* * *
Watching Annabelle go, David whispered to Marianne. “I don’t think she appreciated my cutting in.”
Marianne shook her head at her brother. “Are you jesting? You’ve started a new trend. And your first time at a London ball, at that.” Marianne lifted her champagne glass in silent salute. “I heard no less than half a dozen young ladies say they hoped you’d cut in on their next dance partner.”
“I’m done with dancing for the evening,” David muttered, taking a reluctant sip from his glass.
“Don’t tell the young ladies that,” Marianne replied in a singsong voice. “You want to be the catch of the Season, don’t you?”
David shook his head. “This catch is going out for some fresh air, too, but not in the gardens. Far, far, away from the gardens, actually.”
“Have fun,” Marianne replied, still smiling.
David made his way toward the French doors on the far opposite side of the ballroom than the ones Annabelle had left through moments earlier. The last thing he needed was more gossip about himself and Annabelle. When he’d cut in on her dance with Murdock, David had merely been trying to save her feet from an incompetent dancer. That was all. But apparently, these people turned every small gesture into gossip. Annabelle had taken him to task for it. Fine. Next time he’d allow her slippers to be stomped upon. She’d chosen to dance with Murdock, hadn’t she? Even though she claimed she had no interest in being courted. Why did she say one thing and do another? And even more maddening, why the bloody hell did David care? He tossed back the final bit of his champagne before taking a fresh glass from a footman’s tray and leaving the ballroom.
The chilly spring night air hit David in the face the moment he stepped outside. He breathed it in gladly. It had become stuffy in the ballroom with all the candles, the dancing, and the bodies pressed together along the sidelines.
He sauntered across the verandah, and leaning his forearms atop the stone balustrade, stared down into the darkened landscape. The evening had gone well enough so far. The three ladies Annabelle had introduced him to certainly seemed promising. But if they were so promising, why weren’t any of them the one woman he was still thinking about? A vision of Annabelle in her glowing golden gown and matching gloves danced through his mind. Her laugh. The tone of her voice. The elegant arch of her neck. The way her mouth quirked up in that endearing little smile. He couldn’t stop thinking about any of it. Damned inconvenient. The woman had already made it quite clear that she was singularly uninterested in being courted. And if she were, he’d no doubt be the last man in London she’d be interested in, given his inexperience and lack of decorum. She’d just taken him to task for cutting in, for Christ’s sake. So why was he standing here wanting to court her? Was it merely that he’d always wanted what he couldn’t have? Or was Annabelle special? Unlike any of the other ladies in the stuffy ballroom. A breath of air as fresh as the ones he was inhaling at the moment.
A slight noise in the bushes below caught his attention and he leaned farther to see Annabelle herself walking in the darkened gardens. She was making her way to the nearby staircase that led up to him.
David briefly considered returning to the house before she made it up the stairs. That would be the right thing to do. The intelligent thing to do. But apparently, he was neither right nor intelligent this evening, because when Annabelle stepped onto the verandah, David was standing with his back against the balustrade, his arms tightly crossed over his chest.
“Lost?” he asked, smiling at her sweetly.
Annabelle lifted her chin. “There were too many people on the other side of the house. I was…looking for more privacy.”
“Sorry to keep you from it with my presence,” he drawled.
“We shouldn’t be seen together,” Annabelle replied.
David glanced around. “No one else is here. How would we be seen?” He gave her another patient smile.
Annabelle lifted her skirts and marched past him. “I’m afraid you don’t know how the ton works. If someone were to happen outside and see us together, there would be gossip.”
David stopped her with a hand to her shoulder. “There’s already gossip,” he replied. “And besides, I was under the impression that we’d have to be doing something compromising to be the subject of real gossip.”
* * *
Annabelle inhaled sharply the moment his hand touched her. She was staring ahead into the crowded, brightly lit ballroom, struggling against the desire to lean back against him.
“That’s true,” she finally allowed. “I suppose as long as we remain a decent length apart and are merely talking to one another…” She moved several paces away from him along the balustrade and turned to face him.
“Very well. You stay there and I’ll stay here.” He motioned to the distance between them. “Did you enjoy your dance with Lord Murdock?”
“You mean before you cut in?” She gave him a mock-sweet smile.
David’s teeth tugged at his bottom lip. “Yes.”
Why did he have to look so charming and boyish when he bit his lip that way? She struggled to recall why she was annoyed with him. Oh, yes. “Why did you cut in? And don’t tell me that nonsense about Lord Murdock not being a good enough waltz partner.”
David leaned his right elbow on the balustrade and shrugged his left shoulder. “Why did you dance with him? I thought you said you weren’t interested in being courted.”
Annabelle nearly stamped her foot. “One dance is a far cry from being courted. Besides I didn’t think you would have even noticed, what with all the dance partners you had this evening.”
David immediately stood up straight and narrowed his eyes on her. “Oh, my God. You’re jealous?”
“What? No!” Annabelle wheeled around to face out into the darkness, bracing her forearms on the balustrade. She refused to even entertain that ridiculous notion. Jealous? Her? Madness.
