Dangerous in Diamonds - Madeline Hunter [52]
The night’s collective annoyances crystallized in that instant. Castleford came very close to breaking the wine bottle over Latham’s head. While he restrained himself, the notion entered his head that if Latham did pursue Daphne Joyes, a good reason would inevitably be found to call him out one day. God knew the world would be better for it.
If you ever get the chance, kill him, Tristan.
“Try for her if you dare,” he said lazily. “She is known as a very proud woman, however. Formidable, she is called. Not your sort, really. Not at all helpless.”
Latham thought that was very funny. He grinned into his wine while he drank.
Castleford decided he had suffered the man’s company too long. That he had been subjected to this tête-à-tête only because Daphne had caught the blackguard’s eye did nothing for his mood.
Just as he was about to take his leave, the lovely woman in question strolled by with the rest of his party. Latham noticed. He hailed Hawkeswell, who did not know better and came over. Introductions ensued.
Latham paused a five count on meeting Jonathan Albrighton. His attempt to place the face if not the name produced a frown but ultimately failed. Latham then turned his charm and eloquence on the ladies one by one, and finally on the object of his interest.
Daphne Joyes did not react much at all to the new duke’s recollection of her service in his father’s house. She did nothing to reveal her dislike of the man, either. Instead Castleford watched her smile in that cool, distant, utterly composed manner she could assume, while her gray eyes looked through Latham as if he were made of glass.
Seeing Latham was, Daphne decided, a hideous ending to a glorious night.
Punishment, that’s what it was.
She had barely experienced Vauxhall Gardens due to her sensual daze. Even as she talked with her friends and listened to the music, even while she strolled the grounds and watched the crowds, the entire place appeared like a magical world just out of reach, not quite real.
It was all pleasure’s fault. Shocking, extreme pleasure. Long after the physical effects had faded—and it took a good while for that to happen—the mist on her senses had not lifted.
That all shattered when she heard the voice calling Hawkeswell. She looked toward the call, and reality slammed into her hard. There, in one of the dining boxes, sat Latham. And beside him, sprawled on a chair that was not inclined to accommodate such relaxation, was Castleford.
They had been drinking wine together, she noticed when Hawkeswell dragged them all over there. Castleford did not appear especially pleased by whatever Latham had been saying, but then, now that she had the clarity to think about it, he had not appeared in good humor ever since they left the barge.
She tried not to see Latham during the introductions. She pretended he was not really there even while she responded to his recollections about meeting before. She sought sanctuary in her poise, because she would be damned before she let the man glimpse evidence of the visceral reaction churning inside her.
“Do you live in town now, Mrs. Joyes?” Latham asked. “I vaguely remember your moving north when you left the girls.”
“My husband’s regiment was in the north.”
“Mrs. Joyes is only visiting London,” Castleford said. “She lives in the country. Kent, I believe, Mrs. Joyes?”
A few of their party exchanged curious glances at that, but none corrected him. Daphne only tipped her head in what might be seen as a gesture of assent.
Verity made reference to completing their promenade. Castleford left the box to join them. No one invited Latham.
Daphne turned, grateful to escape. It was not to be, unfortunately.
“Mrs. Joyes,” Latham said, claiming her