And the Miss Ran Away With the Rake - By Elizabeth Boyle Page 0,36

him than he was. “I changed my mind.”

“Of course you did,” he said, looking ready to throw up his hands in despair . . . or throw her out.

Daphne reached for Mr. Muggins and tried to look braver than she felt. Whyever did this man leave her so . . . so . . . undone? And certainly she couldn’t let him inspire another scene like the one that had transpired at the engagement ball.

No, no, that would never do.

Stealing another glance at him, with his brow furrowed, his blue eyes dark with something she suspected was not a welcoming light, she thought it might help to remind him of her position here. “I know Tabitha will be ever so glad to see that I was able to come down with Lady Essex.”

As she suspected, Lord Henry looked ready to cast up his accounts at the mention of the spinster’s name.

But the devilish man wasn’t completely undone. Composing himself quickly, arms crossed over his chest as if he hadn’t the least notion what she was talking about, he said, “And your family? They approve of you being here? I’d think they’d be up in arms.”

Now it was Daphne’s insides that quaked. “Not in the least,” she lied. “They trust I will not be tempted by your family’s notorious predilections.” Pausing for a moment to look again at his handsome features, she added hastily, “Which I won’t.”

“Thank God for small favors,” he shot back, his deep tone ruffling down her spine with its rich notes of irony, while his gaze raked over her and dismissed her all at once.

“Are there more Dales due to come after you?” he asked, having obviously warmed to his subject: her removal. “A rescue effort so to say? Should we expect the odd catapult to be wheeled over from Langdale?” he said, making light of the Dale property that adjoined Owle Park.

The property resided in by Crispin, Viscount Dale.

That was the one snag in all this. Crispin. She just needed to avoid him. Which would be easily done, since he would never set foot on Seldon land.

Unlike her.

Daphne felt a frisson of guilt but once again pushed it aside. There was more at stake here than deeply held family obligations.

“No, I hardly think that will be necessary,” she said. “I don’t believe my stay will be overlong.”

“No?” Good heavens, he needn’t sound so hopeful.

“No,” she acknowledged, not saying anything more, returning to her breakfast with a determination to ignore the man and concentrate on her plans to find Dishforth.

For she hadn’t much time to accomplish her task.

Daphne had no idea how long Phi could hold up her end of the bargain and stall the family from discovering the truth—that she wasn’t, as her mother believed, continuing her sojourn in London at Great-Aunt Damaris’s home. Which meant the grand dame of the Dale clan had to be kept under the impression that Daphne had returned to her parents’ house in Kempton.

Given that it would take a week or so for the letters to cross and recross, as long as Phi could intercept any damaging correspondence and no one reported Daphne’s whereabouts or repeated some gossipy report from the night of the ball, Daphne would have just enough time to discover Mr. Dishforth, fall utterly in love with him, and then return to London or Kempton betrothed to the perfect gentleman.

At least that was the plan. She glanced down at Mr. Muggins for reassurance.

The dog had his eyes on the plate that Lord Henry was filling over at the sideboard.

She ground her teeth in frustration. Did he have to stay? Then she reminded herself—this was his family’s house, and she was the interloper.

When he noticed her staring at him, he asked, “Whatever are you doing up so early?”

“I prefer to arise at this hour.” She glanced over at him. “As do you, it seems.”

“Yes, I had thought to avoid the wedding hordes.” His glance at her and Mr. Muggins was telling.

Or the stray unwanted Dale.

Daphne smiled blandly, as if she hadn’t a clue what he might mean.

Then he turned, plate in hand, and faced her. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why?” His jaw set. “Miss Dale, your being here is inexplicable.”

“And yet, here I am.”

“Again, I ask why?” he pressed.

He would.

“Tabitha, of course.” She glanced away, because she didn’t trust herself. Lord Henry was many things, but the man was no fool and his sharp gaze had a way of piercing her—leaving Daphne with the sense he could see right through her