her aunt would finish her speech and they could go home.
Rafael handed his betrothed, Lady Mary Rose Montague, back into the care of her mother and father, the Earl and Countess of Throckmorton.
“Perhaps you will save another dance for me later,” Rafe said to the little blonde, bowing over her hand.
“Of course, Your Grace.”
He nodded, turned away.
“They will be playing a waltz a bit later,” said Mary Rose. “Perhaps you would…”
But Rafe was already walking away, his mind on another woman far different from the one he intended to wed. Danielle Duval. Just the sound of her name, whispering through the back of his mind, was enough to make his temper shoot to dangerous levels. It had taken him years to learn to control his volatile nature, to bring his emotions under control. These days, he rarely shouted, rarely lost his temper. Rarely allowed his passionate nature to get out of hand.
Not since Danielle.
Loving Danielle Duval had taught him a valuable lesson—the terrible cost of letting one’s emotions rule one’s head and heart. Love was a disease that could unman a man. It had nearly destroyed Rafael.
He glanced toward the rear of the ballroom, catching a flash of Danielle’s bright hair. She was here. He could scarcely believe it. How dare she show her face after what she had done!
Determined to ignore her, Rafe went to join his friends at the edge of the dance floor. The instant he walked up, he knew the group had spotted Danielle.
He took a glass of champagne off the silver tray of a passing waiter. “So…from the astonished looks on your faces, I gather you have seen her.”
Cord shook his head. “I can’t believe she had the nerve to come here.”
“The woman has unmitigated gall,” Ethan added darkly.
Rafe flicked a glance at Grace, who studied him over the rim of her glass of champagne.
“She is quite beautiful,” Grace said. “I can see why you fell in love with her.”
His jaw tightened. “I fell in love with the woman because I was an idiot. Believe me, I paid the price for my folly, and I assure you it won’t happen again.”
Victoria’s head came up. She was the shorter of the women, with heavy brown hair as opposed to Grace’s rich auburn curls. “Surely you don’t mean you will never again fall in love,” she said.
“That is precisely what I mean.”
“But what about Mary Rose? Surely you love her at least a little.”
“I care for the girl. I wouldn’t marry her if I didn’t. She’s a lovely young woman with a pleasant, biddable nature, and a very fine pedigree.”
Ethan rolled his pale blue eyes. “Need I remind you, my friend, we’re discussing a woman here, not a horse?”
Cord stared off toward the redhead at the far end of the ballroom. “You’re doing a splendid job of ignoring her. I don’t know if I could be quite so magnanimous.”
Rafe scoffed. “It isn’t all that hard. The woman means nothing to me—not anymore.”
But his gaze strayed again across the dance floor. He caught a glimpse of the deep red curls on top of Danielle’s head and felt a rush of angry heat to the back of his neck. He itched to stride across the floor and wrap his hands around her throat, to squeeze the very life from her. It was a feeling he hadn’t known since the day he’d last seen her—five years ago.
The memory returned with shocking force…the weeklong house party at the country estate of his friend Oliver Randall. The excitement he felt, knowing Danielle, her mother and aunt would be among the guests. Ollie Randall was the third son of the Marquess of Caverly, and the family estate, Woodhaven, was palatial.
The weeklong visit was magical, at least for Rafe. Long, lazy afternoons spent with Danielle, evenings of dancing and the chance for them to steal a few moments alone. Then, two nights before week’s end, Rafe had stumbled upon a note, a brief message signed by Danielle. It was addressed to Oliver, had obviously been read and tossed away, and in it Dani invited Ollie to her room that night.
I must see you, Oliver. Only you can save me from making a terrible mistake. Please, I beg you, come to my room at midnight. I will be waiting.
Yours, Danielle
Rafe felt torn between anger and disbelief. He was in love with Danielle and he had believed she loved him.
It was only a few minutes after midnight that Rafe knocked, then turned the knob on Danielle’s door. When the door swung open, he saw his friend lying in bed with his betrothed.
Lying naked beside the woman he loved.
He could still remember the wave of nausea that had rolled through his stomach, the awful, terrible feeling of betrayal.
It rose again now as the music in the ballroom reached a crescendo. Rafe fixed his gaze on the orchestra, determined to dispel the unwanted memories, to bury them as he had done five years ago.
He spent the next hour dancing with the wives of his friends, then danced again with Mary Rose. A brief speech was made by one of the co-chairwomen of the fund-raising event, and recognizing Flora Duval Chamberlain, he understood why Danielle had come.
Or at least part of the reason.
If there were others, he would never know. After the brief speeches ended and the dancing resumed, Rafe looked again across the ballroom.
Danielle Duval was no longer there.
Two
“Did you see the way he looked at her?” Smoothing back a curl of her heavy chestnut hair, Victoria Easton, Countess of Brant, sat on the brocade sofa in the Blue Drawing Room of the town house she shared with her husband and ten-month-old son. Her blond, elegantly lovely sister, Claire, Lady Percival Chezwick, and her best friend, Grace Sharpe, Marchioness of Belford, sat just a few feet away.
“It was really quite something,” Grace said. “There was fire in that man’s eyes. I have never seen quite that expression on his face.”
“He was probably just angry she had come,” Claire reasoned. “I wish I had been there to see it.”
Tory had ordered tea but the butler had not yet arrived with the cart, though she could hear the wheels rattling down the marble-floored corridor on the other side of the door. “You weren’t there because you were home with Percy doing something far more fun than attending a benefit ball.”
Claire giggled. She was the youngest of the women and, even after her marriage, still the most naive. “We had a wonderful night. Percy is so romantic. Still, I should have enjoyed seeing a truly scarlet woman.”
“I felt sorry for Rafael,” Grace said. “Rafe must have truly loved her. He tried to hide it, but he was furious, even after all these years.”
“Yes, and Rafe rarely loses his temper,” Tory said. She sighed. “It’s terrible what she did to him. I’m surprised she fooled him so completely. Rafe is usually a very good judge of character.”
“So exactly what did she do?” Claire asked, leaning forward in her chair.
“According to Cord, Danielle invited a friend of Rafe’s into her bed—with Rafe and a number of guests just down the hall. He caught them and that was the end of their betrothal. It was all very public. The scandal followed him for years.”
Grace smoothed a faint wrinkle in the skirt of her high-waisted apricot muslin skirt. “Danielle Duval is the reason Rafe is determined to marry without love.” A week ago, her little boy, Andrew Ethan, had just turned six months old, but Grace’s lithe figure had already returned.
Timmons knocked just then and