Belle of the Ball

by Dayna Quince

  Belle of the Ball

  Hot Historical Romance

  Dayna Quince

  Copyright © 2013 by Dayna Quince

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contact Dayna at daynaquince.com

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  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Sneak Peek

  Newsletter Sign up

  About the Author

  Also by Dayna Quince

  Chapter 1

  Lady Anabelle Darling wanted to be married. It was never more apparent than it was right now, sitting in a pew in St. Georges, watching her dearest friend Heather and her duke stare at each other with rapturous love. Anabelle was supremely jealous, not that she should be, but she was. Heather had needed to get married with all haste, and her options as gentlemen went had been narrowed by circumstance to just one. It turns out, through fortunate—and odd circumstances—that her one choice turned out to be the perfect choice, for Heather at least.

  Anabelle had no express need to be married. She simply wanted to. She wanted a man to look at her the way the duke looked at Heather. She wanted to be in love. Her problem was that she hadn’t any gentlemen in her recent acquaintance to fall in love with. They were amiable and suitable in rank and personality, but… none of them had inspired looks of adoration from her or any emotions like it.

  It was time to get serious. She needed a plan. She needed to stop waiting for the perfect man to fall at her feet and actively search for him. She would need to take a closer look at the most eligible of gentlemen of the season, and one by one, narrow them down to the one for her. It didn’t sound the least bit romantic, but at least it would give her the opportunity to truly discover who they were versus what she wanted.

  Anabelle focused on Heather and her duke again. Applause erupted around her and Heather smiled joyfully. Anabelle’s heart clenched. She wanted to feel that way. She was incredibly happy for Heather, and she wanted the same for herself. The bride and groom traipsed down the aisle and through the church doors, presumably to race to the wedding breakfast. Guests stood as they passed and Anabelle, along with her family, and waited to exit their pew. As she entered the crowded aisle, she looked up and found a pair of mocking grey eyes glinting at her.

  “A vigorous ceremony, wouldn’t you say, Lady Anabelle?”

  “No, my lord. Vigorous is not a word I would use. I will say the ceremony was lovely.” She responded to him with very little encouragement, giving him her profile.

  “You seemed quite moved, I could even say enraptured by the bride and groom.”

  Now she had to look at him. He was being quite absurd. “I am very happy for them, they looked quite in love. That is something to be admired, I think.” She looked away again, in what was obviously a dismissive manner.

  “Egad, no. How terrifying to be a lovesick fool.”

  There were titters of laughter following his remark, proof that their words were far from private and that was dangerous. Anabelle had no desire to be seen with him, or to even be conversing with him. She needed to distance herself from him immediately for the sake of her reputation and her marriage plans. However, she could feel the pull of his attention on her. She could feel him watching her face, looking for a reaction. She could feel an answering heat crawling up her neck.

  She lowered her voice. “How fortunate for you, my lord, that no woman of full mental capacity would ever love you.” Those were the cruelest words she had ever uttered before in her life. She felt him smile and that alarmed her. How was it possible to feel someone smile? But she was sure he was smiling—she even verified it with a peek from under her lashes.

  “You wound me deeply,” he answered, but his smile said anything but. He was patently enjoying himself. Anabelle looked forward, praying he would disengage from her and find his amusement elsewhere.

  Ahead of her, Hazel strolled between their mother and father, and beyond them, the open doors offered her an avenue of escape. The procession came to a halt. There were cheers from outside. The duke must be tossing coins into the crowd before whisking his bride away. Anabelle wished she could see it. She wanted to absorb the happiness, taste the giddiness that was Heathers, for only a moment to appease her own yearnings for her own wedding.

  Like a dark cloud, Lord Draven loomed beside her. “It’s a madhouse out there. It will take forever to reach my carriage.”

  Anabelle refused to acknowledge him. She stepped closer to her parents, but the other guests pushed closer to see the theatrics outside. She planted her feet, determined not to be crushed against her family. A body bumped into the back of her and remained. She looked over to glare at the offending person, but her eyes met a cravat, and she swallowed as her eyes slowly ascended despite the dread she was feeling. Grey eyes met hers, amused and wicked.

  “My apologies. I’d move, but Lady Prendergast’s buxom figure is immediately behind me,” he whispered.

  Anabelle colored from head to toe. She took a deep breath, the expansion of her rib cage somehow bringing them even closer together. She felt caught against him, surrounded by the other guests, and yet completely alone with him. She wished to call out to Hazel, but didn’t want to bring more attention to herself and her scandalous position against him.

  She refused to look at him again, keeping her gaze on the back of her father’s head. She felt a tickling in the palm of her right hand, and then what she was sure was a finger gliding over her palm. She gasped and pulled her hand away, the ghost of the sensation still lingering. Lord Draven remained silent behind her, though she could feel the movement of his breathing against her back. The shuffle began to move again and Anabelle lurched forward into Hazel. Hazel tossed a glare over her shoulder, but then her eyes darted past Anabelle and widened. She stepped back and linked arms with her. Anabelle held tightly to her arm, never more grateful for a sister than she was at that moment. She could still feel him behind her, amused, predacious, watching her, and she could still feel the slide of his finger across her palm.

