An Unwanted Virgin for the Duke (The Unwanted Sisters #4)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

“You have the hands of an angel, Lady Daphne,” a man somewhere to her right praised. “I am sure I never met someone who had such a gentle—”

But the man couldn’t even finish what he was about to say. Another voice, darker and velvety smooth, cut him off with the air of someone who thought the place was all his.

“Indeed,” the second, more confident gentleman drawled, stepping closer to where Daphne sat in front of the pianoforte. “But certainly, nobody should be surprised. Lady Daphne’s accomplishments have always been noteworthy.”

Lady Daphne Brighton froze. Her hands were still on the instrument as she lifted her chin slowly and stared. Now that the gentleman was near enough that she could detect the subtle hints of condescension in his tone, she knew exactly who owned that voice.

The Earl of Briarwood.

He seemed to appear out of nowhere. Everywhere she went, the Earl flocked to her side, and this evening was no exception. He stood close enough that she could see his upper lip curl as a snide smile spread across his features.

Briarwood was double her age, but that was not what made him repugnant. Aside from being ubiquitous, there was also a lecherous air about him, which made his earlier praise seem positively repulsive.

Daphne’s eyes flitted between the two gentlemen, and she hoped that the first one who had moved in her direction would pick up on her sudden wave of panic.

She prayed that he would rescue her from enduring another conversation with the Earl, but as she peered between the two suitors, she saw that they were both relaxed and at ease.

Lord Briarwood knows how to perform for the ton.

While her senses fired rapidly, alerting her to his presence and cautioning her to be wary, he behaved as if he were a respectable old gentleman, simply paying her a compliment.

He bowed low to her even as his eyes lingered on her face.

Then, he reached out to take her gloved hand, which she had no choice but to give, and kissed it.

This time, he didn’t seem to care about what Society required of him, for there was nothing appropriate about how his lips lingered on the back of her hand.

Daphne was thankful that the fabric of her glove shielded her skin.

Still, she had to resist a shudder. Worse, he did not blink at all, scanning her face intently, as if he was trying to memorize its every detail.

“My lady,” Briarwood said, his voice loud enough for the other guests, who were only a few feet away from them, to hear, “you not only play the pianoforte marvelously, but you also look even more radiant each day.”

The younger lord who had attempted to sing her praises earlier turned pale. He didn’t finish what he had to say—instead, he excused himself and stumbled away.

She earnestly wished that she knew the young man’s name.

If she had, Daphne would have called out, beckoned for him to rejoin her once more, and offered to perform the next number as a duet.

So reluctant was she to sit there, in Briarwood’s presence, that she would have borne the censure of Society and boldly asserted herself, just to escape another moment with the lascivious old man.

But the young man skulked away and disappeared into the crowded room before she could conjure the right words to say. She was alarmed by his hasty departure.

Daphne had heard that Lord Briarwood was intimidating, and she frequently felt unnerved in his presence, but she had not thought his powers extended so far throughout the peerage.

After a torturously long moment, the Earl finally let go of her hand. When he straightened himself, he had a wide grin on his face. Only Daphne could still see his full face, and she knew that was his intent.

“You are too kind, my lord,” she replied, maintaining the composure she had spent a lifetime perfecting. Yet with him, the schooling of her nerves and adding a sense of courtesy to her voice all felt vexing.

I should not have to work so hard to ignore his advances.

She stood slowly and craned her neck, making a show of glancing around the multitude of gathered guests. “Now, if you will excuse me, I must find my sister.”

“It is all right, my lady. After all, I am certain we will meet again soon,” the Earl said, his smile unwavering, though something in his tone made it sound less like reassurance and more like a promise she ought to fear.

Daphne took a deep breath, bowed her head, and slipped away from him.

In her twenty years, she had mastered the art of quiet restraint—of stepping around trouble rather than into it.

But she was not entirely certain that was the right approach with Briarwood.

As if sensing her distress, Daphne’s twin sister, Victoria, met her halfway across the room, just as she all but blindly wove through the throng.

Victoria’s eyes—keen, narrowed, and assessing—fixed upon her.

Daphne became aware of a few young men drawing near.

