Once She Was Tempted (32 page)

“Need a hand, Foxburn?” his friend called out.

“No. But I’ll need a drink after this. You almost done there?” He kept a wary eye on his own adversary.

“Aye. I find myself growing bored.”

“No lack of excitement here.” Eyebrow raised the cane and slashed it through the air in front of Ben, barely missing his neck. Before the oaf had the chance to regain his balance, Ben grabbed the end of the cane and swung it hard, toppling the man to the ground like an ancient tree. His head hit the sidewalk with a
thunk
, leaving him stunned.

Ben leaned over and wrested the cane—which happened to be one of his favorites—from his foe’s grip and turned to find Averill waiting, a satisfied smile on his face. “Not a bad ending to the night.”

“I must say I prefer it to the alternative—which would have likely involved me being bound and thrown into the Thames.”

Much to the relief of Ben’s coachman, they hurried into the cab.

Ben sank back into the squabs and stared out the window as he waited for his heartbeat to return to normal. Coming out on the winning end of a brawl wasn’t the worst way to spend an evening, but it wasn’t the best either.

He missed Daphne.

And he knew how he’d spend the rest of his night.

Drinking a brandy in his study as he stared at her portrait.

And contemplating his next move.

At the ungodly hour of a quarter to seven in the morning.

Daphne flipped onto her stomach and closed her eyes. “Don’t you ever sleep?”

“You
must
try it on.” She pulled back Daphne’s cozy counterpane, and cool air rushed over her neck and arms.

“At this very moment?” Daphne already knew the answer. Her sister was not a particularly patient person.

“It won’t take long. I just want to see how the adjustment I made to the sleeves turned out. I would try it on myself, but I’m expanding daily.”

Daphne hoisted herself up and took the dress from Anabelle. “Someone who didn’t know would never guess you’re with child.”

“Well then they must be quite perplexed by the sudden and dramatic increase in the size of my breasts.”

Daphne lifted the golden gown above her head.

“No.” Belle reached for the dress. “Not over your nightgown. It’ll ruin the lines.”

Though the bedchamber was chilly in the early morning hours, Daphne indulged her sister and removed her night rail. It was the least she could do, especially since Anabelle had likely spent most of the night bent over the dress, scrutinizing every embellishment and seam. It was highly unusual for a duchess to behave in such a manner, of course, but old habits died hard. For a few weeks after they’d married, Owen objected to Anabelle doing any sort of work, which only resulted in her hiding her activities from him. Once he realized she was happier with a needle in her hand, he’d given in. It was difficult for him to refuse his wife anything.

Anabelle slipped the dress over Daphne’s head; she shivered as the soft, cool silk cascaded down her arms, back, and legs. Even before Anabelle tightened the laces at the side, Daphne could tell that the fit was perfect. The neckline showed her breasts to advantage without being risqué, and a wide band of beadwork accentuated the narrowest part of her torso. The shimmering fabric flowed from the band all the way to the floor in rippling waves that shone like gold glinting in the sun.

Daphne ran her palms over her ribs and down her hips. For several moments, neither of them spoke. When at last Daphne found her tongue, she said, “It’s gorgeous. You’ve outdone yourself.”

Anabelle smiled smugly. “Yes. Yes, I have.” She sighed, the sort of contented sigh one exhales after indulging in a positively decadent pastry.

“Thank you. It is the most beautiful thing I have ever owned.”

“Well, then, you must start going out again, if only so that you’ll have an opportunity to wear it. Perhaps there
is a special gentleman you wish to impress,” Anabelle fished.

Daphne shook her head. “No one special.” Besides Ben. But he’d made himself clear—heartbreakingly so. There was no future for them.

“Well, then, you must wear it to a ball and wait for a special gentleman to come to
you
.”

“There
is
a ball coming up, little more than a week from now.”

Belle’s face brightened. “And you shall go?”

“Yes.” The Foley ball would likely be her last. She might as well look her best. And if the dress gave her the confidence to help her do what she must, so much the better.

“Why does it seem as though you’re a million miles away?”

