Kiss Me at Christmas--Playful Brides Read online

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Regina walked slowly up the stairs toward Nicole’s bedchamber. Her cousin wanted her to flirt with Daffin. She didn’t want Regina to give up on her original goal of coaxing him into bed. But Regina didn’t feel right about it any longer. Daffin wasn’t just handsome. He was a good man. He was a noble man. The kind of man who wanted to protect his friends. The kind of man who would go after a criminal who’d hurt a child. She’d treated him like an object. She’d called him a Greek god. But he was a person. A human being with thoughts and feelings … and a past. A past she suspected was a difficult one.

  He was easy to talk to, she’d discovered. She’d told him what she hadn’t told anyone else, that she’d held out hope for a love match. She supposed the idea of a love match had always been silly. If a love match hadn’t happened for her by the ripe age of thirty, did it stand a chance of happening now? But Daffin didn’t seem to judge her, the way people in her own social sphere did.

  Had his parents been a love match? He didn’t seem inclined to talk about them and his father had been hideous according to Daffin. How so? And how had his mother died? Regina felt it had cost him to say as much as he had. In the dining room just now, she felt as if she and Daffin had shared a connection, however fleeting. He hadn’t wanted to talk about his past, but she’d got the impression he wanted to tell someone about it. Perhaps they were a burden, the things he found painful. She wouldn’t tell Nicole. She didn’t want to betray the confidence Daffin had placed in her.

  She knocked on Nicole’s door.

  “Come in,” came her cousin’s bright voice.

  Nicole was sitting at her writing desk, daydreaming. She tossed down her quill and turned to Regina. “What did Daffin say about how to discover which one of us is being targeted?”

  Regina walked slowly toward her, rubbing her arms. “He said he didn’t think it was a coincidence that both attacks were on Uncle Edward’s coach.”

  “Hmm. What does he make of it?” Nicole asked, blinking.

  “He thinks it’s likely I am the target.”

  Nicole nodded sagely. “I hate to believe that but it may well be true. I just don’t know who would want to hurt you.”

  “Neither do I. It makes no sense.” Regina sighed. “Daffin didn’t like my suggestion offering myself as bait.”

  Nicole rolled her eyes. “Of course he didn’t. He doesn’t want to place you in danger, but we cannot stay prisoners in this house.”

  “I agree. He said if we would like to go out, I’m to let him know and he’ll make preparations. I already told him about the Hillards’ ball tomorrow night.”

  Nicole leaned an arm on the back of the chair. “Is it silly of me to hold out hope that the two accidents were mere coincidences? Perhaps no one is after either of us.”

  “I do hope you’re right. I suppose we’ll find out sooner or later. Now.” Regina nodded toward the letter sitting in front of Nicole. “Who are you writing to?”

  “I was attempting to write my friend Daphne Cavendish. But you know how much I hate writing.”

  “Daphne Cavendish? She’s married to the Viscount Spy, is she not?”

  “That’s right, her husband, Rafe, is good friends with Mark. So is Rafe’s twin brother, Cade. The last I heard from her, she was having trouble with her young cousin’s parrot.”

  “Her what?” Regina asked, slightly shocked. “Did you say parrot?”

  “Yes,” Nicole replied. “It’s quite a long story, but after her thirteen-year-old cousin Delilah discovered she had a pirate in her family—she insists Cade is a pirate, but I promise you, he’s truly a privateer—the girl was obsessed with procuring a parrot. Rafe indulged her and now she’s got the thing and apparently it’s been nothing but a nuisance.”

  “How so?” Regina asked, still smiling.

  Nicole’s eyes sparkled. “According to Daphne’s last letter, he repeats everything he hears, and if that’s not annoying enough, he bites.”

  “Everyone?” Regina asked.

  “No. Only certain people. Delilah insists he’s jealous.” Nicole laughed.

  “She sounds like quite the character, that one,” Regina said, shaking her head.

  “She is,” Nicole agreed, nodding. “You should meet her one day soon. She’d love to help you find a husband. She adores matchmaking. Though she admits she’s a hideous matchmaker at present, she argues that she needs opportunities to practice.”

