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Two

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Colin had been watching her for the last hour. He hadn’t wanted to see his wife, but the Duchess of Warcliffe had harassed him for weeks. Finally, he had agreed to go to this ball if only his mother-in-law would leave him in peace for a little while. He hadn’t intended to speak to Lady Daphne. She need never know he was even in attendance. He was good at blending in. He kept to the edges and the corners and didn’t look anyone directly in the eye. He’d stood next to men he’d known at school and ladies he had danced with at other balls, and no one had noticed him.

That was why in the army Colin had been called The Pretender.

He could have contented himself just watching Lady Daphne. Her mother had said she was in trouble, but nothing looked amiss to Colin. As he had observed on several other occasions, she laughed with her friends, she danced with several gentleman, she sipped champagne. Obviously, the Duchess of Warcliffe had lied to him in order to force a meeting between himself and Daphne. Colin should have just gone home as he had other nights. He didn’t need to speak to Daphne, and yet, here he was.

Now that she knew who he was, the terror in her eyes had fled, replaced by skepticism. “So now you want to talk, do you?” Her voice was as sharp and cold as ice.

Colin allowed himself a half smile. It was the perfect jab; he would give her that. He could hardly blame her for stabbing at him, considering she’d had nary a word from him since he’d left for the army. “I would like a word, yes. Unless I’m interrupting other plans. A clandestine meeting? There’s no one else out here. I looked.”

“I’m tired. I want to go home.” That wasn’t like her. The Daphne he knew always danced until dawn. But the Daphne he knew didn’t creep out the back.

“Sneaking out of a ball through the servants’ door. Why?”

She put a hand on her waist, probably intending to look stern. But it was difficult to take her too seriously in her pink frothy dress covered in twenty-eight bows. Yes, twenty-eight. He had counted.

“That is not your concern,” she said.

One bow on each sleeve.

She frowned. “Honestly, I can’t see how I am any of your concern.”

One bow at her bodice and one at the middle of her back.

“I haven’t seen you for seven years,” she continued.

Four rows of four bows each down the length of her skirt, two rows in front and two in back.

“And now you pop out of nowhere and have the gall to question me.”

Eight bows circling the hem of the dress.

“We have to speak at some point. We’re still married,” he observed wryly.

“That’s not my fault!”

“Nor mine.” But they had to confront it at some point. Why not tonight? He offered his arm. “Let’s go.”

She looked at his arm and then at his face. He wondered what she saw when she looked at him. When he had spotted her tonight, he’d felt as though he’d been punched in the chest. She was so beautiful. She’d been beautiful when he married her, but she’d also been quite young. She hadn’t really grown into her mouth or her eyes, and they’d looked almost too big for her face. But she looked absolutely breathtaking now. Her silvery blond hair was piled on her head with a long curl falling over one mostly bare shoulder. Her brows were slightly darker than her hair and perfectly arched, her lashes almost black—something he assumed was helped along by cosmetics—and her eyes were of the deepest blue. It was hard to see anything but those eyes, they were so compelling, so vibrant, but if his gaze strayed to her cheekbones, he could see her face had thinned a bit and looked more sculpted. Her lips were his undoing, though. They were plump and red and such a perfect bow.

He fondly remembered kissing those lips.

“Where are we going?” she asked. “That is, if I choose to go with you.”

That was a good question. He’d intended to go to the Draven Club after he’d checked in on her at the ball, but he couldn’t very well take her there. And he couldn’t take her home. They couldn’t talk privately with her father, mother, and siblings frowning at him and giving him cutting looks. “Mayne House,” he said on a whim.

Her brows came together. “Where?”

“The residence of the Duke of Mayne. I happen to know he’s been spending a great deal of time in Berkshire on business”—if one considered a new wife business—“and his door is always open to me.” Colin had taken advantage of his friend’s generosity on several occasions already this Season. Colin had only returned from the Continent and his army duties about eighteen months ago. He’d gone to his father’s country estate to help with various matters there. And then, just as he’d settled in, he’d been summoned to London by his former commander, Lieutenant Colonel Draven, for help with matters pertaining to the remaining Survivors.

He’d known Daphne would be in London, and he’d known he wasn’t ready to see her yet. So he’d moved into his own family’s town house. Lately, it had been rather crowded as all three of his sisters were in residence.

“Are any of Mayne’s servants at his town house?” she asked.

“A small contingent, yes.” He wiggled his still extended arm. “Don’t worry. You won’t have to be alone with me.” Not unless she wanted to, and he rather doubted she would ever want to be alone with him again.

