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“Ignore her. Rafe won’t stoop to her level. He has too much self-control for that.”
Danielle Duval fixed her gaze straight ahead and continued walking behind her aunt. They were headed for a spot at the back of the room, a place where Dani could remain for the most part out of sight.
From the corner of her eye, she saw a woman turn abruptly away from her, giving Danielle her back. She could hear people whispering, talking about The Scandal. Dear God, how could she have let her aunt convince her to come?
But Flora Duval Chamberlain had a way of convincing people to her will.
“This charity means everything to me, dearest,” she had said. “You have been instrumental in all the good work we have accomplished and received not a single word of thanks. I refuse to go without you. Please say you will agree to your aunt’s one small request.”
“You know what it will be like for me, Aunt Flora. No one will speak to me. They will talk about me behind my back. I don’t think I can bear to go through that again.”
“You have to come out of hiding sooner or later. It has already been five years! You never did anything to deserve being treated the way you have been. It is high time you reclaimed your place in the world.”
Knowing how much the ball meant to her aunt, Danielle had reluctantly agreed. Besides, Aunt Flora was right. It was time she came out of hiding and reclaimed her life. And she would only be in London for the next two weeks. After that, she was sailing for America, embarking on the new life she intended to make for herself there.
Dani had accepted a proposal of marriage from a man named Richard Clemens, whom she had met in the country, a wealthy American businessman, a widower with two young children. As Richard’s wife, Danielle would have the husband and family she had long ago given up hope of ever having. With her new life on the horizon, coming to the ball at her aunt’s request seemed a small-enough price to pay.
Now that she was there, however, Dani wished with all her heart that she were somewhere—anywhere—besides where she was.
They reached the back of the elegant ballroom and she settled herself on a small gold velvet chair against the wall behind one of the urns overflowing with flowers. A few feet away Aunt Flora, undeterred by the hostile glares being cast in their direction, made her way over to the punch bowl and returned a few minutes later with crystal cups filled to the brim with fruit punch.
“Here, dearest, drink this.” She winked. “I put a splash of something in there to help you relax.”
Danielle opened her mouth to say she didn’t need alcoholic spirits to get through the evening, caught another hostile glare and took a big drink of the punch.
“As co-chairman of the event,” her aunt explained, “I shall be expected to give a brief speech a bit later on. I shall ask for a generous donation from those in attendance, express my gratitude to all for their past support, and then we shall leave.”
It couldn’t happen soon enough for Dani. Though she had known what to expect—the scorn she read in people’s faces; the acquaintances, once her friends, who would not even look her way—hurt even worse than she had imagined.
And then there was Rafael.
Dear God, she had prayed he wouldn’t be here. Aunt Flora had assured her he would simply send a hefty donation as he had done every other year. Instead, here he was, taller, even more handsome than she remembered, exuding every ounce of his powerful presence and aristocratic bearing.
The man who had ruined her.
The man she hated more than anyone on earth.
“Oh, dear.” Aunt Flora waved her painted fan in front of her round, powdered face. “Apparently I was wrong. It appears His Grace, the Duke of Sheffield, is here.”
For an instant, Dani’s back teeth ground together. “Yes…so it would seem.” And Rafe had seen her walk in, Danielle knew. For an instant their eyes had met and held, hers as green as his were blue. She had seen the flash of anger before his gaze became shuttered, then the bland expression he had been wearing before he saw her fell back into place.
Her own temper climbed. She had never seen that look on his face before, so calm, so completely unruffled, almost serene. It made her want to hit him. To slap the smug, condescending look off his too-handsome face.
Instead, she sat in her chair against the wall, ignored by old friends, whispered about by people she didn’t even know, wishing her aunt would finish her speech and they could go home.
Rafael handed his betrothed, Lady Mary Rose Montague, back into the care of her mother and father, the Earl and Countess of Throckmorton.
“Perhaps you will save another dance for me later,” Rafe said to the little blonde, bowing over her hand.
“Of course, Your Grace.”
He nodded, turned away.
“They will be playing a waltz a bit later,” said Mary Rose. “Perhaps you would…”
But Rafe was already walking away, his mind on another woman far different from the one he intended to wed. Danielle Duval. Just the sound of her name, whispering through the back of his mind, was enough to make his temper shoot to dangerous levels. It had taken him years to learn to control his volatile nature, to bring his emotions under control. These days, he rarely shouted, rarely lost his temper. Rarely allowed his passionate nature to get out of hand.
Not since Danielle.
Loving Danielle Duval had taught him a valuable lesson—the terrible cost of letting one’s emotions rule one’s head and heart. Love was a disease that could unman a man. It had nearly destroyed Rafael.
He glanced toward the rear of the ballroom, catching a flash of Danielle’s bright hair. She was here. He could scarcely believe it. How dare she show her face after what she had done!
Determined to ignore her, Rafe went to join his friends at the edge of the dance floor. The instant he walked up, he knew the group had spotted Danielle.
