The Lucky One (Brethren Of The Coast #6) Page 6

  Again and again, he sashayed his flesh to hers, in a sumptuous massage unlike any she had ever known. Her heart pounded in her chest, fire simmered in her veins, an unfamiliar tension tugged at her belly, and she all but melted against his stalwart frame. Licking and suckling, in a playful but tantalizing frolic, his flirty actions bespoke something she could not quite fathom, until she gasped, and he plunged his tongue between her parted teeth, to forge a new and enticing bond, illicit but enthralling. Then, to her shock, dismay, and silent regret, he set her at arm’s length.

  “Did I do something wrong?” To her infinite embarrassment, she trembled violently.

  “No, sweetheart.” He drew a handkerchief from his coat pocket and daubed his brow. “Trust me, you did everything right and more than I ever expected.”

  “Then why did you stop?” She inhaled a shaky breath.

  “Because you test my heretofore-vaunted self control, and I am no longer certain of myself.” Dalton stepped back, affording additional distance, which she rued. “While I am more than willing to assume the blame for my lack of fortitude, I assert that you also are at fault, as you are dangerous, Miss Daphne Harcourt.”

  #

  The dining table boasted a tattered lace cloth, a hole in his napkin had been mended, and a chip in the china pattern marred his soup bowl. The faded red wallpaper puckered and peeled in random places, and the chandeliers were missing crystal adornments. Never before would Dalton have bothered with such tedium, but he spared no opportunity to glean information about the Harcourts. The less than glamorous service conveyed more evidence of the dire financial straits he suspected had led to the theft of the brooch. But what had happened to the governor?

  “I beg your pardon, Miss Daphne.” Hicks bowed, and Dalton marked the devoted manservant as the family’s chief protector. “But I have located Mister Robert and Mister Richard.”

  The two lads, one wearing a hat, which Hicks promptly snatched, glared at Dalton, and he just managed to stifle a snort of laughter. Then Hicks shoved the scamps forward. The tallest sibling stared Dalton in the eye, almost daring him to blink. The youngest shuffled his feet, scowled, and pressed his chin to his chest.

  “Good evening.” Much to his surprise, he had been given the place of honor, at the head, and he stood to welcome the late arrivals. “I am Sir Dalton Randolph. Pleased to make your acquaintance, at last.”

  “Sir Dalton, these are my brothers, Robert and Richard.” With an impressive glower, Daphne rested dainty hands on luscious hips. “And I am certain they regret not being here to welcome you to our home, they are very sorry for their ill-mannered behavior, and they humbly ask your forgiveness. Is that not so?”

  “Yes,” the gadlings grumbled their response, in unison.

  “Then take your seats.” With a huff, Daphne returned to her chair.

  Just as Dalton had settled himself, he discovered a frog in his lap. “Miss Harcourt, might I trouble you for the salt cellar?”

  “Of course.” With his lady diverted, Dalton passed the reptile to Robert, who jutted his lower lip, sagged his shoulders, and sighed.

  When she passed the silver dish, the uninvited guest jumped atop the table, and its owner leaped forward, knocking over his glass. “Edwin, come back here.”

  “Richard, how many times have I told you not to bring your pets to dinner?” Daphne dropped her fork and folded her arms, just as Hicks collected the unique interloper. “I shall speak to you, tonight.”

  “But Robert made me do it.”

  “I did not, you little tattletale.”

  “Why should I take the blame, when it was your idea?”

  “Poor bantling.”

  “Enough.” Daphne drew a deep breath and cast Dalton a woeful expression. “I am so sorry.”

  “No apologies necessary, my dear.” He winked, in an attempt to allay her concerns. “I pulled similar pranks at their age, and theirs is nothing more than harmless fun.”

  “Please, do not encourage them.” She rolled her eyes. “I have enough trouble managing the boys, when Papa is away.”

  “I am a man, not a boy.” Robert pressed a clenched fist to his chest. “And no one manages me.”

  “And if you persist in ruining our lovely meal, you may retire to your private apartment with an empty belly.” The expression Daphne sported reminded Dalton of his mother. Just when it appeared Richard might protest, she cast her younger brother a lethal stare, which quieted the lad. “Very well. Hicks, you may serve the main entrée.”

