A Duchess in the Dark(14)

Oh, good God. What were they discussing? Did Ashton intend to tell Edward about their tryst?

Daphne narrowed her eyes and made straight for Edward and Ashton, who at that moment, parted company to find seats at the table with the rest of the guests. Edward sat at the far end of the table, and as luck would have it, there was an empty chair beside him. With unladylike quickness, she rushed to claim the chair beside him. She slid into it with a triumphant smile, snapped her napkin open, and smoothed it onto her lap. When she looked up, several of the guests were staring at her.

“My favorite chair,” she said by way of explanation. If they harbored suspicions about Daphne and her attachment to Edward, then it would hardly matter in a few days when they announced their engagement. Now he only need ask.

“That was an interesting spectacle,” a deep, resonant voice said from the empty seat beside her. Not quite so empty, after all. Like a stalking leopard, Ashton had somehow managed to slip into the seat unseen and now lounged casually to one side, pinching the stem of his wineglass between his fingers.

“There are several unclaimed chairs. Must you choose the one next to me?”

His lips quirked into a wolfish grin. “It pleases me to be in your company, Miss Hayward. Is there anything wrong with that?”

Yes, plenty. She could name at least three dozen off the top of her head.

“Not a word,” she warned. “I shall speak with you later.”

He dipped his head closer, the subtle scent of his cologne curling around her senses. “Not to worry. I wouldn’t dream of exciting your anger.” His voice was low, a hint of amusement in his tone.

She glared, and those exotic eyes stared back, amused and unflinching. A shiver of awareness trickled down her spine. She quickly turned and smiled at Edward, who’d been watching their exchange with avid interest.

“I hadn’t realized you were so intimately acquainted with His Grace,” he said, looking suspicious.

“I’m not,” she said in a rush. Heat crept into her cheeks and she shook her head. “What I meant to say is that he’s a close friend of my brother-in-law’s, but I wouldn’t say we are intimately acquainted. Marginally acquainted, at best.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, she felt a strong hand—Ashton’s—grip her thigh and trail upward. Tingles spread throughout her body, igniting a slow, steady burn low in her belly. She placed a hand on his, attempting to stop its journey upward. It was no use. He was too strong, and he seemed determined to rile her.

“Remarkable.” Edward glanced between her and Ashton, the latter of whom was focused on the guest seated beside him, his hand still clasped firmly on to Daphne’s thigh beneath the table. “You two seem quite at ease in each other’s company.”

“Oh, indeed?” Daphne flashed him a nervous smile. She picked up her wineglass and leaned in, her voice a whisper. “Confidentially, he’s not quite right, if you catch my meaning. A blow to the head or some such. Sad, really. The oddest things come out of his mouth. I wouldn’t put much worth in what he says.”

Edward looked at her skeptically. “He seems perfectly sound to me.”

Daphne set down her wineglass and speared a piece of chicken with her fork. “That’s precisely the danger, my lord. One minute he’s quite coherent and the next he’s spinning fantastical tales about perfectly respectable ladies. Unstable, that one. Mark my words.”

At that precise moment, Ashton pressed his long, deft fingers against her center, stroking her through the fabric of her dress. The shock and pleasure of his touch made her gasp aloud. Her arm jerked back, knocking over her crystal wineglass. Red liquid spread across the white linen tablecloth and directly into Edward’s lap. He pushed back in his chair and stood, but not before the wine drenched his breeches, dribbling down his leg and disappearing into his boot.

“Daphne!” he hissed. “You mindless idiot.”

Daphne stilled, stricken silent by his harsh words. In the two years she’d known him, he’d never uttered anything so hurtful. Ever. He’d always been the model gentleman: kind, polite, with a shyness she found endearing.

Tears stung the backs of her eyes, and for several seconds she sat there dumbly, staring as Edward helplessly swatted at the stain. She didn’t notice the entire table had gone silent and Ashton now leaned over the table, placing himself between her and Edward.

“Insult her again, Wallingford, and I’ll call you out. I swear it.” His voice was low, deadly, meant for Edward’s ears alone.

Daphne’s heart leapt at his words. He spoke for her, defended her, when she had no voice for herself. Gratitude and something far more poignant—affection, perhaps—bloomed in her chest.