by Dayna Quince
Anabelle didn’t bother hiding her displeasure. “I didn’t ask for your opinion.”
“That’s irrelevant.” Draven shrugged.
She turned to walk away.
“You’re welcome,” he said.
She clenched her teeth and turned to face him. “To what do I owe you thanks?”
“I tried to help you by distracting her. You got all of ten words out of him, didn’t you? That is commendable. He usually can’t form a thought without the approval of his mother.”
This time, Anabelle didn’t respond. She turned away, abandoning her plate and retreated back to the table where her mother and sister sat. She mentally cursed Draven for his helpful interference. When she reached her seat, she opened her reticule and used the small pencil to cross off Lord Scorn’s name. She told herself it wasn’t because of what Draven said, but because of what she saw with her own eyes.
“Was that Lord Draven you were conversing with?” Hazel asked.
Anabelle threw her a glare. “You know who it was.”
“And before that? Who was that gentleman?”
“Lord Scorn and his mother, Lady Scorn.”
“Oh, yes. She is an interesting woman,” their mother added.
Anabelle didn’t respond.
Hazel gave up her attempt to pester her. “I’ve been told that Lord Dunwick has a new litter of puppies in the barn. Lucy is going to join me on a walk to see them. Do you want to come?”
Anabelle nodded. A puppy was possibly the only thing that could brighten her day. That, and hearing of Lord Draven leaving the country for good.
It was only a moment before Lucy arrived with Dorothea in tow. “Are we ready?”
Anabelle and Hazel rose, and they made the trek to the barn as another group of guests was leaving. Miss Craig could be heard begging her father for a puppy.
They entered the barn, its interior warm, and musky with the scent of horses and hay. A groom stood near the last stall and they stopped before the gate to look down into it. Six chubby little spaniels, three black, two golden, and one white with brown and black spots, wriggled against their mother and nursed hungrily.
“How adorable!” Anabelle sighed.
“Can we hold them?” Lucy asked the groom.
“They should be almost full, and then their mum can take a break from her duties.”
The ladies cooed and awed over the puppies until the mother stood and stretched and the groom opened the door to let her out of the pen. She sat for pats from the four ladies before leaving the barn. The groom handed them a blanket and stools for them to sit around the puppies.
Hazel was the first to pick one up and nuzzle it. “I think I’m in love.” They were still quite young, but their eyes were open. Anabelle picked up the multicolored puppy and cradled it in her arms. “Now I know why Miss Craig was begging for one.”
“Her father is notorious for his wolfhounds. I doubt he would let her have a spaniel,” Lucy observed.
“But how could he resist this face?” Hazel held up a little black pup and it yawned.
There was a chorus of awes from the four of them.
“Is it wrong I don’t find human children this cute?” Dorothea admitted.
Lucy laughed. “Not in the least. My cousin’s infant is a fountain of vomit. I pretended to have the sniffles to avoid holding him. My mother was smitten despite this, and Jonathan and I had to listen to a lecture on her grandmotherly wishes the entire ride home.”
Anabelle stroked the downy soft fur on the puppy’s head and wondered what it would be like to hold a real baby. None of her nearest family had produced any children yet. Her entire experience with children consisted of nannies pushing prams by the Serpentine.
“Are all infants so untidy?” Dorothea asked with a worried frown.
“It goes with the territory,” a man’s voice rumbled.
Anabelle actually jerked in surprise. “Do you ever make your presence known? Or do you prefer to lurk in the shadows,” she snapped at Draven.
He stroked his chin in thought as he stepped in the light before the stall. “Lurking in shadows does have its advantages.”
“Such as?” Lucy eyed him with irritation.
“Eavesdropping, for one. Seeing people for who they truly are rather than the person they pretend to be, for another.”
“Were you present when my brother received his disgraceful and hideous black eye last night?” Lucy changed the subject as she set the puppy down and dusted off her hands.
“I was, in fact. It was only a rousing bar fight. Nothing of consequence.”
Lucy rolled her eyes.
Anabelle did her best to ignore him. He seemed to leap from thin air at the worst moments. Anabelle wanted to ignore him, but it was impossible. His presence was palpable, a reminder to the kiss they shared, the hard body she had held tightly.
“I believe I shall return to the party.” She set the puppy down and hurried from the stall. She could feel their surprised stares until she passed out of sight. She reached the barn door and stepped out into the sunshine and fresh air. It was a relief, as was the distance she put between herself and Draven.
The door opened behind her.
She nearly jumped as the bane of her existence stepped out.
“Are you following me?” she said with panic. Not that she feared him, but rather she feared the emotions he provoked in her.
“It just so happens I was in the stable before you four arrived. But I feel we must address the obvious tension between us.”
Anabelle agreed. She could imagine the things Lucy, Hazel, and Thea were thinking after he obviously followed her out.
“It was very apparent to me, at least that after yesterday, we should not have any association with each other.”
“And I would agree with you, but that will be difficult considering we are part of the same circles.”
“That doesn’t give you leave to put your nose where it doesn’t belong.”
He had the audacity to look aghast. “When have I ever done such?”