  A tense silence punctuated the dinner comprised of the simple fare of baked ham, boiled potatoes, sliced bread, and gooseberry cheese, from which he constructed a sandwich, save the vegetable. And all the while, he grasped at every conceivable excuse to explore the grand but battered home. The answer to his quandary, when it came to him, seemed so obvious.

  “Miss Daphne, I was thinking of your desire to assess the Portsea citizenry, and I may have an elementary solution.” He cleared his throat. “And I should be too delighted to assist you, if you are amenable to my plan.”

  “Oh? That is very kind of you, Sir Dalton.” The object of his interest turned to face him. “And I am intrigued.”

  “Given the hospitality your island community has shown my men, during our unanticipated field refitting, I should like to express my appreciation by holding a country dance. That would give you the opportunity to meet with the townspeople, and we could provide a substantial meal to those who refuse to accept your charity.” To avoid rousing suspicion, he had to induce her to follow his lead. “Of course, I know not of any venue that would suit, as the inn has no room large enough to accommodate us. Perhaps it was not a good idea.”

  “On the contrary, it is a marvelous notion. And Courtenay Hall has a grand ballroom, although it has been vacant for some years.” She pushed from the table and stood. “If you would care to join me, I will show you the space.”

  “If it is not an imposition.” A double-door entry on the side wall, which he had not noticed until he followed in her wake, opened to reveal a cavernous chamber. Grasping a candelabrum, he scanned the vicinity and was stunned to discover another gem concealed amid the timeworn structure. “Miss Daphne, this is magnificent.”

  As was the case with the residence, the ballroom boasted the signature Rococo décor, albeit in much better condition, including mezzo-frescoes reminiscent of Tiepolo, vivid pastorals, and gilt-bronze floor to ceiling mirrors framed with abstract and asymmetrical stuccowork unlike any he had ever seen. But the pièce de résistance was a ceiling mural composed of an impromptu outdoor celebration. In the majestic, colorful scene, the gentry frolicked amid the woods, and couples hid amid the trees, engaging in passionate trysts, while chubby cupids flew overhead, firing arrows into a blue sky. For some reason he could not explain, he smiled as he studied the images.

  “We held spectacular parties here, before my mother died.” With sadness investing her delicate features, Daphne gazed into the darkness and sniffed. “She permitted me to stay up past my bedtime, when I was but ten and six, and I drank my first champagne at one of our galas. Mama always promised me that, some day, I would dance in the arms of my beloved in this ballroom. To know it will never happen just breaks my heart.”

  “Why so sorrowful, love?” Her despair struck a blow, and Dalton ached to comfort her. “You are young, and it is—”

  “Sir Dalton, I asked you not to address me as such, unless you meant it.” She thrust her chin, in a now-familiar affectation he found quite endearing, and how he admired her spirit. “It is strange how we covet whimsical dreams and aspirations, far and away beyond the point of madness. Yet we cling to our fantasies, praying for a miracle, which might save us from the cold hard reality of our circumstances.”

  “Daphne, will you not share your burden?” As he neared the same precipice, the solution to her confounding riddle, he approached with care. “You have my word, as a gentleman, I would do whatever you require. I could write the King and ask to be a
ppointed interim governor, until your father returns.”

  “Why would you do that, Sir Dalton?” Robert asked. “What do you hope to gain? And what are your intentions, regarding my sister?”

  “I believe you misconstrue my motives, lad. So I am prepared to look past the slight.” Caught with his hand in the cherry compote, Dalton could only feign innocence. “Given your sister’s altruistic proclivities, and your father’s unexplained absence, my cause is just, and my aim is true. I wish to maintain order in Portsea, provide protection for your family, and recover the brooch.”

  “If you contact the King, you could sabotage my sister’s efforts to locate your precious heirloom, as you are a stranger in these parts.” Dalton had grossly underestimated the elder brother, and Robert evoked comparisons with Dirk. “What would you do then, Londoner?”

  “I understand.” The scamp’s tone defined the referenced city as an epithet, but Dalton refused to take the bait. It was then he discovered himself the subject of Daphne’s scrutiny. “I could forgo a letter to the Crown, if you permit me the use of your home for the impromptu festivity.”

