Desperate and Daring 02 - Belle of the Ball (6 page)

Lord Marcus stepped closer and took her hands. “I haven’t frightened you, have I?”

“No.” Anabelle smiled.

“I’ve had the honor of spending a great deal of time with you these past two weeks. I hope you have enjoyed my company, as well.”

“I have,” Anabelle assured him. He looked very nervous now and she found it endearing.

“I want to assure you that I have the utmost respect for you and I would officially like to ask your father for permission to court you,” he blurted.

Anabelle put a finger to his lips. She didn’t know what to say at first, but there was one thing she needed to know before they could go any further. “May I make one small request?”

He nodded enthusiastically.

“I’ve given marriage and courtship a lot of thought. I know what I want from a husband. To truly know if we will be suitable, and if we should continue in that manner, I think …” Her courage failed her.

“Yes?”

She took a deep breath. “I think you should kiss me.”

He didn’t respond at first. “It would be my honor.” He leaned forward.

“Wait—” Anabelle stopped him. “I know this is terribly forward of me, but you must understand why. It is a marriage of love and passion I seek, and if I don’t feel a modicum of emotion from a kiss then…” She felt a humiliated blush climb her neck. How could she have said such things?”

Lord Marcus cocked his head to the side. “I think I understand you.”

“I’m not asking you to profess your love for me,” Anabelle clarified, “but I think if two people are meant to be together, then there will be great emotion felt when even a simple kiss is shared.” Even as she said the words, she knew she would feel nothing when Lord Marcus kissed her. If she had already felt she had to explain it to him, then she was already doomed to not feel it. The something she was looking for just wasn’t there. She was trying to force it and it took all the joy from it.

“I agree with what you are saying.”

Anabelle nodded. She had run out of words. All that was left was the doomed kiss.

“May I kiss you now?” he asked tenderly.

Anabelle nodded again. He didn’t pull her close or even step closer to her. With a single finger, he tipped up her chin and set his lips to hers, and Anabelle felt… nothing. Well, not nothing exactly. His lips were soft and nicely formed. The kiss was not demanding or overly assertive. He pulled away and her eyes popped open. She felt no urgency for another, no desire for a deeper thorough kiss. She released her held breath in a weary sigh. Her search would continue.

Lord Marcus didn’t look impressed either. “That was… nice.”

Anabelle wanted to laugh but didn’t. “We should return now.” She turned to leave.

“Wait. It wasn’t good enough, was it,” he said blatantly.

Anabelle faced him again.

“You can be honest, Anabelle. You were quite honest about what you want.”

“It wasn’t what I was hoping to feel.”

He nodded. “I suppose some things just can’t be feigned.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for. I enjoyed your company and I hope you find what you are looking for.” He smiled kindly.

“You are such a good man, Thomas. Your future wife is a very lucky woman,” Anabelle said sincerely.

He looked down at her intensely. “But that wife won’t be you.”

“I don’t think so.”

He took her arms and stepped closer to her, his chest brushing her bodice. “I’d like to try again. One last time.”

Anabelle sucked in her breath and nodded. What did she have to lose? He kissed her with more passion this time, his lips firm and eager. She opened her mouth, because from somewhere deep inside, she thought maybe she might feel that elusive something if he kissed her the way Draven had.

His tongue slipped into her mouth and she resisted the urge to kiss him back. She didn’t want him to know that she was no longer a novice in that regard. He explored her mouth, alternating between deep caresses and gentle sucking of her lips. It was actually very nice in Anabelle’s opinion, but it was still lacking. Her wits were firmly in place. She had no fevered urge to feel more and give more of herself. He finally pulled away. And she wiped at her mouth with her gloved fingertips.

“Well?” he asked. He sounded out of breath.

“That was much more exciting.” She tried to sound as affected as he.

His face fell. “But?”

Anabelle shook her head.

“Well, then, I will escort you back to the ball,” he mumbled.

