by Dayna Quince
Everything was as cold and hard in appearance as he was, again except for the large bed that begged for Anabelle’s attention. It felt like it was pulsating heat at her back, but she refused to turn and face it.
“Did you find what you were looking for?” He was at her side, his words dangerously low and seductive.
Yes and no, she thought. Her bravery had run its course. She was alone with a lion in its den. “I’ll leave you now.” She turned opposite him, her eyes downcast to avoid seeing the bed.
He placed a hand on her arm, softly, not truly preventing her from leaving, but nevertheless, her feet stopped moving and she looked up at him. His hand moved up to her cheek and she couldn’t look away. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. She was supposed to resist him now that she had fulfilled her need for whatever it was she had wanted from him, but her body wasn’t listening.
Her heartbeat took off like a bird set free of its cage, her hands tingling with the urge to reach out and touch him.
“I should be going.” Even to her own ears, her voice lacked any conviction. She was right where she wanted to be. On the brink of a mad rush of desire and passion, the edge of rational thought and good decision.
“You won’t be missed just yet,” he said softly as his head dipped to hers.
Anabelle met him half way. A surge of want filling her unexpectedly. The madness was not over—it was only just beginning. She was a fool to think she could control it. It was its own animal, a runaway horse that would only slow when it had exhausted itself of its need to run.
She opened her mouth, eager for the wildness that was her own desire. He took every advantage, sweeping his arms around her and pulling her against him. His hands roved over her back aggressively, molding her soft curves to his hard contours. He cupped her bottom, his hands possessively squeezing, his fingers shamelessly searching for the dip between her thighs, touching a place she’d never been touched before.
Anabelle should have been scared of such an intimate touch, but it only fueled her more, setting fire to her blood. She was busy with her own hands, sinking her fingers into his thick hair, scoring his scalp with her nails. He lifted her nearly off her feet, and a part of her body awakened she never knew existed.
His manhood was pressing firmly against her womanhood. He was molding her hips against him and the result was bursts of pleasure between her thighs. She had never felt such a thing. It was intoxicating and alarming. She didn’t understand it—but dear God, she didn’t want him to stop. In fact, she wanted to get closer. The friction was building something inside her, a maelstrom of angst and sweet relief. She had the insane notion of wrapping her legs around his waist when he abruptly pulled his lips away.
“What?” she cried in agitation.
“This is not the time or place.” He let her down slowly until her feet held her weight. “Your parents are downstairs and I would like to not be shot by your father.”
Anabelle’s scattered wits struggled to settle. His words reached her through a dense fog of pleasure. “Oh, God.” She stepped away from him. “How long have we been—”
He shook his head and laughed. “Not nearly as long as I’d like, but enough that it’s time for you to go before we are caught.”
Anabelle turned on wobbly knees. How could she return to her family without her actions being as obvious as a sign around her neck? She frantically faced the mirror and blinked at her reflection. Her lips were a tad swollen, but otherwise, she looked perfectly acceptable. How could that be?
He chuckled. “You’ve called me a rake and I didn’t deny it. Suffice it to say, I know what I’m doing when it comes to discreet dalliance.”
Anabelle threw him a scathing look.
“Go with haste, my wicked angel, and your reputation will be safe.”
Anabelle didn’t wait to give him a retort. She hurried to the door and opened it just enough to peek out. There was no one in the hall. She slipped out the door and to the next room over where the group was currently admiring a sixteenth century wall hanging. Anabelle’s heart felt like it was going to burst out of her chest and flop around disgracefully on the floor.
Hazel turned to her. “Are you all right?”
Anabelle nodded, her breath not quite caught up. I tripped on the rug in the hall, frightened the breath right out of me.”
“I hate when that happens. One catches themselves from a simple fall and it feels like your heart nearly stops.”
Anabelle nodded. “Exactly like that.”
“Some more tea will help.” Hazel patted her on the back and turned back to Mrs. Kent.
They remained at the rear of the group as they left the last room and returned to the drawing room. Draven was there, a tumbler of brandy in his hand and a bored expression.
“The rain is lightening, but still persistent. It shouldn’t be long now,” her father informed them. “We will tour the stables before we leave.”
He looked as eager as a boy with his first pony. Anabelle took a seat beside her mother and accepted another cup of tea. Her heart and breathing had returned to normal, but her nerves were frayed. She peeked at Draven as she sipped her tea. He looked completely unaffected. It was then she noticed he had changed his jacket. What would have happened had she snuck into his room while he was dressing? What if he had been shirtless?
A hot blush filled her cheeks. She kept her face towards the fire, which she was closest to, until she felt in control again. She was in deep, deep trouble. Her own thoughts were a danger to her.
She looked around the room again, focusing on everyone but Draven. The company paid her no mind. She caught sight of Lord Bainbridge. He had been so quiet and still, she hadn’t noticed him by the window. He was looking out at the wet landscape. Anabelle hid a discreet look in Hazel’s direction behind another sip of tea. Hazel was smiling at something Lucy had said, but right before Anabelle gave up and looked away, she saw Hazel glance in the earl’s direction. Anabelle smiled to herself. She remained watchful and sure enough, as consistent as clockwork, Hazel’s gaze returned to the earl time and time again.