  “What have you to offer us, in exchange for our cooperation?” Stiffening his spine, Robert folded his arms. “And who is going to pay for the food, drink, and servants, to tend the guests of your party?”

  “You do not presume that I would invite myself into your home and charge you with the costs.” Myriad possibilities flooded his brain, but he reminded himself he needed nothing more than the chance to search Courtenay Hall. “I shall cover the expenses, hire additional personnel from the inn, and I can rent the ballroom, if you would but name a price.”

  “That is not necessary, Sir Dalton.” Daphne stood beside her brother, and thus the lines of allegiance were drawn. “You may have the ballroom, gratis, in fair trade for your discretion, regarding my father’s unplanned leave.”

  “Perfect.” Dalton smiled. “Then we have an agreement.”

  #

  A sennight later, Daphne skimmed the contents of her armoire and bemoaned the state of her wardrobe, as she did so wish to look pretty for a certain knight. For the past week, she had spent most of her time in the company of Dalton Randolph, preparing for the impromptu gala, and he had spared no expense.

  The grand ballroom boasted new Chippendale chairs and matching tables, along with sumptuous velvet drapes. As he had gifted the items to her family, in exchange for the use of Courtenay Hall, she considered the boon a blessing, as she would sell the lot once Dalton had departed Portsea Island. At the thought, tears welled.

  “Stop it, Daphne. You could never win his heart.” The party started in three hours, and she had not made a final selection from her girlish dresses.

  “Miss Daphne, a package just arrived for you.” Mrs. Jones strolled into the bedchamber carrying a large parcel, which she placed on the chaise. “And here is the accompanying card.”

  “Thank you.” She recognized the bold script with the emphatic flourish beneath her written name and ripped into the envelope. “Oh, what has he done now?”

  My Dear Miss Daphne,

  It has long been my desire to see you garbed as befits your inimitable beauty. As you have so graciously agreed to act as my hostess, I would reward your gesture with a humble token of appreciation intended to bring a smile to your lovely face.

  Your most devoted servant,

  Dalton

  In utter shock, she dropped the missive, tore the brown paper, lifted the lid, and gasped. The sapphire creation, made of some lush material she could not identify, featured puffed sleeves, a fitted bodice, and a conical skirt. But the signature detail was a diaphanous cream overlay, heavily embroidered with fanciful swirls and embellished with tiny seed pearls, which bedecked the bodice and trimmed the bottom edge of the skirt.

  “Mrs. Jones, have you ever seen anything so exquisite?” When Daphne drew the spectacular gown from the bed of cotton, she discovered a pair of matching slippers. “How could he have managed this? And what if they do not fit?”

  “I might have helped Sir Dalton with measurements.” The housekeeper glanced at the ceiling and clucked her tongue. “He is a persuasive rogue.”

  “You didn’t.” Studying her reflection in the long mirror, Daphne held the superb garment, the finest she had ever owned, to her chin and smiled. “Mrs. Jones, I am so happy I could cry.”

  “Well, do not do that, as you will make your eyes puffy.” Mrs. Jones sniffed. “Now let me style your hair, as we require an elegant coiffure to compliment your attire.”

  In a flash, Daphne plopped into the seat before her vanity and all but bounced with nervous excitement. Mrs. Jones fussed and fretted, as she tarried, arranging Daphne’s blonde tresses into loose curls, which framed her face, and a single thick lock traced the curve of her neck and rested at her throat.

  “What would I do without you, Mrs. Jones?” Daphne stood and untied her robe. “Now, will you help me into Sir Dalton’s magnanimous gift?”

  “Of course.” With great care, the housekeeper draped the gown over Daphne’s head and shoulders. “Give me a shimmy, my girl.”

  “The way I did as a child?” Daphne giggled and wiggled her hips, and the skirt dropped into place, with a whispery shush. “Oh, Mrs. Jones. I feel so regal, like a princess.”

  “Hold still, while I tie your laces.” A familiar chorus of grunts and groans signaled the battle had commenced, as Mrs. Jones pulled Daphne left and then right, in an awkward tug of war. “Exhale, Miss Daphne.”

