A Duchess in the Dark(16)

James swatted Ashton on the shoulder with a section of rolled-up newspaper. “Wake up, man.” Another swat, this one more forceful. “Who’s the saucy chit? What’s her name?”

Ashton turned to face James. “Daphne.”

James laughed. “Do be serious. Who is she?” Ashton arched a brow, not the least bit amused. James’s smile faded. “By God, you are serious.”

“Quite.”

Ashton braced himself for indignant anger. James and Daphne were only related by marriage, but James was quite protective of her.

“She came to your bed?” James said, as though he was trying to wrap his feeble mind around the idea. “I don’t believe it.”

“She thought I was Wallingford,” Ashton said, hating the words.

Silence. Finally, “And you intend to wed her?”

“I do,” Ashton said. “And you can hang if you don’t approve.”

James pulled two Spanish cigars from a tortoiseshell box on the table next to him. He handed one to Ashton. “Good, then I won’t have to kill you.”

“You approve, then?”

James shrugged lightly, lighting his cigar on a nearby candle flame. “I’m not entirely oblivious, my man. I’ve seen the way you look at her, as though you’d love nothing more than to worship at her feet. I can’t say I’ve ever seen you quite so besotted.” He tilted his head toward Wallingford. “But I have a feeling that one won’t step aside so easily.”

“He’s had two years to propose and hasn’t. The man’s a damn fool, if you ask me.”

“Yes, well, he might be closer to proposing now that she has a ten-thousand-pound dowry.”

Ashton stared at him blankly. “Ten thousand pounds?”

James lifted his hands in surrender. “I was trying to draw out potential suitors, someone other than Wallingford. He may play the saint, but he has penchants toward gambling and women that are quite troublesome. She deserves far better.” He took a long draw from his cigar and released it in a billow of smoke. “Unfortunately, the news of her dowry only seemed to arouse his competitive spirit. He’s been uncommonly attentive these last few days. The man is working up to a proposal, mark my words.”

Ashton shook his head. “He’s had her affection for two years, and he was fool enough to cast it aside.” What Ashton would give for just a taste of Daphne’s affection. He’d give his whole damn fortune, if that’s what it took. To him, she was worth so much more than ten thousand pounds. “Tell him he can’t have her. It’s as simple as that.”

James smirked. “So easy, is it? I told him as much a fortnight past, at the Carlyle ball. Lo and behold, Daphne ends up in your bed in the dead of night, searching for Wallingford. A coincidence? I think not.”

Ashton released a sharp breath. She’d clearly intended to give herself to Wallingford that night to force James’s hand. If she were ruined, there would be no question about marrying Wallingford. Fortunately for Ashton, she’d slipped into the wrong bed. Now all he had to do was win her heart—a seemingly monumental task.

“How did you convince Margaret to marry you?” His gaze strayed to Wallingford again. He was winning, apparently. Could the man lose at nothing?

With a long-suffering sigh, James settled back into his chair, cigar resting firmly between his clenched teeth. “Women, the marrying types, love nothing more than humiliating declarations of affection.” He reached out and slapped Ashton on the shoulder. “They want you to make a fool of yourself. Only then are they happy.”

Good Lord, he knew there was a reason why he’d always avoided marriage. He was a duke, for God’s sake—a well-respected member of Parliament, a man with considerable wealth and connections. He was a fool for no one, and most certainly not for a woman. But Daphne…Lord, she was different. He’d sacrifice anything, even his foolish pride, to posses her.

Thirty minutes later, the gentlemen had rejoined the ladies in the salon. Ashton watched idly—and with growing irritation—as Wallingford leaned toward Daphne and imparted something amusing. She tipped her head back and laughed, heartily and without reservation. No delicate smiles or false bubbling laughter. She was real and genuine and gave all of herself—something quite rare in a woman of Daphne’s education and breeding. Somehow, against all odds, she remained untainted by the stale politeness of society.

Ashton’s attention was drawn away when James called him over to the pianoforte to sing a duet with Miss Wallingford. He obliged grudgingly, not wanting to offend her.