“Very well.” She took his arm, laying her hand on his sleeve so lightly he couldn’t even feel the weight of it. “I haven’t called for my carriage.”

“We can walk. Mayne House is only a block away.” He looked down at her bare arms, the thin muslin of her dress, and whatever that gauzy material was called. It was a mild spring evening but perhaps a bit too cold to walk about so exposed. Already he could see gooseflesh on the bared skin of her chest. He had the urge to put his hands there and warm her. Instead, he removed his coat and draped it over her shoulders.

She gave him a long look then put her hands through the sleeves. The coat looked ridiculously large on her, but he liked seeing her in it. Of course, with her hands tucked in the sleeves, she no longer held onto him. He went ahead and opened the gate, holding it for her as she stepped through it and onto the lane running alongside the mews.

Once they were on their way, she said, “What do you want to talk about?”

He shrugged. He had rather figured she would carry the conversation. “You still haven’t told me why you were sneaking away from the ball.”

“And you haven’t told me why you were at the ball. Did you even have an invitation?”

“I believe your invitation included me.”

“Oh,” she said, confirming his supposition. “But if you’d mentioned your name, surely all of the guests would have been talking about your presence. Someone would have mentioned it to me. Your absence at every social function I have attended since your return from the war has been noted.” Her voice sounded brittle and accusatory. She’d undoubtedly had to deal with the brunt of the curiosity about their estrangement. He was sorry for that now. It would have been much more convenient for her if he’d died in the war.

“And what do you tell people when they ask?” His voice held a note of idle curiosity, but he very much wanted to know the answer.

“This and that.” They turned onto a wide street lined with trees, and tucked behind the trees, stone mansions with bright windows and flowers blooming in boxes at the windows. It was quiet enough in Mayfair to hear an owl hoot or an insect chirp. Most of the ton was still out for the night.

“Do elaborate,” he said, clasping his hands behind his back as they walked. “I might need to know what this or that refers to if asked.”

“Are you mocking me?”

He looked at her. “No.” He spoke sincerely. He was not the sort of man to mock anyone but himself.

“Tonight I said you were deciphering a coded document.”

“Code breaking?” He stopped in disbelief. “I know nothing of code breaking.”

She rounded on him and put her hands on her hips again—or at least where he assumed her hips might be as his coat made her look like an amorphous shape. “And how would I know what you can or cannot do? It sounded like something a war hero would do, and everyone says you are a war hero.”

He closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose where a headache bloomed. “I’m not a war hero.” Without pausing to see if she followed, he began walking again.

“But were you not part of that special team?”

“It was a troop, and I would not call it special.”

“Well, I once danced with Rafe Beaumont at a ball, and he said you saved his life in France.”

That sounded like the sort of thing Rafe would tell her. He would think he was doing Colin a favor and perhaps even playing matchmaker to mend the fences between Colin and Daphne. But Rafe had left for America some months ago and Colin hadn’t heard from him since. “When did you dance with Beaumont?” He sounded irritated, though he hadn’t meant to. Rafe was a known womanizer, and women couldn’t seem to resist throwing themselves at his feet. Colin knew he had no say over who Daphne did or did not throw herself at, but he rather hoped it wasn’t his friend and fellow member of the Survivors.

“It was last Season, I think. Early in the Season. He spent a quarter of an hour extolling your virtues. So you needn’t be envious.”

Colin threw her a disgusted look. “I am not envious.”

“No, you wouldn’t be.”

He wasn’t certain what reply he should make to that, but he was saved from having to do so when he saw Mayne House. “It’s just there,” he said, pointing to it.

“It’s dark, and there’s no knocker.” She slowed, putting a hand to her throat. He remembered that she often did that when she was uncertain about something.

“I told you, he is out of town.”

“How do you know the Duke of Mayne?”

“We served together with your friend Rafe.”

“He’s not my friend. I danced with him. I dance with a lot of men.”

“So I gather. And if I’d known Rafe would come back and tell you all sorts of stories about me, I wouldn’t have saved his life.”

“Ha!” She pointed a finger at him. “You did save his life.”

“We all saved each other’s lives. Except when we didn’t.” He started up the steps and tapped on the front door. He had to tap rather loudly as she was right and there was no knocker. Finally, Banks, the butler at Mayne House, opened the door. “Mr. FitzRoy.” He stepped back to admit him, his eyes flicking to Lady Daphne but saying nothing. “You are home early, sir.”