“This very afternoon, earlier with Lord and Lady Scorn, and again just now.”
“I did you a favor.” He folded his arms over his chest.
“I didn’t ask you for any favors and I’d prefer you leave me the hell alone.”
Now he looked angry. “Stridently avoiding each other in public is far more suspicious than learning to rub along.”
“Be that as it may, I’m far safer avoiding you than doing any rubbing.” Her cheeks colored. She couldn’t believe she’d just said that.
She saw his lips twitch, but he took pity on her.
“I realize that our mistake yesterday makes things difficult between us, but for better or for worse, we will see each other at almost every major social function. I will do my best to not impede your husbandly goals if you will stop running away at the mere sight of me. I wish you no ill will, Lady Anabelle.”
She was taken off guard by his sincerity. She didn’t know what to say so she just nodded.
“Good. We have established a truce then. I will take my leave of you now.”
He slowly moved away in the direction of the fete and Anabelle stayed where she was. She wasn’t alone long before Hazel, Lucy, and Thea joined her.
“Do you want to tell us what that was all about?” Hazel queried.
Anabelle shrugged. “We’ve come to a truce regarding our mutual dislike. That is all.”
Lucy raised a skeptical brow.
“You don’t believe me?”
“We would have listened at the door, but Thea wouldn’t let us.” Lucy confessed.
Anabelle was so very grateful for that. “Well, you will just have to take my word for it.”
They looked unconvinced, but thankfully, Hazel came to her aide.
“We should return. Mother will be wondering what is taking so long.”
They began to stroll back towards the party. Hazel pulled her to a stop as Lucy and Thea chattered on ahead.<
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“What is it?” Anabelle groaned.
“Is this business with Draven about that rumor he tried to put about?”
Anabelle sighed. She had never kept anything from her sister before now, but she was not about to reveal yesterday’s kiss. “Yes and no. It’s in the past now. I just want to move forward. I am determined to find a husband this season and I don’t want a tension between him and me to cause difficulties. He understands that, thankfully. Given his friendship with Lord Rigsby and ours with Lucy, I won’t be able to avoid him. Tis better to simply accept his presence and move on.”
Hazel nodded. “All right then. That is all we will speak of it. I promise.”
Anabelle sighed with relief. “Thank you.”
Chapter 4
Draven didn’t leave the garden fete. His mother was enjoying herself and it was rare she ever felt well enough to leave the house. He sipped a glass of lemonade from under the shade of a tree not feeling particularly social. Not that he was ever particularly social, but he had even less patience for banal conversation. He watched the guests around him with a critical eye, noting the return of Lady Anabelle and her friends. It was impossible to ignore her now, impossible to deny the awareness his body had of her despite every rational urging to stay far away from her.
He was angry with himself and certainly in no mood to play nice. If someone approached him, he might even bite. He used the shadows of the tree to hide, observing the party with a callous eye. He needed the services of a talented whore, but even the thought was unappetizing. How was he to get that kiss out of his head? He would have to see her frequently now that the season was in full swing. But, how was he to behave normally if all he could think of doing was pulling her close and kissing her senseless. She was a damn virgin, for Christ’s sake, a woman to be courted and wooed into matrimony. Those were exactly the things Draven wanted to avoid.
He turned away from the overly chipper guests and proceeded to meander towards the garden paths. There was more seclusion there, more places to hide his sour disposition. He wracked his brain for ideas, a way to remain in control and unaffected by her presence. Perhaps he should fall back on his usual temperament, his act of a careless rogue and a heartless scoundrel, who used his tongue to instigate amusement for himself, not to seduce virgins. Virgins were not amusing.
He would go back to teasing her. It was, after all, his usual behavior and, therefore, less likely to draw attention. She would most definitely not appreciate it, but if only she learned to give as good as she got, then all would be well—perhaps they would even become friends. The moment he thought it, he wanted to laugh. They would never be friends. Even now, he knew he would always want a kiss, and another and another. It would be his cross to bear. It wouldn’t be the first.
Later that evening, Draven convinced Rigsby to come out of hiding and help him search for entertainment outside of the glittering lights of chandeliers. Rigsby donned a piratical eye patch and determined the ladies would love him all the more for it. Draven thought the genteel hostesses of society would certainly appreciate Rigsby and his eye patch not making an appearance.
They wet their appetites at the Golden Goose. It was the largest gambling club in the city and offered an array of entertainment from a quiet game of cards, to women of extraordinary and exotic talents. They spent hours at the tables testing their luck and strategy, and then moved to the quieter and cooler rooms upstairs where gentlemen could relax or seek the company of a woman.
Draven sat in a wide high-backed chair and watched his surroundings. Women lounged and flirted, doing their best to lure gentlemen into spending a small fortune for an evening with them. Draven tried to muster interest. His mood was only slightly improved, but it took considerable effort. A vision in crimson red caught his attention. The fabric of her dress moved around her body like a thick smoke, floating, and concealing, but elementally meant to easily leave her naked. What held his attention was her hair. It was the palest of blonde, almost silver, and it cascaded down her back to her waist like a silken river. It held him transfixed, his eyes unwavering as her hair moved in sensual accord with her.
