by Meara Platt
“She’s my nephew’s wife now. Just as it ought to be,” Penelope retorted.
There was a malicious look in the dowager’s eyes, warning Anabelle of impending trouble. Not the demonic world sort, but the Upper Crust sort that was quite human in its pettiness. Lady Marmott obviously believed, as most of London did by now, that Saron had seduced her, perhaps gotten her with child.
If only it were true.
He’d make an excellent father.
To Anabelle’s way of thinking, there was no better way to heal the darkness within him than to give him a son or daughter. It would distress him, at first. He’d lost Gideon and that would always be a festering wound to his heart. But he’d fight for his children with a fervor that nothing else could match.
Anabelle’s head was pounding by the time they returned to the Draloch townhouse. She removed her hat, gloves, and cloak, handing them to a footman. Penelope paused beside a large bowl set atop a table in the corner of the entry hall. “Goodness, it’s filled with calling cards. We’ll have to set aside an afternoon to receive guests. Perhaps Thursday. Yes, that will give us time to finish our shopping and send out notes.”
“As you wish.” Anabelle’s thoughts were on saving Saron and his brother, not entertaining the insufferable London elite.
“I do hope Saron will be available Thursday afternoon,” Penelope continued with a pensive purse of her lips. She turned to the head butler. “Brooks, has His Grace returned home yet?”
“Yes, Lady Penelope. But he has company, several lords came home with him after his meeting with the Prince Regent.”
“More of that nasty business,” she muttered. “Do forgive me, Anabelle. I’m quite spent and have no wish to greet these gentlemen.”
“I’ll knock lightly to let him know we’re home.” Anabelle watched Penelope make her way upstairs. She grabbed a book from his library and then approached the study. If Saron didn’t invite her in, she’d read her book while quietly having tea and cakes in the rose arbor.
She had just raised her hand to knock at the study door when she heard Saron’s voice behind it. In the next moment, the door opened and he filled the entryway. “Ah, you’re back already.”
Had he hoped to be rid of his company before she came home? Since he’d described the list of four who were suspected of being traitors to the Crown, she easily recognized the distinguished-looking men who stood behind him. The youngest appeared about Saron’s age and was of similar height, but slighter in build. His complexion was paler and his hair was a sandy blond. He had blue eyes, but they were not nearly as vivid or interesting as Saron’s eyes. Still, he had a kind smile and appeared intelligent. The other three men were considerably older and portlier, one dark-haired and a bit of a dandy, while the other two were silver-haired and more conservative in their dress.
While happy to see her, Saron was obviously not happy their paths crossed while he was in the company of these men. “Forgive me, you’re busy and I’m intruding.”
But his companions voiced their eagerness to meet her. He had no choice but to relent and make introductions. After all, he wasn’t ashamed of her and would never allow his guests to think he was. He turned to the four who were standing behind him and craning their necks for a better view of her. “Gentlemen, may I present to you the new Duchess of Draloch?”
He then introduced the men to her, starting with the youngest, Lord Asbury, since he ranked highest among these lords, and next turned to the dark-haired gentleman whom he addressed as Lord Bellingham.
Bellingham bowed over her hand with great flare. “A pleasure, Your Grace. I have been looking forward to meeting you. His Grace speaks most highly of you.”
She arched an eyebrow, tossing a curious glance at Saron.
“Yes, it is so,” Saron muttered with amusement, though she sensed a certain tension in his manner. He then introduced the silver-haired gentlemen as Lord Reston and Lord Knox. Indeed, Lord Knox was as pompous as Saron had warned, but Lord Reston had a kindly smile.
Saron had brought the Prince Regent’s advisors home. But to what purpose?
She dared not ask, for Saron would not have told them about her encounter with Lord Bloodaxe. It was too sensitive a matter and he wouldn’t risk giving that information to a traitor. If he thought it wiser to keep silent, then she would follow his lead.