“You know my wife, Banks,” Colin said. “Lady Daphne.”

Banks bowed. “I have not had the pleasure, my lady. Welcome.”

“Thank you.” She allowed the butler to take Colin’s coat and Colin was treated to the sight of that pink gown again. The bows were infuriating enough, but the neckline made his jaw clench. It was not scandalous—nothing like her friend Lady Isabella wore—but it was just low enough to hint at the glory that were her breasts beneath it. The half-moons of her pale flesh rose and fell from the lace edging of her bodice every time she breathed.

“Lady Daphne and I would speak in the parlor, if that is acceptable.” Colin gestured to a closed door on the right. It was a small chamber with several comfortable chairs and a writing desk.

“Of course. Would you like me to send for tea or other refreshments?”

“No, Banks. We just need a few minutes.”

Banks snapped his fingers at a maid who had appeared. “We’ll just have the fire lit for you then.”

When the maid had finished and scurried out of the parlor, Colin closed the door and turned to Daphne. “So, what sort of trouble are you in?”

***

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DAPHNE PAUSED IN THE midst of taking a seat on one of the luxurious chairs upholstered in pale green. How could he possibly know? She and Battersea had an agreement.

FitzRoy pointed at her. “Interesting. When your mother came to me saying you were in trouble, I doubted her. You didn’t act like a person in trouble. But now I can see the guilt all over your face. You are in trouble.”

She smoothed her face like she might smooth her dress and sat, arranging her skirts about her. “What you interpret as guilt is actually surprise. Your statement was unexpected.”

He leaned against the chair opposite her, studying her face. His eyes, so green under those long, dark lashes assessed her uncomfortably. Fortunately, she had been in the public’s eye since she’d been old enough to step out of the nursery. She was used to scrutiny. She should have relaxed the longer he studied her. FitzRoy was no different than most people she knew. If someone knew her secrets, they would have said so by now. His silence was intended to unnerve her so she revealed what he wanted to know. It was a tactic she knew well from years among the ton. But his gaze on her had never relaxed her. He was far too compelling.

When ladies said they fancied a man who was tall, dark, and handsome, they envisioned Colin FitzRoy. He had the face of an angel with full lips, a Roman nose, and chiseled cheekbones. His eyes were light green fringed by black lashes and dark brows that slashed above his pale gaze. If he’d pulled his dark curly hair back or cut it short, he would have been a strikingly handsome man, but he wore it full and tousled about his face, giving him an air of mystery.

Daphne’s own hair was pinned so tightly that her head ached, and she itched to wrap her hands in his soft curls and brush them from his forehead or tuck them behind his ears. She hadn’t ever seen his ears.

“Go on,” Colin said.

“Unexpected,” she explained, “because I didn’t realize you had so much gall. Really, who do you think you are? You left for the war and never wrote me a single letter. Then when you finally returned, you completely ignored me. I had to hear from the gossips that you were back in England. Do you know how humiliating that was for me?”

He lowered his gaze, obviously chastened.

“And now you come here and demand to know intimate details about my life. You have no right to ask me anything.  You don’t know anything about me.”

He looked at his hands, draped over the back of the chair. He had long fingers with lean, square nails. “Does the Duchess of Warcliffe know anything about you? Why would she tell me you needed help if you did not?”

“My mother? She loves nothing more than a scheme. You know that.”

“She has been cornering me throughout London, insisting that I take you in hand.”

Daphne jumped to her feet. “Take me in hand! I am not a child, sir.”

He shrugged. “Those were her words, not mine.”

“I’ve done quite well without you all these years. I don’t need your interference now.”

“Interference? What am I interfering in? The trouble you still haven’t denied?”

“This is ridiculous.” She lifted her skirts and moved around the chair. “I will not stay so you may invent falsehoods about me.” She swept past him in a haughty swath of muslin, silk, and organza, but he caught her arm at the last moment, ruining her exit. Slowly, he pulled her back until they were face-to-face.

“I will admit I was shooting arrows into the dark,” he said, his voice low, “but I rather think from your reaction that I have hit close to the mark.”

“Is that what you think?” She felt warm, too warm. She hadn’t been this close to him for so long and her body reacted without her permission. She wanted to melt into him, surrender to his hand on her bare arm, touch him back.

