Page 3

O h, Richard. Where are you?

Daphne had kept her fingers crossed the entirety of the carriage ride. Though she would never admit this to her sisters, she quietly hoped that a certain Lord was in attendance tonight at the ball.

Sure enough, when the sisters reached, Daphne felt like she was a woman on a mission.

Amidst the soft music, the colorful rush of gowns, and the eager gentlemen in pursuit of a match, her own gaze was hopeful to land on the face that she thought of more times than she'd like to admit in the last forty-eight hours.

She couldn't help but feel a twinge of anticipation at seeing him again. It was one of the larger balls of the season, and surely a Lord like himself would be expected to be in attendance.

But as she weaved her way through the crowd, she found herself colliding with something—or rather, someone—far less welcoming. The impact sent her stumbling back a step, her hand instinctively clutching her skirts to steady herself.

"My apolo–"

"Watch your step," a deep voice snapped at her. "You would have crashed into me, and caused injury to yourself."

Daphne's head shot up, her heart jolting not from the collision, but from the man standing before her.

He was tall—towering, in fact—with dark eyes that held a sharpness she didn't appreciate. He might even be taller than Richard, and she had thought of him as spectacularly tall. And he was so unrealistically handsome. Even with a frown on his face, she couldn't take her eyes away from him.

For a moment, she blinked. Had she met him before? His face felt familiar to her, but she could not place where exactly she knew him from.

His jaw tightened, his expression hard with annoyance as if he were silently accusing her of being entirely at fault for the collision.

" Me? " she shot back without thinking. "It takes two to collide. I was not the one walking in a rush. Perhaps you should learn to heed your own advice, my lord."

Daphne had not intended to get herself into a squabble this evening – especially so early.

But something about the way that this man looked at her invited her to abandon the lady-like mannerisms she had promised to hold onto tonight.

His tone alone infuriated her, as though he was speaking to someone beneath him.

"I see," his lips curled into a condescending smile, "So the lady wishes to walk as she pleases, and expect others to part for her? Of course, I should have known."

Daphne gritted her teeth. " You were in my path."

"My lady, I do not wish to judge so hastily, but if this encounter is any indication how you go about life, then I must say that I feel quite sorry for those who have to be in your company. Do you always expect others to pick your pieces behind you?"

The nerve of him. He was provoking her.

"I beg your pardon? If anything, you were standing directly in the path!"

The tension between them crackled, the air thick with their barely contained irritation. What a pity for such a handsome face to hide such an arrogant personality.

The man let out a low, disbelieving laugh.

"Typical."

"Typical?" Daphne pressed, growing more irritated by the moment. "How are you to know what is typical, and what is not? You have only met me a moment ago."

"A hint is enough for the wise," he replied, nonplussed. "Is this how you navigate the world?"

Daphne's fists clenched at her sides. How dare he speak to me like that? Wise? That is quite rich, coming from him.

She had never encountered someone so insufferably arrogant in all her life. The way he looked down at her, as though she were beneath him, sent her temper soaring.

"I hardly think you're in any position to criticize," she shot back, standing taller despite the height difference. "If anything, your arrogance is far more dangerous than my supposed ‘clumsiness.'"

The man's eyes gleamed with something unreadable— amusement, perhaps, or challenge.

"Oh, you have a sharp tongue, don't you? It must get you into trouble more often than not. Tell me – what is your father's name?"

Daphne felt a sharp stab in her chest at the mention, but would never dare show even a hint of weakness. "Joseph Carter, the Earl of Alborne."

"Ah – Alborne...." he seemed to be sifting through his memory. "Is that... the infamous..." he stopped short before he could finish the sentence.

Daphne shot him a look.

"What is your name?" he demanded.

Before Daphne could answer for herself, a familiar voice broke through the heated tension.

"Lady Daphne, there you are!" Richard appeared, weaving through the crowd with a warm smile.

Finally. The one person I came here to see.

But the moment he noticed the man standing next to her, the smile faltered. "Ambrose?"

Daphne's heart skipped a beat as she looked between the two men.

Surely, this was not right.

"You know each other?" she asked, the confidence in her voice faltering.

"Ambrose is my older brother," Richard nodded.

