Page 64 of Barbarous

But even in elegant evening clothes—and without the saber and tricorn the broadsheet artists were so fond of depicting him with—he still looked like the King’s Pirate rather than a staid English peer.

Daphne turned and met Lady Letitia’s too-shrewd gaze. Naturally she blushed as though she were guilty of something.

“I daresay you know a great deal about doltish men, having been married to Thomas. I do not like to speak ill of the dead,” Lady Letitia said, preparing to do exactly that, “but my brother was even less cognizant of his surroundings than the rest of his species. Most of the time he went about wishing we were all orchids he could feed manure and keep in the dark.”

Daphne bit back a smile. Thomas would have enjoyed setting to rights his sister’s confusion of mushrooms and orchids.

Anne came to ask her grandmother a question and the mysterious conversation was over.

* * *

The massive drawing room—its cream walls and black-and-white marble floors obscured by acres of exotic tropical flowers—filled up quickly as the handpicked elite of London society arrived for the exclusive pre-ball dinner. Daphne found herself passed from hand to hand among the crème de la crème of the English aristocracy and knew her sister-in-law was behind it.

She had just disengaged herself from a dizzying conversation with Lady Jersey and Mrs. Benjamin Morton when the red-haired siren Hugh had disappeared with entered the room. Both Lady Letitia and Hugh moved to greet the woman, who was accompanied by a pair of men who could only be relatives, given their distinctive hair color.

Anne appeared beside her. “That is Lady Euphemia Marlington.”

So, Lady Amelia had been correct that morning. Well, Daphne was not completely surprised given the sensational stories she’d read about the woman in the broadsheets. Not that she necessarily believed most of them.

“That is her father, the Duke of Carlisle, and her brother, Marquess of Abermarle. They are a handsome family, are they not?”

Daphne could not actually see faces, only three auburn heads. Rowena had all but ripped her spectacles from her face before the ball and Daphne had been too agitated about her impending confession to protest.

“You can’t attend a ball wearing spectacles, my lady. Not with that dress.” The dour woman’s militant scowl had made Daphne believe Rowena might wrestle her to the floor if she attempted to leave the house with glasses perched on her nose.

Now she was glad of her poor vision. It was evident from the way Hugh had hastened toward the auburn beauty that he held her in high regard. Had he only waited for her to be restored to her family to pursue their relationship? She turned away to gaze sightlessly on some other cluster of guests, struggling against the despair that pooled in the pit of her stomach.

She felt a light touch on her shoulder and turned, fixing a smile on her face for Anne.

But it was not Anne.

“May I have the honor of taking you in to dinner?” Hugh asked.

Her gaze flickered toward Euphemia Marlington and back to Hugh.

“Why?”

He took her hand and placed it on his arm.

Her entire body thrummed at the feel of his hard, corded heat beneath her parchment-thin glove. Lust twisted inside her, almost driving her to her knees.

“Why?” she repeated.

“You know how I am.” His lips curved in a teasing, sensual smile. “I care only about getting my own way.”

She removed her hand from his forearm. “You had better escort someone of more consequence.”

“There is nobody who has more consequence to me than you.” A subtle tightening of his facial muscles transformed him from teasing lover into determined predator. “My aunt tells me this ball is partly in my honor. As such I will please myself.”

Daphne couldn’t see the faces of those around her, but she sensed her hesitation was making the two of them conspicuous. She placed her hand on his arm and he led her to the dining room without speaking. Her eyes widened when she approached the long banquet table, and not only because it groaned beneath more china and silver than she’d ever seen in her life. No, she stared because Lady Letitia had seated her beside Hugh. She didn’t need to look at him to know who was responsible. She could feel him gloating.

Seated on Hugh’s other side, she saw with a plunging sensation in her stomach, was Lady Euphemia.

“Daphne,” Hugh said, his voice devoid of its usual humor, “this is Lady Euphemia Marlington. Lady Euphemia, this is the Countess of Davenport.”

Both women curtsied and Daphne couldn’t help noticing the tiny newcomer’s sinuous grace.

“I apologize for my intrusion into your house, Lady Davenport. And also for my . . . hasty departure.” She bit her lip and glanced down, her eyes every bit as entrancing without kohl. “I was eager to be reunited with my father and brother after so many years.”