A Simple Case of Seduction

“I cannot mingle in society looking like a man who’s been lost at sea for six months.”

Daphne chuckled. “There is to be a small gathering, nothing too formal. I doubt you’ll have to make polite conversation with pompous lords and ladies.”

Thorpe raised a challenging brow. “You could have told me that before the barber sharpened his blade.”

“I’m rather glad I didn’t,” she said, noting the fullness of his lips. Everything about his countenance appeared brighter. Then it occurred to her that she’d not asked about his arm, or why he’d decided not to return to her last night. “How is your arm? I suppose you took to your bed as soon as you got home. Did Bostock stitch the wound?”

Thorpe shook his head. “It wasn’t deep enough to warrant a stitch. Two large gulps of brandy helped numb the pain.”

“I never thanked you for pushing me out of the way last night.” A grazed hand was better than a lead ball in the back. “Everything happened so quickly. I didn’t hear the shooter approach. Thank heavens you responded so quickly.”

“Had we kept walking as I suggested he would have found it difficult to take the shot.” Thorpe sighed and rubbed his eye with the pads of his fingers. “We were like sitting ducks on a pond. But come, we are already late. On the journey, we can discuss how we intend to confront Lord Gibson.”

Intrigued by the proposition, she nodded. “But if we find Lord Gibson at home, he can't be the man who shot at us in the alley.”

“A man of Gibson’s status hires people to do his bidding.” Daniel glanced at the mantel clock and then the floor. “Do you need help with your luggage?”

“Oh, Bostock carried my trunk downstairs.”

“Trunk? Lord help me, Daphne, I won’t stay more than a night at Elton Park.” He seemed flustered. The man was not afraid of a gang of knife-wielding smugglers yet the thought of spending time with the aristocracy filled him with dread. “One night at a coaching inn and one night at Harwood’s estate,” he clarified. “You gave your word.”

“And I shall keep it. Obviously, you know nothing of a lady’s wardrobe.” Then again he might have sisters, most definitely had a mother. Educated at the best school, he knew of the complex rituals otherwise known as etiquette. “I shall need at least three dresses for one overnight stay at Elton Park, not to mention petticoats and fripperies.”

“All the unnecessary fuss is one reason I decided not to attend. The pomp and ceremony turns my stomach. There is every chance I’ll say something derogatory and offend a guest.” Thorpe mumbled something incoherent. “Be warned. Should anyone attempt to discuss the merits of a racing curricle or offer advice in the art of driving, I’m liable to punch them on the nose.”

Thorpe made no secret of his disdain for the privileged.

“Why do you despise them so much?” she asked.

“Because they’d sell their offspring rather than suffer a stain on their precious reputation.”

Daphne gave a challenging smirk. “They are not all like that. You speak of a minority.”

“I speak from experience,” he snapped. It was evident from his wide eyes and pursed lips he wished he’d not let the words fall.

How interesting?

To press him further on the matter would mean being met with a wall of silence. No. She would bide her time, wait for an opportunity to discover more about the elusive Mr Thorpe.

“Well, we cannot stand here all day exchanging quips,” she said. From his relieved sigh, it was clear he was grateful she’d not pursued that particular line of enquiry. “And you know what happens whenever our emotions get the better of us.”

“You mean you might kiss me again?”

She refused to lie. “Now you’ve lost that ridiculous beard it’s a possibility.”

He rubbed his chin again. “Then your emotions must have been running high when you kissed me so passionately before.”

All this talk of kissing left her mind muddled.

“I think we have more important things on our mind than kissing.” She tried to sound confident, but her conflicting feelings for Thorpe dominated her thoughts of late. “After the shooting last night it's obvious we’re on the hunt for a murderer. A clear head is a must if we have any hope of catching the culprit.”

This time the smile almost reached his eyes. “I’ve not had a clear head since the day I met you.”

Chapter 15

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They’d travelled three miles on their journey to Witham, and still Daphne couldn’t tear her gaze from Thorpe’s square jaw. There was something superior about his countenance now, dare she say something aristocratic.