Desperate and Daring 02 - Belle of the Ball (14 page)

“Our evening is only enlightened because of your presence.”

Well done, Anabelle thought, though her sister seemed very tense now. Were Anabelle’s instincts off? Perhaps she truly did not care for Lord Bainbridge. No, if Hazel didn’t care for him, she would have no issue claiming exactly that and would not be so affected by him. Anabelle was willing to bet it was the complete opposite and Hazel just needed a little prodding from her shell.

“I insist you take my seat, my lord. My slippers are quite new and I must soften them with use as much as possible. Lord Draven will escort me around the gallery and you must have my seat.” Anabelle didn’t wait for his response but hastily stood, driving Rigsby and Draven from their chairs. Draven offered his arm and Anabelle stepped behind the chairs with him forcing Bainbridge to take her seat or appear incredibly rude.

Draven led her to the stairs and then they turned to make a small loop around the rear of the gallery.

“What are you doing?” he said in her ear as they moved into the shadows.

“I’m forcing Hazel to sit next to Bainbridge.”

“Ah.” He was silent for a moment. “Why?”

“I’m convinced they like each other, but are too shy to do anything about it.”

“You are meddling,” he declared.

“Yes. It’s what sisters do.”

“Does that mean that Hazel knows of your secrets?” he said even more quietly.

Anabelle didn’t answer until they passed out of earshot of the group. So far, the three sat in awkward silence at the railing.

“Of course not. She can barely speak to a man she favors, so why would I tell her of my own inept behavior.”

She felt his arm harden under her hand.

“You consider our affiliation an act of stupidity?”

Anabelle paused and turned to him. “What would you call it? Every step I take with you is in the opposite direction of good judgment and my goals.

“Your goals of marriage?” he clarified.

“Yes!” she hissed in exacerbation. “What woman in my position dalliances with a man content to never marry? I’m risking it all and for what? Nothing but an emotion I can’t control.”

He looked angry, but he didn’t speak.

“You know what we are doing is foolish. We have to stop—I have to stop. You can carry on your bachelor ways as you wish until you turn grey, but I must marry, and I must marry well. I can’t do that if I go any further down this path with you.” She didn’t know why, but she suddenly felt weepy. “Don’t you see?”

Draven did see. In fact, his vision was filled with red. He took a deep breath before speaking again. “Is this about that damned list of yours?”

“Don’t you dare curse in front of me,” Anabelle snapped.

“Is this about your bloody list?” He stepped closer to her.

Anabelle opened her mouth to scold him again but thought better of it. She nodded.

“I believe I informed you that I should be at the top of that list, didn’t I.”

Anabelle scoffed in disbelief. “Did you think I would take you seriously?”

“I’ve got everything you are looking for. Wealth, title, and that untamable desire you’ve been chasing all along. Why wouldn’t I be good enough to be on your list?” He sneered.

Anabelle was stunned. Did he seriously want her to consider marrying him? After all that he’d said on the subject and all he’d done? “You truly want to know?” she said shakily.

He blinked. “Of course, I do. I’m better than any of the men you have on there.”

“Well, there is your arrogance for one.”

He snorted.

“Your heavy-handedness, your enthusiasm in playing the villain whenever you deem it entertaining?”

He shrugged.

“The fact of the matter is, Ethan. I wish to marry a man who will love me, and you made it clear you don’t believe in love. There are many things that you are—handsome, articulate, wealthy, titled, arrogant, intimidating, conceited, and a talented horseman and breeder. But there are many things you are not, and those happen to be the things I desire most in a husband. Kindness, thoughtfulness, honesty, attentive, loving…” She stopped and swallowed. He looked quite affected now. His face was flushed with color and his eyes sparkled even in the dim light. Guilt swamped her.

“Good evening, Lady Anabelle.” He stepped around her and strode down the stairs without looking back.

Anabelle stood there alone, shocked. All the lights in the theatre dimmed, shrouding her in even more darkness. Abruptly, she felt his presence beside her, though she hadn’t heard a sound of his return. He was standing at her back, his breath in her ear.

“You may not want me on your list, but trust me when I say that I am on it whether you wish it or not. I will call upon you tomorrow.”

Then he was gone again and the stage lights lit, providing some relief from the darkness. He was nowhere to be found on the balcony. She felt wobbly as she walked back to the chairs by the railing and took the seat that had been his. She wasn’t noticed at first until Hazel leaned forward and caught sight of her.

“Where is Lord Draven?”