They spoke briefly of pleasantries. “I hear Lord Atwell’s upcoming ball is to be your first this season,” Lord Reston remarked.
She nodded. “My first in quite a while.”
“You’ll charm everyone,” Lord Bellingham added amiably. “Unfortunately, I cannot attend, for I’ve promised to visit my aunt in Brighton and mustn’t disappoint the old darling. She’s in frail health. The mineral baths do little for her.”
Anabelle regarded him with sincere concern and was about to offer her good wishes to his aunt when Lord Bellingham withdrew a watch from his fob and remarked about the time. “Goodness! I hadn’t realized it was so late. There’s much to do before I leave for Brighton. Delighted to have made your acquaintance, Lady Anabelle…er, Your Grace.”
He turned to Saron with apologies, once more muttering about his trip to Brighton.
“Ah,” Lord Reston remarked. “I had better go, too. My wife expects me home within the hour. See you tomorrow, gentlemen.”
Knox also muttered his apologies and all three left in Reston’s carriage.
Anabelle now found herself alone with Saron and Lord Asbury, who was quietly studying her, but not in a lascivious way. Did he suspect she knew of the Dragon Lords?
“How was your shopping excursion?” Saron asked.
“Interesting,” she responded wryly.
“I see.” He sounded none too pleased by her answer. “Did my aunt find it as interesting? Where is she now?”
“Resting. The mad dash from shop to shop quite tired her out.”
Saron glanced at the book in her hand. “Farming?”
She nodded. “I’m always fascinated by innovative land management and the latest advancements in farming that can be applied to improving the crop yield at Harleigh. That is…well, it doesn’t matter.” She no longer owned Harleigh and had no say in its running.
“Tell me about them later,” Saron said with surprising sincerity. “We can send instructions to Masterson. He enjoys reading private correspondence, does he not?”
Anabelle couldn’t help but grin. “He does, but never his own.” She turned to Lord Asbury. “Masterson is Harleigh’s eccentric butler. He loves to meddle in everyone’s affairs, but all in all, he’s quite wonderful.”
“Join us in the study,” Saron said as her grin faded, for he must have realized her sudden longing for the place and wished to distract her.
She and Lord Asbury settled in comfortable chairs beside the fire. Saron, who remained standing, turned to Lord Asbury and offered him a drink.
“Can’t refuse a good whiskey,” Asbury said and turned to Anabelle, tossing her a casual smile.
Saron offered Anabelle a glass of sherry, but she politely declined.
He poured a drink for himself, then moved to the fireplace and propped his shoulder against the mantel. “I’ve asked Lord Asbury to lend his support to your reintroduction into Society. I imagine from the look on your face that your excursion did not go as well as hoped.”
Anabelle nodded. “Nothing that I can’t handle.”
She cast him a questioning look. Had he invited these four gentlemen to their home to seek their help in re-introducing her into society? Of course not. They must have been talking about Bloodaxe or the other Dragon Lords. But why have her meet Asbury now?
She thought he disliked all of the Prince Regent’s advisors. Well, he’d been frustrated and furious last night and might have spoken out of anger. These men had to be competent or they would never have gained the royal family’s confidence. In any event, they weren’t all traitors to the Crown.
“Lord Asbury can be trusted,” Saron said, those few
words conveying a wealth of information. He’d ruled the young lord out as the traitor.
“I look forward to meeting your wife as well, my lord. I hope you bring her with you on your next visit.”
Asbury grinned. “I haven’t a wife. Little time for that at the moment.”
“Oh, that is a pity.”
“Most women seem to think so,” he said with a chuckle, “but I don’t particularly mind my present state. Of course, I have my family to think about and the responsibility of passing along my earldom to worthy offspring. I will have to marry someday soon.”
“I’m sure my husband has warned you that marriage is a vitally important decision that cannot be rushed. You must take time and great care in selecting your life mate. Years, perhaps,” she said with amusement.
Saron coughed. “I said no such thing. Had he sought my advice, I would have told him to follow his heart as I did with you.”