  She clung to Hazel because what terrified her the most was the answering urge to look back at him and engage the predator in him.

  Once at the wedding breakfast, she did her best not to look for him over the many heads of guests. She enjoyed the company of her family and other guests as plate after plate of food was brought out. She ate until she was painfully full, and then sat back in her chair and smiled as Hazel teased their father mercilessly with outrageous requests for her own wedding. She smiled at her sister, her twin, and yet she differed from her in so many ways. Anabelle was fair like their mother, her hair a buttery blonde, her eyes the palest of blue. Hazel’s strands were streaked with honey and wheat, something Anabelle envied, but Hazel’s eyes mirrored her own, and Anabelle always found
that comforting. Because of her sister, she was never alone.

  Feeling at peace again, she searched for the happy couple. She found Heather and his grace stationed in the entryway, an endless procession of guests greeting them and offering words of congratulations. Heather was glowing. In Anabelle’s mind, she had never looked happier. Again, she felt a pang of want, the envy for her own wedding, her own special someone. Love matches were rare, but they did happen. Anabelle fervently hoped she would be blessed by love, too. She looked away, feeling misty eyed and dreary again. It wasn’t the time for such melancholy thoughts. It was a time for celebration, Heathers time to shine brightly. Anabelle wished her all the joy in the world.

  Feeling spritely, she stood and pulled Hazel from her chair. “Let’s see who is in the drawing room.”

  Hazel nodded in agreement and followed. Progress was slow across the dining room, and they had to dutifully pause and greet acquaintances along the way. Reaching the entryway, the crowd thickened and they waited as the Marchioness of Dunwick made her slow exit with her cane.

  “She needs a sedan chair with strong men to carry her about the house,” Hazel murmured.

  “Could you imagine? It would be all the rage, but very inconvenient,” Anabelle tittered.

  “I’d like to be carried by four shirtless men of excellent physiques with one attendant to feed me grapes at all times.”

  “Hazel!” Anabelle admonished. “That’s positively...”

  “Ingenious. That’s the word you’re searching for.”

  “No, it wasn’t.” But Anabelle couldn’t help laughing. The compaction of guests eased and they were able to slip into the drawing room. Each sofa and chair was full and Anabelle didn’t see anyone she wished to speak with.

  “I must visit the retiring room.”

  “It’s this way, if I remember correctly.” Anabelle led the way. The room was also crowded, and so she elected to wait in the hall. Further down, she could hear the laughter of gentlemen and a smoky haze was wafting from an open door. Curious, she eased closer and she could hear the clink of billiard balls. She paused and turned to retreat. A billiard room was a male haven not suitable for young ladies according to her mother. She turned back towards the retiring room and hurried away, but not before the firm steps of boots could be heard behind her. She slipped into an alcove, backing into a small table with a vase of flowers. She muffled a squeak as the table thumped into the wall. She kept her gaze down, wishing herself invisible, but a pair of boots halted before her.

  “We meet again, Lady Anabelle.”

  Her eyes snapped up. “It is not intentional, I assure you. I am waiting for my sister.”

  “Ah, yes. Lady Hazel,” Draven said conversationally.

  “That is her name. If you will excuse me.” Anabelle moved towards the retiring room.

  “Don’t leave so soon.” He caught her hand. “I can’t help but feel this moment was meant to happen. Serendipitous, even.”

  Anabelle turned back to him with a brow skeptically raised. “You find a meeting in a hall near two rooms frequently visited by guests in a home in which we are both very well acquainted with the Duke and Duchess serendipitous? Pray tell how?”

  “I seem to have a knack for finding you alone.” He inched closer.

  “We are not alone, Lord Draven.” Though, at the moment, the hall was deserted except for them. “At any moment, another guest, my sister even, will appear.”

  He only smiled, his grey eyes darker in the dimly lit hall. “For the moment we are alone.”

  “I’d prefer that we weren’t. I don’t wish to speak with you or to be associated with you,” Anabelle hissed. She didn’t like being so rude, but he was dangerous to her, a threat to her reputation and her husband hunting plans. She didn’t like the way he made her feel. It was uncomfortable when a person could make one feel unsettled and hot with their presence alone.

  He stood up straighter, for once not thoroughly amused by her distaste of him. “What have I done to earn such malice, if I may ask?”

  Anabelle glared at him. “As if you don’t know. You are spreading a rumor that we’ve kissed.”

  “You are the only one who spread the rumor, my sweet.”

  “You told me you told Lord Rigsby,” Anabelle seethed. His calmness only upset her more.

  “He is of no concern. He isn’t one to gossip or care whom I kiss.”

  “Then why did you do it?”