He raised his brows and for a moment she thought perhaps she’d spoken her thoughts aloud, and he was challenging her to touch him. But then she remembered she’d spoken—said something to buy herself time. She needed to remember she was angry at him, furious. He’d hurt her, and she wanted nothing to do with him. She took a shaky breath. “Let me ask you something, Colin.”

His eyes seemed to twinkle with amusement, but that couldn’t be. The man didn’t have emotions. He’d all but said so himself. “What is it, Daphne?”

“You haven’t cared what I did or did not do for the past seven years. Why do you care now?”

“I was on the Continent for the majority of those years.”

“And I suppose all the letters you wrote inquiring after my health were misdirected?”

The amusement left his eyes. “I should have written,” he said.

She lifted one shoulder, dismissing the years she had written to him faithfully and hoped without hope he might reply. “It doesn’t matter now. You never cared for me, and you needn’t start pretending now.”

“You never cared for me either. It was an arranged marriage that we were both forced to agree to.”

She flinched slightly then quickly tried to cover it, but he’d seen.

His hand on her arm tightened and his eyes seemed to look right through her. “You didn’t want this marriage. Did you?”

She looked away. “Of course not.”

He released her as though her skin burned him. “Oh, my God.”

No. What an idiot she was. How could she let him guess at the truth? She’d never let him know how she’d really felt. How much his dismissal of her had really hurt. “I didn’t want this marriage. Not then and not now.” To underscore her words, she turned away from him, saw the door, and started for it again. “I’d appreciate it if you would go back to leaving me alone.”

She grasped the door handle just as Colin’s arm snagged around her waist. She gasped at the feel of his body pressed against her back and his breath on her neck. She shivered. Why did she still feel this way about him? He’d brought her nothing but misery, and still she felt the undeniable pull of attraction when she was near him.

“I don’t believe you.” His whispered words only further tantalized the tender skin beneath her ear.

“I don’t care what you think.” Her voice was thin and reedy, uncertain. She did not care. It was not as though he was someone she could trust or count on.

“Tell me the truth, Daphne.”

“I...” She couldn’t tell him the truth about Battersea and his threats. How could Colin help her? By lecturing her? By lecturing Battersea? Colin would just disappear again, and she’d be in a worse position than she was now.

No, she had made the mistake of trusting Colin FitzRoy once, and she would not do so again. “Let me go,” she said, her hand still on the door handle. Colin released her, but before she could open it, the door handle turned on its own. Colin pulled her back just in time for the door to swing open. A very large, very frightening-looking man stepped into the doorway, completely blocking her exit.

The man had long, wild brown hair and three days’ growth of beard, and wore a linen shirt with a skirt. Daphne looked up at him, watched his scowl deepen, and stumbled backward. Colin caught her, and she scrambled to pull him away. They had to reach the door on the other side of the room or jump out a window before the lunatic who’d just burst in on them slit both their throats.

But Colin stood still, hands on his hips. “Duncan. What are you doing here?”

“That’s the question I was aboot to ask you. Dinnae know it was you, Pretender.” He looked over his shoulder. “Why did you nae tell me, Banks?” he yelled.

Daphne immediately recognized his accent as Scottish. As Colin seemed to know the Scot, she gave him another look and realized he wore a kilt, not a skirt. That didn’t make him any less fearsome. He was a head taller than her husband, who was not a short man, and the Scot’s shoulders filled the doorway. His gaze fell on her, and Daphne tried to look brave, straightening her shoulders and lifting her chin.

“Looks like I’m interrupting.”

Colin glanced at her, seemed to consider, then said, “Lady Daphne, may I present Mr. Duncan Murray. We fought together in Draven’s troop. Mr. Murray, my wife.”

The Scot’s eyebrows went up, but he bowed politely and stepped into the parlor, making it feel far too small. “A pleasure, my lady. I’ve heard a bit aboot you.”

This surprised Daphne. She glanced at Colin, whose face held no discernable expression. He was very good at hiding whatever he might be thinking or feeling. “Forgive me, I’ve heard nothing of you.”

The big man shrugged his shoulders. “Your man doesna want to talk about the war any more than the rest of us.” His gaze went back to Colin. “What are you doing here?”

“Mayne said I could stay here if my town house felt too crowded. With my sisters there, I haven’t a moment’s peace.”

The Scotsman nodded then walked to a cabinet and opened it. He pulled out a decanter of amber liquid and sniffed. “Brandy. Suppose it was too much to hope for whisky.” He closed the cabinet door, obviously preferring nothing over brandy. For Daphne’s part, she would not have minded a sip or even a gulp.

“And you?” her husband asked.

