And the Miss Ran Away With the Rake - By Elizabeth Boyle Page 0,81
same uncanny sense of disaster.”
“Yes, our falling in love would be a disaster,” she said, slanting a glance at him.
But oh, so heavenly . . .
Daphne drew a deep breath. She had to stop thinking like that. Tonight she would find Mr. Dishforth, and she would fall in love all over again.
Not all over again, she told herself. For the first time. The very first time. Because with Mr. Dishforth it would all make sense. They already fit.
Just like Tabitha and Preston.
At least she thought they did. Hoped they would.
Then she would have to stop finding herself in these impossibly perilous interludes with Lord Henry.
No more chance encounters. No more shared jests.
No more kisses.
She looked again at him. Would it be so wrong to kiss him one more time?
Yes, decidedly.
Bother! Her conscience was starting to sound like one of Tabitha’s uncle’s sermons.
“Miss Dale, is something amiss?”
Daphne found that she’d come to a stop without even realizing it. Lord Henry stood a few paces further down the hall, staring at her.
What had he asked? If something was amiss?
Well, yes, everything! she wanted to tell him.
“No, nothing,” she said, hurrying to catch up and continuing toward the dining room. To get through dinner and then slip away to the library.
Where she was destined to find true love. Yes, that was it. True love.
Still, whatever had Lord Henry meant when he’d said, “That would rather be like you and me falling in love”?
Did he think it possible? Was he merely joking? Daphne needed to know before she set foot in that library, but however did one ask such a thing?
“Miss Dale?”
Daphne looked up and realized that yet again, in her woolgathering, she’d come to a stop. And here was Lord Henry looking her up and down as if she were standing about in her shift.
“Yes? Is there something wrong?” She feigned innocence and glanced down to make sure her gown was in order—and that she hadn’t gone out only in her chemise, as she’d dreamt the night before the Seldon ball.
“No, no,” he said. Then he made a sweeping examination of her ensemble. “But you’ve done something different tonight.”
This was promising.
“My hair,” she said, hoping Pansy’s arrangement of Grecian curls was still as orderly as it had been when she’d left her room. And yet, here was Lord Henry with his brow furrowed and looking at her with his lips in a sour purse. “Don’t you approve?”
“Approve?” Henry glanced at it again. “Uh, well. It isn’t for me to say.”
Whyever did he look so uncomfortable? She glanced down again, for she had the feeling her petticoat was showing.
But her search showed nothing but her pale green muslin laying perfectly smooth down to her hemline. So if it wasn’t her petticoat . . . perhaps . . .
She tipped her head just so, letting the collection of curls fall over one bare shoulder. “I would so love a man’s opinion. Does this arrangement suit me?”
“Yes,” he ground out. “Perfectly so.”
He hardly sounded inclined to kiss her. More as if he was in some state of discomfort. Oh, this would never do.
“And this gown?” she asked, holding out her skirt just so.
“Yes,” he replied. “Miss Dale, believe me when I say you would look perfectly amiable in sackcloth and ashes.”
Amiable? That was hardly the description she’d been hoping for.
“I am so pleased that you approve,” she said, knowing all too well that she didn’t sound pleased. And before she had to explain her pique, she started back down the hall.
Perfectly amiable, indeed! Oh, she’d never felt so foolish in her life.
“Whatever is wrong?” Lord Henry said, his stride leaving him capable of catching up with her all too quickly.
“I took great pains to appear to advantage tonight, and you find me just amiable?” she complained.
Having Hen for a twin, Henry knew an argument that could not be won from twenty paces.
And this was just such a mire.
“What I meant was—” he tried.
She waved her hand in dismissal. “Never mind.”
Ah, yes. Unwinnable. But that didn’t mean . . .
“What is so special about tonight?” he asked.
Her steps faltered slightly. “No reason.”
Henry took a glance at her. He hadn’t done business in London all these years not to know when someone was bluffing.
Or had something to hide.
And given the distracted flutter of Miss Dale’s long lashes, he would guess the latter.
But before he could press forward with an inquisition, she turned the tables on him.
“You’ve taken pains tonight as well,” she said, giving him a thorough once-over.