Belle of the Ball

by Dayna Quince

  “It’s in the past,” he said after releasing a tight breath.

  They had reached the park. It was a hive of activity. Draven wasn’t in the mood for such frolicking gaiety now. So much for his wooing abilities. Instead, their conversation was morbid and depressing.

  “We don’t have to go. We can just drive about the city,” Anabelle offered. He looked positively wretched at the moment. She also hoped they would have more in-depth and revealing conversation.

  “I’d like that much more.” He flicked the reins and turned the Phaeton around. Backs to the park, they went down the opposite street in silence.

  Anabelle prayed he would say something, anything, but he remained quiet. She decided to introduce a lighter topic.

  “Will you stay in the city after the season?”

  “Usually, yes, but I think a visit to the country is in order. It has been some time since we’ve returned to the family home. It’s time to return. Do you enjoy the country?”

  “I do. Riding, fishing, hiking, and even shooting.”

  “Fishing?”

  Anabelle nodded proudly. “With two daughters, my father insisted on taking us fishing and shooting. My mother hated it, but Hazel and I enjoyed it very much. I’m quite the fisherman.”

  “I will have to assess the fishing skills.” He smiled.

  Anabelle was pleased to see him smile, even if it was small and close-lipped. It wasn’t one of his miraculous and revealing smiles, but it was a smile nonetheless. They continued on, Anabelle doing the bulk of the talking and sharing, but it was still revealing, because he was very interested and amused by her childhood and growing up with a twin. He asked questions and listened intently, and when he dropped Anabelle off at her door and walked her up the steps, she felt like they were both a little closer to knowing each other. To understanding exactly who the other person was and maybe that was how one fell in love.

  Chapter 20

  Draven pondered their conversation for days, aching over his own confession, but not regretting it. He had a new impression of Anabelle. That of a vivacious young girl who enjoyed being outdoors as much as any lad. He liked that. He was smiling as he pictured her while he escorted his mother and followed by his two sisters up the steps and knocked on her door.

  The butler answered, looking formidable and yet pleasant, and welcomed them in. They were escorted to the drawing room where three smiling faces turned to greet them. One fell.

  “Where is darling Raven?” Hazel said with overly dramatic disappointment.

  “I was not going to make such an absurd request as for them to bring their puppy, Hazel.” Lady Wellsford laughed and stood to greet her guests. The ladies settled in their seats and conversed cheerily. Draven watched in amusement as Mary and Felicity rushed to Anabelle and Hazel’s side. He was happy they liked her and Hazel, too. Being so close, he imagined they would share many occasions with Hazel and her future spouse. If Anabelle consented to marry him.

  Lady Wellsford announced that tea would be had in the courtyard since the day was exceptionally lovely. The courtyard was more of a formal garden with trimmed hedges and rigidly kept beds of flowers. Benches were placed sporadically and a table had been set under the shade of the house. Tea and sandwiches were served. Draven was on his best behavior, doing well to keep his mother and Lady Wellsford smiling and laughing. Anabelle and Hazel entertained his sisters, but Draven would make a point to talk to Anabelle again, perhaps on one of the more distant benches.

  His mother looked radiant today. She was dropping many hints about her hopes for him and Anabelle. He didn’t want to give her too much hope, he himself still unsure of whether he could win her hand. He knew that to do that he would need to win her heart, and that was where all his experience and intelligence fell short. Seducing he could manage in his sleep. He could bring a woman to completion with his fingertips, but the heart was another matter. The workings of a woman’s heart weren’t something he had cared to understand until now.

  As tea was finished and the sandwich plate cleared, Draven recommended an exploration of the garden while the mothers continued to chat. He offered his arm to Anabelle and she took it without hesitation. The hesitation was gone from her eyes. He accepted the win humbly. He was glad she no longer feared the idea of them being viewed as a couple, at least in the comfort of her home. His sisters ran ahead, Mary letting go of her reticence to chase Felicity around a bed of roses. Hazel even entered the foray when roses were plucked to become swords.

