Desperate and Daring 02 - Belle of the Ball (10 page)

The rain had dwindled to a nuisance drizzle when they crossed the yard to the stable. Inside was dry and warm and was a remarkable sight. It was a horse lover’s haven. Upon entry was the tack room and where hay was stacked high into ceiling. Large beams supported the cathedral roof where skylights, if it were a finer day, would allow beams of light to illuminate the interior. It was immaculately clean and smelled primarily of fresh hay and very little of horse. There were sixteen luxuriously large stalls in all and a carriage house towards the back.

Anabelle smiled at the boyish exuberance of her father and Lord Heath. Her father’s eyes were glittering with ideas, something her mother would not be happy with. Indeed, as she had the thought, her mother took her husband’s arm and complimented his stables—exactly as they were.

Horse heads popped over the stall doors as they neared and Draven introduced each one in detail. This caught Anabelle off guard. He spoke with warmth in his voice, rubbing the nose of each animal as he passed. Just when she thought she was beginning to understand him, he did something different.

They finished the tour and filed into the carriages to return home. Rigsby, Lord Winchester, and Lord Bainbridge stayed behind with Draven since there would be no room for them. The carriage would return for them with fresh horses. Their horses would remain behind as well until the following day when the weather was clear.

Anabelle couldn’t help stealing one last look at Draven as the gentlemen waved them off in the misty afternoon. She caught his gaze, and they held for just a moment, and then he looked away.

Anabelle sat back in her seat and sighed. What an unusual day. She had a lot to think about.

Draven and his guests headed inside. Glasses were filled, cigars lit, and they settled in to wait and relax.

“Your sister is something else,” Lord Winchester eyed Rigsby.

“What of it, Winchester. You offering to take her off my hands?”

“Hell no, no offense. You know I’m not the kind to marry. My heart is set on my travels, but you do have your hands full. You should marry her off as soon as possible.”

“If only I could. The damn girl intimidates every man she meets and any man with the bollocks to handle her is of your ilk. She is still my father’s problem, not mine.”

“You didn’t tell him about her antics today. Does he know what he is in for?”

“Of course,” Rigsby shrugged. “He sired her after all, but I want him to live for a while yet, therefore, some things I keep to myself.”

All the gentlemen chuckled except for Rigsby.

“Relax, it was just a bit of harmless fun. No one ever married over ankles,” Draven mused.

“Perhaps not, but they have married over yanking a young woman into their room,” Bainbridge said wryly.

The room went silent. Draven and Bainbridge eyed each other.

“What’s this now?” Winchester said with a grin.

“I bet my entire fortune it was Lady Anabelle Darling. Is that right?” Rigsby cocked an eyebrow at Draven.

Draven’s eyes narrowed as he turned to Rigsby, but in truth, he wasn’t unsettled in the least. “It may have been.”

“What is your intent? You’ve been hounding her skirts for weeks now.”

“My intent is none of your damn business. She’s not your sister is she? Or yours?” He turned back to Bainbridge.

“No, thankfully, but they strike me as the sort of ladies one doesn’t trifle with,” Bainbridge said casually.

“They look the type one has to wed,” Winchester grimaced.

“I’m not trifling with anyone. It’s more of a mutual exploration, and I will put a bullet through the heart of anyone who takes that information beyond this room.”

“I think that goes without saying.” Rigsby hid a smile behind his glass.

Draven scowled at all of them and gave his attention to the fire. He didn’t need anyone’s approval of his actions. He knew what he was about, if not exactly where his relationship with Anabelle was going. It could only go so far, they both knew that. There was a definite line he would not cross and if they ever got that close, he would call a halt to their game. He was aware of the danger of the situation and approached it with the proper levity. There was no going back now, not when the fever of want burned so aggressively inside him. It had to burn itself out, as all his liaisons did when the demands or expectations grew too great. With Anabelle, it would be no different. There was a hard line he had to toe.

Draven didn’t say another word until the carriage arrived. The four gentlemen departed and headed back to the city as the sky darkened into evening. Draven had plans to see his mother and sisters for dinner, and then there was an obligatory engagement hosted by his mother’s cousin. Draven had to go to represent his family. It was well known that his mother was rarely well enough to attend events, so Draven was expected in her place. It wasn’t too much of a burden, but often boring. He was very eligible due to his title and wealth, but thankfully, mamas and daughters had given up on including him in their marriage plans. They found him cold and intimidating, which suited him perfectly.

