Dangerous in Diamonds - Madeline Hunter [56]
She was just sealing Celia’s letter when a footman arrived to announce that a caller waited below. No card had been sent up. Instead the footman bore a nosegay of yellow roses and a letter.
Ten minutes, no more, I promise, was all the letter said. It was signed Latham.
She set the flowers aside to wilt and contemplated this request for a visit. After debating it every which way, she decided she should discover what the man had on his mind. Not a pursuit, the way Castleford expected. She was almost certain of that. Even Latham could not be that conceited.
She found him below in the drawing room. During their greetings, she gave him a better examination than she had last night.
Nine years changed any person, but it particularly affected men if it spanned the end of their youth and the beginning of maturity. She noted that the slight softness in Latham’s face had ceased being the remnants of his boyhood and become instead the evidence of a man who indulged his appetites. Still, most women would find him attractive, even handsome, she admitted. They would also find his sedate dress and hair and his easy, amiable charm reassuring and comforting. Thus did wolves hide in sheep’s clothing.
“Miss Avonleah—excuse me, Mrs. Joyes now—I had to call.”
“How did you know where I was staying?”
“I had but to ask around. Society is aware of your visit in this house. I hope that you do not mind that I did ask and sought you out.”
“I am not pleased. Last night was unavoidable for me. This was not.”
He smiled politely, but merriment at her formality showed in his eyes. “Seeing you astonished me. I never thought I would again. Also, I confess it made me nostalgic for those years when I was much younger, and my father’s household was my second home still.”
Did he think that was humorous? Or, heaven forbid, that seeing him had made her nostalgic too? “It is your home completely now, so you can indulge your nostalgia daily. Will you be going down to the country again for that purpose?”
“I do not think so, not soon at least. I have been asked to stay in town. Liverpool thinks I may be needed.”
Already he had insinuated himself into the highest ranks of influence. She found that dismaying. Of course, he was a duke now. Probably all of them were needed in times of trouble, if they were of a mind to heed England’s call.
“I assume that Lord Liverpool has read your essays, if he favors you now.”
“He has read them. Have you? Did you find them at all inspiring or useful?”
“I found them humorous, coming from you. Let us not pretend that you do not know why.”
He acknowledged that he did know why with a vague bow of his head and a boyish smile that feigned a degree of chagrin. He probably thought that little gesture of embarrassment apology enough for his youthful sins.
She suspected he had practiced the expression in the looking glass for just those occasions when someone mentioned they knew a great deal more about him than he wanted remembered.
He did not appear inclined to say only a few words and then quickly leave. She in turn felt obligated to sit, so he could make it a proper call. Ten minutes the note had said. He would not get eleven.
“I was not aware that you had married, Daphne.”
She marked his change of tone. And the way he used her Christian name. And the way he looked at her. His attempt at intimacy was bold and insulting, but perhaps she should have expected it.
She remembered how he used to slyly flirt with her when he visited his father’s house. Being young and lonely, she had actually found that charming, even flattering. She later blamed herself for the kisses and intimacy that followed, but after years of doing so she had come to realize how dishonorably he had behaved. No one, not even she, would claim it had been like that poor scullery maid, of course. Her gentle