Page 61 of The Villain
She nodded as if in agreement, but could not help but wonder whether he might truly believe that. If he thought none of it mattered, then he would not use them to make a spectacle of her. Of course it mattered. Still, she kept her chin high as he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and guided her from the room.
The low hum of voices reached out to them as they descended the staircase—Niall’s rough brogue mingling with the cultured tones of their guests. Her grip on Adam’s arm tightened, her legs growing weak as they reached the ground floor. From down the corridor, she spotted several people gathered within the foyer, handing their wraps and capes off to a small army of waiting footmen.
Seeming to sense her discomfiture, he gently patted her hand, laying his over where it rested in the bend of his arm. He kept it there, lending her his quiet strength. She raised her chin a tick, adopting the mask of apathy she liked to wear in social settings. The one that hid her boredom and annoyance … the one that covered all her secrets.
“Ah, there our host is now,” boomed one of the waiting guests, spotting Adam and coming forward to greet them. “It is good to see you again, Hart. It has been too long.”
“Indeed, it has,” Adam replied, removing his hand from atop hers so he could extend it to his guest. “Loring, may I present Lady Daphne Fairchild, who has been a guest of Dunnottar recently. Lady Daphne, this is Lord Eugene Loring.”
Forcing a smile, she released Adam’s arm to make her curtsy to Lord Loring—a viscount, if she recalled correctly. They had never been formally introduced, but his wife held a reputation as one of London’s biggest gossips.
Said wife pushed her way past the others to gape at her, a hand pressed against her heavy bosom as if in shock.
“Lady Daphne? Lord Fairchild’s daughter?”
She forced a smile and inclined her head at the woman. “Yes, my lady. It is an honor to meet you …”
She raised her eyebrows to remind the woman she had so rudely begun launching questions at Daphne before even introducing herself.
“Lady Loring,” the old busybody replied imperiously.
Raising her nose and sniffing disdainfully, she moved away from Daphne as if a noxious odor wafted from her.
As if she could smell the sinful nature radiating from her like a cloud of fog. Ignoring the woman, she suffered through the rest of the introductions, pretending not to notice the way Adam’s guests watched her. Portraying various degrees of curiosity or shock, they all seemed to wrestle with themselves over whether to greet her politely or turn their noses up at her. An unmarried woman, a guest of a man in a remote castle in the most far-flung corner of Scotland? Surely, fodder for the gossip mills. Now, not only would they chatter about how the Fairchild family had become paupers, they would also spread the word of her fall from grace.
A knock upon the door drew her eye to Niall, who had been standing nearby like a silent sentry, waiting for the introductions to end so he could see them into the dining room. Now, he moved to answer it, ushering in what she assumed to be the last of Adam’s guests.
An exchange of voices made her blood run cold, the low, deep resonance of the person greeting Niall sending her insides into a frenzy. Her palms began to sweat, and her heart sank into the pit of her gut.
Her feet propelled her backward, horror overwhelming her as the top of a man’s blond head appeared from behind the door. It did not matter that those gathered around her blocked the view of his face … she’d know his voice anywhere. She had run her fingers through that hair while lying on soft patches of grass with her skirts pulled up around her hips and his questing fingers slipping into her drawers. Squeezing her eyes shut, she found her mind’s eye flooded with visions of him hovering over her, the sun gleaming off his golden hair like a halo, his eyes twinkling as he lowered his head for their first kiss.
“No,” she whispered.
He could not be here … not now. She could tolerate being the object of ridicule and scorn for just about anyone … but not him.
Before she realized what she was doing, she had spun on her heels and begun to flee. Adam made a grab for her, but missed, his hand closing around open air as she began retreating down the corridor.
“Daphne?”
His voice froze her in her tracks, and she halted, tears filling her eyes. It was too late … he had recognized her. Blast and damn her hair, which would always give her away in a crowd.
Clenching her skirts in her damp hands, she took a deep breath. There could be no escaping it. Things would only go worse for her if she fell apart in front of these people. Then, not only would they report to thetonthat she’d become a fallen woman, they would also make mention of her unspeakable manners.
Blinking back the tears, she put her mask back in place and turned. He had followed her, standing far closer than she’d realized. His sweet, handsome face filled her vision, his earnest blue eyes boring into hers, the light of the chandelier overhead making his hair gleam like precious gold.
He smiled, though his wrinkled brow and incredulous gaze belied the expression.
“Daphne,” he repeated, as if assuring himself it was truly her. “My God, I thought I was seeing things, but … it truly is you.”
Inclining her head, she forced a girlish smile and forced herself to speak. To greet the man she had hoped would someday become her husband.
“Robert,” she murmured. “It has been an age.”
“Six years, at least,” he replied quickly.
Too quickly. As if he had counted each passing year following her departure to London for her first Season.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder as if to assure they would not be overheard.
