‘We should return to the ballroom. People will be starting to wonder where we have gone,’ Guy said.
If he had disappeared for such a long time with anyone other than Daisy, questions would have been asked, assumptions made. He just had to hope no one had noticed or, if they had, that they thought he was merely taking a brotherly interest in his best friend’s little sister’s well-being.
Shame consumed him like a physical illness. That was what he should have been doing. He had a reputation as a rake but had always believed that to be unjustified. Yes, he’d had a lot of women in his life, but he still had morals that set him apart from many men who were labelled rakes. He’d never seduced anyone, ever. Every woman who came to his bed did so under her own instigation. And he had never made love to a virgin. They were off-limits.
Tonight, he had ignored all those self-imposed rules and, not only that, had tried to seduce a woman who was more off limits than most.
He was a cad of the worst kind, a man capable of acting in a debased manner, a manner which was unforgivable. He had put his carnal desires before a woman’s reputation. He had betrayed himself, his best friend and a family who had taken him in as a child and provided him with the warmth and love he had never received in his own home. They had cared for him like a son, and this was how he repaid them.
‘I don’t want to go back to the ballroom. I want to stay here, with you,’ she whispered into the dark air.
The pain clenching Guy’s stomach intensified. What had he done? Had he corrupted her? Despite her innocence, her kisses had not been chaste but had contained an unexpected passion. That too was his fault. That passion should not have been unleashed by him, and not here. It should have been saved for her wedding night, when she’d be in the arms of a man who loved her, a man she was in love with, a man worthy of that love.
‘Daisy, please, for the sake of your reputation. We have been absent for too long. People will talk. You know that they will.’
‘As if I care about such things.’
How he wished to take her at her word. But, despite her claim to be independent, she was wrong. Society would forgive him anything—he was a man and a duke—but it could be cruel to a woman who transgressed its strict moral code.
‘You might not care, but your mother will care. And I care.’
She pulled back from him, as if repulsed by his words, her eyes defiant. ‘You care about your reputation, do you?’ She gave a harsh laugh. ‘Now that you’re after a bride, you suddenly care what people think about you?’
She had misinterpreted his words. He did not need to care about his own reputation. His position in society meant he could get away with almost anything. It was Daisy, and only Daisy, he cared about. But he had to get her back into the ballroom, back in public, before people started to speculate about their prolonged absence, and the gossiping women started to discuss Daisy’s good name behind their fans. If it took her believing he was doing it for his own selfish reasons, then so be it.
‘That’s right. I’m sorry, Daisy, but you know that the only reason I am here tonight is to find a bride. It will not help my cause to be absent for a long time and then reappear with a woman I have no intention of marrying.’
She gasped, and this time it was not a gasp of ecstasy. He didn’t want to hurt or offend her, but it was for her own good. And if she was angry with him, if she thought badly of him, despised him, then it was no more than his behaviour deserved. He was a cad who had come perilously close to doing the unforgivable. Such a man should be despised.
‘Perhaps you should have thought of that before you kissed me,’ she said through clenched teeth.
‘You’re right. But you know me, Daisy, and you know my reputation.’ He forced a light laugh. ‘I can’t resist any available young woman.’
A slap stung his face. Her gloved hand hardly hurt, not physically, but it still stung him deeply and her anger left him reeling.
‘You’re despicable.’ She pushed past him and stormed off the balcony.
Guy gripped the railing and looked out at the dark night. She hated him. He did not want her to hate him, but he had brought this on himself and had no right to self-pity. And as long as she hated him there was no likelihood of her ever allowing him to kiss her again, or do more than just kiss her. He gripped the iron railing tighter, drew in a deep breath and repeatedly reminded himself that, if she hated him, it was all for the best.
After what he hoped was sufficient time for no one to notice that he and Daisy had been absent together, he re-entered the ballroom. The volume of the chatter increased markedly with his reappearance. Hopefully, Daisy’s re-entrance had been more discreet than his. But a duke who was seeking a bride could do nothing discreetly. As with his arrival every mother noticed that he was back, and he was greeted with a sea of smiling mothers and daughters.
Even Florence and Nathaniel were smiling at him from their private alcove. Although, those two seemed incapable of doing anything but smile. Their happiness with each other was all but palpable. That must be what love looked like—all smiling and soppy, as if the world was a wonderful place and everyone in it was good and kind. But if Nathaniel had known what Guy had just been doing with his little sister, what he had almost done, he would not have been smiling. He’d be taking Guy outside and giving him a thrashing, and rightly so.