As much as Hazel would deny it, it was clear she had a tender for the earl. This was just the distraction Anabelle needed. Her sister would never be so bold as to pursue the earl, and the earl seemed inclined to avoid social interaction altogether. But, Anabelle would bet her best gown the earl had interest in Hazel if she was any judge of the way she had seen him look at Hazel. How would she get two people so determined to not be noticed together? She would need to ruminate on the idea.
Lord Heath announced that the rain had let up enough to return to the city before dark. The gentlemen eagerly rose to tour the stables, the ladies not so eagerly followed. Anabelle loved horses, and she loved to ride whenever able, but the breeding and racing of horses were not of particular interest to her. Still, she followed. It was that or remain behind alone.
The rain had dwindled to a nuisance drizzle when they crossed the yard to the stable. Inside was dry and warm and was a remarkable sight. It was a horse lover’s haven. Upon entry was the tack room and where hay was stacked high into ceiling. Large beams supported the cathedral roof where skylights, if it were a finer day, would allow beams of light to illuminate the interior. It was immaculately clean and smelled primarily of fresh hay and very little of horse. There were sixteen luxuriously large stalls in all and a carriage house towards the back.
Anabelle smiled at the boyish exuberance of her father and Lord Heath. Her father’s eyes were glittering with ideas, something her mother would not be happy with. Indeed, as she had the thought, her mother took her husband’s arm and complimented his stables—exactly as they were.
Horse heads popped over the stall doors as they neared and Draven introduced each one in detail. This caught Anabelle off guard. He spoke with warmth in his voice, rubbing the nose of each animal as he passed. Just when she thought she was beginning to understand him, he did something different.
They finished the tour and f
iled into the carriages to return home. Rigsby, Lord Winchester, and Lord Bainbridge stayed behind with Draven since there would be no room for them. The carriage would return for them with fresh horses. Their horses would remain behind as well until the following day when the weather was clear.
Anabelle couldn’t help stealing one last look at Draven as the gentlemen waved them off in the misty afternoon. She caught his gaze, and they held for just a moment, and then he looked away.
Anabelle sat back in her seat and sighed. What an unusual day. She had a lot to think about.
Chapter 12
Draven and his guests headed inside. Glasses were filled, cigars lit, and they settled in to wait and relax.
“Your sister is something else,” Lord Winchester eyed Rigsby.
“What of it, Winchester. You offering to take her off my hands?”
“Hell no, no offense. You know I’m not the kind to marry. My heart is set on my travels, but you do have your hands full. You should marry her off as soon as possible.”
“If only I could. The damn girl intimidates every man she meets and any man with the bollocks to handle her is of your ilk. She is still my father’s problem, not mine.”
“You didn’t tell him about her antics today. Does he know what he is in for?”
“Of course,” Rigsby shrugged. “He sired her after all, but I want him to live for a while yet, therefore, some things I keep to myself.”
All the gentlemen chuckled except for Rigsby.
“Relax, it was just a bit of harmless fun. No one ever married over ankles,” Draven mused.
“Perhaps not, but they have married over yanking a young woman into their room,” Bainbridge said wryly.
The room went silent. Draven and Bainbridge eyed each other.
“What’s this now?” Winchester said with a grin.
“I bet my entire fortune it was Lady Anabelle Darling. Is that right?” Rigsby cocked an eyebrow at Draven.
Draven’s eyes narrowed as he turned to Rigsby, but in truth, he wasn’t unsettled in the least. “It may have been.”
“What is your intent? You’ve been hounding her skirts for weeks now.”
“My intent is none of your damn business. She’s not your sister is she? Or yours?” He turned back to Bainbridge.
“No, thankfully, but they strike me as the sort of ladies one doesn’t trifle with,” Bainbridge said casually.
“They look the type one has to wed,” Winchester grimaced.
“I’m not trifling with anyone. It’s more of a mutual exploration, and I will put a bullet through the heart of anyone who takes that information beyond this room.”
“I think that goes without saying.” Rigsby hid a smile behind his glass.
Draven scowled at all of them and gave his attention to the fire. He didn’t need anyone’s approval of his actions. He knew what he was about, if not exactly where his relationship with Anabelle was going. It could only go so far, they both knew that. There was a definite line he would not cross and if they ever got that close, he would call a halt to their game. He was aware of the danger of the situation and approached it with the proper levity. There was no going back now, not when the fever of want burned so aggressively inside him. It had to burn itself out, as all his liaisons did when the demands or expectations grew too great. With Anabelle, it would be no different. There was a hard line he had to toe.
Draven didn’t say another word until the carriage arrived. The four gentlemen departed and headed back to the city as the sky darkened into evening. Draven had plans to see his mother and sisters for dinner, and then there was an obligatory engagement hosted by his mother’s cousin. Draven had to go to represent his family. It was well known that his mother was rarely well enough to attend events, so Draven was expected in her place. It wasn’t too much of a burden, but often boring. He was very eligible due to his title and wealth, but thankfully, mamas and daughters had given up on including him in their marriage plans. They found him cold and intimidating, which suited him perfectly.
