Love and Larceny Read Free Page A

along the edges, a man
hurrying deeper into the shadows of the trees. Very likely it was
no more than a gamekeeper doing his duty. But Daphne couldn’t help
feeling as if someone was watching them.
    *
    Wynn had once visited his distant relatives
the Darbys, who lived not far from Brentfield, but he had never
realized how Brentfield Manor dwarfed his cousin’s impressive
home.
    Everywhere he looked, he saw grandeur and
refinement, exactly the sort of house he hoped to someday build.
The ceiling of the circular entry hall was easily three stories and
surmounted by a glass dome that streamed light down to the marble
floor. Each wall boasted artwork that might have graced one of His
Majesty’s palaces. Wynn was led to a room in the east wing, having
been assured by the footman that the house had been recently
renovated. If the elegant bed hangings and polished wood furniture
were any indication, Lady Brentfield had exquisite taste. But then,
Daphne had told him, she had been an art teacher and portrait
painter before marrying the unconventional earl.
    After changing out of his travel dirt into
the navy coat and buff trousers of a gentleman, he followed the
helpful footman back to the Blue Salon, where the company had
assembled. He paused in the doorway, admiring the architectural
features: the floor-to-ceiling windows that provided a vista out
across the fields, the wood-framed hearth flanked by massive
cerulean vases of an earlier century; the open beams on the high
ceiling. The color scheme was equally elegant, with gray-blue walls
behind a dozen or so armchairs and sofas patterned in blue and
white. Graceful statues filled the corners, and the paintings were
cool oceanscapes.
    “Miss Pritchard, your former literature
teacher, sends her regards,” Lady Brentfield was telling the girls
as he crossed the threshold.
    Daphne, her sister, and their friends were
clustered around the countess on one of the sofas and surrounding
chairs, their white, pink, and yellow muslin gowns reminding him of
tulips in the spring. Wynn knew Daphne’s friend Priscilla Tate was
accorded a great beauty, but he found her lustrous, wavy blond hair
and emerald eyes a bit overpowering. Lady Emily, daughter of the
Duke of Emerson, on the other hand, was too dark for his tastes, in
looks and demeanor.
    Daphne was the perfect woman, as far as he
was concerned—bright, energetic, cheerful, and oh-so-talented. He
was the luckiest of men to have found a place at her side. Now if
he could just convince her to allow him to remain there, for all
his life.
    “I also received a note from Acantha
Dalrymple this morning,” Lady Brentfield continued. “You remember
her.”
    By the looks on Daphne and her friends’
faces, they remembered but not kindly.
    “It seems she is to be married,” Hannah
continued undaunted.
    “Really?” Priscilla drawled, doubt in each
syllable.
    “To whom?” Lady Emily asked with a frown.
    The countess smiled. “Mr. Horatio
Cunningham.”
    Ariadne’s mouth hung open.
    Daphne patted her sister’s hand. “I know you
once hoped to attract his attentions, but he was never good enough
for you. You are far better off with Sinclair.”
    Wynn’s gaze veered to where her intended,
Lord Hawksbury, was standing by the hearth conversing with
Priscilla’s betrothed, Nathan Kent, and Emily’s guest, Sir James
Cropper. Hawksbury, who had asked them all to call him by his
family name of Sinclair, had raven hair and a powerful build; Kent
had brown hair and a friendly face; and Sir James had russet hair
and a cocky attitude. They too had donned the requisite navy coats
and buff trousers, though Sinclair and Sir James favored boots
while Kent wore practical shoes. No doubt Wynn should join them,
but he was tired of the pitying looks that always seemed to
accompany discussions on the ton once anyone recalled his
infirmity.
    He glanced back to Daphne and her friends in
time to see Lady Emily’s look darken. She too seemed to have found
her