While one mother grabbed his arm, and another prattled on about her daughter’s charms and accomplishments, he looked around the room for Daisy. She was on the floor, in the arms of Archibald Fitzsimmons. As if punched in the stomach, Guy exhaled explosively. Fingernails dug into flesh as his hands curled into tight fists. Breathing slowly and deeply, he forced his hands to unclench, forced his rigid jaw to relax and lowered his tense shoulders.
This was what he’d wanted. Daisy was in public. No one was talking about her. She had not been shunned and she was dancing with another man. A man who could offer her all the things that he could not. He should be happy for her. But if the bile burning up his throat was happiness, it was an emotion he could live without.
The babbling mothers’ voices faded away as he watched the couple move around the floor. Fitzsimmons was a good man, he reminded himself. A bit dull, perhaps, but certainly not a rake. He would make any woman an excellent husband and provide everything that Guy was incapable of: love, fidelity, a comfortable family life. That was what he wanted for Daisy: for her to love, be loved and be happy. So why did he want to rip her out of Fitzsimmons’ arms and carry her off into the night?
He turned back to the mothers and tried to concentrate but, as if directed by a power over which he had no control, his attention kept being drawn back to the dancing couple. The dance came to an end and Fitzsimmons led a solemn Daisy off the floor.
Ignoring the chattering mothers, ignoring the voice in his head that was telling him not to do this, Guy pushed his way through the milling crowd. It was only right to dance with her again, he argued with himself, trying to shout down that other, niggling voice that was telling him to turn round and walk away. Dancing together would show that they were still merely good friends, he argued with himself, just as they had always been.
‘I believe you promised me the next dance, Lady Daisy,’ he said with a formal bow. He had tried to keep his voice light, but the restriction in his throat made the request sound more like a command.
She arched one eyebrow and he expected her to put up an argument, to tell him that she had promised him no such thing, but she placed her hand on his arm and allowed him to lead her out onto the floor.
The orchestra played the first notes and, damn it all, it was another waltz. A quadrille, a gallop or a polka would have been preferable—anything where they would have had little physical contact. He placed his hand on her waist and took her hand in his, fighting not to remember holding her in his arms in the moonlight, caressing her body as if he’d had every right to do so.
He drew in a deep, controlling breath and glided her across the floor. Despite the tension between them, dancing with her felt so right, as if she was meant to be in his arms. Although, that must be down to the skill of her dance instructor and Daisy’s natural grace, and nothing to do with any compatibility between them. He twirled her around and she followed his lead.
He had to smile. It was one of the few times Daisy followed anyone. She had grown into such an independent young lady, rebellious, feisty and, as he had now discovered, passionate. He exhaled slowly. The last of those attributes was something he should not know and should try and forget.
‘So, you only kissed me because I was available?’ she asked, interrupting his thoughts. ‘If there had been any other young woman out on that balcony, you would have kissed them instead?’
He tried to laugh off her angry questions. ‘Any young woman looking as beautiful as you did in the moonlight. Any young woman dressed like you.’
Any young woman who was you.
‘It was all my fault, then, was it?’
‘None of it was your fault,’ he said, staring down into her eyes, hoping she would know it to be true. ‘It was all my fault. I told you the reason why I kissed you so you would know the sort of man I am.’
‘As if I didn’t already,’ she murmured under her breath, looking away.
He tried not to flinch, tried not to hate himself any more than he already did. He was once again tempted to beg for her forgiveness, but what would be the point? She knew what sort of man he was, had always known it, and now he had proved it.
They moved through the circling couples and once again silence descended between them.
‘So, how did kissing me compare to kissing Ruby Lovelace, Lady Parnell or all those other women you have kissed?’ she finally asked, making him long for the return of silence.
He looked down into her angry blue eyes, glaring at him as she waited for his answer. But what could he say?
Kissing you was unlike anything I have experienced before. I have never known such intensity, such closeness. With other women, part of me always remained detached, but with you it was different. All boundaries between us seemed to melt away, as if we had become one.
That was what he wanted to say, but he could not, he must not.
‘Daisy, don’t,’ he murmured instead. ‘I should not have kissed you and I am profoundly sorry that I did. I know that I am a cad, but until tonight I hadn’t known just how much of a cad I could be. I know that I have no right to your forgiveness, so I won’t ask for it, but I promise I will never take such liberties with you ever again.’