  “This is so unfair.” She hugged the corner of her four-poster. “I wager men have never suffered such degradation in the name of fashion.”

  “All right.” The housekeeper retreated. “Turn around and let me have a look at you.”

  “What do you think?” Daphne rotated. “Will Sir Dalton be pleased?”

  “Perhaps.” Narrowing her stare, Mrs. Jones frowned. “Wait right here.”

  Alone, Daphne stepped into the new slippers, walked to the center of her chamber, extended her arms, and whirled. An imaginary world, straight from a fairy story, materialized, with brilliant pastorals, azure skies, and mischievous cherubs, as she hummed a little ditty and squealed with delight. When the door opened, she skidded to a halt.

  “Did you find what you sought, Mrs. Jones?” Daphne inquired with a hastily mustered air of ennui.

  “Yes.” The housekeeper loosened the ties of a velvet bag. “I think these will suit the color of your dress.”

  “Mama’s pearls.” In a flash, visions from the past composed a staccato of precious moments. Sewing tutorials, history lessons, lute practice, stillroom organization, and charitable visitation. Her mother had always indulged Daphne’s insouciant dreams of independence and then taught her another recipe or household management skill. “Dare I wear them?”

  “Mrs. Harcourt always intended you to have them.” Mrs. Jones secured the necklace in place, as Daphne donned the matching earrings. “And there is no better time than the present.”

  “But she had saved them for my wedding day.” She trailed her fingers over the delicate orbs. Standing before the long mirror, Daphne did not recognize the woman in the reflection. “Do you think Sir Dalton will find me satisfactory?”

  “Oh, I say.” Mrs. Jones snorted. “If he can summon a coherent comment, upon spying you, I will eat my old purple bonnet.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The sun rested below the yardarm, and Dalton stowed his lucky coin and checked his pocket watch, as the coach halted before Courtenay Hall. As usual, he was punctual. After a quick assessment of his black formalwear, which he had summoned, along with his valet, from London, he descended to the graveled drive and then skipped up the front stairs.

  “Good evening, Sir Dalton.” Hicks bowed. “Miss Daphne awaits your presence in the ballroom, as we will use the separate side entrance for the guests. If you will follow me, I will take you to her.”

  “Excellent.” For some odd reason he could not fathom, his palms dampened, an
d his pulse raced. He wondered if Daphne favored the garment he had sent or if he had insulted her with his well-intentioned gift. When he passed through the double doors and spied his lady, he clenched his gut, sucked in a breath, and an invisible but nonetheless potent lightning bolt seared him, on the spot.

  “Sir Dalton, how handsome you look.” The source of his strange affliction cast him a shimmering smile, and she bestowed upon him a radiant countenance. “And I cannot thank you enough for the beautiful gown.”

  In that instant, she rotated for his inspection, and the one-eyed marauder below his belly button woke with a vengeance. Numerous polite compliments and even more not-so-nice propositions echoed in his brain, as he fought to maintain composure.

  “There, now.” The housekeeper, Mrs. Jones, grinned, as she elbowed Daphne. “What did I tell you?”

  “It appears your old bonnet is safe.” Daphne giggled, but he could make no sense of her statement. “Will you join me, in the receiving line, Sir Dalton?”

  “Yes.” He shuffled his feet, tugged on his cravat, and cleared his throat. “I-I am fine.”

  “I beg your pardon?” The stunning Miss Harcourt blinked, as she could not possibly comprehend what she had done to him, and he dared not apprise her. “Are you all right?”

  “Where are your brothers?” Until he could marshal his wits and leash the beast, he sought safe harbor in an innocuous subject. “Should we not assume our positions?”

  “Yes, as I believe we have our first arrivals.” Daphne peered over his shoulder. “Robert, Richard, take your places, and no grumbling.”

  “We will be but a moment, as I require a word with your brothers.” The scamps attempted to evade him, but Dalton splayed his arms. “Gentlemen, this evening is important to your sister, and I will not allow you to spoil it. Robert, if you upset her, in any way, I will box your ears. And Richard, whatever wiggles in your coat pocket had better remain there else I will make you swallow it. Are we clear?”