She and Lord Asbury exchanged jovial glances. “Yes, but do try to avoid engaging in legal proceedings with your intended,” Anabelle teased. “It might give the woman you love the wrong impression.”
Anabelle sat quietly as the two men engaged in more serious conversation, adding little to the discussion except when specifically addressed. She was happy to listen and amazed that Saron was allowing her to sit in at all.
A short time later, Lord Asbury set down his glass and rose. “Your Grace, you are fatigued and I have imposed too much upon your hospitality. I’ll take my leave now, but look forward to seeing you at Lord Atwell’s ball.” He bowed politely over her hand, then turned to Saron, his expression far more sober. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Saron showed him to the door, then quickly returned to her side. “What do you think, little one? Does he seem trustworthy?”
She shook her head in confusion. “I thought you said he could be trusted.”
He nodded. “I do trust him, but I’m too close to this matter. I’d like to know what you think.”
“You’re seeking my advice?” She cast him a beaming smile. “I think I’m falling deeper in love with you, that’s what I think. Thank you for asking my opinion. May I tell you after I see him at Lord Atwell’s ball? What of Knox, Reston, and Bellingham? Do you wish my opinion of them, too?”
“Yes. Those men and I spent the day discussing Lord Bloodaxe and how to best protect Prinny if the meeting goes badly, as it will because we aren’t dealing with a force that can be leashed or controlled in any way.” He studied her expression. “What’s nagging at you? You seem bothered by something?”
“It’s silly. No doubt a trivial distraction, but I wonder why Lord Bellingham chose this moment to visit his maiden aunt? Don’t you find it odd?”
“No. Should I?”
“I suppose not, but shouldn’t he be at Prinny’s beck and call right now instead of going on and on about Brighton?”
“Yes, however he was given permission to go. We don’t expect to engage in negotiations for another week or two at the earliest.” He leaned over and gave her a long, lingering kiss. “Did you miss me?”
She shook her head and laughed. “Not in the least.” But she kissed him back eagerly. “Of course, I did. How can you be in any doubt?”
“I’m not. Yet, I do question your sanity.”
She kept her hands lightly poised on his chest. “I think I’m about to give you more reason to question it.” She took a deep breath and waited for the explosion of frustration her request would unleash in him. “Will you take me to visit the Stone of Draloch again?”
“What? You are mad.” He arched a dark eyebrow and leaned close, placing his hands on either side of her chair and trapping her between them. To her surprise, no explosion came. Had he felt the stone’s pull as well and known it was calling to her? “I thought you were about to invite me upstairs to nap with you.”
“I’d love that, too.” Her hands slid up his chest and rested on his broad shoulders. “But I have important questions to ask of it and I need immediate answers.”
“Such as?”
She ignored the dangerous gleam in his dragon eyes. “I can’t tell you.”
Chapter Eighteen
“Lord Atwell’s ball is a crush,” Penelope declared.
Generally, such a pronouncement was a great compliment to one’s host. Penelope meant it as such, but Anabelle never enjoyed these large gatherings and much preferred to pass the hours in Saron’s library reading a good book.
She tried to ignore the curious stares as she made her way up the grand staircase on Saron’s arm toward the receiving line, those smirks and smug looks revealing what everyone thought, that she’d become his wife out of necessity and not because he wished to marry her.
“Stay close, little one. Have I mentioned you look beautiful?” He merely glanced at the pearl satin gown she wore before his gaze rested on her face. He was strikingly handsome in black, the color somehow bringing out the deep blue and haunting gray of his dragon eyes. He had the attention of every lady in the ballroom, yet he didn’t seem to care. His gaze remained on her. “Would you care to dance this evening?”
She nodded. “When they strike up a waltz. Do you dance as divinely as you do everything else?”
“I’m sure I’ll think so even if I don’t.” He grinned at her and she couldn’t help but laugh at his jest. She wished he was more often in good humor, but knew it would pass quickly. His life had not been sweet or playful and there was more work to be done this evening, for three out of the four lords in Prinny’s inner circle would be in attendance and Saron intended to watch them.
