Chapter One
“You have the hands of an angel, Lady Daphne,” a man somewhere to her right praised. “I am sure I never met someone who had such a gentle?—”
But the man couldn’t even finish what he was about to say. Another voice, darker and velvety smooth, cut him off with the air of someone who thought the place was all his.
“Indeed,” the second, more confident gentleman drawled, stepping closer to where Daphne sat in front of the pianoforte. “But certainly, nobody should be surprised. Lady Daphne’s accomplishments have always been noteworthy.”
Lady Daphne Brighton froze. Her hands were still on the instrument as she lifted her chin slowly and stared. Now that the gentleman was near enough that she could detect the subtle hints of condescension in his tone, she knew exactly who owned that voice.
The Earl of Briarwood.
He seemed to appear out of nowhere. Everywhere she went, the Earl flocked to her side, and this evening was no exception. He stood close enough that she could see his upper lip curl as a snide smile spread across his features.
Briarwood was double her age, but that was not what made him repugnant. Aside from being ubiquitous, there was also a lecherous air about him, which made his earlier praise seem positively repulsive.
Daphne’s eyes flitted between the two gentlemen, and she hoped that the first one who had moved in her direction would pick up on her sudden wave of panic. She prayed that he would rescue her from enduring another conversation with the Earl, but as she peered between the two suitors, she saw that they were both relaxed and at ease.
Lord Briarwood knows how to perform for the ton.
While her senses fired rapidly, alerting her to his presence and cautioning her to be wary, he behaved as if he were a respectable old gentleman, simply paying her a compliment. He bowed low to her even as his eyes lingered on her face. Then, he reached out to take her gloved hand, which she had no choice but to give, and kissed it. This time, he didn’t seem to care about what Society required of him, for there was nothing appropriate about how his lips lingered on the back of her hand.
Daphne was thankful that the fabric of her glove shielded her skin.
Still, she had to resist a shudder. Worse, he did not blink at all, scanning her face intently, as if he was trying to memorize its every detail.
“My lady,” Briarwood said, his voice loud enough for the other guests, who were only a few feet away from them, to hear, “you not only play the pianoforte marvelously, but you also look even more radiant each day.”
The younger lord who had attempted to sing her praises earlier turned pale. He didn’t finish what he had to say—instead, he excused himself and stumbled away.
She earnestly wished that she knew the young man’s name. If she had, Daphne would have called out, beckoned for him to rejoin her once more, and offered to perform the next number as a duet. So reluctant was she to sit there, in Briarwood’s presence, that she would have borne the censure of Society and boldly asserted herself, just to escape another moment with the lascivious old man.
But the young man skulked away and disappeared into the crowded room before she could conjure the right words to say. She was alarmed by his hasty departure.
Daphne had heard that Lord Briarwood was intimidating, and she frequently felt unnerved in his presence, but she had not thought his powers extended so far throughout the peerage.
After a torturously long moment, the Earl finally let go of her hand. When he straightened himself, he had a wide grin on his face. Only Daphne could still see his full face, and she knew that was his intent.
“You are too kind, my lord,” she replied, maintaining the composure she had spent a lifetime perfecting. Yet with him, the schooling of her nerves and adding a sense of courtesy to her voice all felt vexing.
I should not have to work so hard to ignore his advances.
She stood slowly and craned her neck, making a show of glancing around the multitude of gathered guests. “Now, if you will excuse me, I must find my sister.”
“It is all right, my lady. After all, I am certain we will meet again soon,” the Earl said, his smile unwavering, though something in his tone made it sound less like reassurance and more like a promise she ought to fear.
Daphne took a deep breath, bowed her head, and slipped away from him.
In her twenty years, she had mastered the art of quiet restraint—of stepping around trouble rather than into it.
But she was not entirely certain that was the right approach with Briarwood.
As if sensing her distress, Daphne’s twin sister, Victoria, met her halfway across the room, just as she all but blindly wove through the throng.
Victoria’s eyes—keen, narrowed, and assessing—fixed upon her.
Daphne became aware of a few young men drawing near. She and Victoria almost always attracted a crowd of admirers; attention seemed to trail them like perfume. Some might have called it good fortune, to be so well-liked, but Daphne knew better. There was nothing fortunate about Briarwood’s persistence.
“He cornered you again, didn’t he?” Victoria asked, frowning.