He had no idea where most people got that impression of him. Perhaps it was his too honest tongue or his lack of easy smile. It was true he didn’t smile easily, but when he did, it was genuine. To him, that meant more than the façade that most of society presented. He had no need to pretend to be anything other than exactly who he was. He could thank his father for instilling that confidence in him.
The gentlemen parted ways upon reaching London and Draven returned home. He had just enough time to change quickly before meeting his family in the dining room. His sisters were all smiles at his appearance and his mother looked livelier than usual.
“I wish to accompany you this evening,” she said when he took his seat. “I haven’t seen Margery in ages.”
Draven hid his surprise. “Certainly. Your company would be most welcome.”
“I want to go.” Mary pouted.
“Me, too.” Felicity mirrored Mary’s pout.
“You will in time,” their mother soothed. “Now, I’ve already sent a note to her. She was quite thrilled I will be attending. I haven’t anything fashionable to wear, but I suppose at my age no one minds.”
“You look radiant, Mother.” And Draven would spend every last farthing he had to give her a new wardrobe if it meant she was finally crawling out of her grief-induced sickness. “Perhaps it’s time to visit your modiste if you will be entering society again. Mary and Felicity could use some sprucing up as well.”
Felicity grinned and nodded. Mary looked appropriately insulted by the slight. Draven reached over and chucked her under the chin. Now she was really perturbed by him. She hated being treated like a little girl. Draven rued the day she would finally be of age and have suitors. They all shared the same black hair, but his sisters had his mother’s blue eyes, where he had his father’s grey.
“I have a surprise for the both of you,” he announced.
Their eyes lit up and Draven couldn’t help but smile. He looked to his mother, who was also smiling happily at the girls. He felt his heart constrict and then ease. Perhaps things were changing for the better.
“What is it?” Felicity squealed.
“I can’t tell you, Poppet, or it won’t be a surprise.” He chuckled.
“Is it a new dress?” Mary clasped her hands together pleadingly.
“Would you like a new dress?”
She nodded, her curls bouncing.
“Then you shall have a new dress, but the surprise isn’t a new dress. You will have to be patient until tomorrow when it arrives.”
“Ethan, don’t spoil them,” his mother admonished half-heartedly.
He knew he shouldn’t, but for six long years, this house had seen very little happiness. It was time for smiles and laughter to fill the room again, the way it always had when his father were alive.
“I will do as I please, Mother.” He took a sip from his wine and winked at her. She attempted to glare at him, but the effect was ruined by her still present smile. They finished dinner in easy companionship and then the girls were sent up to bed and the carriage summoned.
Draven made small talk with his mother until they arrived at the event and handed her down. It wasn’t a large party. Margery, Lady Elset, was his mother’s cousin and had been a widow for many years. She enjoyed hosting parties for charities of her favorite and this particular party was to promote a budding painter. His paintings would be on display as well as the painter himself doing a live painting during the party. Draven was a patron of the arts, but his goal tonight was to ensure his mother enjoyed herself and didn’t become fatigued.
They were shown to Lady Elset’s drawing room where they greeted their hostess. Draven escorted his mother to a settee and began to prowl the room. He had no real purpose other than to keep moving so no one would try to converse with him. A small group was crowded around the painter and his easel in the corner of the room. He paused to see what kind of skill this painter had. His name was Alvin Von Drake, and according t
o the paintings displayed throughout the room, he did mostly landscapes. He had a whimsical touch, making even a rather drab painting of a wharf look somehow mysterious and interesting. Impressed, he moved closer to watch from the back of the crowd. After a moment, he turned away, intent on perusing the other paintings on display with an eye to purchasing one.
That’s when pale blonde locks caught his eye. He knew it was she before he even saw her face. He could even guess the way she smelled with such intensity that his mind would confuse his nose into thinking he was actually close enough to breathe her in. He turned casually, his gaze gliding across the room, but not missing the cluster of new arrivals by the door. She looked clean and fresh. Draven let the image of her lounging in the tub in sudsy hot water as she soaked away the dust and sweat of a day of riding. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from coming fully aroused and banished the image from his mind.
He had enjoyed the smell of her when he had pulled her into his room. Sweat, horse, and sunshine. Salty, tangy, and sexual. He turned away from her at once. It was better, in his current frame of mind, if he pretended to not see her. He returned to the crowd around the painter and gave his attention to it. Mr. Von Drake was describing the different ways he used his brushes to achieve certain effects. Draven wanted to snort in amusement at the bevy of women who appeared to hang from his every word. Analyzing the painter, he supposed he did have a rather romantically desolate look that women fawned over.
Draven snorted quietly and turned away. It was time to find something to drink. Just as he spun around, he found himself facing the entire Darling clan.
“Ho there, Draven. Glad to see you made it back from the Heath,” Lord Wellsford said jovially.
“I did, my lord, as did the other guests. My thanks for sending a carriage back to retrieve us.” Draven nodded.