Once She Was Tempted (10 page)

Just as he was marveling at the unexpected moment of serenity, a drunken woman tripped and stumbled toward their small party. A moment before she would have crashed into Olivia, Averill caught her and set her on her feet. “Are you all right, miss?”

“Oh, I think so.” The sleeves of her gown had slipped down her arms and her ample bosoms were one jiggle away from breaking free of her bodice. Averill attempted to adjust her shawl as he steadied her. “So gallant,” she said huskily, “and handsome, too.”

Averill smiled wanly. “Can I help you locate your party?”

She placed a palm on his chest. “I’d rather join yours.”

“B-but, I’m sure your chaperone is worried about you.” The solicitor craned his neck on the off chance anyone nearby was searching for a cheeky, inebriated chit. Finding none, he sighed and removed her hand from his chest. Well done of him, since Lady Olivia looked like she was about to leap between them and inflict some sort of bodily harm on the young woman.

She attempted to smooth her hair but it still resembled a magpie’s nest. With the air of a princess, she said, “If you do not appreciate my company, I’ll find someone who does.” She staggered away slowly, looking over her
shoulder in case anyone should entreat her to stay. No one did, of course, and everyone exhaled in relief. Everyone except Olivia.

“How rude!”

“I believe she’s had too much of the punch,” Rose ventured.

“That’s no excuse. She should have a care for her reputation. One display like that can ruin a girl for life.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Ben glanced at Daphne. Her throat worked as she swallowed nervously. “I don’t know. Gentlemen routinely become foxed and their reputations don’t suffer in the slightest. Shouldn’t ladies be afforded the same leniency?”

Olivia stared at her as though she’d sprouted another head. “That
woman
,” she spat, waving a finger in the direction she’d stumbled, “ought to be banned from polite society.”

Daphne’s face fell, and Ben knew exactly what she was thinking. “It just seems like everyone deserves a second chance.”

“Do you think Rose or I would be given a second chance?” Olivia demanded. “Do you think
you’d
be given a second chance?”

Her eyes downcast, Daphne shook her head. “I suppose not.”

Just then, the first fireworks blazed a path into the sky.

Rose covered her ears, but Olivia shouted above the crackling and booming. “This is spectacular!”

The women formed a front row while the men stood behind, all staring up into the brilliantly lit sky. Everyone became immediately absorbed in the show, except Daphne and Ben.

Daphne looked preoccupied—probably with her imminent fall from grace.

Ben—much to his surprise—found himself worried about Daphne.

He approached her on her free side and leaned forward to whisper in her ear. “Olivia didn’t mean those things. She was just protecting her claim to Averill.”

“Maybe so, but she was right. If the portrait is discovered, I
won’t
be given a second chance.” Her voice, which was only a whisper, wavered.

It could have been the punch, but before he knew what he was doing, he reached between them and took her hand. He laced his fingers through hers and squeezed reassuringly. A current shot up his arm and radiated throughout his entire body. “You don’t need to be afraid. I’ll find the other painting.”

“What if you can’t?”

“I always,
always
deliver on promises, Daphne.” It was true. He had no idea in hell how he was going to deliver on this one, but he would. How hard could it be to find one amateur painting of a beautiful woman?

“Thank you for trying,” she said. “Thank you for this night.”

Her sad smile stirred something deep inside of him, a place he’d thought was long dead. He could see that she didn’t believe him, and who could blame her? In her eyes, he was probably nothing more than a bad-mannered half-cripple who drank too much. But he’d prove he was worthy of her confidence. He would get her out of this mess.

“How are
you
feeling?” she asked.

“Better. Thank you for creating a diversion back there.”

“It was nothing.” She laughed softly. “We are a sorry pair, are we not?”

He chuckled even though he disagreed on one point—there was nothing sorry about Daphne. But he did like the notion of them being a pair.

Their clasped hands hidden in the folds of her skirt and the shadows, they stood and watched the fireworks. The red and white streaks in the sky briefly lit her upturned face. Her profile was enchanting—long lashes, a sloped nose, full lips, and a delicate chin. Even in the relative darkness, her light was irrepressible, as though she were a beacon that had been kept lit—just for him.

