The Lucky One (Brethren Of The Coast #6) (7 page)

“Merciful heavens, no.” The portly housekeeper wrapped an arm about Daphne’s shoulders. “You are the sweetest young woman I have ever had the pleasure of serving, and I will do so, until I die. And Sir Dalton is most fortunate, if he has earned your regard.”

“Sir Dalton’s coach is just arrived, Miss Daphne.” Hicks adjusted his collar, tugged on his sleeves, and straightened his coat. “And everything is in order, per your instructions.”

“Wonderful. Open the door, so we might welcome our esteemed guest.” She assumed her station in the entryway and noted the empty positions to her immediate right. “Where are my brothers?”

“I am not sure, Miss Daphne.” With a mighty frown, Hicks shook his head and twisted the latch. “They have disappeared.”

“What do you mean?” With her shoulders rolled back, she lifted her chin and stiffened her spine. “Are they or are they not in residence?”

“I have no idea, Miss Daphne.” Hicks set wide the oak panel and stood at attention, just as the graceful equipage slowed to a halt. “When I entered their chambers, Richard and Robert were gone.”

“How dare they insult Sir Dalton, after all he has done for us? I shall have words with them, tonight.” As the oh-so-dashing sea captain descended the coach, she mustered a smile, although she lamented her appearance, in light of his unrivaled attire. “Mrs. Jones, could you please serve refreshments—”

“I have taken the liberty of arranging a bottle of wine, some cheese, and bread in the back parlor,” Hicks said, in a low voice. “Sir Dalton, may I take your coat and gloves?”

“Thank you, Hicks.” And then she met her unwitting champion’s gaze, which softened whenever he met her stare. “Good evening, Sir Dalton.”

“Miss Daphne.” As usual, he studied her from top to toe, before taking her hand in his to place a chaste kiss on her knuckles. “I swear you grow more beautiful with each passing day.”

“How is it you always know what to say to give me shivers?” Realizing, too late, what she had just declared aloud, she winced and bit her tongue. Had she not always spoken her mind? Yet never had she considered it a curse—until now. “I had not intended to share that bit of information.”

“Somehow I guessed that.” The incorrigible sailor chuckled and winked. “But let us explore your unutterably charming revelation, perhaps, in your drawing room, as we await dinner?”

“Actually, I had thought we might adjourn to the back parlor, as it is more cozy.” And Courtenay Hall no longer included a serviceable drawing room, but she would divulge that regrettable fact over her dead body. So she endeavored to persevere, as she accepted his proffered escort. “Shall we?”

“I see you received my flowers.” Sir Dalton arched a brow. “Do they please you, Miss Daphne?”

“You know they do, and thank you.” Although Hicks and Mrs. Jones kept the wood paneling and trim polished to a high shine, Daphne wished her refined visitor would not notice the once vivid but now faded and outdated Chintz-style woodblock wallpaper or the tattered Oriental hall rugs. But she had moved the best furnishings that remained in the home to the back parlor, and Daphne and Mrs. Jones had taken the newest drapes and carpets from a long unused guestroom to complete a renovation, of sorts. As they entered the relaxed chamber, she ushered Sir Dalton to the
chaise
. “May I pour you a glass of wine?”

“Only if you join me.” After resituating some pillows, he sat. “And what news have you of the brooch?”

“I wondered if you had considered an alternate conclusion to the quest for the missing jewelry.” With a courage-bolstering gulp of wine, she perched on the edge of a chair. “Are you certain you did not misplace the pin? Could it not be lost in your cabin?”

“I have made a thorough inspection of my quarters, and the heirloom is gone.” He narrowed his stare. “And you gave me the impression you knew the location of the artifact, as well as the identity of the thief. Are you changing your story, my dear?”

“I beg your pardon? I have made polite inquiries, and I may or may not know the location of the missing item, but your threat to summon the authorities could complicate matters. And if I am to—” It was then she discovered Sir Dalton’s dimpled grin. “You deliberately baited me.”

“I did.” He snickered.

“But, why?” Inwardly cursing herself, she sought distraction in a bit of cheese.

“Because I enjoy our verbal fencing, Miss Daphne.” Leaning forward, he rested elbows to knees. “And your cheeks manifest a tantalizing shade of red. Perhaps now you will tell me about those shivers I give you?”

