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Reggie stumbled from the room and entered the main drawing room. He glanced about, but Daisy and her father had left.
He gritted his teeth and pretended Daisy’s father hadn’t spent the previous five minutes criticizing him. He hadn’t meant to hurt Daisy. He was certain he hadn’t been hurting Daisy. He’d seen how she tapped her fingers against her chair when she was excited, and he’d suddenly wanted to be swirling about the room with her in his arms.
His heart ached, imagining a young, active Daisy tumbling from a balcony. She was curious, and it was easy to imagine her rushing about and getting into trouble. Perhaps that’s why her parents tried so hard to heal her. Perhaps if she’d been born without the ability to walk, they might resign themselves to the fact she could never amble or stroll.
He gazed out the picture window. Daisy’s father and a driver were carrying Daisy into a hack. Reggie could still run down and apologize again. He could still usher them up to the ball.
Instead, he stayed.
He’d thought Daisy might care for him, but clearly he’d been wrong. He’d seen the look of horror on her face when he suggested they marry. He knew how women were supposed to receive proposals, and looks of horror were never the aim.
Perhaps Daisy’s father was correct. Perhaps the best thing he could do for Daisy was simply to choose one of these women she had selected.
He blinked, then sturdied his features and gazed at the other guests.
He approached the nearest woman. She had glossy brunette locks that framed her face. She dipped quickly into a curtsy when she saw him.
“I hope you’ve been enjoying the festivities,” he murmured.
“Oh, yes, indeed, Your Grace,” she breathed. “It is most pleasant.”
“I’m glad.” He stared at her, wondering what to talk to her about. He suspected boxing matches might not be of interest to her.
She shifted her weight, perhaps experiencing a similar boredom. His heart panged, thinking of Daisy. Daisy always was happy to chatter about things.
“The weather is quite nice, isn’t it, Your Grace?” the woman asked.
He nodded gratefully. “Er—yes. It’s only rained a few times today.”
“I suppose it hasn’t been particularly nice,” the woman said, her voice shaking.
“Very nice for the flowers,” Reggie said courteously.
The woman’s face brightened. “You have the most magnificent flower arrangements.”
Reggie smiled, thinking of Daisy. “I do. I don’t believe we’ve met.”
“I’m Beatrice Thompson.”
“Ah.” He nodded. “How nice. I hope you’re enjoying your stay in Bath.”
She shrugged. “It is tolerable.”
“Yes,” Reggie agreed. “It’s tolerable.”
The heiress beamed at him, as if delighted he’d approved of her insight.
Alistair strode into the room. He frowned slightly, and Reggie looked away guiltily. No doubt Alistair had seen Daisy’s hasty departure.
Instead, Alistair picked up a silver platter from the banquet table. “Drink, Your Grace?”
“Yes,” Reggie said gratefully, imbibing the liquid.
Unfortunately, neither his brandy’s immaculate quality nor the dependable taste of alcohol could prevent his mind from musing on Daisy. She’d felt so right in his arms, and now his arms ached, as if they missed her. Hell, he missed her.
The music no longer seemed pleasant. The relentlessly happy tempo jarred against his ears, and his heart hurt, as if the musicians’ ever-moving violin bows were striking it. Long velvet curtains framed the picture windows, as if to will people to ponder the view, but only inky darkness was visible. He stared at the crisscrossing pattern of the windowpanes.
“You seem contemplative, Your Grace.” A cool alto voice he recognized interrupted his thoughts, and he turned toward the sound.
“Princess Aria.” Reggie nodded stiffly.
She gave a tight smile, but her eyes remained solemn.
He shivered. “I didn’t expect to see you again.”
“Miss Holloway told me you generally do not thrust women into the river.”
He gave a wry smile. “I must apologize.”
She shrugged. “You gave my bodyguard some excitement. I’d thought Papa had been foolish in employing him.”
“Well, Bathampton is hardly Seven Dials.”
She stared at him, and he remembered she was new to this country.
“Forgive me. Seven Dials is a neighborhood in London. The sort of place where one can buy a knife.”
“Ah.” She nodded.
One could buy much more than a knife there, not that Reggie had ever tried.
“Another brandy, Your Grace?” Alistair interrupted his morose thoughts.
Reggie took the drink from Alistair. “Er—thank you.”
He imbibed the drink hastily and returned it to Alistair. Alistair gazed at him with a worried expression.
Blast it.
He’d held Daisy in his arms. He’d danced with her. He’d proposed to her.
Not in the optimal manner, of course. Daisy’s father had interrupted his proposal. Still, it had seemed vital Daisy and her father know his intentions were honorable. He’d never paid much attention to the niceties of ritual. It had seemed silly to wait a day so he could call upon Daisy’s house in the afternoon, when he’d known then and there that he wanted to marry Daisy.
A sour taste invaded his throat as he recalled Daisy’s astonished look. He’d misread everything. He’d acted with the sort of unprofessionalism he despised. He’d heard whispers about men who’d propositioned those in their employment. Though Daisy was hardly a servant, she had spent time with him in the hopes of receiving a monetary exchange, not cow-eyed glances, unwelcome dances that risked injuring her, and romantic propositions.
His heart twisted and squeezed, like a cork being forced back into a wine bottle. All this time, he’d imagined there might be something more. Daisy knew him better than anyone else in the world. But she hadn’t seemed pleased at his proposal. She hadn’t smiled, even though heavens knew she always smiled. But then, she knew him. She knew his inclination toward grumpiness, and she knew the terseness of his conversation. Reggie wasn’t the type of man to go about regaling others, and perhaps Daisy wanted that. He touched his face, conscious of the long scar that swiveled from his eye to his chin. Daisy was beautiful.
He turned to the princess. “I’m afraid I haven’t made the best conversation.”
“I don’t mind some quiet,” the princess said. “English is my second language.”
He nodded.
Evidently, he and the princess had something in common. They could both live in silence.
He swallowed hard, and his heart thumped wildly, as if protesting the idea. A month ago, he wouldn’t have minded the prospect, and would even have thought he favored it.
Reggie forced himself to ask the princess about the weather patterns of her home. Daisy wanted him to pick a bride, so he should at least talk to his prospective matches. But his mind focused on Daisy. Blast it, what must she be thinking of him? He needed her. He craved her. He’d met her, and now no one else would do. No title, no piles of money would suffice as solace.
The princess’s bodyguard glowered at them from a corner.
“He’s quite protective,” Reggie noted.
“He’s paid handsomely to be protective,” the princess said.
“That must make you rich.” Reggie realized the words were gauche as soon as he said them.
The princess merely shrugged. “People will pay a lot for diamonds and rubies.”
“I’ve always been partial to emeralds.”
Princess Aria smirked. “Miss Holloway’s eyes resemble emeralds.”
The back of Reggie’s neck burned. “Er—yes.”
He stumbled away from her, remembering too late there were politer ways to end a conversation than abrupt ambling.
“Ah, Your Grace!” An American voice barreled through the room, and Reggie halted. An older woman with auburn hair and a face sprinkled with freckles dragged a younger woman with similar coloring across the ballroom. “Have you met my dearest daughter, Miss Banks?”
Miss Banks gave a miserable smile, doubtless displeased at being hauled across the ballroom.
Reggie forced himself to make polite conversation. He resisted the sudden urge to abandon the ball and bang on the door to Daisy’s home. Doing that wouldn’t change the fact Daisy didn’t wish to marry him. His heart ached, and after the night ended, it was not of princesses or rich heiresses he dreamed.
When dawn arrived, sprinkling peach light over the buildings, the view marred only by morning mist, Reggie sprang from his bed. He flung on his robe and paced the room.