  “I do look forward to meeting Delilah,” Regina said, “but I’d need the most experienced matchmaker in the country if I’m to find a better husband than Dryden in a week’s time.”

  “Hmm.” Nicole stared at the wall, as if lost in thought. “The most skilled matchmaker in the land, eh?”

  “Who?” Regina prompted.

  “Delilah’s mentor. Do you know the Duchess of Claringdon? Lucy Hunt?”

  * * *

  Regina was sitting in the front salon that evening after dinner, reading periodicals, when a slight knock sounded at the door. It had grown dark and the maids had lit the lamps. She glanced up to see Daffin enter. She self-consciously pushed a lock of hair behind her ear, cleared her throat and sat up straight. Then slumped a bit so as not to look as if she were trying too hard.

  “Lady Regina,” he said.

  “Yes?” She did her best to seem nonchalant. She might have decided that they would merely be friends, but he was still good-looking. And smart. And funny. And brave. And … oh, she could go on.

  “May I … have a word?”

  “Of course.”

  He closed the door behind him and came to sit near her on the settee. “I’ve thought about what you said.”

  She’d said a great many things earlier today. “About?”

  “About determining who the target is.”

  Her back went ramrod straight and her eyes widened. “You’ve changed your mind? You’re willing to use me as bait?”

  “Bait, no, but I do think it’s important that we isolate you from Nicole the next time we leave the house.”

  Regina closed the periodical and nodded. “I can always find errands to attend to, and there’s the ball tomorrow night.”

  Daffin leaned forward in his seat. “Yes, I think the ball will be perfect, and I will be there with you to ensure you remain safe.”

  Regina nodded. A thrill shot through her belly. She still feared another carriage accident, but the idea of helping Daffin bring down the madman—if any—targeting her family made her feel useful, just as she had in Surrey when she’d helped find John’s murderer. “What do you suggest?”

  “Is there someone besides Nicole who can attend the ball with you tomorrow night to act as your chaperone?”

  Regina absently ran a hand over the cover of the periodical. “It’s funny you should mention it because Nicole wrote to the Duchess of Claringdon earlier to ask her to accompany us.”

  “Excellent. If we can convince Nicole to stay here, we may be able to coax this blackguard into making a move. And if nothing happens … perhaps Nicole is the target after all.”

  A smile tugged at Regina’s lips. “I’m game if you are.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The next evening, Lucy Hunt arrived at Mark’s town house and readily agreed to send her coach back home so they could use Uncle Edward’s coach instead. It had been a chore to convince Nicole to stay behind, but in the end, she understood Daffin’s reasoning.

  Regina liked Lucy immediately. The duchess was bright and funny with black hair and two different-colored eyes (one blue, the other hazel). She was quick to laugh and had a nearly encyclopedic memory of the aristocracy, including who was and was not eligible. She took the news of Daffin’s necessary presence with equanimity, while informing Regina she hoped very much she did not, in fact, have a madman after her. She agreed to keep the matter secret and remained quite calm about the possibility their coach might be waylaid.

  Regina, Daffin, and Lucy piled into the coach.

  “I
daresay it’ll be an adventure,” Lucy said as soon as she was settled on the velvet-squabbed seat. “Not to mention I’ve never been under the protection of a Bow Street Runner before. Jane Upton will be sorry she missed this. She adores experiencing things she could write about in a book.”

  “I’ve had quite enough written about me of late,” Daffin said with a half smile.

  Lucy tapped her cheek. “Ah, yes, I’ve been reading about you in the Times. H. J. Hancock seems to be endlessly fascinated with your exploits.” She pushed a dark curl behind her ear. “I can’t say I blame him. My life seems quite humdrum compared to yours, Mr. Oakleaf.”

  The remainder of the ride to the ball was filled with chatter as Lucy rattled off the names of eligible gentlemen while Regina gave a perfectly logical excuse for every one of them as to why they were not necessarily preferable to the Earl of Dryden. Daffin sat across from the ladies, his back to the coachman, his expression stonelike, his eyes trained out the window for any sign of trouble. He didn’t appear to take note of their conversation.

  The three of them hadn’t been at the ball an entire hour when Lucy pulled Regina aside. They moved behind a potted palm on the outskirts of the dancing. Lucy nodded toward the ballroom.

