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“It was a whim and nothing more,” he told his friend.
“You, my friend, had a veryexpensivewhim.”
To any other man, yes, it was a rather extravagant gift to a young lady, who was neither his close relation or his betrothed. Madame Estell was one of the most sought-after modistes in all of London but only by those who could afford her exorbitant prices.
Looking at Lady Emily Montgomery glowing like a golden goddess, Daniel begrudgingly agreed that the modiste’s reputation was well-earned.
“And another thing,” Benedict added. “How the bloody hell did you get my sister’s measurements?”
Daniel smiled mysteriously at him. “You, of all people, should know that hardly anything is a secret in London.”
As for Emily’s measurements, he had sent out a capable person to ferret it out of the seamstresses that the Marchioness had hired to fashion her stepdaughter’s wardrobe. The poor women had been more than happy to part with the information in exchange for payment, even hinting that it was the Marchioness who expressly ordered for such distasteful styles to be tailored for Emily.
Nothing was too difficult for a Duke who wanted something done, especially if that particular Duke was Daniel Bolt.
“You know, I could call you out for that,” Benedict mused.
Daniel raised an eyebrow at his old friend. “But you won’t.”
“Don’t sound so bloody self-assured, Gilleton,” the young Earl scoffed. “I have yet to see how this plan of yours will unfold as well as what the ramifications for my sister will be.”
“Lady Emily will successfully find herself a match,” Daniel intoned blandly. He looked across the ballroom and found Gregory Pratt staring hungrily at Emily. “I would advise you to help her in sorting out these dandies, though.”
Benedict followed his gaze, and his eyes narrowed. “I had best keep an eye out forthatone.”
“As you very well should. Caney has managed to keep a reputation above reproach in these respectable ballrooms, but you and I both know that there is no such thing as a trulynobleman.”
“Only those who are either too afraid to be men,” Benedict scoffed, “or ones who are too good at hiding their true colors.”
The two men shared a glance, and at that moment, they were in agreement—they both would need to watch Emily and her suitors closer from then on.
As Benedict left to have a word with the Viscount, Daniel distracted himself with a glass of sherry, watching Emily from across the ballroom with narrowed eyes.
The kiss they had shared had hardly left his mind ever since he stumbled out of the Montgomery salon that day. It should have been nothing more than a mistake—one that did not bear repeating or have repeatingthoughtsabout—but standing in the crowded ballroom and watching Emily laugh and move about, her luscious body draped in a gown that seemed to have been crafted in molten gold, he had the distinct urge to march over and lay claim to her soft lips once more.
Stunned by his own thoughts, he turned around and walked out towards the open doors for a breath of fresh air.
Dammit, why can’t I get her out of my head?
He had known Emily since she was a child—a shy one who rarely spoke up, preferring to dwell in the shadow of her tempestuous younger sister and rebellious older brother.
Who would have thought that with a few instructions from him, as well as the right dress, she would blossom into a rare beauty that could captivate an entire ballroom with a single glance?
Looking at those men leering at her as if they were wolves that had suddenly discovered fresh meat dropped in their midst—the same men who had not even noticed her when she was garbed in a less flattering dress—Daniel felt a keen sense of anger and an overwhelming need to protect her.
Even to him, it seemed rather laughable that he should display such gallant notions towards one of the fairer sex, but Emily wasdifferent,andhewas different.
Even if he were to admit that he had developed some sort of wild attraction to her, he was nothing like these men who cloaked their lascivious desires beneath a veneer of pretty words and promises they never intended to keep—somethinghewould never do.
He would much rather be honest with her and with himself.
The night wind blew across the dark gardens, and he smiled sardonically to himself as he glanced at the moonlit shrubbery. The Ton was rife with wolves in sheep’s clothing, seducing innocent young ladies or engaging in dalliances amongst their own peers.
From his childhood, he had been stripped of the romantic notions that Emily still held—that a married couple could live happily, learning to love each other as time passed—and he had his own sire to thank for that.
The deceased Duke of Gilleton had given him an education he would never forget, and he saw it every single day in the tormented eyes of his own mother.
He sighed as he looked up to the moon with steely blue eyes, his head thankfully clearer than when he had left the crush in the ballroom. It would be best to return before others noted his absence because God only knew what kind of nonsensical tale the gossips would spin if he left the ballroom for a significant amount of time.