He stalked toward her and stopped beside her, staring at her profile. “Yes. You are. You’re jealous because I didn’t ask you to dance.”
Still facing the darkened gardens, Annabelle lifted her nose in the air. “I wouldn’t dance with you if you asked.”
“Why not?” he asked softly.
She lifted her gaze to the starry night sky while David moved even closer.
“Tell me something.” His voice was husky, deep. It sent a tremor through Annabelle’s center. “Aside from dancing and fetching drinks, would a gentleman ever have an opportunity to, say, kiss a lady?”
Annabelle kept her gaze steadfastly forward, but she had to swallow a lump in her throat. “Kiss? Absolutely not.” Her voice sounded stern, but it shook slightly. She was nervous. He was making her nervous.
David leaned a forearm on the balustrade next to her. He reached out with his other hand and traced the skin just above where her glove met her bare arm. “Never?”
Annabelle swallowed again and straightened her shoulders. But she did not step away from him. Her blasted, traitorous voice continued to shake. “Not unless…they were alone together.”
David looked pointedly around at the empty verandah before turning and setting his glass behind him on the balustrade. Then he faced her again.
Annabelle turned to him and tipped back her head to look directly up at David. Her heart was pounding like a hare’s in a trap. Why did she feel panicked and thrilled at the same time? She had to keep talking. Talking would solve this. Talking would keep this from turning into something it shouldn’t. “If a gentleman were interested in a kiss from a lady, he should most definitely ask first,” she said in a rush, looking away. Her body was hot and cold all over and, for the second time in her life—both, coincidentally, in David’s company—she felt faint. No. This wasn’t truly happening. David wasn’t thinking of…kissing her. Was he? That would be madness. She’d lost her mind. That’s all. Her mind was gone.
She made the mistake of glancing over at him again. She shouldn’t have done that, because what she s
aw was David’s tongue flick out to dab at the corner of his mouth. All she could do was stare, her own mouth going conspicuously dry.
“Ask first?” David said, his fingertip tracing down the length of her gloved arm to linger at her wrist. “That sounds like something a fop would do.”
Annabelle shook her head, trying desperately to keep her voice from shaking more. “N…n…no. It’s only courteous. What if the lady doesn’t welcome your advances?”
What in God’s name was wrong with her? She’d never been this skittish around a man before. Through the years, she’d sent well over a score of them packing when they’d become overly familiar. What made this encounter with David any different?
“I would never force myself on a lady who didn’t welcome my advances.” His fingertip moved back and forth across her knuckles.
It was only her hand, her gloved hand, but somehow his touch was melting her. Her heart pounded so hard it hurt. Her breath came in shallow pants. “Without asking her, how could you possibly know?” She wanted to sound confident and self-assured. Instead, her voice sounded frightened and squeaky.
Stop it, Annabelle. You’re making a fool of yourself.
David arched a brow at her. “I think I can tell if a lady would welcome my kiss.”
“That’s arrogant,” she insisted, lifting her chin in the hopes that the small action would restore her control of the situation. But she knew, had known from the moment she saw him on the verandah, perhaps from the moment he’d cut in on her dance with Lord Murdock so dauntlessly…the reason this was different from the other men who’d made unwanted advances was because this was David.
And his advances weren’t unwanted.
“Perhaps it is arrogant,” he replied, his voice slow and husky, “but there’s only one way to find out.” Clutching her wrist, he pulled her expertly into his arms and his lips came crushing down on hers.
Chapter Sixteen
Annabelle should push David away. She should slap him. She should tell him he was not only arrogant, he was wrong. But the moment his hot mouth met hers, all thoughts flew from her head. When his lips pushed hers apart and his tongue entered her, she whimpered. No man had ever done anything so bold. And she’d never wanted it more.
In response, she pushed her arms up along his coat front and wrapped them tightly around his neck. Then she kissed him back with everything she was worth.
He pulled her closer. His hands settled on her sides at first, then one moved along the small of her back, making her a puddle, before the other cupped the back of her head, moving it so her mouth made better contact with his.
When his other hand moved slightly below the small of her back and pulled her firmly against his rock-hard body, Annabelle cried out. The sound was swallowed by his kiss.
She’d never felt anything like it. Most of the clumsy kisses she’d experienced before were wet, sloppy things that left her cold. This was nothing but heat. She didn’t know where to concentrate her pleasure, on his hand that cradled her head so tenderly, or the other hand at the small of her back driving her mad. Or the feel of her entire body plastered against his. Then there were her hands that had moved to his strong shoulders, while she breathed in the heady scent of him as his tongue owned hers.
They might have been kissing for seconds or hours. Annabelle was so disoriented that when David’s mouth left hers, she was nearly gasping for breath. Her nipples tingled and the intimate spot between her legs throbbed. The only thought in her head…it hadn’t been enough.
“Well?” he asked, stepping back, and straightening his jacket. He looked perfectly settled, but he was slightly bereft of breath, too. Good.
“Well, what?” she managed, her chest heaving, her gloved hand braced on the balustrade for balance.
He bit his lip and tilted his head to the side. “Do I owe you an apology for that?”