  Anabelle laughed at their antics and Draven used the distraction to draw her to a bench just out of earshot from the other three. She looked up at him and smiled, but there was a question in her eyes.

  “I can’t sit alone with you? We’ve had very little time to be alone. It’s becoming tedious.” He attempted a mournful pout. “I miss touching you.”

  “You just had my arm.” She laughed softly.

  “That is not the kind of touching I want.”

  Her cheeks brightened to a lovely shade of pink and he felt a modicum of satisfaction. Was she thinking of their past touching?

  “You have been behaving admirably.”

  “It’s been a trial, I assure you.”

  She laughed again and looked out over the garden.

  Draven watched her profile, greedily consuming the softness of her skin with his eyes, the gentle slope of her nose and the plump outline of her lips. He’d give his right eye to kiss her now, to pull her close and show her how much he craved to feel her body against his. He was desperate to get her alone, but that would be near impossible here, unless a miracle happened. He swore at that moment to take advantage of whatever opportunity presented itself.

  Felicity’s screeching filled the air and she ran to him, plopping herself on the bench between them and cowering into his sleeve.

  “There was a bee, Ethan!”

  He sighed. All his amorous inclinations evaporated. “We are in a garden, poppet. This is where bees work.”

  “That’s silly.” Felicity huffed in the kind of dramatic outrage only a child could achieve.

  “It is fact. The bee did not intend to bother you, nor you it. It’s long gone now, off to visit other flowers.”

  “Oh,” Felicity said dejectedly.

  Mary and Hazel joined them and Draven offered his seat to Hazel, who kindly refused. They returned to the drawing room at the behest of the mothers and accepted a fresh pot of tea. Draven was surrounded by women but was content to let them chatter around him, as long as he could simply stare at Anabelle. What he wouldn’t give to be alone with Anabelle. Mary’s voice cut through his thoughts.

  “He is always moody or brooding. Mother says that’s how he chooses to display his masculinity.”

  Draven felt a burning blush crawl up his neck to his face. “I beg your pardon?”

  Mary continued her deconstruction of him, addressing Anabelle and Hazel as if she were reviewing a painting. “I think it’s because he misses Papa. Papa always made Ethan smile or laugh. But now Papa isn’t here, so Ethan never smiles or laughs.”

  Draven felt as though all the air had been sucked out of the room. Anabelle was beside him, as still as a statue, and he himself wasn’t sure he moved or breathed. His vision darkened. He panicked and bolted from his seat. “Excuse me.”

  No one said a word as he left the drawing room.

  Anabelle watched stoically. She had never seen him so bothered. The girls, so innocent and oblivious to the effect of their perceptive observations, changed the subject to the mare about to foal and predictions of its coloring. Hazel shared a speaking glance with Anabelle, but Anabelle was at a loss. The mothers had returned to their conversation as well, though her mother was shooting her glances.

  Anabelle stood awkwardly. “Please excuse me.” She didn’t know what she was doing or what she would say when she found him, but somehow, it was her duty to do so. She had an ache in her chest as she entered the foyer and looked about the hall. She kept picturing his face
in her mind. The shock, the utter despair. Ethan. His sister had so lovingly referred to him as Ethan as she destroyed his carefully constructed wall. There was so much pain and anger in his face, unmasked before them all. He was still just a boy who wanted his father, and that boy was completely at odds with the man he presented, the villain he liked to play for fun, the rogue who spouted seductive words to her in the moonlight so long ago.

  Rogers, the footman, nodded in the direction of the servants hall leading to the back of the house and out to the mews. She nodded her thanks and followed it. She passed servants along the way who directed her to the mews and at last, she found him with the horses of all things, forehead pressed to the neck of a sturdy steed by the name of Maddox. Anabelle paused inside the shadows, a curious silence and emptiness filling the stable. It was deserted, or so it seemed. The workers must have fled at the sight of him.

  Anabelle stepped forward slowly, still nervous of her welcome, and what it was she was meant to do for him.

