Mary helped Annie into the soft pink gown and tied the wide white sash around her back. New white kid slippers, matching gloves, and an adorable bonnet with a bit of pink velvet trim completed her ensemble. Of course, the entire effect would go completely to waste on Jordan Holloway. Why, the man might as well be her brother. Her exceedingly annoying older brother. Her exceedingly annoying older brother … whose hard muscles she had felt a bit too closely last night. She shook her head.
“Is it getting hot in here of a sudden, Mary?”
Mary’s brow furrowed. “Not that I’ve noticed, me lady.”
“No matter.” Annie waved her hand in the air. She glanced down at her clothing and wrinkled her nose. Even wearing such fine clothes, she was still just Annie. Her dark brown eyes were perfectly fine, but they were just plain brown. Her dark brown curls were a mess and had only recently begun to show some promise. She’d spent a lifetime being an unimportant younger daughter and a great friend. She was not one to make a man’s head turn. No one’s but Arthur’s, that is.
Annie moved toward the windows and glanced down from her second-story bedroom. The street below was empty. “Lord Ashbourne’s not here yet.”
Attempting to secure a jeweled comb in Annie’s coiffure, Mary nodded toward the clock on the mantelpiece across the room. “’Tis not yet the hour. He isn’t late.”
Annie expectantly looked out the window again, willing Lord Ashbourne’s coach to appear. “I must be the only young lady in history who is ready
before
her escort arrives. I can’t help it. Primping and preening simply don’t interest me.”
“Let me worry about that, me lady,” Mary said, fastening a string of pearls around Annie’s neck.
Mary shuffled into the wardrobe humming to herself, and Annie watched her go. The maid was always happy lately. While she still suffered from an unfortunate memory problem, Mary too had come up in the world. She was now a servant in a grand town house of a marquis. She and Evans, the sisters’ former butler, were now ensconced in the magnificent home. They had smart uniforms and they both were quite proud of themselves. Though the butler actually was more of an esteemed overseer, an assistant to the marquis’s fine butler. But with Evans’s penchant for nodding off at the most inconvenient of times, he was happy to have the pressure of perfection removed. He was content to spend his days scurrying about after Devon’s butler, Nicholls, agreeing with him on nearly every count, and taking naps whenever possible.
“I do hope Lord Ashbourne arrives soon,” Annie called.
Mary’s singsong voice floated from the wardrobe. “Seems ye’re in quite the ’urry tonight.”
Annie traced the violet coverlet atop her bed with her fingertip. “I do not want to leave Arthur alone at the ball.”
Mary stuck her head out of the wardrobe. “Ye don’t trust ’im? I mean, him.” Since arriving at Lord Colton’s home, Mary had been doing her best to pronounce her
h
’s. “It wouldn’t do,” she often said, “for a marquis to employ such a common maid in his home.” “His home,” of course, was pronounced with much care.
“I trust Arthur,” Annie said, picking a bit of lint from her skirts. “It’s the other young ladies whom I don’t trust.”
“Now don’t ye think there is something wrong with that?” Mary asked. “It seems to me that yer Mr. Eggleston isn’t—”
Annie gave the maid a pleading look. “Oh, not you too, Mary. Since Lily’s been on holiday, I thought I’d have a reprieve from the daily speech about how I ought to stop pining after Arthur. I thought you were on my side. Besides, I don’t have a choice. I must act quickly. As soon as Lily and Devon return from the Continent, they intend to remove us all to the country until Christmas. With Justin being tutored at Colton House, they’ll be eager to see him. We’ll be in Surrey for months. I won’t even see Arthur until then unless I can convince him to offer for me first.”
Of course Annie had studiously avoided mentioning last night’s escapade to Mary. The less the maid knew, and would be tempted to repeat to Lily, the better. If she remembered it, that was.
“But ye can’t blame yer sister for being worried about the match,” Mary replied. “Seems ta me yer Mr. Eggleston should ’ave offered for ye long before now.”
“Arthur’s just waiting for the perfect time,” Annie explained. “His father was very aggrieved with him when he found out we went to Gretna. He promised his father he’d wait and think about things sensibly.”
“It’s been six months,” Mary pointed out.
“Don’t I know it,” Annie mumbled.
In the past few weeks, she had become positively determined to bring Arthur up to scratch quickly. Hence her unfortunate little incident last night. Tonight she just might be forced to do something even more outrageous to garner his attention.
