Page 19 of Betting on a Baron
Alice sat up and crossed her arms over her chest. “Here I am lying to her daily, and then Daphne shares with me the deal she made with you. How bleeding hard is it to prove you love her?”
At the time he made the deal with Daphne he had shared the same sentiments as his sister—how hard could it be? He’d even had it all planned out. He’d call upon her every day to show his sincerity and, knowing how she hated crowds, arrange for a picnic away from prying eyes to read to her the weekly literature piece to be discussed at the Archbroke literary gathering, which had also become his favorite event of the week. But then memories of their intimate interlude would invade his thoughts and all his confidence evaporated. His lack of experience and knowledge of how to pleasure a woman left him feeling inadequate, ill-prepared for marriage. He didn’t have the close relationship with his valet as Daphne obviously had with her maid, and the thought of attempting to discuss the matter with any of his friends gave him hives. To think—when he had embarked upon the scheme to find a wife, he’d focused on discovering a woman who he could connect with emotionally and hadn’t considered the physical aspect of love. His father had been absent and neglectful of his duties, leaving Ambrose to learn how to go about being a man on his own. He suspected other fathers didn’t leave their sons so woefully uneducated and swore he’d not repeat his father’s mistakes.
Alice waved a hand in the air in front of his face. “Whatever it is that is preventing you from acting upon your feelings for Daphne, you had best figure a way to solve it, for you’ve but a few months left in the Season to prove to Daphne she should marry you.” After sitting in silence for a few moments longer, Alice shook her head and stood. “If you won’t share with me your problem, I can’t be of assistance.” She walked to the door and paused to add, “When you are ready, I’m here to help.”
He loved his sister for her never-ending support, but this was something he and he alone had to address.
Ambrose poured himself another drink and then opened a drawer to pull out a sheet of parchment. He inked his quill, hand poised to pen his thoughts, but nothing came to mind. No ideas. No names of who might come to his aid.
The snap of the quill breaking echoed through his study.
Why was he worried about the marriage bed when he hadn’t even secured her hand?
First things first. Prove his love. Then, marry the woman.Thenworry about what happened next.
He glanced at his pocket watch. Three in the morning. Two more hours before he’d need to head to the flower market to get the first pick of posies. Re-energized by his plan, Ambrose marched up to his chambers and fell upon his bed. A quick nap and then he’d start wooing Daphne as he’d originally set out to do. He’d deal with his doubts once they were officially engaged.
CHAPTERTWELVE
Apinch to the arm confirmed she wasn’t dreaming. Seated on a blanket, under the shade of a tree in a secluded area of Hyde Park, Daphne smiled at the man her heart refused to let go of. The past week had been too perfect. Bouquets of flowers fresh from the flower market hand delivered every morn, walks in the park, waltzing in the evenings, unexpected notes of endearment delivered; it was the courtship she’d always hoped for. The type of courtship she thought she’d never experience when Ambrose had retreated from her after their thrilling interlude at Lady Archbroke’s. She believed she’d damaged her chances for a forever after with Ambrose by her brazen actions even though she felt no remorse for acting upon her desires. Except reflecting upon the past, Daphne realized it was how their relationship had always been, an ebb and flow of interest and disinterest. She attempted to count the number of times over the years she’d pleaded with herself to give up on loving Ambrose and turn her affections elsewhere though her heart was stubborn and refused to flutter for another.
Daphne popped a gooseberry in her mouth. How long would Ambrose lavish her with attention before distancing himself once more?
“Are you planning on attending the Redburn ball this eve?” Ambrose asked as he handed her a plate piled with more gooseberries.
She stared at the plate a moment before accepting it. It was these little acts of kindness that endeared him to her more than any grand gesture he could conceive. “I was.”
“Was. Have you changed your mind?”
Stomach in knots, Daphne debated whether to be daring once more and share her wish to meet with him in private without her maid or anyone else within sight or hearing range. She desperately wished to ask him if her bold actions had changed his perception of her. She placed the plate of fruit back on the blanket. Eyes trained on the half-empty plate, she said, “I think I shall remain at home this eve.”
He took off his glove and pressed the back of his hand to her forehead. “Are you feeling unwell?”
The touch of his skin on hers set her blood on fire. She pulled back and looked him in the eye. “I simply wish to spend the evening at home.”
“Reading, I suppose.”
She raised her knees and rested her chin upon them. “I haven’t read the piece we are to discuss at Lady Archbroke’s salon tomorrow.”
“I haven’t read it either.” Ambrose rose and held his hands out to assist her to her feet.
She placed her hands in his. “A nice quiet evening in the library sounds rather appealing.” She could only hope if she gave him enough clues, he might decipher her request for him to join her.
He steadied her as she rose to her feet but did not release her. Inches away, he gazed down at her and said, “Won’t your mama be disappointed, like I am, to hear you won’t be attending the Redburn affair?”
“She’s grown quite weary of attending such events of late.” In fact, her mama had informed her just that morn that she had all but given up hope on Daphne marrying. She gave Ambrose a lopsided smile and added, “My parents will no doubt retire early and I shall have peace and quiet to do as I please.”
Ambrose’s eyes went wide and then narrowed. Even after all these years of studying the man, there were times Daphne had no inkling of what went through his mind, and this was one of them. Did the flash of surprise mean he understood she wished to see him later only to be followed by anger at her brash invitation. Would he distance himself once again?
Tired of wondering, she tugged Ambrose even closer. “Will you join me tonight?”
“Are you ready to admit your affections for me?”
Stunned by his response, Daphne released him and took a step back. It was true she felt treasured by Ambrose this past week, but one week did not banish years of insecurity built up from unrequited love.
Swiveling on her heel, she strode up the hill back towards the path, determined to find Sue before Ambrose could catch up to her. Except the man had an exceptionally long stride and reached her in no time.
His hand gripped her elbow. “Daphne. Please stop.”