  “Did you come to ask me questions?” His voice reverberated in the silence.

  “No, not if you don’t want me to. I just wanted to see how you fared.”

  He didn’t respond.

  Anabelle stepped forward and rubbed Maddox’s nose. “This is Maddox.”

  “So I gathered.”

  Anabelle didn’t fault him for his temper. “He is an ornery sort, but my father loves him. He will be moved to the country permanently after the season.”

  Draven sighed and moved away from the horse but still kept a hand on his neck. “He is lucky then.”

  “He made his own luck. Most refuse to handle him. Our driver wanted to shoot him.”

  Draven snorted. “Good horse.”

  Anabelle mustered her courage and moved to Draven’s side of the stall door. “Perhaps you can take him off my father’s hands if you like him so much. You two would be quite the pair.”

  He turned and looked at her. His face was still hard and emotionless. “Are you comparing me to this horse?”

  “I can see a certain similarity.”

  “You find me difficult and stubborn?”

  “You deny it?”

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “Did you come here to insult me?”

  “No.” She looked around. “Did you scare everyone away?”

  “People who work with animals are often fine-tuned to the emotions of others. They scattered like mice when I entered.”

  “We are alone then?”

  “Yes.” He watched her carefully, his eyes taking on a mysterious glint. “What are you doing here, Anabelle?”

  “I came to find you. It was obvious you were upset by your sister.” She saw his jaw tense and he looked away from her. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but we should return to the others.”

  He looked back at her. “They sent you?”

  Anabelle shrugged lightly. “In a way.”

  He turned and faced her fully, stepping close to her. “They sent you alone?”

  Anabelle looked around. “It would seem so.”

  “Cheeky. Didn’t they know you would be in danger?”

  Anabelle scoffed. “Of what? I am in my own home. Would you ravish me at tea with your mother and sisters?”

  “We’re no longer in the presence of my mother and sisters.” His arm came around her and pulled her against him. “This is all I’ve wanted for days.”

  She put her hands up to his chest. Her hands stilled on the front of his coat and found themselves content to remain there. “You wouldn’t put my reputation at risk.”

  “You trust me? We would be forced to marry. That is what I want, isn’t it?”

  Anabelle felt short of breath. “You wouldn’t.”

  “No.” He chuckled. “I will have a proper yes from you. But, for now, I will steal a kiss.” He did just that. His lips claimed hers like a victory, confident and nimble.

  Anabelle didn’t have an ounce of fight. There was always something inside her that came to life and eagerly anticipated his touch. She couldn’t control it. She wasn’t even sure she could push him away if she wanted to—if she would ever want to.

  She opened her mouth, hungry for him and the kisses that would drive her to distraction. It had been so long, too long. She hadn’t realized she had missed it until now. How could she forget how exciting it felt to be pressed against him like this, to feel his arms around her like a cage of desire she never wanted to escape? Her arms slid over his shoulders and twisted behind his neck. She pressed herself even harder against him. She wanted to feel the warmth of him, the pressure of his hard chest against her breasts, the hot palms of his hands on her bare flesh.

  She was overwhelmed by the urge to get closer, to feel all of him against all of her. He groaned and tore his mouth way. He was panting into her neck, his breath hot and moist. Anabelle refused to let go of him. She didn’t want to stop just yet. She peppered his neck with kisses, exploring the line of his jaw daringly with her tongue. She smiled triumphantly when he vibrated against her.

  “Don’t do that.”

  “Do what?” She repeated the swirl of her tongue around the lobe of his ear.

  “Dammit, Anabelle. I want to pin you against the stall wall, lift your skirts, and sink into you. I swear, I will do it if you keep doing that.”

  Anabelle stopped. Her breathing was shallow and rapid, her heart beat frantically with the urge to be daring, but she couldn’t do it. Her body wanted to agree, but her head still had a firm grasp on reality.

  He eased her away from him, adjusting his jacket in front of him. “Now you know. There is a price to pay if you tempt the devil.”