Daphne blinked. “Hmm?”

Anabelle took her hand and led her to a small sofa in the cozy sitting area before the dormant fireplace. “Daphne,” she said, her pretty gray eyes shining behind her spectacles, “I haven’t seen your smile—the real one that lights up an entire room—in days. You can tell me anything, you know. Did something happen at the house party?”

Daphne rested her forehead on the heels of her hands. She couldn’t lie to Anabelle. “Yes, although it started much earlier than that if I’m honest with myself.”

Anabelle sprang to her feet. “I
knew
it! You must tell me what happened. Is it a man?” She spun to face Daphne and narrowed her eyes. “Whoever he is, he shall rue the day. When Owen finds out about this, he shall—”

“No.”

“What do you mean, ‘no’? If someone has slighted you or upset you, the offense shall not go unpunished.”

“It’s not like that. I’m sorry I haven’t been myself. The last thing I want is to cast a shadow over what should be a joyful time for you.”

“Never fear.” Anabelle smiled serenely. “Nothing could dampen my happiness. But we have always faced things together, and the fact that I’m married and starting a family doesn’t change that. You were my family before and you always will be, even if I have a brood of a dozen children. Which I very well may, if Owen gets his way.”

Daphne chuckled and put her arms around her sister. “I know that I may count on you. In fact, you are more reliable than the stars and moon. But I need to prove that I can count on myself. Lately, I’ve begun to see things more clearly—a little less naïvely. You’ve protected me from much unpleasantness over the years, but there are some things that a person must handle on her own. It’s not that I don’t want to confide in you. I do. But it’s time for me to grow up, Belle. And I think that once I face the demons that haunt me, I’ll be myself again. Maybe a little wiser and more worldly, but sure of who I am, and… happy.”

Anabelle’s lip trembled. “Have I told you lately how proud I am of you?”

Daphne shrugged and lifted the skirt of her dress. “You’ve been otherwise occupied. But some sentiments don’t need to be spoken.”

“I will let you deal with your troubles in your own way, then. But first you must endure one last lecture from your slightly older and infinitely wiser sister.”

With a playful roll of her eyes, Daphne said, “I’m listening.”

Belle grasped her shoulders lightly and gazed into her eyes with the fierceness of a lioness. “You have always been strong. When Mama was sick, you were a beacon, never surrendering to sorrow. When all I could see was darkness, you had the courage to sing. It’s not because you don’t
feel
the pain—it’s because you overpower it and refuse to succumb. Your inner light is the source of your strength, and it’s much more powerful than you realize.”

Daphne swallowed past the knot in her throat. “Thank you. I don’t know exactly how things will turn out, and I hope I don’t disappoint you or Mama, but whatever happens, I’ll know that I acted courageously.”

Belle hugged her close. “When did you get to be so smart?”

Daphne breathed in the light flowery fragrance of her sister’s hair. She couldn’t tell her the truth—that when you feared losing the only man you could ever love, every other worry seemed trivial in comparison. If she lost Ben forever, none of it would really matter anyway. It was like worrying about a hangnail when you were dangling from a cliff.

“I’m going to respect your wish to handle your problem on your own, but if you change your mind, you know I am here.”

“I know, Belle. You’re my rock.”

“Stop it.” Anabelle wiped her eyes. “I have an excuse for being maudlin, whereas you—” She blanched. “Dear God, you’re not…”

“No!” Daphne blushed furiously. As of a few days ago, she knew for a fact—she wasn’t with child.

“Well. I have eliminated one possible source of your melancholy. If I keep guessing, I shall figure out what plagues you in no time at all.”

“May I return to bed now?”

“Not while you’re wearing that.”

“Watch me.” She flipped back the covers and raised her knee.

“Daphne!”

“I jest. I adore this gown, and your love is apparent in every small stitch, every shining bead. You’re going to be a wonderful mother, you know.”

“And you are going to be a wonderful aunt.” Belle turned toward the door. “I’m going to leave you to rest now, but promise me you’ll hang that gown the moment you take it off.”

“Promise. And, Belle?”

“Yes?”

