The irony was exquisite. She had, of course, begun spending so much time in Simon’s company specifically so that she might attract other men. For his part, Simon had begun spending time in her company so that he might avoid marriage.
Come to think of it, Daphne thought, sagging against the wall, the irony was exquisitely painful.
Although Simon was still quite vocal on the subject of marriage and his determination never to enter that blessed state, she did on occasion catch him looking at her in ways that made her think he might desire her. He never repeated any of the risqué comments he’d made before he’d learned she was a Bridgerton, but sometimes she caught him looking at her in the same hungry, feral way he’d done that first evening. He turned away, of course, as soon as she noticed, but it was always enough to set her skin tingling and shorten her breath with desire.
And his eyes! Everyone likened their color to ice, and when Daphne watched him converse with other members of society, she could see why. Simon wasn’t as loquacious with others as he was with her. His words were more clipped, his tone more brusque, and his eyes echoed the hardness in his demeanor.
But when they were laughing together, just the two of them poking fun at some silly society rule, his eyes changed. They grew softer, gentler, more at ease. In her more fanciful moments, she almost thought they looked as if they were melting.
She sighed, leaning even more heavily against the wall. It seemed her fanciful moments were coming closer and closer together these days.
“Ho, there, Daff, why are you skulking in the corner?”
Daphne looked up to see Colin approaching, his usual cocky smile firmly in place on his handsome face. Since his return to London, he had taken the town by storm, and Daphne could easily name a dozen young ladies who were positive they were in love with him and desperate for his attention. She wasn’t worried about her brother’s returning any of their affections, however; Colin obviously had many more wild oats to sow before he settled down.
“I’m not skulking,” she corrected. “I’m avoiding.”
“Avoiding whom? Hastings?”
“No, of course not. He’s not here tonight, anyway.”
“Yes, he is.”
Since this was Colin, whose primary purpose in life (after chasing loose women and betting on horses, of course) was to torment his sister, Daphne meant to act blasé, but still she lurched to attention as she asked, “He is?”
Colin nodded slyly and motioned with his head toward the ballroom entrance. “I saw him enter not fifteen minutes ago.”
Daphne narrowed her eyes. “Are you bamming me? He told me quite specifically that he wasn’t planning to attend tonight.”
“And you still came?” Colin laid both his hands on his cheeks and faked surprise.
“Of course I did,” she retorted. “My life does not revolve around Hastings.”
“Doesn’t it?”
Daphne had the sinking feeling that he was not being facetious. “No, it doesn’t,” she replied, lying through her teeth. Her life might not revolve around Simon, but her thoughts certainly did.
Colin’s emerald eyes grew uncharacteristically serious. “You’ve got it bad, don’t you?”
“I have no idea what you mean.”
He smiled knowingly. “You will.”
“Colin!”
“In the meantime”—he motioned back toward the ballroom’s entrance—“why don’t you go and locate him? Clearly my scintillating company pales in comparison. I can see that your feet are already inching away from me.”
Horrified that her body would betray her in such a way, Daphne looked down.
“Ha! Made you look.”
“Colin Bridgerton,” Daphne ground out, “sometimes I swear I think you’re no more than three years old.”
“An interesting concept,” he mused, “and one that would place you at the tender age of one and a half, little sister.”
Lacking a suitably cutting retort, Daphne just fixed upon him her blackest scowl.
But Colin only laughed. “An attractive expression to be sure, sis, but one you might want to remove from your cheeks. His Devastatingness is heading this way.”
Daphne refused to fall for his bait this time. He wasn’t going to Make Her Look.
Colin leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, “This time I’m not kidding, Daff.”
Daphne held her scowl.
Colin chuckled.
“Daphne!” Simon’s voice. Right at her ear.
She whirled around.
Colin’s chuckles grew more heartfelt. “You really ought to have more faith in your favorite brother, dear sis.”
“He’s your favorite brother?” Simon asked, one dark brow raised in disbelief.
“Only because Gregory put a toad in my bed last night,” Daphne bit off, “and Benedict’s standing has never recovered from the time he beheaded my favorite doll.”
“Makes me wonder what Anthony’s done to deny him even an honorable mention,” Colin murmured.
“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” Daphne asked pointedly.
Colin shrugged. “Not really.”
