Chapter 13
Focusing on the discussion surrounding her at Lady Archbroke’s salon had never been a challenge before for Daphne. She loved participating in the lively literary discussions, but today her mind refused to stop replaying images from Ambrose’s visit. Her lips tingled every time she dared to sneak a glance at the man seated next to her. Over years of admiring the man’s profile from every angle possible, Daphne had amassed a plethora of images of Ambrose, but none compared to the passionate gaze she’d witnessed last night.
Flushed, she waved her wrinkled copy of Louisa Herman’s latest poem in front of her like a fan as the others heatedly debated it. Lady Archbroke had obtained the piece prior to publication and distributed it to the group for discussion. At first, Daphne suspected Lady Archbroke to be the one who penned the poems that demonstrated both patriotism and a woman’s perspective on the never-ending trials of change within home and state. But when her host shared her difficulties reaching Louisa and fears that the poet was in danger, some months ago, Daphne realized her host was not feigning concern and that the female responsible for the highly insightful verses was some woman other than Lady Archbroke.
Ambrose leaned toward her and said, “You are awfully quiet today. Are you feeling unwell?”
All morning she’d worried Ambrose would distance himself from her once again like he had three months ago after their intimate embrace. Her worries had been laid to rest when he chose the seat next to her rather than as far away as possible.
She turned to face Ambrose, and her heart fluttered at the sight of his concern-filled eyes. “I’m a tad tired.” Daphne quickly bowed her head and pretended to be reading over the poem before Lady Archbroke noticed that they were breaking the rules once more.
Ambrose whispered, “My apologies if it was I who caused you to lose sleep last night.” His copy of the poem floated down to the floor next to her feet. He reached down to retrieve it and added, “How can I ease your discomfort?”
A myriad of answers popped into her mind, none of which were practical. She wanted him to whisk her away. She wanted to be wrapped up in his warm embrace. She wanted… blimey, she’d amassed all too many wishes over the years. Even if they married tomorrow, she wasn’t sure they could be fulfilled in one lifetime. Daphne shook her head and gave him a weak smile. His simple offer of support was more than enough for now.
Lord Archbroke’s authoritative tone broke through her thoughts, “Lord Harlowe. A word, please.”
Ugh. They had broken the rules and now Ambrose was to pay the price.
She held her breath as Ambrose rose and followed the lord of the house out of the drawing room. Before the footman closed the door, Ambrose looked over his shoulder and gave her a wink. Flustered all over again, Daphne glanced about the room only to find Lady Archbroke grinning in her direction. Her host said, “Mayhap Lady Daphne would care to share her thoughts on Ms. Herman’s lines: A touch as delicate as lace. She quivered like a music-string, ready to snap.”
Daphne hadn’t missed Lady Archbroke’s slight tilt of the chin. Her host wanted a lively discussion and that was what Daphne intended to provide, even if her mind was elsewhere with Ambrose.
* * *
In the presenceof his wife, Lord Archbroke often resembled a trained lion; however, the man was by no means a pussy cat. Lord Archbroke exuded an air of command that only a fool would ignore. Ambrose followed the man into an antechamber he’d never been granted access to before.
“Have a seat.” Archbroke indicated to a straight-backed wooden chair in the middle of the otherwise empty room.
A tendril of trepidation ran down Ambrose’s spine. He clasped his hands behind his back and walked toward the chair, but rather than sitting as ordered, he stood next to the simple yet uncomfortable looking piece of furniture. “I’d rather remain standing.”
“Suit yourself.” Lord Archbroke began to pace the perimeter of the room. “At the request of my wife, I made several inquiries to determine exactly how dire your financial position may be.”
“And?”
“It came as no surprise to me that you are indeed far from being a pauper anytime soon, and that these so-called creditors hounding you for funds are but indeed close friends willing to vouch for your foolish scheme.”
“I’m no fool.”
“I beg to disagree.” Lord Archbroke came to stand in front of Ambrose and with penetrating eyes added, “A man in love is often guilty of foolhardy behavior. Are you not a gentleman in love?”
Ambrose took a step forward and reaffirmed. “I’m no fool.”
“Very well. Pray explain how it came to be that you failed to recognize Daphne’s longstanding tendre for you…”
Lord Archbroke’s gaze narrowed upon him. As if he’d been punched in the gut, Ambrose expelled a deep breath and took a large step backwards. But the man wasn’t finished.
Lord Archbroke continued, “Better yet, why don’t you start by explaining why you sabotaged every attempt by a serious suitor to win Lady Daphne’s hand … or why you claimed your affections for Lady Daphne were akin to that of a sister. My sources were able to provide many interesting facts about your past but none more so than the fact that you have led a chaste life.” Lord Archbroke stepped around Ambrose and sank into the chair he’d previously offered. “I admire you and your restraint. Yet I have an inkling that your decision is negatively impacting your pursuit of Lady Daphne. Since both my wife and I care deeply for Lady Daphne, I am here to offer my assistance.”
Ambrose whirled around, ready to plant his fist into Lord Archbroke’s smug face. But the man caught Ambrose by the wrist. “Tsk. Tsk. Here I am willing to be of help…”
“You are the fool, Archbroke. I’d never accept the help from the likes of you.”
“Since everyone knows I’m the furthest thing from a fool, let’s drop the pleasantries and get to the root of the matter. Do you or do you not love Lady Daphne?”
Ambrose recalled the rumors of Archbroke’s ability to whittle down a man until he confessed every sin. He didn’t have hours to waste in Archbroke’s company when he should be wooing.
He let out a sigh and took two steps to the side to lean his shoulder against the wall. “I do.”
“Then explain why you have not made her your wife.”
“I can’t.”
“What is it you fear?”
Never before had he been pressed for answers in such a manner. Archbroke’s pointed questions made him question what truly caused him to freeze when it came to pursuing physical passion. “It’s not so much as I fear the marriage bed as that I feel unprepared.”
“That is understandable.”
“Really?” Ambrose straightened and searched Lord Archbroke’s features. There was no trace of mocking or ridicule.
Lord Archbroke stood, placed his hands on his hips, and shrugged. “Of course. Everyone treads with trepidation when attempting anything for the first time.”
Ambrose thought he’d die of mortification discussing the matter with another gentleman, but Lord Archbroke’s clever phrasing and matter-of-fact approach set him at ease.
“I personally find if I educate myself upon a matter that I find myself anxious about, it greatly decreases my chances of failure.”
“I’m not sure how I’d go about ‘educating’ myself without…well…” He wasn’t as clever as his companion and Ambrose stumbled upon getting to the point. Lord Archbroke raised a hand, preventing him from continuing to make a hash of things.
Lord Archbroke said, “I have a good friend, Madame Sinclair. She assisted me many moons ago, and I’m certain she can assist you without compromising your stance. I can arrange for a meeting if you wish.”
Unable to speak, Ambrose nodded.
“Very well, I’ll make the necessary arrangements and send you word this evening.” With a nod, Lord Archbroke left the small room without a backward glance. Ambrose crumpled. Hands on his knees, he took deep breaths in and out. He was to meet with the renowned Madame Sinclair—the queen of the boudoir.