“Thanks for understanding.”

She waved a hand dismissively. “It’s what sisters are for. And if Owen asks you what I’ve been doing for the past two hours,
you
must be a good sister and say that I have been lazing abed all morning.”

“Agreed.”

After Belle left, Daphne walked to the vanity and looked at her reflection in the looking glass. Even with her hair in dishabille, the golden gown gave her an air of confidence. She looked regal and sure of herself.

On the inside, however, she was a cornered mouse—small and trembling. And utterly alone.

The letter from Thomas had arrived yesterday, but Ben had assumed it was simply another ball invitation and therefore didn’t open it until breakfast that morning. He’d written to the artist shortly after the party at Vauxhall Gardens, hoping to discover who had commissioned the
English Beauty paintings… and then promptly forgotten about it.

But Thomas, it turned out, was back in town, and the letter gave the address where he was staying.

Ben now knew the location of the painting and of the artist. The question was, what should he do about it? His eggs sat untouched on his plate and his ham grew cold as he ran through several scenarios in his head.

He wanted to send word to Daphne immediately and tell her that he was going to fix everything. But somehow, he didn’t think she’d appreciate that. She would have once, but she wasn’t the same woman she’d been when he first met her. While speaking to her outside the milliner’s shop, he’d seen the resolve in her eyes. She was determined to face her fears on her own.

And he should probably let her.

But surely she wouldn’t mind a
little
help.

“Flemings,” he bellowed.

The butler shuffled into the dining room. “My lord?”

“I need the coach readied.”

Ben was curious to meet the man who had captured Daphne’s essence so beautifully. And since Thomas and Daphne had grown up as friends, perhaps he’d be able to predict Daphne’s reaction to his scheme—a scheme that was admittedly harebrained. But maybe just harebrained enough to work.

A scant hour later, Ben sat on a wooden chair in a studio across from the artist. Thomas’s shirt was untucked and smeared with shades of brown and blue; his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. Dark smudges above his hollow cheeks suggested he’d been up painting for several hours and that he may have forgotten to eat the previous
day. He stared at Ben’s cane for several moments and then at his leg. Such a bold perusal from anyone else might have been offensive, but Thomas merely seemed to be studying a subject—putting together all the pieces in order to understand the whole.

Ben took in the ramshackle furnishings, the dust that covered everything but Thomas’s easel, and the rat droppings in the corner. The artist seemed oblivious to the squalor.

“Thank you for replying to my inquiry,” Ben said. “I have one of the paintings—of Daphne… er, Miss Honeycote.”

Thomas narrowed his eyes. “How do you know her? Does she know you’re here?”

Impressed by his show of loyalty, Ben decided to answer truthfully, if not fully. “I met her at a dinner party and we became friends. She doesn’t know I’m here. In fact, I doubt she knows that you’re back from your tour.”

He shrugged apologetically. “I’ve been busy with my painting.”

“Well, you certainly haven’t been busy cleaning.”

Thomas scanned the room like he was seeing it for the first time. “We all have our priorities, Lord Foxburn.”

“Indeed. I’ve already learned that your patron is Lord Charlton. Did you know he’s been ill?”

“Nothing serious, I hope?”

“He showed small signs of improvement the last time I saw him.” The memory of that day, replete with the stinging sensation of Hallows’s boot heel wedged into his flesh, made the muscles of his leg twinge.

“It seems as though you have the answers you originally sought. Forgive me for asking a direct question, but what are you doing here?”

“Daphne is in trouble.”

Thomas sat up straighter and tensed. “How so?”

“One of the paintings is about to be sold at auction. When it’s revealed in public, her reputation will be destroyed.”

“I never thought she would be moving about in polite society. I never thought I would either.”

Ben snorted. “You’re not. This is about Daphne. Do you want to help her?”

“Of course I do. Just tell me how.”

He stroked the stubble he hadn’t bothered to shave that morning. “For now, you can simply enlighten me on a couple of painting techniques. The real fun begins tonight—after midnight.”

Thomas arched a brow.

“And you’re going to need your brushes.”