and sure
beneath her palm, which rested at the center of his chest. “I’m supposed to be paired
with that dear lady over there.”

He indicated a gray-haired matron who wandered unpartnered, her gloved arms held aloft,
only to be swept away into the dance by Havering.

“Perhaps I did go the wrong direction, but quite on purpose and for good reason.”
She half-turned within the circle of his arms to find two dancers—her mother and Mr.
Birch. “That dear man wanted so badly to dance with Mama, but did you know he has
a war wound? I didn’t either. He conceals the limp very well.”

Despite everything, she liked Mr. Birch very much, though she hadn’t wanted to. He
wasn’t her father; no one ever could be. But she realized things couldn’t stay the
same. She wanted her mother to find happiness, and, yes—Clarissa as well. Still, she
felt as though everything she knew was slipping from her grasp, and she needed something
to hold on to. In this moment that thing was Cormack.

“And you encouraged him?” He spun her around, and around again, with such skill she
could only close her eyes and savor the pleasure of being in his arms. There was something
about the night, and the sparkling lanterns and the music, that made her feel reckless
and daring.

“Of course I did. Why wouldn’t I? He’s just a bit self-conscious on the dance floor,
and doesn’t believe himself to be very nimble.”

Another couple collided into Cormack’s back. With a faint look of irritation, he sheltered
her from the blow.

“Apologies!” the man shouted, and they spiraled away.

The corner of Cormack’s lips hitched upward into a smile. “I don’t believe ‘nimble’
even signifies on a night like this.”

“Just look at my mother’s smile. She likes him, I think. I’m sorry, Cormack, you are
left to dance with me.”

She smiled up into his face, wanting the night to never end. She wanted to flirt.
She wanted to played with fire. It was easy to do here in the gardens, where magic
danced among the trees and worry and regret seemed so far away.

Her heart soared when he pulled her close, into an embrace, and murmured against her
temple, “You won’t ever hear me complain.”

He could do this. He could dance with her. Touch her even, and then walk away. He
would prove it to himself, and to her.

The music trilled and dipped, and they circled one another, hands sliding, however
briefly, over one another’s skin and clothing, her gaze never leaving his. But then,
as all country dances required, they spun in opposite directions to claim the next
partner. He watched her go, and saw her smile fall when she met the arms of the next
man—Rackmorton, who peered back at him, grinning like a hyena, with bared teeth, and
in a whirl, he lost sight of them.