He took a glass of champagne off the silver tray of a passing waiter. “So…from the astonished looks on your faces, I gather you have seen her.”
Cord shook his head. “I can’t believe she had the nerve to come here.”
“The woman has unmitigated gall,” Ethan added darkly.
Rafe flicked a glance at Grace, who studied him over the rim of her glass of champagne.
“She is quite beautiful,” Grace said. “I can see why you fell in love with her.”
His jaw tightened. “I fell in love with the woman because I was an idiot. Believe me, I paid the price for my folly, and I assure you it won’t happen again.”
Victoria’s head came up. She was the shorter of the women, with heavy brown hair as opposed to Grace’s rich auburn curls. “Surely you don’t mean you will never again fall in love,” she said.
“That is precisely what I mean.”
“But what about Mary Rose? Surely you love her at least a little.”
“I care for the girl. I wouldn’t marry her if I didn’t. She’s a lovely young woman with a pleasant, biddable nature, and a very fine pedigree.”
Ethan rolled his pale blue eyes. “Need I remind you, my friend, we’re discussing a woman here, not a horse?”
Cord stared off toward the redhead at the far end of the ballroom. “You’re doing a splendid job of ignoring her. I don’t know if I could be quite so magnanimous.”
Rafe scoffed. “It isn’t all that hard. The woman means nothing to me—not anymore.”
But his gaze strayed again across the dance floor. He caught a glimpse of the deep red curls on top of Danielle’s head and felt a rush of angry heat to the back of his neck. He itched to stride across the floor and wrap his hands around her throat, to squeeze the very life from her. It was a feeling he hadn’t known since the day he’d last seen her—five years ago.
The memory returned with shocking force…the weeklong house party at the country estate of his friend Oliver Randall. The excitement he felt, knowing Danielle, her mother and aunt would be among the guests. Ollie Randall was the third son of the Marquess of Caverly, and the family estate, Woodhaven, was palatial.
The weeklong visit was magical, at least for Rafe. Long, lazy afternoons spent with Danielle, evenings of dancing and the chance for them to steal a few moments alone. Then, two nights before week’s end, Rafe had stumbled upon a note, a brief message signed by Danielle. It was addressed to Oliver, had obviously been read and tossed away, and in it Dani invited Ollie to her room that night.
I must see you, Oliver. Only you can save me from making a terrible mistake. Please, I beg you, come to my room at midnight. I will be waiting.
Yours, Danielle
Rafe felt torn between anger and disbelief. He was in love with Danielle and he had believed she loved him.
It was only a few minutes after midnight that Rafe knocked, then turned the knob on Danielle’s door. When the door swung open, he saw his friend lying in bed with his betrothed.
Lying naked beside the woman he loved.
He could still remember the wave of nausea that had rolled through his stomach, the awful, terrible feeling of betrayal.
It rose again now as the music in the ballroom reached a crescendo. Rafe fixed his gaze on the orchestra, determined to dispel the unwanted memories, to bury them as he had done five years ago.
He spent the next hour dancing with the wives of his friends, then danced again with Mary Rose. A brief speech was made by one of the co-chairwomen of the fund-raising event, and recognizing Flora Duval Chamberlain, he understood why Danielle had come.
Or at least part of the reason.
If there were others, he would never know. After the brief speeches ended and the dancing resumed, Rafe looked again across the ballroom.
Danielle Duval was no longer there.
Two
“Did you see the way he looked at her?” Smoothing back a curl of her heavy chestnut hair, Victoria Easton, Countess of Brant, sat on the brocade sofa in the Blue Drawing Room of the town house she shared with her husband and ten-month-old son. Her blond, elegantly lovely sister, Claire, Lady Percival Chezwick, and her best friend, Grace Sharpe, Marchioness of Belford, sat just a few feet away.
“It was really quite something,” Grace said. “There was fire in that man’s eyes. I have never seen quite that expression on his face.”
“He was probably just angry she had come,” Claire reasoned. “I wish I had been there to see it.”
Tory had ordered tea but the butler had not yet arrived with the cart, though she could hear the wheels rattling down the marble-floored corridor on the other side of the door. “You weren’t there because you were home with Percy doing something far more fun than attending a benefit ball.”
Claire giggled. She was the youngest of the women and, even after her marriage, still the most naive. “We had a wonderful night. Percy is so romantic. Still, I should have enjoyed seeing a truly scarlet woman.”
“I felt sorry for Rafael,” Grace said. “Rafe must have truly loved her. He tried to hide it, but he was furious, even after all these years.”
“Yes, and Rafe rarely loses his temper,” Tory said. She sighed. “It’s terrible what she did to him. I’m surprised she fooled him so completely. Rafe is usually a very good judge of character.”
“So exactly what did she do?” Claire asked, leaning forward in her chair.
“According to Cord, Danielle invited a friend of Rafe’s into her bed—with Rafe and a number of guests just down the hall. He caught them and that was the end of their betrothal. It was all very public. The scandal followed him for years.”
