And the Miss Ran Away With the Rake - By Elizabeth Boyle Page 0,58

Miss Dale before his proximity prompted his great-aunt to come over and give the entire room a recitation of the Seldon family rules.

With nothing of note happening around the pianoforte, the other guests finally went back to their previous pursuits. All too soon, the din of quiet discussions, exclamations from well-played hands, and Roxley’s occasional expletive followed by a “Harry, one of these days I’ll catch you cheating,” left Henry to draw a sigh of relief.

As if he’d lucked out this time. Better than earlier, when he’d gained an earful.

He glanced over at Miss Dale. “You weren’t in too much trouble, earlier that is, were you?” he asked quietly.

“A bit,” she said with a sigh. “And you?”

“Oh, yes.” He had her attention now.

“Rang a peel?”

“Quite.”

She nodded in understanding, then lowered her voice. “They don’t know about—”

She had no need to say the rest . . . the kiss.

“No!” he shot back. “You didn’t mention—”

Miss Dale shook her head slightly. “No.”

“Best forgotten,” he advised, though he knew it would be some time before he could. Forget, that is.

“Yes, precisely,” she agreed, rocking on her heels.

“Terrible mistake.”

“Exactly,” she shot back.

Rather quickly, he noted. Too quickly.

Did she have to agree that fast?

When he looked back at her, he found her studying Miss Nashe once again.

“Are you supplying more lines for the drama over there?” he asked.

“No,” she said with a slight shake of her head. However, the tip of her lips said quite another.

Henry shot her a wry glance.

“Well, perhaps,” she admitted.

“You are a devilish minx, Miss Dale.”

“You disapprove?”

Henry sighed. “Sadly, not in the least.”

Once again, their eyes met, and it wasn’t just their gazes that entangled. It was something altogether more dangerous.

Henry’s blood came rushing through his veins as he remembered how it had felt to take her in his arms, kiss her madly, passionately. For no other reason than she thought him a rake.

And given the light in her eyes, she still thought him one.

Then she bit her bottom lip and tugged her glance away. “We need to stay apart,” she reminded him.

Henry glanced up and around the room, feigning disinterest. “Yes, I suppose we must.”

“Need I remind you, I am nearly engaged elsewhere—”

“Yes, your most excellent gentleman,” Henry mused.

“Yes, him.” She stole a nervous glance around the room, and suddenly an entirely new possibility occurred to Henry.

The answer to the Gordian knot in his life: Why the devil was Miss Dale here at Owle Park?

Actually, he’d never quite believed her declaration of having a betrothed. Or a nearly betrothed, whatever that nonsense meant.

But now . . .

Henry turned to her, a wide grin turning his lips. He had his answer. He’d bet his fortune on it.

“He’s here, isn’t he?”

Daphne’s heart nearly stopped.

Lord Henry had not just asked that question.

“Well, is he or isn’t he here?” the man pressed.

Yes, apparently he had.

Daphne wasn’t a member of the Society for the Temperance and Improvement of Kempton for nothing. For when not gathering baskets for the poor spinsters in the village or planting flowers in the graveyard, they also practiced deportment at Lady Essex’s urging.

Therefore Daphne could give even a Bath-educated lady like Miss Nashe a run for her money when it came to being utterly composed.

Even when one felt like running in a blind panic.

She straightened and collected herself as best she could. If only she could still her hammering heart. “I am not discussing him with you.”

He leaned in, indecently close, like the wolf that he was. “Whyever not?”

The nearer he got, the more Daphne’s resolve and composure began to waver. Bay rum and a hint of port invaded her senses. It was like being surrounded by his coat all over again. Yet this wasn’t just a greatcoat enfolding her but the man himself.

The one who’d kissed her breathless. Touched her until she’d trembled. Ignited a fire in her once temperate heart.

Oh, but she was too close to finding her perfect happiness to let Lord Henry Seldon ruin everything. For that is what Seldons were unsurpassed at: ruin.

“My affairs are none of your business,” she told him as tartly as Lady Essex did when she scolded her nephew, Lord Roxley. Adding to this, she folded her arms over her chest to show him just how firm she was in her resolve.

And not, as one might think, to ward him off from breaching what little control she could still claim.

Unfortunately, her tone had no effect on the man. Her words, on the other hand . . . they seemed to urge him