Anabelle shook her head slowly. “He had to leave suddenly. I haven’t any idea why.”

Hazel looked at her perplexedly. “Pity.” She leaned back in her seat.

Anabelle felt numb. She couldn’t focus on the play or even remember what it was about. She stared at the stage, but all she saw was Draven’s face, and all she heard was his voice.

Lord Bainbridge leaned close to Hazel. “Is something amiss?”

Hazel turned slightly and met his gaze. Until now, they had made very little eye contact, and she wasn’t sure she could look at him and speak to him without sounding like a fool. He was simply too handsome. It shocked her eyes and, therefore, her mind, driving away anything witty or intelligent she might say.

“Truthfully, I don’t know.” She smiled weakly. There, that wasn’t terrible, was it?

“Perhaps I’m stepping over some boundaries, but I can’t help but observe a tension between her and Lord Draven.”

“I can’t decide if they hate each other or are madly in love. Perhaps those emotions are similar?” Hazel whispered.

He laughed. Hazel felt like stars were bursting in her chest. She smiled broadly.

“You have a beautiful smile,” he blurted and then he looked sheepish.

“Thank you, as do you.” She felt color rush to her cheeks.

“I couldn’t help but notice. I spend most of my time at these functions just watching the guests. Human behavior is fascinatingly odd at times.”

Now it was Hazel’s turn to laugh. “I agree with you, my lord. Do you attend many functions then?”

“Regretfully, yes. It is my duty, as my aunt has proclaimed many times, but I’ve become exceptionally adept at actually avoiding most of the guests.”

“How so?”

“By touring the houses, looking at paintings, architecture, things most don’t appreciate when attending theses affairs. Most houses are filled with history just waiting to be appreciated.”

“So you wander about others homes to avoid dancing?” Hazel cocked an eyebrow.

“I danced with you, didn’t I?”

Now Hazel felt the blush under her dress. It was the way he was looking at her. It was mysterious and challenging. “You didn’t have a choice, I don’t think, not without being abominably rude.”

He smiled a little. “One always has a choice, Lady Hazel. I chose to dance with you.”

Hazel felt very warm after that admission, but it was a pleasant sort of warm, a fuzzy excitement. “Then I shall cherish the rare experience. You dance very well for one who avoids it.”

He chuckled. “I’ve had all the required dance education I need to perform for society, but I accept your compliment. I’d never given dancing much thought, but I did find our dance enjoyable.”

Hazel almost didn’t believe him. She remembered their dance quite vividly, and while the steps were performed satisfactorily, there was very little enjoyment.

“You don’t believe me?”

She widened her eyes.

“I could see it in your eyes that you did not. Perhaps my steps were not out of practice, but my social behavior was. My apologies, the fault was entirely mine.”

“You don’t need to apologize, my lord. It was just different. Normally, I am forced to repeat the same banal pleasantries I spoke with each partner before. It’s tiring, but not stimulating.”

“Yes, my least favorite of duties,” Bainbridge murmured.

“Duties?” Hazel questioned. Did he really care so little for social discourse? She felt a tinge of insult. Indeed it grew tiring, having the same conversation over and over of the only few acceptable topics allowed to be discussed, but was it truly a duty?

“I can see I’ve flummoxed you again.” He smiled. “You see, I am the last male in my line. The weight of the entire legacy of my family is on my shoulders. Due to the incessant pressure of my family, these social gatherings stopped being entertaining long ago, and are now rather… distasteful. It’s why I hide.”

Hazel kept her face composed, but internally, she was astonished by his honesty, and equally disconcerted by his ability to read her so thoroughly. “I’m sorry,” she offered.

“Are you apologizing on behalf of the overbearing women of my family?” He smiled.

It was a sly and playful smile, and for a moment, she completely forgot to respond.

“Lady Hazel?” His smile broadened.

“Uh, no. That is, I’m sorry you are forced to do something you find distasteful.”

“Let me be clear,” he leaned forward just a smidge, “I do not find talking or dancing with you distasteful. I’ve found relief from my so-called duties in the company of Lord Rigsby and Lord Draven, which led me to your delightful acquaintance. You are like a breath of fresh air in a stale room. Society has gone stale for me but never you, Lady Hazel.”

“Oh, thank you.” Flummoxed again and utterly pleased by his words, she couldn’t think of anything clever to say.