He had no idea where most people got that impression of him. Perhaps it was his too honest tongue or his lack of easy smile. It was true he didn’t smile easily, but when he did, it was genuine. To him, that meant more than the façade that most of society presented. He had no need to pretend to be anything other than exactly who he was. He could thank his father for instilling that confidence in him.

The gentlemen parted ways upon reaching London and Draven returned home. He had just enough time to change quickly before meeting his family in the dining room. His sisters were all smiles at his appearance and his mother looked livelier than usual.

“I wish to accompany you this evening,” she said when he took his seat. “I haven’t seen Margery in ages.”

Draven hid his surprise. “Certainly. Your company would be most welcome.”

“I want to go.” Mary pouted.

“Me, too.” Felicity mirrored Mary’s pout.

“You will in time,” their mother soothed. “Now, I’ve already sent a note to her. She was quite thrilled I will be attending. I haven’t anything fashionable to wear, but I suppose at my age no one minds.”

“You look radiant, Mother.” And Draven would spend every last farthing he had to give her a new wardrobe if it meant she was finally crawling out of her grief-induced sickness. “Perhaps it’s time to visit your modiste if you will be entering society again. Mary and Felicity could use some sprucing up as well.”

Felicity grinned and nodded. Mary looked appropriately insulted by the slight. Draven reached over and chucked her under the chin. Now she was really perturbed by him. She hated being treated like a little girl. Draven rued the day she would finally be of age and have suitors. They all shared the same black hair, but his sisters had his mother’s blue eyes, where he had his father’s grey.

“I have a surprise for the both of you,” he announced.

Their eyes lit up and Draven couldn’t help but smile. He looked to his mother, who was also smiling happily at the girls. He felt his heart constrict and then ease. Perhaps things were changing for the better.

“What is it?” Felicity squealed.

“I can’t tell you, Poppet, or it won’t be a surprise.” He chuckled.

“Is it a new dress?” Mary clasped her hands together pleadingly.

“Would you like a new dress?”

She nodded, her curls bouncing.

“Then you shall have a new dress, but the surprise isn’t a new dress. You will have to be patient until tomorrow when it arrives.”

“Ethan, don’t spoil them,” his mother admonished half-heartedly.

He knew he shouldn’t, but for six long years, this house had seen very little happiness. It was time for smiles and laughter to fill the room again, the way it always had when his father were alive.

“I will do as I please, Mother.” He took a sip from his wine and winked at her. She attempted to glare at him, but the effect was ruined by her still present smile. They finished dinner in easy companionship and then the girls were sent up to bed and the carriage summoned.

Draven made small talk with his mother until they arrived at the event and handed her down. It wasn’t a large party. Margery, Lady Elset, was his mother’s cousin and had been a widow for many years. She enjoyed hosting parties for charities of her favorite and this particular party was to promote a budding painter. His paintings would be on display as well as the painter himself doing a live painting during the party. Draven was a patron of the arts, but his goal tonight was to ensure his mother enjoyed herself and didn’t become fatigued.

They were shown to Lady Elset’s drawing room where they greeted their hostess. Draven escorted his mother to a settee and began to prowl the room. He had no real purpose other than to keep moving so no one would try to converse with him. A small group was crowded around the painter and his easel in the corner of the room. He paused to see what kind of skill this painter had. His name was Alvin Von Drake, and according to the paintings displayed throughout the room, he did mostly landscapes. He had a whimsical touch, making even a rather drab painting of a wharf look somehow mysterious and interesting. Impressed, he moved closer to watch from the back of the crowd. After a moment, he turned away, intent on perusing the other paintings on display with an eye to purchasing one.

That’s when pale blonde locks caught his eye. He knew it was she before he even saw her face. He could even guess the way she smelled with such intensity that his mind would confuse his nose into thinking he was actually close enough to breathe her in. He turned casually, his gaze gliding across the room, but not missing the cluster of new arrivals by the door. She looked clean and fresh. Draven let the image of her lounging in the tub in sudsy hot water as she soaked away the dust and sweat of a day of riding. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from coming fully aroused and banished the image from his mind.