“My mother sent me to London to find a lass for a bride. She said not to come home withoot one. I saw Mayne in Berkshire, and he offered me a room here. I just arrived a few hours ago. Scared the butler half to death.” He winked at Daphne.

He would scare the ladies of London half to death too. Colin asked his friend about the Duke of Mayne, and though Daphne should have been listening to the conversation as the duke was always a source of much gossip, she could hardly pay attention when she noticed the Scot’s gaze strayed to her and stayed.

Daphne took a step back again and almost fell over a chair. Instead, she sat in it, hoping to be as unobtrusive as possible. But the Scot interrupted Colin and pointed at her. “Your wife is a lady.”

Colin looked at her. “Her father is a duke,” he said, not really answering the question.

“Maybe she can help me.”

Daphne tried to swallow the lump in her throat. “How can I help you, Mr. Murray?”

“You ken ladies. You can get me a wife.”

Daphne shook her head. “No, I cannot.”

But the Scot was not deterred by her head shaking or her outright refusal. “It’s simple enough, lass. Just introduce me to your friends at the next ball.”

“That might be difficult,” Colin said, walking toward her. Finally, he was actually being useful. He stopped before her and looked down. “I don’t think she has any friends.”

“For your information, I have many friends—a fact you would know if you’d bothered to spend any time with me.”

Colin gave her a skeptical look.

“I dinnae mean they had to be close friends, my lady. Just any lass who isnae a chore to look upon and has a backbone. My mother eats timid lasses with her tea.”

Daphne stood. “You are behaving as though a wife is something you order, like a coat or hat. You have to woo a wife, court her, write poetry.”

The Scot looked at Colin. “Is that how he married you?”

She opened her mouth then shut it again, not sure what to say. Colin stepped in. “A pretty woman with some courage is rather impossible to find in the circles Lady Daphne moves in. I ought to know as I was raised in those same circles.”

The Scot pointed to her. “You found one.”

Colin glanced at her. “She is pretty.”

Oh, the nerve of these men. This was what she had always hated about her father. He spoke about her as though she wasn’t standing right there. “There are plenty of marriageable women in London who are not merely pretty but beautiful and have more strength and courage than the two of you combined. But you are both overlooking a very important point.”

“What’s that?” Colin asked, arching a skeptical brow.

“I do not owe Mr. FitzRoy any favors. You will have to find someone else to assist you with your search, Mr. Murray. I’m certain there are women in Scotland. Perhaps you might go back and find one there.”

The Scot shook his head. “Willnae work. They all know of my mother.”

“What is wrong with your mother?” she asked, against her better judgement.

“Nothing is wrong with her, lass. She’s strong-willed.” His shoulders slumped, and he looked like a man thoroughly defeated. Daphne tried to push down the compassion she felt for him. She wanted nothing to do with Colin or his friends. The Scot sighed. “I’ll just be going now. I’ve imposed on you too long.”

Daphne watched him go then rounded on Colin. “I am not helping him find a wife,” she said as much for herself as for him. “And now I think it’s best if I go home.”

“Shouldn’t we discuss”—he gestured between them— “this further?”

“What is there to discuss? I don’t want to be married to you any more than you want to be married to me.” She raised her brows. “Unless something has changed, and you do want to be married to me?”

She heard his intake of breath and watched the way his throat moved when he swallowed. He just could not seem to stop humiliating her. Of course, he did not want to be married to her. This entire evening had been a waste of time.

Daphne brushed past him. “I am leaving.”

“You can’t go by yourself. It’s not safe.”

She opened the parlor door. He might think he could control her, but he would soon find otherwise. “My carriage is at the ball. That’s just a few streets away.” She stalked into the foyer and a footman scrambled to move out of her way.

“I’ll walk with you.”

“No, thank you.” Still, she was not a fool. She shouldn’t go out in the middle of the night alone. She pointed to the footman. “You. You can walk me back to the ball.”

“My lady?” The footman looked from her to Colin. Colin seemed to consider for a moment then nodded.

“Escort her to Lord Ludlow’s ball and see that she’s put safely in her carriage. Come back and see me when it’s done.”

“Yes, sir.”

Daphne turned to open the door, but the butler had already opened it for her. She swept out, followed by the footman. She didn’t look over her shoulder, but Colin must have come out as well, for she heard him say, “Goodnight, my lady.”

She stared straight ahead. “Good-bye.”

“Not yet. This isn’t finished.”

The words sounded like a threat.