And the Miss Ran Away With the Rake - By Elizabeth Boyle Page 0,95
a gentleman or a man of honor, but I won’t let anything or anyone harm you.”
She nodded in acquiescence.
They continued walking on, and as they entered the village, Daphne spoke up again. “Aren’t you needed elsewhere?”
Henry considered her question for a moment and then shook his head. “No. Not that I can think of.”
One of the shopkeepers who was opening his business for the day doffed his hat to them, and Henry nodded politely back. “I’d rather spend these last few minutes with you. That, and I would be remiss if I didn’t stay and ensure this gentleman’s intentions toward you are honorable.”
Daphne stumbled and stopped. “You are going to discern that?”
“You needn’t sound so incredulous,” he replied as he kept walking. “It takes a rake to know one,” he called back over his shoulder. “I’d be doing you a favor. I owe you that much, Miss Dale.”
Daphne hurried to catch up. “I would prefer you leave well enough alone.”
He slanted a glance at her. “I suppose you are going to insist.”
“I am.”
He sighed again. “But I could ensure—”
“Not one word, Lord Henry!”
“Oh, good heavens, Miss Dale, you are a trying creature. But if I must remain silent—”
“You must,” she insisted. “You will not say a word to the gentleman who is awaiting me at the inn.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “If that is your heart’s desire, Miss Dale, I will promise with all my heart not to say a word to the gentleman waiting for you.”
“Swear?” she pressed.
“Upon my honor,” he told her.
Satisfied, she continued on, her eyes fixed on the inn at the end of the row of shops and houses.
Out in front sat a shabby-looking carriage.
“How odd,” Lord Henry remarked.
“Odd?”
“I thought this most excellent gentleman of yours would have some elegant barouche to carry you off in style and comfort.”
Tucking her chin up, she told him, “Thankfully, he is not the sort to be overly extravagant—he disdains such showy pretensions. Some might call him thrifty and sensible. Qualities I quite admire.”
As they got closer to the carriage, it was obvious it was a tumbledown affair.
Lord Henry let out a low whistle. “As long as he doesn’t do the same thing to your dress accounts.”
She shot him a furious glance.
“I must ask,” Lord Henry continued, “however did you fall in love with this man? Because a lady would have to be in love to dare a journey in that rattletrap.”
“I did, and I will, because he has been nothing but honest and forthright with me.” Was it Daphne’s imagination, or did Lord Henry flinch?
When she started for the inn’s door, he called after her, “Well, good, you’ve gotten that off your chest.”
Against her better judgment, Daphne stopped. “Excuse me?”
“That bit of pique. It brightened you up a bit. I fear you were starting to look a bit pale. A man likes his bride with a starry-eyed gaze and a bit of a blush to her.”
She glanced over at him, feeling a lot of her color rushing into her cheeks. “I’ve already taken up too much of your time. Good-bye, Lord Henry.” She stopped short of adding, Good riddance.
Lord Henry ignored her, went over to the door and pushed it open. “Miss Dale, wild horses couldn’t drag me away from witnessing your happy union.”
From over Daphne’s shoulder, Henry winked at the innkeeper. This is the one I told you about.
The man barely nodded, giving Henry a nearly imperceptible answer. Gotcha, gov’ner.
Even the lad on the stool by the fire knew his role, for he said not a thing.
Henry had been most honest with Miss Dale when he’d said he’d gotten up early and gone for a walk. He had. To this very inn to set up the tableau which was about to play out.
It was all he could do not to grin.
For in the next few minutes, Daphne would find out that Dishforth had departed, and he, Henry, would be right there to soothe her broken heart. The perfect time to make his case and show her exactly why he was the only gentleman for her.
And such a plan might have worked if he had tried it on someone a little less determined, a far sight more malleable than Daphne Dale.
Certainly there should be a furrowed look of concern on her face—for here was the common room, empty, with no sign of Dishforth. Shouldn’t she appear, at the very least, a bit crestfallen?
Not Miss Dale.
She marched up to the serving board and nodded politely to the innkeeper.