He leaned back in his chair and his attention turned to the stage. Hazel found the ability to breathe again and did the same. How peculiar he was. So intelligent and so perceptive. He was an enigma, the antidote to the gentlemen who swarmed around her since that dreaded masquerade. He was her breath of fresh air, someone different, a man with more to say than most. She was refreshed by his presence as well. It didn’t hurt that he was extremely pleasing to look at to boot.

His skin had a touch of the sun, and when she really pictured him, he didn’t appear to be fully English. Curiosity begged her to turn and look at him again, but she resisted. She hoped there would be future conversations between them, but that wouldn’t be so if she behaved oddly.

Hazel enjoyed the rest of the play, applauding when the final curtain fell. Rigsby had disappeared during intermission and hadn’t returned, but Hazel hadn’t cared. Anabelle had remained quiet. Something was definitely bothering her, but for the first time, Hazel wasn’t sure she was in her sister’s confidence. The three stood. Lord Bainbridge escorted them to the main hall and then bid them a good night. He disappeared into the growing crowd seamlessly. Hazel didn’t bother Anabelle with questions or meaningless talk. She knew her sister’s mind was preoccupied, and she preferred to occupy her own with her own thoughts on the evening.

Draven knew his reception would not be warm when he called on Anabelle the following day, but he didn’t care. He was still rankled by her judgment of him, licking his wounds and feeling a tad vengeful. The fact that she would not welcome the sight of him pleased him. Especially when she learned the truth of his visit. He would take care of business before she even knew he was present and then she would have no escape from him. It was devious, mischievous, and well in line with her thoughts of him. She shouldn’t even be surprised really. He did warn her.

Before he could lift the knocker, the door opened and a stogy butler accessed him. Draven did the same.

“I have an appointment with his lordship.” Draven presented his card as he stepped into the foyer.

“Right this way, my lord. His lordship is awaiting you in his study. Charles will escort you.”

Draven followed the footman up the stairs, passing the drawing room where the murmurs of men and women conversing could be heard, and further down the hall to an open door.

Draven waited while the footman announced him and then stepped through the doorway.

“Lord Draven.” Lord Wellsford stood in greeting. “I was surprised by your message this morning. Please, have a seat.”

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me on such short notice.”

“Twas no trouble, though I am quite curious as to the matter of the meeting. How can I be of service?” Lord Wellsford sat and Draven followed.

“To be blunt and not take much more of your time, I will get to the point. Since having the pleasure of Lady Anabelle’s acquaintance since the Endervale house party, I would like to formally ask for permission to court her.”

Lord Wellsford’s eyebrows shot to his hairline. “That is blunt, but I appreciate it nonetheless. I’ve had quite a few gentlemen show interest for both her and Hazel, but I have chosen to leave the choosing of suitors up to them for now. But you intrigue me, Lord Draven. Why not pursue her yourself?”

Draven shifted uncomfortably. He wasn’t prepared for questions. “Well, as I have come to know Lady Anabelle through our mutual acquaintances at social events, she has made the impression that she has quite firm beliefs about what sort of suitor she wants. She has also made it clear that I don’t fit that mold.

Lord Wellsford snorted. “Sounds just like her mother. My daughter has always been firm in her beliefs and ideals. It mostly benefits her. I have taken a stance of least resistance for the most part except where necessary. She would not be pleased if she felt I was making choices for her, you see.” Lord Wellsford leaned on his forearms on his desk.

“I gathered as much. She is intelligent and capable of making her own choices. I came to you first out of respect, but I know that it is she who will have the final say. I want you to be sure my intentions are honorable. I’ve never pursued a woman with the intent to marry—”

“But you have pursued many women, yes?”

Draven felt his neck grow hot. Discussing one’s conquests with the father of his soon to be intended was not what he wanted to do. “I’ve enjoyed the life of a bachelor… until now.”

Lord Wellsford’s eyebrows shot up again and he leaned back in his chair. “Well, we all have a past before the present, and you’ve made it quite clear you are serious about your and my daughter’s future. I give you my blessing, but it is still up to her,” he warned.

“I understand. Thank you.”

Lord Wellsford nodded and stood. Draven followed suit, and he was excused. Through the doorway, he released a sigh of anxiety. That was uncomfortable, but not difficult. The difficulty would be facing Anabelle and her judgment of him. It still stung, like when one skins their hand in a fall. It served as a reminder that it wouldn’t be easy and the injury to his pride would get worse before it got better.