  “Do you see anyone you fancy, dear?” Lucy asked. “I know nearly everyone here.”

  “Some of them I recall from my debut,” Regina replied with a sigh.

  “I was thinking Viscount Barclay might be good, though admittedly he’s less handsome than Dryden and less rich.”

  “That’s the problem,” Regina replied. “There’s nothing specifically wrong with Dryden. I simply don’t love him and he doesn’t love me.”

  “I completely understand, dear. I was wasting away on the shelf when my husband, Derek, came into my life, but I knew he was special immediately.”

  Regina searched the duchess’s face. “How? How did you know?”

  “Every time I was in his company, I felt a bit sick in the middle. But in a decidedly good way.”

  Regina gulped. She’d had that same feeling … every time she was in the company of a certain Bow Street Runner.

  “You know what I mean, don’t you?” An excited smile lit Lucy’s face. “You’ve felt it too. Tell me. For whom?”

  Regina shook her head. The last person her uncle and grandmother would allow her to marry was a Bow Street Runner, or any man with no title. It had been drilled into her since she was a child. Her husband must be a member of the aristocracy. She’d be an outcast otherwise. Not to mention the fact that Daffin had rejected her advances and the question of marriage had never come up between them. She wasn’t about to embarrass herself further in front of him by asking if he’d like to propose. No. Daffin wasn’t suitable. He’d made it clear that he refused to get involved with a relative of a friend, and Mark was his friend. The idea of marrying Daffin was ludicrous. That’s all there was to it.

  “No one,” Regina lied. “It’s just that … the way you describe it, that’s exactly what I want. I want to light up every time my husband enters the room. I’m afraid I’ll never feel that way toward Dryden.”

  “I understand, dear. Sometimes the suitors who seem as if they should be the most acceptable just aren’t, for a completely indefinable reason. My parents had all but despaired of me ever making a match.” The duchess pulled her fan from her reticule and waved it rapidly in front of her face. “As for Dryden, I’ve heard Lady Rosalind Millingham has been after him since her come-out five years ago. Poor woman should have made another match long ago.”

  Regina sighed again. “She can have him as far as I’m concerned.”

  “What about Lord Treadwell?” Lucy offered, her eyes scanning the ballroom.

  Regina glanced over to the refreshment table where she’d seen Lord Treadwell minutes before. “Yes. He seems … nice.”

  “Oh, dear, nice.” Lucy pulled a face. “The worst word in the world when it comes to husband hunting. Ranks up there with pleasant and decent.”

  Regina gave Lucy a wan smile and shrugged.

  “Too bad the Duke of Huntley is a bit young yet.” Lucy snapped her fan shut. “He’d be perfect, though I daresay, I already have a match picked out for him one day.” Her eyes twinkled.

  Regina was barely listening. She was supposed to be paying attention to the duchess and looking for a husband, but her gaze scanned the crowd for Daffin. He’d allowed the ladies to enter the crush ahead of him while he kept his distance. Regina had had a quick, discreet talk with Lady Hillard to briefly explain the situation. Thank goodness Lady Hillard wasn’t a gossip. She’d readily agreed to act as if Daffin were just another guest at the party. She seemed thrilled, actually, to have the famous Bow Street Runner from the paper as a guest in her home.

  For his part, Daffin didn’t seem particularly amused with the party. He faded into the background so seamlessly that, at times, Regina had to look twice to find him. Once in a while, she’d catch him talking to someone, but his gaze remained focused on her. He was doing his job, she knew, but she couldn’t help but catch her breath every time she found those green eyes intently watching her from across the crowded ballroom. Her belly felt a bit sick. But in a good way. Just as Lucy described. Drat.

  “Oh, there’s the Marquess of Morvenwood,” Lucy said, a catlike smile on her face. “I’ve been looking for him all evening. Widowed over a year ago. Recently back in the marriage mart. Highly eligible. I’ll just pop over and greet him and bring him over for a visit.”

  Regina watched Lucy go with halfhearted interest. She was being the worst sort of matchmakee, she knew, but she couldn’t help herself. Her fantasies just happened to be filled with Daffin.