“Thomas.” Anabelle put a hand on his chest. “Your wife will melt from your kisses. I say that with absolute certainty.”

He brightened at that. “Melt, you say?”

“Like butter over a hot roll.” Anabelle laughed.

He laughed too, and the tension eased. They snuck back to the garden and into the ballroom, parting ways as friends.

Draven kept his back to the wall and watched the terrace doors. In they strolled together—and then they parted ways? Draven analyzed her face for signs of a thorough kiss. That was what she had wanted, wasn’t it? Just not from him. He knew Lord Marcus and could even say he liked the chap, but presently, he felt like burying his fist in his gut. What he could not figure out was why they had suddenly parted. There wasn’t any warmth in the parting. Draven knew from personal experience how warm one could feel after an embrace with Lady Anabelle Darling.

Should he investigate? If there were an angel on his shoulder, it would be screaming no, but luckily, he was standing beside the devil.

“Rigsby, what do you make of the relationship between Lady Anabelle and Lord Marcus?”

Rigsby gave him a side-eyed glance and shrugged. “They seem to be doing the usual rounds together. Chatting, dancing, you know how early courtship goes.”

“They just returned together from the terrace,” Draven replied.

“Things must be progressing. She is hard to ignore in that dress.”

He had no idea
. “She doesn’t look ravished.”

“That dress aside, I’m not sure she inspires one to ravish.”

Draven could have ardently disagreed. He wanted nothing more than to peel her mermaid costume from her creamy skin. He kept his thoughts firmly to himself. “I see someone I need to speak with.”

Rigsby turned to look at him. “I see an angel who is on her third glass of champagne and a shepherdess who needs help finding her sheep. Stay out of trouble, Draven.” Rigsby paused and shook his head. “Between you and Lucy, I feel like a nursemaid.”

Draven clapped him on the back. “I can take care of myself. I will see you later.”

Rigsby and Draven parted in different directions. Draven went in the direction of Lord Marcus, intent on finding out the depth of his relationship with Anabelle. He had no right, and absolutely nothing good could come of knowing, but he couldn’t stop himself. Anabelle would be furious. She would think he was purposefully ruining her attempts to find a husband, but that was far from the truth. He wasn’t trying to ruin anything for her—he simply had to know.

What if Marcus didn’t deserve her? What if he mistreated her? Draven was only looking out for her best interest, even if she couldn’t see that. Never mind that he would be looking out for his interests too, which was she—something he could no longer deny. And now that he had admitted it, he didn’t want to deny it. Most women fell to his feet, but she hated him at this point, and it was rather entertaining. He was on the border of obsession, and it made him feel good, like waking up after a long rest.

He was pleased by the effect of his mask. Few dared to approach him, which saved him from annoyingly bland conversations. Masquerades were far more entertaining than typical balls, and offered abundant opportunities for illicit trysts, but that was not in the cards tonight. He had succeeded in claiming another kiss from Anabelle’s sweet lips, but that would probably be his last. If he wanted to get close to her, and remain close to her, he needed to show her that she could trust him to keep his hands to himself and not get in the way of her plans.

He honestly had no urge to interrupt her matrimonial plans. It wasn’t as if he wanted to be the champion of heart, but he did need his infatuation to run its course. It would fade as all lust induced obsessions often did. He was sure of it. What he needed now was to find out how serious things were between Marcus and Anabelle. Chasing the skirts of an engaged woman was beyond his moral boundaries.

He found Lord Marcus on his way to the card room, walking with two unknown gentlemen. The card room was a masculine refuge and players had to remove their masks to play. Draven loosened his mask and let it hang on his back in his hood. He took one of the many chairs set in clusters around the occupied card tables and pulled a cigar from inside his jacket. Marcus and his acquaintances just happened to take the chairs across from him and Draven offered them each a cigar.

Matches were struck and there was silence from all of them as they puffed in appreciation.

“Where did you find these?” Lord Marcus asked with an appreciative sigh.

