noticed from the start her stranger was a well-made man from the breadth of his shoulders to the trim waist beneath his finely tailored evening coat and the long legs planted firmly apart as he surveyed the road. But it had been his smile that had persuaded her to leave the veranda; his smile and those chocolate eyes. A woman could get lost in those eyes. She certainly had. They’d been warm even while being mischievous, eyes full of life and energy. His smile had been temptation itself, urging her to sin with him, yet when she’d placed her hand in his she’d felt safe, as if nothing could harm her as long as she was with him.
He glanced up and down the street, surveying the traffic. “Oh, look, there’s Riordan. Perfect.” He raised a hand to hail the oncoming driver of a high-perch phaeton and Daphne paled. Her conscience rallied one last time, reminding her she couldn’t afford to be caught at this perfidy.
Perfect? This was the worst possible occurrence. As nice as the idea of escaping was, it wasn’t going to work. She supposed she’d known it from the start and here was the proof. They were only a block from the town house and they were caught, recognized by another partygoer. She fought back the fear. Caution accomplished nothing. Tonight would not be without some measure of risk. She must be prepared to take it.
The gentleman in the phaeton pulled up to the curb. “Isn’t the party that way?” He jerked his thumb in the direction of the town house.
“That’s why we’re going this way.” Her companion laughed, unfazed over discovery and by a guest at the same party!
The newcomer cast his eye in her direction and gave her a nod. “I see. What did you have in mind?”
“I’ll need a favor or two, Riordan,” her stranger went on with utter confidence. “I’ll need you to cover for me, for us. You know how we used to do it.”
What did that mean? Was he accustomed to running off? The absurdity of what she’d done surfaced again. She knew nothing about him except that he’d dared her to leave the veranda and in her desperation she had. Daphne shot a backward glance at the alley they’d just come down. Perhaps it wasn’t too late to go back and pretend this momentary lapse of madness hadn’t happened. But her stranger squeezed her hand as if to say, “I know what I’m doing.” She swallowed her worries hoping she wouldn’t regret it. Her stranger was making plans to carry them away from the ball.
“Here’s my dance schedule.” He grimaced. “The list was my mother’s idea.” He shared a groan with Riordan. “I don’t know any of the girls on the list, which is all the better for you. They don’t know me either, not by sight. You’ll need to see to these ladies and I’ll need your phaeton.”
“What?” Riordan was all disbelief. “This is my uncle’s rig. He just put new wheels on.” Riordan shook his head. “Oh, no, you can’t have it.”
“I can’t go bashing around London in a hansom cab or on foot.”
“And I can? How am I supposed to get to the ball?”
“You can walk, it’s only a block and the queue for the carriages will take forever. It’s already down the street. You’ll thank me for saving you the wait. You can get to all my mother’s lovely dance partners that much sooner.”
Riordan wasn’t ready to give up. “That’s not the point. Why don’t you take your carriage?”
“It will be recognized.” Her stranger lowered his tone, slow and patient. “Riordan, listen to me. There’s nothing to worry about. Your uncle’s still out of town and I’ll be back before the gala’s over. You know it always goes until four in the morning.”
Her handsome companion made good arguments, but it was his charm that made them compelling. Daphne could see Riordan starting to waver much as she had on the veranda.
“You’re sure you’ll be back before four?”
“Absolutely. I promise.”
Riordan climbed down. “All right, I’ll do it. I owe you for one thing or another over the years.” He took out a handkerchief and wiped at a barely detectable smudge on the wheel rim. “Be careful, you know how much my uncle loves this rig.”
“I’ll be back before you know it.” Her stranger shook hands with Riordan and turned to her. “Ready?”
Daphne eyed the vehicle with trepidation. She’d never ridden in such an expensive carriage. Only wealthy gentlemen had rigs like these. Certainly no one in her Dorset village had anything like it. Her father’s carriage was sturdy enough for traveling, but it was older. The family did all their local driving in a pony trap. Whoever her companion was, he had rich friends.
Of course, she’d known from the start he wasn’t a nobody. A nobody couldn’t get an invitation to the Starry Night ball. She’d only gotten hers through the labors of a great-aunt who’d taken pity on the family’s circumstances and offered her a season in hopes of finding her a good match. Daphne did feel a twinge of guilt over that. A lot of effort had occurred to get her here, and she’d run out at the first opportunity. It was enough to make her rethink her impulsive decision.
The stranger smiled reassuringly at her hesitation, misunderstanding the reason for it. “It’s not as impossible as it seems to get up. Put your foot on the rim and grab hold of the seat rail to pull yourself up.” His hands were at her waist, ostensibly for extra support, but there was something more in his touch, something electric and knowing about the way those hands lingered at her hips, reminding her that along with the warmth and mischief in his eyes, there had been an element of potent sensuality too. Her stranger was no foreigner to the pleasures of the flesh.
Daphne pushed aside her hot thoughts and scrambled on board without too much embarrassment, but her clambering was nothing like his athletic vault into the high seat. He picked up the reins with ease and steered the horses into the stream of evening traffic. Daphne held on to the seat rail for dear life. How did anyone manage riding in these contraptions?
“Are you all right?” He looked over at her, his brown eyes full of concern. “Not having second thoughts, are you?”
“I hadn’t realized how far from the ground these were.” Daphne admitted.
“That’s why they’re called high flyers. You can hold my arm, if you like.”
Oh, she liked all right. It was comforting to take his arm, to feel the flex of strong muscle beneath the fabric of his coat as he drove. The earlier sense of security she’d felt flooded back. She was safe with him.
“This can’t go on forever,” Daphne said, relaxing a little.
“What can’t?”
“Not knowing your name. I can’t go all night without knowing what to call you. I have to call you something.”
He thought for a moment and she knew from the hesitation he was debating giving her his real name. “It’s Jamie. James, technically, but my friends call me Jamie.”
“I’m Daphne de—”
“No last names.” He cut in sharply but not unkindly.
“Why not?”
He shook his head and clucked to the horses. “Trust me, it is better this way.”
She