Guy Parnell had kissed her. It should mean very little—after all, she was not the first woman to have been kissed by a charmer—but it meant more to her than she could articulate. It wasn’t her first kiss, although that was the way it had felt. The other times she had been kissed it had been nice, but Guy’s kisses could never be described as ‘nice’. Until tonight she had not known it was possible to be consumed by such surging ecstasy, to lose oneself so completely in a sensual experience. Even the thought of it was causing that throbbing intensity to well up inside her, causing her to long for him to kiss her again, caress her again, complete what her body had desperately desired of him.
As if under the power of an uncontrollable compulsion, she moved closer towards him, wishing he was kissing her now. But he was right. It should not have happened, and it should never happen again. She cared not a fig for her reputation. If society wanted to gossip about her, that was no concern of hers, and certainly would not be the first time she had earned the disapproval of society ladies. Riding a bicycle alone through the London streets while wearing bloomers had already made her the subject of many a disapproving discussion.
But gossip over a ruined reputation would reflect badly on her family and shame her mother. She could not do that to them. Nor did she want to be merely one more woman in Guy’s long list of conquests. And she most certainly did not want to become his mistress after he had found that sought-after wife.
Did she?
She looked up into those coal-dark eyes and for a brief moment her resistance melted before returning, stronger and fiercer. No, of course she did not. The fact that he was going to offer a title to some woman who was prepared to let him have a mistress was bad enough. She most certainly would not be that mistress.
She sighed lightly. It was all so confusing both to want something desperately and be equally determined not to want it. But it made no difference what she wanted or did not want. He had made that clear.
He would never kiss her again. He would never make love to her the way he had made love to so many others. She knew now exactly why Lady Parnell had looked like a satisfied, purring cat, and why Ruby Lovelace was so eager to return to his estate. They had experienced that rapture, and more. With his mistresses, he had not stopped but had taken them to heights of excitement of which she could only dream.
And some other young woman present tonight, the one he chose to be the Duchess of Mandivale, would also experience such heady pleasure. But Daisy never would.
She looked round at the dancing couples, and the crowds lining the dance floor, and wondered which one he would take as his bride. Almost every woman present was staring at them. No doubt many were jealous of her, but they had no need. She was the one woman Guy had rejected.
‘So how has the hunt for the next Duchess of Mandivale been going?’ she asked, pleased that her voice betrayed nothing of her agitation.
‘As expected,’ came his vague reply.
‘So, what did you expect? That the perfect woman would present herself and fall into your arms?’ Her attempt to keep her voice neutral failed, and she silently cursed herself for sounding jealous. She would not be jealous.
‘Is there such a thing as the perfect woman?’
‘No, but if there was I doubt if she’d want to marry you.’
He smiled at her and she wished he wouldn’t do that either, not when it caused her icy anger to thaw and undermined her determination not to be affected by his charm or good looks.
‘You’re quite right,’ he continued. ‘But so far I have not found the imperfect woman who would make the perfect Duchess of Mandivale.’
She harrumphed her disapproval.
He whirled her around and, damn it all, she almost slipped, so tense was her body. His hand moved further round her waist to steady her. Their bodies were now closer than propriety permitted. So close she could feel his thighs against hers. Thoughts of him holding her tightly rushed back, more a physical memory than an image, and a sigh escaped her lips, a sigh that was almost a groan.
He looked down at her, his expression the same as it had been before he’d kissed her, as if he was hungry, as if he needed her, wanted her. But he did not need or want her. He might be hungry, but wasn’t that typical of a rake? Weren’t they all like hungry wolves always on the hunt? And like a fool she had succumbed. She had been the available woman alone on the balcony just waiting for him to kiss her.
She moved further away from him. She would never be that available woman ever again. The waltz came to an end and he took her arm. Before they had even made it to the edge of the floor he was surrounded. He held on to her arm as the swirling mothers tried to edge her aside like a drowning man clasping at a straw.
‘I’ll leave you to your pursuit,’ she said, firmly pulling her arm from his grasp. The moment she was free of him, the mothers surged forward. He was swallowed up by the crowd of fawning women and Daisy found herself on the outside of the pack surrounding Guy.
She turned abruptly and strode across to the other side of the ballroom. While he was admired and adored by a coterie of women, she would spend the rest of the night dancing with as many other men as possible. He would see just how unaffected she was, that their kiss meant as little to her as it did to him, and that she wasn’t giving him or his caresses another thought.