She narrowed her eyes on him. She wished she could breathe normally. She wished she could think normally. None of this was normal, and she’d never responded anything like that to any man. But at the same time, no man had ever kissed her like that before, either.
It was good. Better than good. She wanted to do it again. Immediately. But she’d die before she told him that. She searched her brain for the correct words. Something adequately tutor-like and condemning. “A gentleman should never take such liberties,” she forced herself to say, pressing her lips together primly, trying to pretend as if they didn’t still tingle from his kisses.
A sensual half-smile tugged at his lips. “I never said I was a gentleman.”
“But you’re trying to be, aren’t you?” Oh, no. The squeak was back. Her voice was neither clear nor confident. Perhaps talking was not the answer now. Perhaps she should shut her mouth and run inside the house. That seemed far more expedient than words at the moment.
“Not if it means missing out on a kiss like that,” he answered, rubbing a finger absently against the seam of his firm lips, as if remembering.
She tried to tamp down her answering smile, but it was too late—though she recovered herself enough in time to say what she knew she must. “That was improper, David. Of both of us.”
“I was merely trying to prove a point,” he said, tugging at his cuff.
She turned toward the darkened gardens so he couldn’t see the riot of emotions that was surely dancing across her face. “What point would that be?”
“That I’m not a complete fool. I do know when a woman welcomes my kiss.”
Her fingers gripped the cold balustrade, bringing a sense of sanity back to her entire body. Why was he pushing this so far? What did he want her to say? Anger flared in her chest. She turned to face him again. “Fine. I’m not certain why you’d want to prove that to me, however. Shouldn’t you be kissing a woman you might actually marry?”
David’s chin jerked slightly as if he’d been slapped. For a moment she thought she’d seen pain flash through his eyes, but his countenance quickly turned to stone, and he squared his shoulders. “You’re right, my lady,” he clipped. “I should go in search of Lady Elspeth.” He stalked directly past her on his way back to the ballroom, without giving her a second look.
Chapter Seventeen
After taking a few minutes to compose herself, Annabelle had nearly made it to the French doors to re-enter the ballroom when one of them opened and Lord Murdock slid outside.
“My lord?” she said, surprise evident in her voice as she took a decided step back.
“My lady,” he replied, bowing obsequiously, his smile tight.
Annabelle didn’t care for the glint in his eye. “I was just about to return to my mother—” she began.
“Yes.” He slipped an arm through hers and forced her to walk with him back toward the balustrade. “All in due time. First, I was hoping you’d allow me to speak with you privately for a few moments.”
Annabelle glanced back at the doorway they were moving farther and farther from. A shudder traced its way up her spine. Whatever Lord Murdock wanted to say to her, it wasn’t something she wanted to hear. She could sense that.
“Only for a moment,” she insisted, trembling. “I really must get back.”
As soon as they made it to the balustrade, Lord Murdock let his arm fall away. He stood between her and the French doors, blocking her view of the ballroom. The glint in his eye turned harder. “You don’t know me very well, Lady Annabelle,” the marquess began.
Annabelle nodded, her heart pounding. “No,” she agreed. What was he about?
“If you did know me, you would know that I am not a man to be trifled with.” His jaw was tight and for the first time, she saw anger simmering in his dark eyes.
Annabelle clutched the balustrade to steady herself. She hoped Lord Murdock couldn’t tell that her entire body was shaking. “Have I done something to offend you?” she forced herself to ask in a clear, steady voice, but panic was clawing at her middle.
The marquess’s dark eyes narrowed on her. “Not returning my ca
lls, not sending thank you letters for my gifts, and allowing that buffoon from Brighton to cut in on our dance just now. I fear you’ve offended me many times over, my lady.”
Annabelle sucked in her breath. She’d had no idea he’d been harboring ill will toward her, and she certainly didn’t like the way the man said ‘my lady.’ It was as if he was claiming her for his own. “I certainly have never meant to offend you,” she replied. She didn’t need a powerful enemy like the Marquess of Murdock—but she refused to be berated by this man.
She made to step past him toward the ballroom. His hand shot out to grab her wrist, twisting it slightly, hurting her. She froze but refused to allow him to know she was in pain. “Have you something else to say?” she asked, her nostrils flaring. How dare this man accost her in this manner? She owed him nothing.
“Indeed, my lady,” he ground out. “It’s something important, so listen well.”
Annabelle tried to wrestle her wrist from his grasp, but that only served to tighten it. She clenched her jaw and refused to look at him as he brought his mouth close to her ear. “I saw you kissing Elmwood just now,” the marquess hissed. “And I can go straight back into that ballroom and tell everyone who’ll listen, which will all but force you to marry him. Or…”
Fear and anger flared in Annabelle’s chest. Damn this monster. He was about to blackmail her. She closed her eyes, waiting for his next words. “Or what?” she nearly spat.
“Or, you can come back inside and dance with me and finish the dance this time. And you can return my calls, and thank me for my presents, and allow me to take you riding in the park.”
Annabelle clenched her teeth. The man was completely mad. What could he possibly think the result of this scheme would be? “I suppose next you’ll demand that I marry you?” she asked in a voice that was much calmer than she felt.
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