  “Truthfully? To unsettle you. You need a good kiss, Lady Anabelle.”

  Anabelle blinked. “I don’t understand.”

  “Frankly, neither do I, but I find that the more I think about not kissing you, the more convinced I am that I should. The rumor may be untrue, but I can’t let it die unless I do it in truth.”

  “You want to kiss me?”

  “I think I’ve made that quite clear,” he uttered condescendingly.

  “Why?” Anabelle was baffled.

  “Why not? You are a challenge to be met.”

  “A challenge?” Anabelle was fuming now. She looked around, determined to give him the set down he deserved, but not where they could easily be seen and overheard.

  “This way.” He took her hand and tugged her further down the hall. He paused at the billiard room and peeked in. Satisfied no one was paying attention to the door, he tugged her across the open door and further down the hall to a very plain sitting room. He closed the door behind them and released her hand. “You may commence with your tirade.” He folded his arms across his chest.

  Anabelle didn’t know where to begin. She wanted to rip apart his character, insult him as grievously as he had insulted her. “Have you no heart?” she blurted.

  “I beg your pardon?” He frowned.

  “You behave as if this is all some sort of game, but this is not a game. My very future hangs on a thread of respectability. I have nothing but a dowry and my good name to offer a husband. My purpose in life is to marry and marry well. I happen to want to also achieve a marriage of significant affection.” Her eyes burned with the threat of tears and she turned away in humiliation.

  “Are we speaking of love again?” he said after a moment.

  She couldn’t face him, but she nodded her head. “I know you think it’s absurd, but it is of great importance to me. I wish to find a husband I can love and be loved in return, but I cannot do that if you destroy my every chance with the threat of a kiss we did not share. A meaningless, insignificant kiss.” She dabbed at her eyes and took a deep breath. She felt a semblance of calm return now that she had vented her feelings. She didn’t feel his approach until he stood right behind her.

  “My kisses are never meaningless or insignificant.”

  Anabelle stiffened. He set his hands on her shoulders and turned her, tipping up her chin once she faced him and forcing her to look into his eyes.

  “Did you hear me?” He was very serious.

  Anabelle nodded. His eyes were very dark. Streaks of lighter grey stood out like bolts of lightning frozen in time.

  “I want to kiss you because you need to be kissed. How else are you to know whether a man is capable of love, of all things, if you’ve never experienced any of the emotions that lead to it? If you’ve never experienced what happens between a man and a woman, how will you ever know what love is?”

  Anabelle didn’t have an answer. She couldn’t even find the power to resist him as she should as his hands slid around her back and pulled her into him.

  “One kiss is all I’m asking for, and then you will know exactly of what I speak. Perhaps it will even help you find what you are searching for.” His head leaned forward slowly. He didn’t wait for her assent, but neither did he ask.

  His lips touched hers slowly, and then molded around hers confidently. At first, she felt nothing but shock, but then the warmth of his mouth and his body began to penetrate her. She did not resist him as his kiss grew in boldness. Instead, she let go of her restraint and let herself experience it with all her senses. His l
ips were soft and sultry, something that was at odds with his cold and cutting demeanor. His body was warm and she could feel the hardness of his chest against her breasts. His arms were strong around her, but not crushing her, and she found the sensation pleasant. She eased against him as his lean lips parted. His tongue teased the seam of her lips. Curious, Anabelle opened hesitantly, the velvety slickness of his tongue gaining entry little by little until she opened fully.

  Light and colors danced behind her eyes as the gentle kiss became sensually overwhelming. She forgot how to breathe. Forgot how to do anything but taste him. He tasted of Brandy and a wildness she didn’t understand. She was simply overcome, the wonder of this daring new experience overriding all thought and rationale. His tongue darted and explored. Involuntarily she responded, her own tongue answering to his, doing things she didn’t even know she could do. The rest of her was frozen with amazement, too stunned to do more than hold on to him.

  He withdrew from her, and Anabelle blinked rapidly as her wits returned. When she focused on his face, she found him sporting a peculiar frown. She backed away from him, an unavoidable humiliating blush covering her cheeks. She bit her tongue. She had the absurd urge to apologize. For what, she didn’t know, but he was clearly displeased with the kiss.

  “Now that you got what you wanted. Kindly leave me alone,” she rushed to say. He didn’t move or say a word. Anabelle hurried from the room, distraught and angry. She didn’t know what to think or what to do. She hurried down the hall and rushed to the retiring room. Hazel was not present, but a maid stood by with towels. Anabelle sat before a vanity and looked at her reflection. Her color was high. It was obvious that she was upset. She wished to bury her head in her hands, but this wasn’t the time or place. She took a deep breath and fanned her cheeks. She needed to return to the party as serene as she had been when she left it. Hazel was probably looking for her. Anabelle stood with her back straight and her hands steady once again. It was just a kiss. She could admit that the kiss greatly affected her, but not him. It was better that way. Now he would leave her alone and she could go on with her matrimonial plans.