Page 30 of The Dove
She simply nodded in response to his words, dismissing him with a turn of her head as another man stepped forward to sign for a dance. He backed away, but only enough to let more of them through. Truly, the longer he watched the spectacle, the more amused he became. They were tripping over themselves trying to gain her notice while his lingering presence put her on edge, unable to keep from flicking her gaze to him once in a while. They all stood a snowball’s chance in Hell with her, and they both knew it.
Eventually, a familiar face broke through the crowd, causing the back of his neck to tingle and his hands to ball into fists.
The Honourable Mr. Robert Stanley … the fool who was in love with his Daphne.
The discomfiture on Daphne’s face as the man came forward and bowed over her hand, gushing about how lovely she looked and how good it was to see her, put Adam’s teeth on edge. He wanted to shove his body between them and slam his fist into the man’s arrogant face. He wanted to take her by the back of the neck and steer her to the nearest empty room so that he could obliterate any feelings she might still have toward Robert, leaving room only for the tempest of emotion he wanted to fill her with.
It infuriated him to no end that the insipid mama’s boy had been the first to touch her, to awaken the passion thrumming through her veins. The first to taste her, to create those lusty sounds from the back of her throat. The first to know what it was to call her his own.
He had not forgotten how Robert had attempted to get Daphne off alone, to kiss and touch his little dove when he’d thought no one was looking. It was only for Daphne’s sake that he hadn’t broken the man’s neck after finding them together, seeing the evidence of their affection for each other.
From where he stood, he saw Robert sign for a pair of country dances, an act that had him grinding his teeth until his jaw ached. That would put them in each other’s company for half an hour, long enough for him to plead his case. If the letter Adam had found in Daphne’s drawing room were any indication, she could expect the man to propose marriage at any moment. He thought himself her white knight, the noble hero who would save her from the beast that had made a ruin of her life.
Yet, as Robert finished signing for his dances and she glanced up to meet Adam’s gaze, he felt as if she shared the exact same thought as him.
She did not wish to be saved.
Nearly an hour after arriving at the Mallorys’ ball, Daphne suffered from sore feet and a pounding head. She had expected attention and speculation, her first true public appearance since returning from Dunnottar. The first time she would step foot into a room with so many members of thetonin over three months.
She’d been unprepared for the number of men who’d wanted to sign her dance card … or for the presence of both Robert and Adam in the same room.
Truly, it should not have shocked her. That Adam would, once again, seek to be seen with her in public fell in line with his vendetta. And Robert, being part of thetonand having just arrived in town, should be expected to attend one of the biggest soirées of the Season.
Yet, knowing these things had not prepared her to feel the weight of both men staring at her from opposite ends of the room—Robert with an almost pitiful sort of longing, Adam with a frightening mixture of annoyance and lust. She felt their pull, the call of both parts of herself—the guilt she felt over not wanting Robert as much as she once had. He was a good man, an honest and amiable one. The sort of man who could marry her, and give her children, and cater to her every whim for the rest of her life. And yet, the thought of life with him made her unaccountably sad. It made her feel as if the bars of a cage constricted around her, so tight she could not breathe.
The other part of her self—the part hidden in the darkest corners of her soul, craved Adam’s eyes on her, enjoyed the thrill of being watched, hunted, stalked. Her skin fairly tingled, even as she engaged in conversation with the few who would address her—mostly men, as the majority of women in the room avoided her as if she carried some offensive odor. Even as she sipped champagne and nibbled on finger sandwiches. Even as she was taken out onto the floor for dance after dance. She remained ever-aware of Adam and his location in the room. Several times, she found herself staring at him, shivers wracking her as she watched him stroke his thumb over the pads of his fingers, as if he imagined touching her, hurting her, squeezing the air from her lungs with that hand around her throat.
By the time Robert approached her for their pair of country dances, she felt as if she would go up in flames. She did her best to affix her bland, polite mask over her face as he took her hand and led her onto the floor amid the others.
“I suppose Bertram gave you my note,” he murmured as they took their places.
She glanced at him and tried to smile, but the memory of Adam holding that envelope made her throat constrict. He’d left it to crumble on the floor after their explosive encounter in the drawing room. She’d smoothed out the rumpled page and read his pleas for her to call upon him at his townhome. He’d stated once again that he did not care about Adam or that she was no longer a maiden. He loved her, and he wished to discuss their future.
“He did,” she replied, turning to face him as the music began. “I have meant to respond, it is just …”
I did not know what to say.
What could she tell him? That she’d become hopelessly ruined by Adam, so much so that she could never enjoy the touch of a man like him? A man who was too soft to give her what she truly needed? A man who did not possess even half the passion and fire that Adam unleashed upon her every chance he got?
“I understand,” he said with that amiable smile of his. “I am certain you’ve been quite busy since returning to London. I’ve heard of your performance at the Bellinghams’ musicale. They are saying you played magnificently.”
She fought the urge to frown. The man was so damnedagreeable.Faced with the truth of her neglect and lack of action in regards to his letter, he simply smiled and allowed it to go unchecked.
Adam would have punished her for it, demanded an answer, reminded her that he was never to be ignored.
She sighed and focused on the conversation at hand. Robert was saying something, and she’d missed half of it.
“… allow me to call upon you at home tomorrow afternoon?” he finished, giving her a hopeful glance as they circled each other, parting and coming back together just like the other couples surrounding them. “I should very much like to have that conversation. If you are amenable, that is.”
It took all her willpower to keep from rolling her eyes. Had he always been this bloody polite, even when sliding his hands beneath her skirts? The memories came hazy now, smothered by the recollection of how it felt to be dominated by Adam … but, yes, now that she allowed herself to think on it, Robert had been this courtly even about fucking her. He’d begged to be let inside her, whimpering against her neck while pressing his erection against her hip. He could have pinned her down, demanded she stop teasing him and give in, stoking the hidden desires lying dormant inside her.
She almost laughed at the irony of it all … that for him to go against her wishes would have been exactly what she’d wanted … even if she hadn’t realized it at the time. She truly was sick … and the disease affecting her had a name.
Lord Adam Callahan.
“I think that would be fine,” she relented.
It would not do to string him along. When he came to visit, she would let him down gently—tell him that even though she had fond memories of their time together, she simply could not marry him.