Daphne's stomach dropped. Ambrose? The Duke of Greymont? The same Ambrose she had heard about in passing but never imagined she would meet—let alone argue with? Every lady in London knew about the duke with the impeccable manners and the flawless appearance. Yet the former didn’t seem to be true in this case.

Seeing both brothers together, it made sense to her now why Ambrose had looked so familiar. He resembled Richard in appearance, but appeared more polished and mature in comparison.

Ambrose's smirk widened at her obvious shock, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Surprised, are we? Perhaps next time, you'll be more polite when speaking to a stranger."

Daphne opened her mouth to respond, but Richard stepped forward, cutting in before the argument could escalate further.

"I am sure that my brother is delighted to meet you," Richard tried to lighten the mood. "Ambrose, I met Lady Daphne by the lake. It was quite the chance encounter, I will tell you that. Wouldn't you agree, Lady Daphne?"

Daphne was still quite taken aback from what she had just discovered, though she really tried not to show it.

"Yes, it was."

"You should have been there, Ambrose," Richard continued. But Ambrose seemed to be mildly annoyed by the exchange.

“A chance encounter, you say?” Ambrose’s tone was laced with suspicion. “Well, that is quite the lucky chance. Is it not?”

He looked between his brother, and then Daphne. Daphne felt her cheeks heat up. Was the duke implying that she had somehow planned for them to meet?

“Yes, I happened to spot her when she was in distress,” Richard explained.

It looked as though he was about to say something more, but held back. With a roll of his eyes, Ambrose took a step back, folding his arms over his chest. "Very well," he said, though there was no mistaking the arrogance in his tone. "I'll leave you two to it."

But before he could fully retreat, Richard turned to Daphne with an apologetic smile.

Daphne’s attention, however, was otherwise occupied. She stole a glance in the dukes’ direction, who was now retreating without looking back.

Oh, the nerve of him. It was their first meeting, and yet he had not held back in the slightest, making several rude assumptions about her.

"Would you care to dance, my lady?" Richard’s voice brought her back to the present.

Daphne blinked, still reeling from the encounter with Ambrose, but nodded, grateful for the distraction. “Oh, yes. We… yes, I would love to.”

She did not mean to sound so unsettled, but it was hard not to after the exchange she just had. It had left an unpleasant aftertaste in her mouth.

“I am glad,” Richard smiled. “After all, it is difficult for me to resist asking a lady like yourself for a dance.”

It was a simple thing, but it reassured her instantly. No matter how unpleasant the interaction before him had been, he was still interested in her.

And that was all that should matter to her.

Richard led her onto the dance floor, and for the first time that evening, Daphne felt herself relax. The music swelled around them, and as they began to move, she tried her hardest to focus on the steps, determined to be the perfect picture of grace.

But something kept her from fully focusing on the present moment. Was it the Duke's words that still lingered in her mind, throwing off her concentration? Her foot slipped, causing her to stumble slightly.

"Oh dear," she yelped, fearing that she might end up falling flat on her face.

But Richard steadied her, his hand gentle yet firm at her waist.

"Are you alright?" he asked softly, his concern genuine.

Daphne nodded, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. "I'm sorry. I—I... this is quite unusual for me...."

Was she really as clumsy as Ambrose had suggested? The thought of him being proven right irked her to no end. But she tried to mask her inner displeasure with a smile.

Richard seemed unfazed. Unlike Ambrose, he did not have a sharp comment ready on hand to chide her with. "You need not worry about it. It was a small misstep.”

"I suppose that my mind was elsewhere," she managed a small, embarrassed smile.

Ridiculous. She chided herself internally. What business do I have thinking of anything else when I have this man in front of me?

"No matter," Richard dismissed with ease. He seemed to not have a problem with her stumble.

Despite his calm demeanor, Daphne couldn't shake the feeling of unease. The Duke's arrogant smirk and cutting words echoed in her mind, reminding her that not everyone was as kind as Richard.

"So, how are you enjoying yourself this evening?" Richard asked her as they continued their dance.

Daphne gave him a shrug of her shoulders. "Oh, you know. It is quite lovely."

As the dance continued, she couldn't help but glance toward the edge of the room, where the duke stood, watching them. His eyes were fixed on her, a challenging look in them, as though he knew he had gotten under her skin—and enjoyed it.