“I suppose it is too much to hope you might overlook my less than graceful admission.” She smoothed her skirt and attempted to ignore his devilish expression. “A gentleman would, no doubt, pretend he had not heard the spontaneous and clumsy confession.”

“Not a chance, as I have never claimed to possess such noble characteristics.” He laughed when she frowned. “And I shall never forget your disarming disclosure, as I will carry it to the grave and beyond. So let us not avoid the topic foremost on my mind.”

“I apologize for my brothers’ absence.” She adjusted her sleeve, and her thoughts raced to ascertain an escape. “But they are young and spirited, so I am sure you can relate and forgive any unintended slight.”

“Oh, I understand more than you realize, and I do not think their slight is unintended, but I find it more amusing than insulting.” Dalton shifted his weight. “Now about your shivers—”

“Can we please change the subject?” Once again, quivering in a heady pool of frustration mixed with temptation, Daphne stood and paced before the window. “Diverted by your arrival, I inadvertently made known my unusual affliction, which I had sought to keep secret.”

“But you must know that I am not the sort of man with whom you can share such an enthralling detail and possibly expect me to disregard the obvious implications?” His throaty voice enveloped her, as honey on a hot scone. “So I influence you as no other? Has no one else thus affected you?”

“No.” Wringing her fingers, she turned to discover herself toe-to-toe with the source of her internal unrest, and she shrieked. But when he set his hands to her waist and pulled her close, she swallowed hard. “Sir Dalton, what are you doing?”

“I thought it evident.” He bent his head. “I am going to kiss you.”

The prospect defied the limits of sagacity, and Daphne pondered a hasty retreat, yet she held her position. For several seconds, she savored the warmth of his amber gaze, as he had captured her. When he caressed her bottom lip with his thumb, she shuddered.

“Now that is what I was waiting for, and you did not disappoint me.” Then he covered her mouth with his, her knees buckled, and he groaned and hugged her close.

Again and again, he sashayed his flesh to hers, in a sumptuous massage unlike any she had ever known. Her heart pounded in her chest, fire simmered in her veins, an unfamiliar tension tugged at her belly, and she all but melted against his stalwart frame. Licking and suckling, in a playful but tantalizing frolic, his flirty actions bespoke something she could not quite fathom, until she gasped, and he plunged his tongue between her parted teeth, to forge a new and enticing bond, illicit but enthralling. Then, to her shock, dismay, and silent regret, he set her at arm’s length.

“Did I do something wrong?” To her infinite embarrassment, she trembled violently.

“No, sweetheart.” He drew a handkerchief from his coat pocket and daubed his brow. “Trust me, you did everything right and more than I ever expected.”

“Then why did you stop?” She inhaled a shaky breath.

“Because you test my heretofore-vaunted self control, and I am no longer certain of myself.” Dalton stepped back, affording additional distance, which she rued. “While I am more than willing to assume the blame for my lack of fortitude, I assert that you also are at fault, as you are dangerous, Miss Daphne Harcourt.”

#

The dining table boasted a tattered lace cloth, a hole in his napkin had been mended, and a chip in the china pattern marred his soup bowl. The faded red wallpaper puckered and peeled in random places, and the chandeliers were missing crystal adornments. Never before would Dalton have bothered with such tedium, but he spared no opportunity to glean information about the Harcourts. The less than glamorous service conveyed more evidence of the dire financial straits he suspected had led to the theft of the brooch. But what had happened to the governor?

“I beg your pardon, Miss Daphne.” Hicks bowed, and Dalton marked the devoted manservant as the family’s chief protector. “But I have located Mister Robert and Mister Richard.”

The two lads, one wearing a hat, which Hicks promptly snatched, glared at Dalton, and he just managed to stifle a snort of laughter. Then Hicks shoved the scamps forward. The tallest sibling stared Dalton in the eye, almost daring him to blink. The youngest shuffled his feet, scowled, and pressed his chin to his chest.

“Good evening.” Much to his surprise, he had been given the place of honor, at the head, and he stood to welcome the late arrivals. “I am Sir Dalton Randolph. Pleased to make your acquaintance, at last.”

“Sir Dalton, these are my brothers, Robert and Richard.” With an impressive glower, Daphne rested dainty hands on luscious hips. “And I am certain they regret not being here to welcome you to our home, they are very sorry for their ill-mannered behavior, and they humbly ask your forgiveness. Is that not so?”