The rattle of carriage wheels snapped Annie from her reverie, and she spun around to face the window. There it was, the grand coach with the deep blue crest and gold lettering of the Earl of Ashbourne. Four finely matched black horses pulled the conveyance. His lordship had arrived.
Annie bit her lip. Lord Ashbourne’s coach was much more elegant than the little one Arthur’s father allowed him to borrow. She’d feel positively out of place in such a magnificent vehicle. Why, it was as fine as Lord Colton’s, and she hadn’t become used to riding in that one yet.
Annie checked her reflection in the looking glass, pushed a stray curl into place as best she could, and tugged on her gloves more tightly. “Good night, Mary,” she called, hurrying out of the bedchamber. She’d only gotten a few paces away before she hastily recalled her reticule and flew back into her room to snatch it from the dressing table.
Mary plunked her hands on her hips. “Aren’t you the same young lady who recently told me you mustn’t appear too eager when a man comes to call?”
Annie slipped the reticule’s strap over her wrist. “Oh, but this isn’t a man,” she said, patting the maid on the cheek. “This is Lord Ashbourne.”
“The most eligible bachelor in London,” Mary called in a singsong voice.
“The most aggravating bachelor in London,” Annie sang back. She stopped for a moment and a small laugh escaped her lips. “Besides, a bachelor he may be, but he’s about as eligible as the Prince Regent. Lord Ashbourne has said a hundred times he never plans to marry. Now keep an eye on Dash and don’t wait up.” Annie blew a kiss to Mary and rushed from the room.
Hoisting her skirts with one hand, Annie clutched the balustrade with the other to keep from falling. As she rounded the landing, however, she forced herself to take a deep breath and count to five. She was nineteen now, after all. She must act with grace and decorum. She was Anne now, no longer Annie, no matter how many times she had to correct everyone. No matter how often she reminded them to use her new name. No matter how often she had to correct herself, even.
Ashbourne’s booming voice addressed the exceedingly staid Nicholls. Annie willed herself to push her shoulders back and descend the last several stairs more slowly.
As soon as she came into view, Ashbourne’s head snapped up to look at her and a grin spread across his face.
“You were running, weren’t you?” he asked.
She bit her lip to stifle her horrified laugh. “What? No!”
“Yes you were.” He slapped his leather gloves against his thigh. “I can tell. Your cheeks are bright pink. And you aren’t known as the runaway bride for nothing.” He grinned at her.
Annie’s free hand flew to her cheeks. Ooh, how she wished she could will away the telltale pink that spread across her face whenever she was anxious. Her hand moved to her hair. Only lately had the crazy ringlets of her youth been replaced by wide, luxurious dark curls that flowed down her shoulders and back. Hair that had always been scattered was now enviable. Arthur had remarked upon its beauty on more than one occasion. Of course she had her hair up tonight. But she always let a few loose curls out to frame her face.
Her cheeks might be slightly pink, but her hair was perfectly in place. Lord Ashbourne was just teasing her. As usual. It seemed to be his favorite sport of late.
“If I was running,” she said, lightly tugging on the delicate edges of her gloves, “and I’m not saying I was, mind you, it is only because I am eager to get to the ball.”
He gave her a mock-sad look. “You mean it’s not because you’re eager to spend time in
my
company?”
She came to stand by his side with a long-suffering sigh. “You cannot blame me. You’ve done nothing but cause me trouble at every turn ever since Lily and Devon left town.”
Oh, perhaps she shouldn’t have said that, given the events of last night. Why was she forever saying and doing things without thinking about them first? Particularly in Lord Ashbourne’s presence?
Thankfully, the stately butler appeared with her pelisse over his arm. Annie turned her back to allow Nicholls to drape it across her shoulders. But Lord Ashbourne stepped forward and pulled it from the older man’s grasp. “Allow me,” he intoned.
The earl’s strong hands made quick work of it, pushing the coat over her shoulders and …
Annie shuddered. A lustful thought sprang to mind. An unexpected rush of something foreign and hot where his breath had touched her neck. Though she quickly brushed the uncomfortable feeling aside.
This was Lord Ashbourne.
Jordan
. He was handsome, yes, but he didn’t make
her
head turn. No. No. Certainly not. Ludicrous notion. Why, the man was thirty-one years old, for heaven’s sake, old enough to be her … older brother.
She turned around and glanced up at him. She needed to take another look. He was well over six feet tall with broad shoulders, an athletic build, and short, cropped, dark brown hair. But his eyes were the real appeal. Dark silver, they glinted like ice or steel depending on his mood.