After a few moments, she leaned back toward him. Her head was so close that a few stray wisps of her hair tickled his chin. “Maybe you’re right and all is not lost.”

He rubbed his thumb lightly over the back of her hand. He felt uncharacteristically hopeful, too.

“If we can find the painting, there is a chance I could still find a decent, respectable man to marry me.”

Ben’s gut clenched and his hopes were squashed.
Decent
and
respectable
were adjectives that left him entirely out of the running.

T
he next morning, Daphne knocked gently on the door to Anabelle’s bedchamber. “It’s me.”

“Enter.”

Odd. Her sister’s cheerful voice had not come from the direction of her bed. Daphne swung open the door and found her standing before a full-length mirror wearing a nightgown. “What are you doing out of bed?”

“Shhh! Do you want Owen to come running?”

“If that is the only way to get you to stay in bed.”

“I’ve been very good, Daph. Honestly. I just wanted to peek at my stomach.” She smoothed the nightgown, pulling it tight across her belly. “Do you see anything yet?”

Daphne hesitated, unsure of the proper response, but then decided on honesty. “There’s a slight swell where there wasn’t before, but I suspect that I’m the only one who’d notice.”

Belle beamed. “I thought so, too! She’s growing.”

“She?”

“Did I say she? I meant the baby.”

Daphne chuckled. “I gathered. Now, do you think we could relocate to your bed, or at least the sofa in your dressing room? If Owen checks in on you, I don’t want to be blamed for your flagrant disregard of doctor’s orders.”

“Oh, it sounds horrid when you say it like that, Daph. I’d never do anything to jeopardize her well-being.”

Her
. Interesting. She let it pass.

They moved to the sofa and Daphne made sure that her sister put her feet up. “Would you like something to drink? A bite to eat, perhaps?”

Belle blanched and placed a palm over her stomach. “Maybe later. Right now I want to hear all about Vauxhall Gardens.”

“It was a delightful evening. So much to do and see—the fountains and follies and fireworks—”

Anabelle swatted her arm. “I don’t want to hear about the
scenery
. Tell me the good bits. Did Lord Biltmore make any advances?”

“Belle!”

“I’m not suggesting that he, or you, did anything improper. But it would be nice to know where you stand with him. Did you walk with him, perhaps, or exchange glances during the fireworks?”

“No. The group stayed together for the better part of the evening.”

“Aha! ‘For the better part of the evening’ means that you
did
spend some time alone with him.”

Heat crept up Daphne’s cheeks. The only person she’d spent time alone with was Lord Foxburn. Benjamin. She blushed some more. If she didn’t confess some of the details, Belle would just make Olivia tell. “Not with him.
Lord Foxburn’s leg was hurting and he asked if I’d take a walk with him while he stretched it out.”

Anabelle’s eyes narrowed behind her spectacles. “Is that what he told you?”

“Mmm.” Daphne busied herself untangling the fringe on a throw pillow.

“Just out of curiosity, how do you feel about the earl?”

She could have said she felt sorry for him. It would have been the easy way out, and yet, she couldn’t bring herself to say the words. Benjamin wasn’t the type of person to be pitied, even in a white lie. “I admire his courage and his loyalty to Lord Biltmore. His older brother was Lord Foxburn’s best friend, and he died at Waterloo.”

“Ah, yes,” Belle said sadly. “Owen mentioned it. Is the earl putting up barriers between you and Lord Biltmore?”

Dash it all. For once, she wished Anabelle wasn’t so shrewd. “He’s very protective of his young friend. I believe Lord Foxburn wants to make sure his protégé doesn’t fall victim to a fortune hunter.”

“Of all the—” Belle tried to spring to her feet, but Daphne gently held down her shoulders. “You don’t need Lord Biltmore’s money. And even if you did, he’d be lucky to marry someone as thoughtful and kind as you.”

“It’s all right. I’m not sure that I managed to capture Lord Biltmore’s affections anyway.”

Belle rolled her eyes dramatically. “Please. You could capture the affections of any man you chose.” She paused for a moment and then tilted her head. “But perhaps he hasn’t captured yours?”

Daphne shrugged. “I don’t think we have a… romantic connection.” Heaven help her, her face must be as red as a beet.