  Anabelle still couldn’t catch her breath, so she just nodded.

  “Let’s return before they assume the worst of us.” He held out his arm and she took it. They were silent as they made their way back to the drawing room. Stopping in the hall, Anabelle checked her hair. Despite the rush of heat and desire in her body, her appearance was completely unchanged. They reentered the drawing room. Anabelle prayed she wouldn’t blush. It would be a dead giveaway. Amazingly, they were given no extra attention and after a few minutes, Lady Draven announced it was time to depart. Even after goodbyes were said and they departed, Anabelle was sure she would be questioned about the extent of her and Draven’s absence. They were not formally engaged. Surely, such an absence would not be excused.

  Not a word was said by her mother. Hazel gave her a curious look but said nothing more. Anabelle couldn’t believe her luck. Did they simply not notice? Or perhaps they didn’t appear to be gone that long? Whatever the case may be, it appeared everyone was on board with an engagement between her and Draven. But was she? Yes, she desired him. She couldn’t deny that. But she still faced the same questions. Could she marry him? And more importantly, could she love him?

  Chapter 21

  Draven left that evening for an evening of gentlemanly pursuits. He met Rigsby at Whites, intending to cut himself free from the emotional rigors of the afternoon when he found himself staring at the bottom of his first glass of Brandy and thinking of nothing but Anabelle. This afternoon in the mews had been enlightening. She had come to him and he had dreaded it. He had expected his mother, or perhaps Mary, but instead, it was Anabelle. She didn’t ask questions about his father, she didn’t ask him anything at all. She had compared him to a horse and insulted him. But he liked it.

  He didn’t want to dwell on his feelings for his father. When he dwelled, the pain of those memories was unbearable. He preferred distraction. He preferred keeping his mind occupied with entertaining things like shocking innocents and irritating stuffy harridans. He liked the role he played in society. He liked not giving a damn about anything or anyone. But Anabelle had distracted him in another way, and he thoroughly enjoyed that, too. He enjoyed it so much, he almost did precisely as he wished to do with her in that stall, and that was the issue.

  He couldn’t take his intended wife against a stall, especially
not for her first time. His ardor had been pushed beyond reason with the swirl of her tongue, and that meant that he was losing control. He needed to wed her as soon as possible, but with the season ending, and no agreement from her lips, he had precious few opportunities to press his suit. He could ask her outright, but what if she said no? He wasn’t convinced that she was persuaded and that terrified him. He needed to do something drastic, something completely unexpected that would guarantee her hand. But what?

  The strongest tool in his arsenal was the passion between them. How could he use that to his advantage? He looked to Rigsby, the only man he could trust with this matter without uttering a word to anyone else. He ordered another drink and took a deep breath. He was about to shock Rigsby with his confession.

  “Rigsby, I need your advice.”

  “Of course, you do. We both know I’m more intelligent than you.” Rigsby smirked. “What is it, old chap? A case of the crawlies in your smalls?”

  Draven shook his head and rolled his eyes. He underestimated Rigsby’s ability to be serious. “Enough. This is important.”

  Rigsby set his glass down and leaned forward. “I’m intrigued now.”

  Draven leaned forward too, not wanting to be overheard. “I’m going to ask Lady Anabelle for her hand.”

  Rigsby’s eyes widened. “Go on.”

  “She is not entirely convinced we will suit. I need to convince her otherwise. With passion.”

  “Ah. I see.” Rigsby leaned back in his chair.

  “Do you?” Draven said with surprise.

  “No. Not at all.”

  “I’ve been officially courting her as you know, but we’ve been… for longer than that.”

  Rigsby bolted forward again and whispered angrily, “Good god, man, with Lady Anabelle? Are you mad?”

  “It hasn’t gone that far,” Draven growled. “I’m not a reprobate.”

  Rigsby leaned back again and sighed. “What is it you want of me?”

  “I’ve never wooed before. I’ve never had to play the romantic. Tell me what to do. I want her to be so overcome, she couldn’t possibly say no.”