As Daphne Bridgerton was declared the diamond of the season for her inexplicable beauty and grace by the queen, it came as no surprise. She was perfect in every way imaginable. This was the greatest test she had passed—gaining the approval of the queen, known for her selective nature in choosing her diamond.
Lady Whistledown aptly captured the moment: "As we all know, the brightest jewel in the ton, the diamond, was finally selected by the queen herself. This year's diamond was, it seems, the season's most precious gem: Miss Daphne Bridgerton." Whistledown continued, "The queen has never been this mesmerized by any debutante. It seems Miss Daphne Bridgerton is truly incomparable and flawless, as the queen herself declared."
Daphne was immensely happy and relieved after reading this issue of Whistledown. Now, she could finally select 'the one for her' from among her many suitors and meet numerous lords at tonight's ball.
Time passed quickly, like a breeze. As Daphne looked out her window, she saw the scarlet light of the moon entering her room. Her maid began readying her, laying out the finest jewelry and matching dresses. Lady Bridgerton selected a plain diamond necklace, light and elegant, along with a diamond-studded gown that amplified Daphne's beauty.
Her maid styled her hair into a beautiful bun, leaving some strands to frame her face delicately. Lady Bridgerton's eyes reflected pride as she remarked, "You really are a diamond, my dearest," cupping Daphne's face.
When Daphne reached the ballroom, she walked in with one hand in her eldest brother Anthony's and the other in her mother Violet's. As they entered, all eyes turned toward her. Anthony guided Daphne around the ballroom, aware of the significance of her debut. They took a turn around the room, displaying Daphne to potential suitors and society's watchful eyes. Daphne looked poised and elegant, capturing everyone's attention. However, seeing her brother's stern expressions, no man dared to approach her.
As they walked, Nigel Berbrooke, an awkward and persistent suitor, approached Daphne, eager to express his interest. "Miss Bridgerton, I…I would... like to dance with you," he stammered. Anthony, ever the protective brother, quickly intervened. "I would have allowed you, but dancing with a girl of your daughter's age will hardly suit you."
Berbrooke's face turned red with embarrassment. Ignoring Berbrooke, Anthony led Daphne away. Daphne requested to go outside for some fresh air. "Shall I assist you?" Anthony asked.
"No! Brother, I wish to go alone," Daphne insisted. Anthony persisted, but Daphne was firm. "Please, Brother."
As Daphne left, Berbrooke stared at her with such intensity that she felt uncomfortable and rushed outside. In her haste, she crashed into a man of high standing. The girls twirling their hair and waving their fans at him clearly signified his status. "I'm so sorry," Daphne said quickly.
The man looked at her with bewilderment, as if he had seen an angel. "Don't be," he replied gently. Their eyes met for a few seconds, but Daphne's priority was to escape Berbrooke. She left, but when she turned to look back, the man was still watching her, clearly mesmerized.
Outside, she wandered the large garden and stood near the grand fountain, looking at the lotuses. Someone approached from behind, startling her. "Thank God! It's you," Daphne exclaimed.
"So, you've already developed a liking for me?" he teased.
"Then you think quite highly of yourself," Daphne snapped back.
"It kind of goes with being a Duke," he replied with a playful smirk. This man was the Duke of Hastings.
Daphne's eyes widened in surprise. Now all the girls flaunting around him earlier suddenly made sense.
"But I must tell you that this is not a safe place for a lady either. Especially not someone like you," he replied, his voice softening. He stared deeply into her eyes.
"Well, if that's the case, I am very much capable of protecting myself," Daphne retorted.
"That doesn't suit you," he said gently.
"And according to you, what does suit me?" she asked, her curiosity piqued.
"You're so delicate. You don't have to protect yourself." The Duke's voice was a low, intimate murmur, resonating with an authority that both commanded and reassured. As he spoke, his fingers began their slow, deliberate journey from her hands, tracing the elegant curve of her wrists and the soft skin of her forearms. His touch was light, almost reverent, but there was a palpable electricity in the contact, a silent promise of something more profound.
Especially, there was something about his touch that was making Daphne feel something she never felt.
When his fingers reached her shoulders, they lingered for a moment, the warmth of his touch seeping through the thin fabric of her gown. He moved with a deliberate slowness, as if savoring the moment, his thumb brushing lightly against her collarbone, sending a shiver down her spine. His eyes never left hers, dark and intense, studying her reaction, drinking in every detail of her expression.
Gently, almost as if in a trance, he lifted a stray strand of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. His fingers brushed her cheek, the lightest of touches, but enough to make her heart skip a beat. The intimacy of the gesture, the tender way he handled her, was intoxicating. His eyes bore into hers, and she felt as though he could see straight into her soul, acknowledging and admiring her beauty with an unspoken intensity that left her breathless.
His gaze was unwavering, a smoldering mix of admiration and something deeper, something primal. Daphne felt her pulse quicken, her skin tingling under his touch. Though he was a stranger, she found herself craving more of his attention, more of his touch. His fingers traced the line of her jaw, the pads of his fingertips barely grazing her skin, but the sensation was enough to set her senses alight.
As his hand moved towards her lips, she felt a strange, thrilling sensation, a heady mix of anticipation and desire. The world around them seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them in a bubble of charged silence. His touch was tender, yet filled with an insane amount of lust, a hint of the depths that lay beneath his composed exterior. The closer his hand came to her lips, the more her breath caught, her mind a whirl of conflicting emotions and overwhelming sensations.
Just as she felt the warmth of his fingers hover near her mouth, Lady Bridgerton's voice pierced the moment, calling out for her. The spell was broken. Daphne pulled away abruptly, her heart racing, her breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. She didn't dare look back, afraid that doing so would only intensify the tumultuous emotions roiling within her. Without a word, she turned and fled, leaving the Duke standing alone, his eyes following her retreat with a mixture of longing and regret.
Simon deeply regretted not even asking her for her name.