“Yes,” the gadlings grumbled their response, in unison.

“Then take your seats.” With a huff, Daphne returned to her chair.

Just as Dalton had settled himself, he discovered a frog in his lap. “Miss Harcourt, might I trouble you for the salt cellar?”

“Of course.” With his lady diverted, Dalton passed the reptile to Robert, who jutted his lower lip, sagged his shoulders, and sighed.

When she passed the silver dish, the uninvited guest jumped atop the table, and its owner leaped forward, knocking over his glass. “Edwin, come back here.”

“Richard, how many times have I told you not to bring your pets to dinner?” Daphne dropped her fork and folded her arms, just as Hicks collected the unique interloper. “I shall speak to you, tonight.”

“But Robert made me do it.”

“I did not, you little tattletale.”

“Why should I take the blame, when it was your idea?”

“Poor bantling.”

“
Enough
.” Daphne drew a deep breath and cast Dalton a woeful expression. “I am so sorry.”

“No apologies necessary, my dear.” He winked, in an attempt to allay her concerns. “I pulled similar pranks at their age, and theirs is nothing more than harmless fun.”

“Please, do not encourage them.” She rolled her eyes. “I have enough trouble managing the boys, when Papa is away.”

“I am a man, not a boy.” Robert pressed a clenched fist to his chest. “And no one manages me.”

“And if you persist in ruining our lovely meal, you may retire to your private apartment with an empty belly.” The expression Daphne sported reminded Dalton of his mother. Just when it appeared Richard might protest, she cast her younger brother a lethal stare, which quieted the lad. “Very well. Hicks, you may serve the main entrée.”

A tense silence punctuated the dinner comprised of the simple fare of baked ham, boiled potatoes, sliced bread, and gooseberry cheese, from which he constructed a sandwich, save the vegetable. And all the while, he grasped at every conceivable excuse to explore the grand but battered home. The answer to his quandary, when it came to him, seemed so obvious.

“Miss Daphne, I was thinking of your desire to assess the Portsea citizenry, and I may have an elementary solution.” He cleared his throat. “And I should be too delighted to assist you, if you are amenable to my plan.”

“Oh? That is very kind of you, Sir Dalton.” The object of his interest turned to face him. “And I am intrigued.”

“Given the hospitality your island community has shown my men, during our unanticipated field refitting, I should like to express my appreciation by holding a country dance. That would give you the opportunity to meet with the townspeople, and we could provide a substantial meal to those who refuse to accept your charity.” To avoid rousing suspicion, he had to induce her to follow his lead. “Of course, I know not of any venue that would suit, as the inn has no room large enough to accommodate us. Perhaps it was not a good idea.”

“On the contrary, it is a marvelous notion. And Courtenay Hall has a grand ballroom, although it has been vacant for some years.” She pushed from the table and stood. “If you would care to join me, I will show you the space.”

“If it is not an imposition.” A double-door entry on the side wall, which he had not noticed until he followed in her wake, opened to reveal a cavernous chamber. Grasping a candelabrum, he scanned the vicinity and was stunned to discover another gem concealed amid the timeworn structure. “Miss Daphne, this is magnificent.”

As was the case with the residence, the ballroom boasted the signature Rococo décor, albeit in much better condition, including mezzo-frescoes reminiscent of Tiepolo, vivid pastorals, and gilt-bronze floor to ceiling mirrors framed with abstract and asymmetrical stuccowork unlike any he had ever seen. But the
pièce de résistance
was a ceiling mural composed of an impromptu outdoor celebration. In the majestic, colorful scene, the gentry frolicked amid the woods, and couples hid amid the trees, engaging in passionate trysts, while chubby cupids flew overhead, firing arrows into a blue sky. For some reason he could not explain, he smiled as he studied the images.

“We held spectacular parties here, before my mother died.” With sadness investing her delicate features, Daphne gazed into the darkness and sniffed. “She permitted me to stay up past my bedtime, when I was but ten and six, and I drank my first champagne at one of our galas. Mama always promised me that, some day, I would dance in the arms of my beloved in this ballroom. To know it will never happen just breaks my heart.”

“Why so sorrowful, love?” Her despair struck a blow, and Dalton ached to comfort her. “You are young, and it is—”