He glanced at her once more, this time quite softly. “Come, let me introduce you to Lord Atwell and his wife.”
Anabelle had yet to meet their hosts, but many faces in the crowd were familiar to her. A good number of these gentlemen and ladies had visited the Blakefield townhouse over the course of the past week to pay their respects. Most had dropped by out of lurid curiosity, and none had come in the hope of striking up a friendship.
As they walked through the crowd, Anabelle heard a woman whispering rather loudly behind her. “The girl may be his wife now, but he’ll have his hands full with her. Is it any surprise? She’s prone to scandal, caused quite a stir two years ago by running off at the height of the Season. Well, she’s had her comeuppance now. Draloch’s not going to indulge her as he would a mistress. Do you see the way she looks at him? It’s indecent.”
She recognized Lady Marmott’s voice. Had Saron heard? She couldn’t tell from his expression.
Lord and Lady Atwell greeted them warmly.
“They’ve been married for fifteen years,” Penelope said, coming up beside her while the Atwells engaged Saron in brief conversation.
Lady Atwell, a pretty brunette with sparkling hazel eyes, could not have been more than seventeen when she married Lord Atwell, and he must have been close to forty. Yet, they seemed a happy couple. “I received a similar ton welcome,” Lady Atwell whispered, turning toward her with a genuinely warm smile. “But I’ve since learned how to deal with the gossips.”
Anabelle returned her smile. “I would very much like to learn your secret.”
“Throw several grand parties. It’s as simple as that, though it took me a year of extreme misery to figure it out. The ton loves a lavish party and will forgive their hostess almost any sin for it.”
Anabelle didn’t think it was quite that simple, but appreciated the advice. “Thank you. I shall take your words to heart.”
“The passage of time and newer scandals also help. I spent hours in chapel praying that Lady Ballwick, my particular nemesis, would be found with her butler in her boudoir. It never happened, but the Duke of Fount’s wife soon did me the favor of running off with her husband’s roguish cousin. That caused quite a stir.”
The pleasant moment quickly faded as Anabelle moved on and the ugly whispers resumed.
“These churlish strangers don’t matter, little one. I know your true worth.” He cast her anothe
r soft look that made her want to melt into his arms. There was no anger in his eyes, just tender protectiveness.
They walked through the ballroom filled with guests and Anabelle tried her best to hold herself proudly even as several men cast lascivious looks her way. The subtle arch of an eyebrow from Saron sent them scurrying for cover.
“Look,” Penelope remarked, gasping in delight, “the Romneys are here.”
Anabelle brightened when she saw Caroline and Olivia make their way toward her. “Thank goodness.” She gave each a quick hug. “I’m sorely in need of friends this evening.”
Penelope nodded. “Olivia, you look quite charming in butternut silk. Brings out the gold in your hair. Ah, Harry. Good to see you again.”
“How was your visit to Carlisle?” Anabelle asked after the requisite greetings had been exchanged.
“Lovely,” Caroline said. “We returned to town only yesterday and had no time to call upon you. How are you, Anabelle? Is it true? Are you married to this handsome devil?” She nodded toward Saron.
“Yes, a quiet ceremony. Saron had to be dragged to the altar, but I managed to hold him down until he said his vows.” She smiled at him and was surprised when he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it, no doubt done purposely to send all eavesdroppers and onlookers into a gossiping frenzy. Saron was never one to act impulsively or ever show the slightest affection.
“Penelope, are you and Anabelle free tomorrow?” Caroline asked while her husband and Saron now engaged in their own conversation. “We’d love to have you to tea. We must catch up on all the news since our last visit.”
“Please say you will,” Olivia said, taking Anabelle’s hand now that Saron had released it and giving it a squeeze.
Anabelle laughed. “I’d love to.”
“What are you ladies going on about?” Harry asked.