He had enjoyed the smell of her when he had pulled her into his room. Sweat, horse, and sunshine. Salty, tangy, and sexual. He turned away from her at once. It was better, in his current frame of mind, if he pretended to not see her. He returned to the crowd around the painter and gave his attention to it. Mr. Von Drake was describing the different ways he used his brushes to achieve certain effects. Draven wanted to snort in amusement at the bevy of women who appeared to hang from his every word. Analyzing the painter, he supposed he did have a rather romantically desolate look that women fawned over.

Draven snorted quietly and turned away. It was time to find something to drink. Just as he spun around, he found himself facing the entire Darling clan.

“Ho there, Draven. Glad to see you made it back from the Heath,” Lord Wellsford said jovially.

“I did, my lord, as did the other guests. My thanks for sending a carriage back to retrieve us.” Draven nodded.

“Tis the least I could do for your hospitality. What have we here?” He gestured to the painter.

They now had the attention of the painter and his audience. Guests had parted to make room for the marquess and his family.

“Mr. Von Drake is delighting us with a demonstration of his talents.”

Mr. Von Drake inched forward hesitantly and bowed. “It is my honor, my lord.”

“His paintings are also displayed throughout the room for purchase.”

“Ah,” Lady Wellsford smiled. “I am partial to landscapes. Splendid.”

Draven stepped aside so the family could move closer and see the work. He was standing beside Hazel, who had barely acknowledged him. He looked back to the painter, who had nervously started to blather on about textures. Suddenly, he pointed to Hazel.

“For example, she has hair radiant with wheats and golds. If I were to do her portrait, for a nominal fee of course, it would be a great privilege to highlight each color for its own beauty and shine.” Chuckles followed his statement.

Draven looked down at Hazel. He could see a flush climbing her cheeks and her lips were firmly pinched together.

“Don’t take offense. He was giving you a compliment,” Draven said quietly.

“Would you like to be compared to wheat?” She turned an angry glare on him.

“I’m sure you could find something worse to compare me too. Wheat is precious. One can’t make whisky without wheat, and men have died for their whisky.”

“That is absurd.”

Draven shrugged. “Men are often absurd over the things they love.” Draven wanted to bite his tongue off the moment he finished the sentence. What an absurd thing to say? She blinked at him rather alarmingly, then stuttered a thank you and turned back to the painter.

Now Draven really needed a drink, and he needed to move far away from Lady Hazel Darling—who likely thought him insane—and her delectable sister who stood beside her and yet hadn’t acknowledged him at all.

“Please excuse me,” he said to no one in particular and retreated to the far side of the room. He found a footman to bring him a glass of whisky—ironic though it was, and did his best impression of a bored aristocrat. If he could, he’d fade away into the hall and take his leave, but he wasn’t about to leave his mother. She could have an attack of weakness and he wouldn’t be there to help her.

He was off kilter, a deplorable sensation for a man like him, and there was no way to immediately alleviate it. He was losing his touch, the reprobate inside him writhing in agony and from what he didn’t know. Old age? Lack of sex? He closed his eyes briefly and opened them again. There was no ease for that ailment. He had tried and failed, and the very reason why stood across the room from him. Even if he found a way to get her alone, it wouldn’t be enough. He couldn’t have all that he wanted, which was her beneath him moaning in pleasure.

Perhaps he should leave, abandon England altogether and see what the continent could offer him by way of distraction. In time, he would bed another woman, get Anabelle out of his head, and then he could return with his head straight. He could move on. By then she would be married, and some other man’s obsession—with that thought came a thunderous swelling of emotion.

No.

He was in deeper than he thought. God save him from himself. He needed her out from under his skin if he had to tolerate seeing her with another man. He swallowed the glass of whisky and grimaced with satisfaction as it burned down his throat. The question was how to do it, without thoroughly compromising her in a physically permanent fashion. She was eager for his kisses, she couldn’t hide that anymore, and she was very responsive to his touch, but that was where the danger lay. He knew where his limit was. She didn’t. She was naïve, a virgin. Everything she felt was new, the desire intoxicating and heedy. Like a boy taking his first drink, she was bound to get lost in her lack of experience and end up over her head.

If Draven didn’t have the heart most thought he didn’t, he wouldn’t care. He would take what he wanted, have her bedded before she even knew what had occurred, and then leave her to decide her own fate. But he did have a heart, and he had his honor. Only the vilest of men spit in the face of honor. Draven may be a cold rake, but he wasn’t that low.