Grace smoothed a faint wrinkle in the skirt of her high-waisted apricot muslin skirt. “Danielle Duval is the reason Rafe is determined to marry without love.” A week ago, her little boy, Andrew Ethan, had just turned six months old, but Grace’s lithe figure had already returned.
Timmons knocked just then and Tory beckoned the short, stout butler into the room. The tea cart rattled over to the Oriental carpet and stopped in front of the sofa, then the small man silently left the drawing room.
“All is not yet lost,” Tory said to Grace, leaning forward to pour the steaming brew into three gold-rimmed porcelain cups. “You gave Rafael the necklace, so there is still a ray of hope.”
Rafe had been instrumental in saving Grace’s life and that of her newborn baby. She had wanted her friend to find the happiness she had found with Ethan, so she had given the duke a very special gift. The Bride’s Necklace, an ancient piece of jewelry made in the thirteenth century for the bride of the Lord of Fallon. The necklace, it was said, carried a curse—it could bring great joy or terrible tragedy, depending on whether or not its owner’s heart was pure.
“I suppose you’re right,” Grace agreed. “Rafe has the necklace, so there is yet a chance for him to find happiness.”
Claire toyed with the handle on her teacup. “What if all the things that happened to you and Tory were just strange coincidences and nothing at all to do with the necklace? It could be, you know.”
Tory sighed, knowing her sister might be right. “It’s possible, I guess, but…” But Tory couldn’t help thinking of the time the necklace had belonged to her, of the wonderful man she had married and their beautiful infant son, Jeremy Cordell, who was asleep in the nursery upstairs.
She couldn’t help remembering that she had given the necklace to Grace, who had met Ethan and saved him from the darkness that surrounded him. Grace, who now also had a wonderful husband and son.
And there was her stepfather, Miles Whiting, Baron Harwood, an evil man who had owned the necklace and now lay moldering in his grave.
Tory shivered, shoving away the unwanted thought. “We know Rafe has a good heart. We can only hope the necklace will work.”
Claire looked up from studying the leaves in the bottom of her teacup. “Maybe the duke will fall in love with Mary Rose. That would be the perfect solution.”
Tory cast Grace a look and tried not to grin when Grace rolled her eyes. “That is a very good notion, Claire. Perhaps he will.”
But when she thought of the searing glance Rafe had tossed at Danielle Duval, she couldn’t make herself believe it.
“Please, Aunt Flora. I simply cannot do it. How can you even think of asking me to go through that again?”
They were standing in Danielle’s bedchamber, in their elegant suite at the Chesterfield Hotel, a lovely room done in shades of gold and dark green. Aunt Flora had let the rooms for the next two weeks, until their ship set sail for America.
“Come, now, dearest. This is an entirely different sort of affair. To begin with, this is an afternoon tea, not a ball, and a number of the children will be there. You know how you love children, and you are always so good with them.”
Dani toyed with the sash on her blue quilted wrapper. It was not yet noon. The benefit tea would begin in a little over an hour. “The affair may be different, but I will be shunned, just as I was before. You saw how people treated me.”
“Yes, I did, and I was proud of the way you conducted yourself. You made it clear you had every right to be there. I thought you handled the situation beautifully.”
“I was miserable, every single moment.”
Aunt Flora sighed dramatically. “Yes, well, I am truly sorry about the duke.” She looked up at Dani from beneath a set of finely plucked, silver-gray eyebrows. “At least the man didn’t cause you any trouble.”
Dani didn’t mention the angry look he had tossed her, or the furious expression he couldn’t quite hide. “He would have been sorry if he had said even one word.”
“Well, he won’t be there this time, I promise you.”
She glanced down at her aunt, who was a good eight inches shorter and quite a few stone heavier. “How can you be so certain?”
“It was merely a fluke the last time. An afternoon tea is hardly the sort of affair that would interest a duke. Besides, I wouldn’t ask you to go if I were feeling up to snuff. Lately I’ve been a bit under the weather.” She coughed lightly for effect, hoping to make Dani feel guilty.
Instead, Danielle saw it as a last thin ray of hope. “Perhaps, since you are ill, it would be best if you stayed home, as well. We can have some nice hot tea and fresh scones sent up and—”
Aunt Flora stopped her words. “As co-chairwoman of the society, I have duties, responsibilities. As long as you are with me, I shall be fine.”
Dani’s shoulders sagged. How did her aunt always manage to get her way? Then again, Aunt Flora had agreed to accompany her on the difficult journey to America. She would be there for Dani’s wedding and remain until she was settled with her husband in her new home. Surely she could buck up enough to make it through this last fund-raising event before they departed.
And, as Aunt Flora had said, the children would be there. There would be at least a few friendly faces to get her through the afternoon affair.
A knock at the door drew her attention. An instant later, the door swung open and her lady’s maid, Caroline Loon, walked in.
Caro smiled widely. “Lady Wycombe sent for me. Shall I help you pick out something to wear?”