“A little shop just off the corner of Bond St. The owner always keeps a box for me,” Draven obliged, relieved that he wouldn’t have to force a conversation. “It’s a good excuse to get away from a cloying woman.” Draven winked.

The gentlemen laughed, but Lord Marcus’s face had a subtle change. He looked a bit wounded.

Draven thought of what he could say to draw his secrets out or, as was his usual fashion, he could just ask and not give a damn what the man thought.

“I’ve heard you’ve been trailing the skirts of one of the Darling twins. Which one?”

Marcus shrugged, but he still held that look. Like a puppy denied a bone. “Lady Anabelle caught my attention, but it came to naught.”

“They are both quite fetching this evening,” one of his friends said. Draven remembered him as Mr. James. The other gentleman was Sir Wallock. Lower gentry, but they had accumulated fortunes large enough to grant them entrance to the most elite society affairs.

“I’ve had the pleasure of meeting them both. I am acquainted with the Duke of Ablehill and his new duchess. The women are friends.”

Lord Marcus was watching him now. “You know Lady Anabelle?”

Draven nodded. “I do. We share the same acquaintances.”

“She is one of the finest women I know,” Lord Marcus blurted.

Ah, Draven thought. Lord Marcus’s wound was quite fresh. If there was no alliance, then Draven could pursue her as he wished—discreetly, of course. Draven raised his glass. “To the fine women we are privileged to know.”

The gentlemen raised their glasses and sipped.

Draven said no more as he enjoyed the last of his cigar. “Pleasant evening, gentlemen.”

Draven felt elated as he slipped out of the card room and donned his mask. The hunt was on. He still needed to find his way into her good graces, but now he wouldn’t have to worry that her heart was engaged with another man. He didn’t fully understand what his end goal was—all he knew was he just wanted to be near, perhaps even be the recipient of a smile or two. He couldn’t have her the way he truly wanted her, but he could have a smile or a laugh, a teasing glance, or a battle of the wits. Whatever he could get, he would accept.

He returned to the ballroom, which was steadily declining into a raucous of loose behavior. He scanned the heads for Anabelle’s fair locks and mermaid mask. He didn’t want her to see him, not when she was still angry with him, but he would keep an eye on her, especially now as the evening grew late, and the tenor of the masquerade was taking a lascivious turn. He found her on the dance floor dancing a reel with a goat man. She was laughing, sharing the radiance of her beauty with all who could see her. Draven watched in awe. She was incomparable tonight. The most beautiful woman in the entire world. As he scanned the room, he could tell he wasn’t the only gentleman admiring her beauty.

It would soon be midnight, and everyone would unmask. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be here for that event, but then again, his gut told him that he shouldn’t leave until she did and he was sure she was safe. He moved closer to the dance floor, eager to keep her in his sights.

“Excuse me.”

He tossed an apology over his shoulder.”

“Lord Draven,” a feminine voice pressed.

Draven turned. It was Lady Hazel, looking slightly perturbed.

“My apologies.” He paused. “You know who I am?”

“It wasn’t hard to guess.” Hazel stepped closer to him. “But what I would dearly like to know is why you concealed your identity when you know perfectly well that my sister despises you.”

“I’m trying to make amends.” he insisted.

“You are doing a very poor job,” Hazel returned.

Draven grimaced. He glanced over his shoulder, but the dance was still in progress. “Perhaps you could enlighten me?”

Hazel crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. “Why would I do such a thing?”

Draven issued a glare of his own. “Because it is in your best interest to not anger me.”

Hazel scoffed. “You dare to threaten me?”

No, he didn’t. He reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose and remembered the mask. He sighed. He looked down at Lady Hazel, who was so alike and yet so different from her sister. She was just as beautiful, but he felt none of the itchy arousal he felt whenever he was around Anabelle. Abruptly, he wondered if Anabelle had confided in her sister what had occurred between them.

“I commend you for being protective of your sister, I have sisters of my own, but she is a woman full grown and can fight her own battles.”