He could admit he was nervous, too. He had no intention of failing, but the concept of pursuing a woman for marriage was entirely new to him. He knew the basics, every man did, but nothing basic would impress Anabelle. She wasn’t after the usual things like money and title. She wanted something deeper, and that was the unknown territory he was entering. What did he have to do to prove that he could be an acceptable husband? She considered him a heartless bastard so that would have to be addressed. But how? He’d never been anything but himself. Perhaps that was it. He needed to show his true self, the man who cared for his sisters, the man who doted on his mother. She could never think him inconsiderate when she saw him with them.

It was true he hid his softer side from society, but Anabelle was different. Anabelle was the only person he needed to impress. It went against the grain. He’d never had to prove himself to anyone. It rankled his pride, but so did everything she had said about him last night.

He approached the drawing room, still rumbling with the noise of polite conversation and waited for the butler to announce him. There was silence as he entered. The looks on the present men spoke of shock and dismay. He smiled, perhaps a tad maliciously, but it would quickly become clear that they were mere pups to his alpha status and run along, tails tucked firmly between their legs.

Anabelle sat with her mother and Hazel, and an ungodly amount of flowers littered the room.

“God almighty.” He stopped suddenly and looked around. “I’ve stumbled into a flower shop, apparently.”

“Lord Draven, so nice of you to call.” Lady Wellsford smiled.

He could see surprise and question in her eyes. No doubt, her husband would inform her of their meeting. “Lady Wellsford, Lady Anabelle, and Lady Hazel. You all look lovely this afternoon. Did you enjoy the play last night?”

“I did,” Lady Wellsford nodded. “I didn’t realize you were in attendance.”

“Everyone and their mother attended, Mother,” Hazel mumbled.

Lady Wellsford snapped her head towards her sour daughter.

“All except mine, I’m afraid, but I come bearing a letter.” Draven handed the invitation his mother had written inviting the Wellsford clan to dinner. Draven had been upfront with his mother about his intentions and she, of course, was ecstatic. She had jumped at the chance to host a dinner for his intended’s family.

“Oh, I shall see to it immediately.” Lady Wellsford stood. “Don’t you dare leave. I will have something for your mother shortly.”

Draven nodded obligingly.

“How is your mother?” Anabelle finally spoke. She looked tense and entirely unimpressed by his appearance.

“She is well,” Draven answered.

The other gentlemen tried to fill in the conversational voids awkwardly, but one by one, they departed, and with each one, Anabelle grew more rigid on the sofa. Draven was tense himself as the last one departed.

“Well, that’s a relief. Can you come every day?” Hazel appealed to him.

“Am I required to bring flowers?” He quipped while sniffing at lily.

“Absolutely not, but you are required to take some when you leave.”

Draven laughed. “A woman who doesn’t like flowers?”

“Not in this quantity.”

“The flowers are an expression of our admirers,” Anabelle broke in testily. “An expression of genuine interest from potential suitors.

“And should be chosen with care,” Draven said distastefully as he looked around the room. “Did you know that messages can be conveyed in flowers?”

Anabelle stilled. She turned slowly towards him, watching him carefully. He was still addressing Hazel.

“I’ve never heard of such a thing. What sort of messages?”

“Hazel,” Anabelle warned.

“Of the romantic sort, of course,” Draven answered.

“How intriguing? How did you come by such knowledge? I wouldn’t have guessed you a connoisseur of flowers or botany in general.”

“Thank you, I am not. It’s quite popular in France at the moment, and I have a French valet who frequently corresponds with his sister. He even has a book on the subject. It was very recently published.”

“Sounds quite fanciful and idiotic,” Anabelle bit off.

“I thought so too, but then again, some things are said better without words.”

He was looking at her now. She could feel it. She refused to be baited by the soft deep tone he used. Silence fell, and Anabelle knew Hazel had to be very aware of the tension between them.

“Here we are now.” Their mothers chipper tone cut through the strange tension that had filled the room. “Would you like to stay for tea, my lord?” She addressed Draven with a warm smile as she handed him a folded letter.

“I’m afraid I cannot,” he said regretfully. “I’ve promised to take my sisters to the park.”

“Well, another time then,” Lady Wellsford assured.

“Have a pleasant evening, Lord Draven,” Hazel offered, though less warmly than he was received.

Anabelle managed a passable smile as he made his farewells and departed. She immediately went to her room and counted the minutes before Hazel would arrive. She went to her writing desk where a box of flowers sat in the afternoon sun. A crown of sweet pea and white clover. An unusual arrangement and now she understood why. She didn’t yet know their meaning, but she would bloody well find out.