“Oh.” Anabelle seemed to consider this. “That’s another matter entirely.”

“Did you, er, that is, did you always feel that spark with Owen? Even before you knew that he was as smitten with you as you were with him?”

It was Belle’s turn to blush. “Yes. It was there from the start.”

Daphne sighed. Few couples were blessed with marriages as passionate as her sister’s and Owen’s. Daphne dreamed of a love match, but she supposed it was far more important to marry a man with a kind nature and a gentle temperament.

“It will happen for you, too, when you meet the right gentleman.”

“What if you feel something like a spark… but it’s with the wrong gentleman?”

Anabelle gasped. “That way lies heartbreak.”

They sat in silence for a few moments before her sister ventured, “Are you speaking of Lord Foxburn, by any chance?”

Daphne couldn’t quite bring herself to respond, so she gave a noncommittal shrug that Belle was sure to see through.

She reached for Daphne’s hands and squeezed them affectionately. “Lord Foxburn is undeniably handsome, and the fact that he’s a war hero lends him an even more dashing air. But regardless of the attraction you might feel toward him, he is
not
the man for you.”

“How do you know?”

“Owen says he has a very dark side and that his mission in life is to make everyone as miserable as he is. You deserve better.”

Belle
would
say that. But then, she didn’t know about the portraits. Daphne wasn’t the innocent her sister believed her to be. “Actually, I don’t think it’s a matter of deserving someone, but the point is moot. You’re right—Lord Foxburn and I would never suit. I get the impression that he doesn’t approve of me.”

“Of course he doesn’t.” Belle flung her arms in exasperation. “He doesn’t approve of anyone. I can’t imagine living with a boor like that.”

For some mysterious reason, Daphne felt the need to defend him. “He merely says what the rest of us are thinking.”

“Perhaps, but exercising self-control is a requirement in civilized society.”

“Which is why Lord Foxburn prefers solitude.”

“But
you
do not,” Anabelle reminded her. “You thrive on helping others.”

Her sister was right. Daphne leaned her head on Belle’s shoulder. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’d do just fine. But you wouldn’t have half as many gorgeous dresses. Do you want to see how the ball gown is coming along?”

Belle had insisted on creating an elegant new dress for Daphne. Her sister said the gorgeous gold silk trimmed in faceted beads would shine like a diamond in the sun.

Daphne sat up and shot Belle a scolding look. “In case you’ve forgotten, I will remind you that you’re a duchess now. And you’re with child. You shouldn’t be working so hard on a ball gown for me.”

Her sister pushed her spectacles farther up her nose. “I am quite aware of that. Do you want to see it, or not?”

“Yes, please!”

Belle glided to her armoire and withdrew the dress, which—even in its unfinished state—nearly took Daphne’s breath away.

“Oh, it’s…”

“Stunning?”

“Yes.”

“Come see.” Belle pulled Daphne by the hand and positioned her in front of the looking glass. Standing behind her, Belle placed the work in progress under Daphne’s chin and sighed happily. “I
knew
the colors would be perfect.”

“Thank you,” Daphne breathed. “For everything.”

“You see?” Anabelle said. “Everything is going to work out. You shall soon have the most beautiful gown in the British Empire—and in France for that matter. Mama is well and growing stronger every day. You are under the protection of your brother-in-law, who happens to be a strikingly handsome duke. Best of all, you’re the kindest, gentlest, purest soul I know. What could possibly go wrong?”

Well… for one thing, her half-naked image could surface at any time, bringing shame upon herself and everyone she loved. Daphne swallowed past the knot in her throat.

All things considered, there was quite a lot that could go wrong.

Before Ben’s injury, he never would have considered taking a coach to Robert’s house, which was a mere three blocks away. But after the previous day’s exertions, his leg was about as flexible as a log, and walking more than a few yards was out of the question.

Last evening had been successful, in at least one respect. He and Daphne had a plan of action. They’d forged an alliance of sorts, and he was beginning to understand her. A couple of questions still plagued him. How had her mother recovered? How had her sister, a lowly seamstress, ended up married to a duke?

Eventually, he would solve the entire puzzle, but for now he was content with knowing why she’d posed for the portraits. She hadn’t been coerced, and she hadn’t been the artist’s lover.