“She doesn’t want to fight a battle with you,” Hazel continued.

“Nor I with her. If you will excuse me.” He turned away before she could utter another word. The set had finished, and he wasn’t about to let Anabelle slip out of his sight.

*

Anabelle had to insist twice that she needed a bit of refreshment. The strange goat man went to fetch a lemonade, and as he did so, she moved to the far wall to escape him. She breathed a sigh of relief in the shadow of a pillar where it was less crowded. The ballroom had thinned and some of the dancing was now on the terrace in the cooler air. Anabelle wished to go there as well, but she dared not venture outside on the arm of a gentleman. The propriety of the event was slowly decaying as the evening wore on.

She was tempted to retreat and go home early. She was disappointed with the evening and her spoiled kiss with Lord Marcus. If only Draven hadn’t fooled her. Her chest burned with anger at the thought. She didn’t want to think of him, not now or ever again, but her mind refused to cooperate, and even worse, every moment with other gentlemen paled in comparison. The dancing, the mysteriousness, the gaiety of the masquerade. Before she had known it was he, she was overcome by the energy and the excitement of the risk. She thought she would finally know the passion and desire she was searching for in the arms of a man whom she could marry, but instead it was he. He who cared little for her marriage plans, he who laughed at the notion of love, and he who could make her feel like her skin was aflame.

How did he do it? Surely, he wasn’t the only man who could. The idea that such a cold man could bring forth such a response from her was ridiculous, yet she had firsthand experience that it was exactly that. Was she missing something? Perhaps it wasn’t Draven himself who possessed such power. Perhaps it was his experience as a rake and her lack of experience in passion altogether?

She looked around the room with new eyes. It was a question that needed to be answered before she moved on to the remaining gentlemen of her list. But who to ask? Lucy. Not that Lucy had any more experience than Anabelle did, but Lucy had a rake for a brother and would have no qualms about asking him a few questions. Anabelle set out to find Lucy.

“Absolutely not.”

Anabelle found Lucy on the terrace enjoying another ice and the cooler air. She had pulled her aside from a group of gentlemen and young ladies.

“But surely your brother must know?”

“I’d bet my best hat he does, but I won’t ask him. He’d lock me in my room until my wedding day.”

Anabelle’s hopes fell. “But I must know.”

“That is dangerous information to have,” Lucy scolded. “What happens once you know? Will your curiosity be appeased or will it only be made worse?”

Anabelle huffed. “It’s important in helping me chose the many I will marry.”

“Well, ask Draven.” Lucy nodded towards the terrace doors.

Anabelle stiffened and turned to ice. The dragon was lurking by the door. “You know it’s him?”

“I saw him lurking beside my brother. Of course, it’s him. No one pulls off menacing and intriguing like Draven.”

To Anabelle’s horror, Lucy caught his attention and waved him over.

“What are you doing!” she hissed in Lucy’s ear.

“I can’t ask my brother such a question, but Draven will answer without a second thought. He loves starting trouble, and the answer you are seeking is bound to cause trouble.”

Anabelle thought she might faint as he approached. Her anger was still so raw, the humiliation too recent, and then there was her unstoppable reaction to him. If she wasn’t angry, she was overwhelmed by the urge to get closer, to taunt the beast. He approached slowly, almost apprehensive, but that couldn’t be possible. The man she knew him to be wasn’t given to such weaknesses.

He stepped before them and bowed slightly. “You summoned, Lady Lucy?”

“I have a very specific question to ask you, and I expect nothing but complete honesty.”

He tilted his head to the side. His eyes were hidden inside the mask and the effect was unsettling. “If I know the answer, I will give it.”

“But you mustn’t tell my brother,” Lucy demanded.

His shoulders slumped. “That puts me in a rather difficult bind.”

“This question is very sensitive. There is no one else I can safely ask.”

Anabelle kept her eyes down, but she could still feel when his gaze shifted to her.

“Out with it, minx,” he said to Lucy.