She and Victoria almost always attracted a crowd of admirers; attention seemed to trail them like perfume.

Some might have called it good fortune, to be so well-liked, but Daphne knew better.

There was nothing fortunate about Briarwood’s persistence.

“He cornered you again, didn’t he?” Victoria asked, frowning.

There was no need to specify who he was—they both knew perfectly well.

“Yes,” Daphne murmured, letting out a weary breath.

That same unpleasant tingling crept over her skin. It was the one that came whenever Briarwood’s gaze found her.

She dared not look for him. If she met his eyes, he would take it as invitation. That man needed no encouragement.

“Are you all right?” Victoria pressed, linking her arm with her twin.

Daphne swallowed as she noticed that the young men who had been on the verge of approaching her were suddenly finding ways to turn around, spin on their boot heels, and retreat.

Only one thing could be blamed for the quick reversal.

Or, rather, only one person.

“I am well,” she replied, even as she felt goosebumps ripple on her skin.

Lord Briarwood’s gaze had a way of burning through several people, reaching her almost as if he were right there in front of her.

“I’m not certain you’re telling me the truth,” Victoria grumbled. “I can see it in your eyes that he’s affecting you. Nobody else dares approach you because of him. Have you failed to see the way he watches you?”

Daphne initially fought the urge to turn her eyes upon the Earl, but then, curiosity got the best of her.

When she dared to lift her chin and peek in his direction, she saw Briarwood standing across the room, half-turned in conversation, yet his eyes found her all the same.

His smile was polite enough for Society, but there was something greedy in the way his mouth tilted at the corners…

Something about that expression made her feel as though he were imagining her already trapped beneath his hand.

“I do,” she said quietly. “Even when he is not standing right in front of me, his eyes follow me everywhere. He… he will not desist.”

Victoria clenched her jaw, and Daphne knew that her twin had more things to say, but they no longer had time to talk because a swarm of debutantes approached.

Their gowns rustled together, sounding like the ruffling of goose feathers.

United, the young ladies curtsied together, but neither of their stiff smiles reached their eyes.

“Lady Daphne,” Lady Frances chirped, “how fortunate you are to catch and hold Lord Briarwood’s admiration. I wonder… what is your secret?”

“Some of us would do anything to be given such attention,” her friend—a lady with squinty eyes and bushy eyebrows, who Daphne did not know at all—added. She snapped her fan open and used it vigorously on her face.

Daphne did not like the tone of their voices nor did she appreciate the giggling that followed. However, she had always been the obedient, poised twin. She tried her best to respond to every situation with grace, even though doing so had become harder and harder as of late.

“You are far too generous in your observations. I believe the only reason Lord Briarwood is attentive tonight is that I was playing the pianoforte. However, I hope that every young woman receives the attention she wants from whomever she wishes.”

They didn’t know that Daphne meant every word.

Earning the attention of the wrong person could be a bane to anyone’s existence.

She often enjoyed social gatherings, not because she was actively seeking a husband, as her mother would have liked her to do, but because pleasing others had long been second nature.

Even so, she was beginning to feel the strain.

Unfortunately, the other young women chose to misunderstand her. Their smiles sharpened. Lady Frances exchanged a sly look with her friend, then took three steps forward.

Daphne was taken by surprise. She could not backpedal quickly enough to move out of the way and as Lady Frances collided with her, the contents of her glass splashed across Daphne’s pastel-pink gown.

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Daphne stood motionless, feeling the cold seep of liquid spread through silk and onto her skin.

“Oh, my,” Lady Frances said sweetly, feigning shock. “How dreadfully clumsy of me.” Her eyes gleamed with delight.

“You vile—” Victoria sputtered, undoubtedly stopping herself before words that would shame their entire lineage escaped her.

Daphne reached for her sister’s arm, the flush on her cheeks spreading to her chest, where the heat of humiliation battled the chill of her soaked gown.

“It’s nothing, truly, Vicky,” she said softly. “We can go home now or perhaps find a private room to sort it out.”

“Ladies, ladies.”

Daphne’s heart gave a startled leap at the familiar voice. For a fleeting moment, the tension eased.

Her brother had arrived.