He couldn’t look away as much as he was aware he was boldly staring. What was it about her? What was it about her hair that held him so entranced? He blinked. He’d seen hair like that before. Hair shining with the light of the moon. He yanked his gaze away searching the depths of his empty glass as his mind clarified his sudden insanity and his stomach began to ache.
He hadn’t felt this uncomfortable and uncertain in his skin since his father died six years ago. The joy had been sucked from his soul and his family torn apart with grief. He had had to soldier on then and he had to do so now. He looked around the room, and presently, Rigsby was charming his way into the bed of a flame-haired courtesan.
Draven was determined to do the same. He stood from his chair, handing his empty glass to a passing waiter, and sauntered over to where the woman was teasing a group of gentlemen with her beauty. The men saw him approaching, pups really, barely out of university and negligently wasting their inheritance. Their eyes widened, wariness replacing revelry. His moon goddess took note and followed the direction of their gaze. She turned just as Draven arrived, her own breath hitching as he was suddenly upon her. She recovered quickly.
“My lord.” She curtsied in that special way only a woman of the night could. It presented their ample bosoms beautifully.
Draven took full advantage of the view she offered. “I couldn’t help but rescue you from certain boredom. Beauty such as yours should not be wasted.”
She instantly had his measure. He was superior to her present audience in every way. She blinked knowingly. “How gallant of you.” Her trio of admirers slinked away in defeat.
Now standing apart from the other guests, Draven wasted no time. “Shall we move to a more private venue?”
“I’d be delighted, my lord.” She smiled seductively.
“Good.” He smiled in answer, ignoring the tightness in his chest.
In but a moment, business had been handled, and he was being led to one of the many rooms designated for assignations. She moved like a serpent, smooth and languid. As he closed the door to her private room, she stepped into him and leaned in to kiss him. His head jerked back. She looked surprised, but in a blink, it was gone.
“Is something the matter?” she asked in a sultry voice.
Draven looked down into her pale, upturned face. Something was wrong. She was a tad too tall and her green eyes the wrong color. He swallowed. “No, but no kissing on the mouth.”
She nodded complacently. “As you wish.” She began to untie his cravat.
Draven didn’t move. He held perfectly still while she made a show of untying his cravat in slow pulls designed to entice his lust. He was far from aroused and growing more uncomfortable by the second. He cursed himself for not drinking more. His head was getting too involved in what should purely be a matter of bodily satisfaction. He grabbed her hands and tried to give her his most seductive smile. She returned it and her hands slid to her own clothing. She pushed one shoulder of her dress down and then the other. Her dress slid to the floor and she stood naked before him, confident in her bare skin.
Draven prayed dearly for a stirring of lust. She was beautiful, as beautiful as Venus on the half shell, but she wasn’t the right kind of beautiful, she wasn’t—he dare not even finish the thought. He closed his eyes against the vision before him. “I’m sorry.”
He opened them again. This time an expression of concern adorned her face. “Something is wrong,” she stated.
He nodded.
“Have you had too much to drink? You don’t look it.”
He shook his head pitifully.
She cocked her head to the side. “Is it a man you want? I can find you a companion discreetly.”
“God, no.” He went to the bed and sat. “It is far more complicated than that.”
He wasn’t looking at her anymore, but he heard the
whoosh of clothing and then she sat beside him, fully dressed again.
“It is a woman then. Are you married? Few married men feel guilt when they come to me.”
“No. No wife, no engagement. I am free to seek pleasure where I will.” He wanted to laugh at the pathetic man that he was.
“But you love someone.”
“No,” he said firmly.
She sighed but remained quiet.
“I don’t know what it is exactly,” he admitted.
“Is your heart aching?” she purred.
“Perhaps. I’ve no idea why though. It has no reason to ache over anyone.” Except his father, but that had never stopped him from the pleasures of a woman before. He looked down at his hands folded in his lap. His predicament was obvious. The beautiful creature beside him wasn’t Anabelle and all he wanted was Anabelle. This affliction was worse than he thought.
A slender hand joined his. “I will do anything you want,” she said suggestively. “I can make you forget her.”
But Draven didn’t want to forget her—he wanted to touch her and kiss her. He wanted to run his fingers through her fine pale hair.
The woman beside him pushed him back on the bed and he didn’t fight her. He closed his eyes and imagined Anabelle’s face. The woman slipped her knowing hands over his groin, pulling the buttons free. Draven imagined it was Anabelle being so bold, Anabelle who was pulling his shirt free of his breeches and then—.
“No.” He sat up. The woman slinked off him with a pout. “I’m sorry I’ve wasted so much of your evening, but I have to go. You can keep your fee. Have a night off on me.”
She rolled her eyes and walked away. “As you wish, my lord.”
Draven righted his clothing and left the room. He was disgusted with himself, but he would have been more so if he had gone through with it. He couldn’t do it. Even though it was certain he would never touch a hair on fair Anabelle’s head, for right now, he was so enamored of her that he couldn’t even bed a whore.
He’d never felt like this before. It was nauseating and frustrating. He found Rigsby still wooing his intended company for the evening. “I’ve had enough for tonight.”