“Didn’t,” she asked through clenched teeth, “you just tell me you promised a dance to Prudence Featherington?”
“Gads, no. You must have misheard.”
“Perhaps Mother is looking for you, then. In fact, I’m certain I hear her calling your name.”
Colin grinned at her discomfort. “You’re not supposed to be so obvious,” he said in a stage whisper, purposely loud enough for Simon to hear. “He’ll figure out that you like him.”
Simon’s entire body jerked with barely contained mirth.
“It’s not his company I’m trying to secure,” Daphne said acidly. “It’s yours I’m trying to avoid.”
Colin clapped a hand over his heart. “You wound me, Daff.” He turned to Simon. “Oh, how she wounds me.”
“You missed your calling, Bridgerton,” Simon said genially. “You should have been on the stage.”
“An interesting idea,” Colin replied, “but one that would surely give my mother the vapors.” His eyes lit up. “Now that’s an idea. And just when the party was growing tedious. Good eve to you both.” He executed a smart bow and walked off.
Daphne and Simon remained silent as they watched Colin disappear into the crowd. “The next shriek you hear,” Daphne said blandly, “will surely be my mother’s.”
“And the thud will be her body hitting the floor in a dead faint?”
Daphne nodded, a reluctant smile playing across her lips. “But of course.” She waited a moment before saying, “I wasn’t expecting you this evening.”
He shrugged, the black cloth of his evening jacket wrinkling slightly with the movement. “I was bored.”
“You were bored so you decided to come all the way out to Hampstead Heath to attend Lady Trowbridge’s annual ball?” Her eyebrows arched up. Hampstead Heath was a good seven miles from Mayfair, at least an hour’s drive in the best of conditions, more on nights like tonight, when all the ton was clogging the roads. “Forgive me if I start to question your sanity.”
“I’m starting to question it myself,” he muttered.
“Well, whatever the case,” she said with a happy sigh, “I’m glad you’re here. It’s been a ghastly evening.”
“Really?”
She nodded. “I have been plagued by questions about you.”
“Well, now, this grows interesting.”
“Think again. The first person to interrogate me was my mother. She wants to know why you never call upon me in the afternoon.”
Simon frowned. “Do you think it’s necessary? I rather thought my undivided attention at these evening affairs would be enough to perpetrate the ruse.”
Daphne surprised herself by managing not to growl in frustration. He didn’t need to make this sound like such a chore. “Your undivided attention,” she said, “would have been enough to fool anyone but my mother. And she probably wouldn’t have said anything except that your lack of calls was reported in Whistledown.”
“Really?” Simon asked with great interest.
“Really. So now you’d better call tomorrow or everyone will start to wonder.”
“I’d like to know who that woman’s spies are,” Simon murmured, “and then I’d like to hire them for myself.”
“What do you need spies for?”
“Nothing. But it seems a shame to let such stellar talent go to waste.”
Daphne rather doubted that the fictitious Lady Whistledown would agree that any talents were being wasted, but she didn’t particularly want to get into a discussion of the merits and evils of that newspaper, so she just shrugged off his comment. “And then,” she continued, “once my mother was through with me, everyone else set in, and they were even worse.”
“Heaven forfend.”
She turned an acerbic look on him. “All but one of the questioners were female, and although they all vehemently professed their happiness on my behalf, they were clearly trying to deduce the probability of our not becoming betrothed.”
“You told them all I was desperately in love with you, I assume?”
Daphne felt something lurch in her chest. “Yes,” she lied, offering him a too-sweet smile. “I have a reputation to maintain, after all.”
Simon laughed. “So then, who was the lone male doing the questioning?”
Daphne pulled a face. “It was another duke, actually. A bizarre old man who claimed to have been friends with your father.”
Simon’s face went suddenly tight.
She just shrugged, not having seen the change in his expression. “He went on and on about what a good duke your father was.” She let out a little laugh as she tried to imitate the old man’s voice. “I had no idea you dukes had to look out for one another so much. We don’t want an incompetent duke making the title look bad, after all.”
Simon said nothing.
Daphne tapped her finger against her cheek in thought. “Do you know, I’ve never heard you mention your father, actually.”
“That is because I don’t choose to discuss him,” Simon said curtly.
She blinked with concern. “Is something wrong?”
“Not at all,” he said, his voice clipped.