  Moments later, Lucy came strolling back with the Marquess of Morvenwood in tow. Regina narrowed her eyes on the man. She didn’t recall him from her former days on the marriage mart. He’d been married by the time she’d made her debut. The marquess was nearly forty years of age, tall, with dark brown eyes and dark brown hair with a bit of silver at the temples. He was certainly a decent-looking chap. There was something about his eyes that looked hard, however, perhaps tired. No doubt losing your wife did that to you. She felt a tug of sympathy toward him.

  “Regina, there you are,” Lucy exclaimed as if she hadn’t left her side moments ago. “I was just telling the marquess what a wonderful dancer you are.”

  Regina nearly choked on the champagne she was sipping. She was not a wonderful dancer. Never had been. She was more likely to step on the marquess’s feet than impress him.

  Lucy made the introductions and the marquess bowed to Regina. “My lady,” he intoned. “A pleasure.”

  “You absolutely must dance to the next waltz,” Lucy declared, and as if her words conjured the music, a waltz began to play.

  The hint of a smile touched the marquess’s lips. “It would be my honor.” He presented his arm to Regina, who swiftly handed her glass to Lucy and placed her gloved hand on the marquess’s sleeve.

  Regina managed to dance the entire waltz without injuring the marquess. She was feeling quite pleased with herself, when he surprised her by saying, “Would you care to see the conservatory?”

  “The conservatory?” She blinked at him. Had she heard him correctly?

  “Lady Hillard was telling me earlier about her prized roses,” he continued. “I’ve been hoping to get away to look at them. I thought perhaps you would like to join me.”

  It might have been years since Regina had been actively searching for a husband, but she keenly remembered that gentlemen did not ask ladies to go away with them privately at events such as this. Perhaps the marquess was taking a liberty due to her advanced age. She was about to refuse him when he added, “My apologies. I can see the request has made you uncomfortable. I forget myself. My wife would have loved to see the roses and I must remember she’s no longer here. I shall go by myself.”

  Suddenly Regina felt petty for refusing to look at some flowers. The man was obviously still in love with his dece
ased wife. He wasn’t trying to make an unwanted pass at her. “I’ll meet you there,” she said to him. “I, too, love roses.”

  The marquess smiled at her and took his leave and Regina turned around and nearly ran straight into Lucy. “Well?” the duchess asked, tapping a slipper on the parquet floor. “How was the dance? Any sparks?” She waggled her dark eyebrows.

  “I’m afraid not,” Regina replied. “He seems like quite a nice man who misses his wife terribly.”

  Lucy shuddered. “Oh, dear, there’s that word again, nice.”

  “I’m not certain which would be worse, being married to Dryden who’s certain to ignore me, or being married to a marquess who wishes I’m his dead wife.”

  Lucy scrunched up her nose. “Neither seem appealing, dear. I hoped you might feel a spark.”

  A spark? At the mention of a spark, Regina lifted her head to scan the ballroom for Daffin again. She didn’t see him.

  “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Regina told Lucy. No use courting scandal by telling Lucy where she was going. Besides, she would only stay briefly. No one would be the wiser. She should tell Daffin. But Daffin, for the first time all evening, was nowhere to be found. She bit her lip and glanced toward the door. The marquess would be waiting for her. She wouldn’t be gone long.

  She slowly made her way to the doorway and waited until a new waltz began to play, before turning, lifting her skirts, and slipping from the ballroom, headed in the direction of the Hillards’ conservatory. She remembered the way from a long-ago tour of the home with Lady Hillard. Down the corridor, a right and then a left, the conservatory sat at the end of a long portrait gallery.

  The moment she opened the glass doors that led into the humid room, the smell of roses overwhelmed her. She closed her eyes and breathed it in, enjoying the scent. What a lovely place. The conservatory at Colchester Manor had always been one of her favorite places, too.

  “Lady Regina,” came the marquess’s voice from beside her, startling her. “Thank you for coming.”

  Regina opened her eyes. The rose arbors were lit with twinkling candles and the entire setting was entirely romantic. She wished Daffin were there, which was ridiculous, of course, because she and Daffin would not, could not be romantic.