Oh. Very well. He was unmercifully handsome. Every woman in the
ton
thought so. But it took a great deal more than a pretty face to garner Annie’s attention, and Jordan Holloway was nothing but … troublesome.
Besides, men like Jordan Holloway never looked twice at girls like Annie Andrews.
She cleared her throat and tugged out of his reach. But it didn’t keep her from trembling a bit at his touch. Drat it all.
She shouldn’t be thinking such thoughts about Lord Ashbourne.
“How is your fox?” he asked.
Yes. Small talk. Just the thing. “Resting comfortably, thank you,” she replied.
“And Aunt Clarissa?” he asked, glancing around.
“Should be here any moment now,” Annie replied, and as if on cue, Aunt Clarissa appeared, rounding the bend in the hallway. Her suite was on the first floor as the poor woman had difficulty maneuvering stairs. Her cheeks were rosy, a sure sign she’d already been into the sherry this evening.
“I’m here, dears. I’m here,” she said, scurrying as quickly as a woman of her age and girth was able.
“Good evening, Aunt Clarissa,” Jordan said, bowing.
“Ah, Lord Ashbourne, when Anne told me you’d be escorting us to the ball tonight, I told her she was certain to have gotten the name wrong. But I daresay, I’m pleased to see she did not.”
Lord Ashbourne looked as if he were having considerable difficulty swallowing his laughter. “It’s a pleasure to escort both of you fine ladies,” he replied in his most debonair tone, and Annie couldn’t help but smile at the little wink he gave the older woman.
“If I were forty years younger and four stone lighter…” Aunt Clarissa winked at Lord Ashbourne and this time Annie covered her mouth with her hand. Good heavens, the lady was positively shocking. Annie smiled wide behind her hand. She actually couldn’t have asked for a better chaperone.
Annie dropped her hand and turned to Lord Ashbourne, the smile still pinned to her face. “Shall we?”
Lord Ashbourne’s grin widened. “I believe you just stole my line.”
* * *
Jordan escorted Annie Andrews and Aunt Clarissa down the steps and out to his waiting coach.
“Oh, those horses,” Aunt Clarissa exclaimed. “They looked positively beastly.”
“It’ll be all right,” Annie replied, allowing Aunt Clarissa to clutch at her sleeve while she patted the woman’s hand reassuringly.
Jordan watched the rigid way Annie held her small shoulders erect and the slight jut of her stubborn little jaw as she did her best to ignore him.
His closest friend, Devon, had fallen for this slip of a girl’s sister, Lily, five years ago. Devon and Lily had been reunited in the most unexpected of ways in the past year. Lily had authored a scandalous pamphlet entitled
Secrets of a Wedding Night
that had sold among the young ladies of the
ton
as quickly as it was printed. When Devon’s fiancée had cried off after reading it, Devon had been angry enough to go looking for the young widow. He’d issued her a challenge: write a retraction or prepare to be seduced to find out just how good a wedding night could be.
Of course Lily being Lily never had any intention of writing a retraction and the two had led each other on a merry chase before finally admitting to themselves that they were still in love after all those years.
Now, Jordan stared at Annie. After assisting Aunt Clarissa, he helped Annie into his coach, pulled himself up behind her, and slid into the seat across from her. She was slight but spirited. Whereas her sister, Lily, looked as if she’d been carved into porcelain, Annie had a simple beauty. But one, Jordan thought uneasily, that was somehow even more compelling. More compelling, still, given his reaction to her being in his arms last night.
With her dark hair and eyes, she looked like a Gypsy. And she’d somehow managed to grow even more beautiful in the past several months. He hadn’t had occasion to look at her so closely before, but now, in the coach with her, he realized that her hair, which had been passably pretty, was now a deep, luxurious knot of silk on top of her head. Her skin was fair and smooth, accentuating the dark slashes of her brows and her long black eyelashes.
Miss Andrews was a deuced beauty, if one were interested in innocents, which Jordan assuredly was
not.
Good God. The close confines of the coach were playing with his head. She was Devon’s sister-in-law. Completely unsuitable for him. Devon would lay him out flat if he knew Jordan had had as much as one inappropriate thought about Annie, let alone the several that had come to mind in the last twenty-four hours. Jordan shook his head to clear it of such unsettling ideas. Very well. The chit was a beauty. Why she insisted upon throwing herself at that fool Eggleston was anyone’s guess.