Belle of the Ball Page 11

  She pulled away, astonished to see that he looked a little dazed. It didn’t last, but before either of them could speak, there was someone coming. He left her in the hall and closed the door. She blinked into the darkness hearing Hazel beg their father to calm down. That was when they found her, alone.

  “What the devil is going on?” he whispered angrily.

  “I don’t know,” Anabelle lied.

  Lord Wellsford pushed open the door and found Draven squatting near the body, holding Von Drakes limp wrist in his hand.

  “Is he dead?” Lord Wellsford grumbled.

  “Unfortunately not,” Draven answered dryly.

  “I thank you for disposing of him discreetly,” Wellford continued, though he was losing his anger.

  “We should return to the party to be sure it remains discreet.”

  Wellsford nodded and turned back to the door to find his daughters watching avidly. “We must make our adieus for the evening, be quick about it.”

  “Are you just going to leave him there?” Hazel asked.

  “Better than the grave I’d like to put him in,” her father answered. Hazel and Anabelle wasted no more time gawking at the felled Mr. Von Drake and did as their father bid them with haste.

  Chapter 13

  Anabelle didn’t see Draven when they left, but she swore she could feel him watching. The next evening, at the Smithdale ball, she had the same feeling, and she wondered how often he watched her. Had he not been doing so last night, what would have become of Hazel? She was not alarmed by his protectiveness, but instead, she felt captivated by it. She was anxiously aware of herself now, knowing he was watching. How she looked, how she felt. What did he see? She had dressed with care tonight, wearing a daringly low dress of cream silk with a blush pink lace overlay.

  She wanted to draw him out. She wanted to dare him to dance attendance on her tonight so she could ask him how he had been there exactly when Hazel had needed him and why he watched them. She also wanted to tempt him. The irony was not lost on her. Not long ago, he had tried to tempt her. She didn’t feel like his angel tonight. She still had the hum of her desire for him from the night before in her veins making her feel wicked. How long would she have to wait?

  Hazel was at home with an imaginary cold tonight, a precaution in case any word of the incident with Mr. Von Drake had been witnessed and set about. So far, there wasn’t even a whisper of her name being mentioned. Anabelle had waited with Lucy in the line to the ladies’ retiring room before the dancing began. Truthfully, she didn’t want to be tied to the dance floor all night, not when she had business with Draven. Due to her surge in popularity after the masquerade, her dance card was always full, so she avoided the ballroom altogether until the last possible moment.

  “I’ve asked Thea to spend the summer with me,” Lucy mentioned. “Her family has been positively dreadful to her this season. I think I should kidnap her altogether.”

  Anabelle huffed in laughter. “Have you told Thea this plan?”

  “Yes, she is in accord. Perhaps I can get her married off so she won’t even have to go back.”

  “Where is she tonight?”

  “The Opera. It’s her great aunts birthday. They do it every year.”

  “Poor girl.”

  They finally made it into the cramped retiring room and Lucy had a maid fix the loose strap on her slipper. Exiting, they slowly made progress towards the ballroom where they were beset upon by eager dance partners.

  Anabelle wanted to groan but refrained. Names quickly filled every line but the last. In a swell of panic, she tucked it away in her reticule and smiled regretfully at Sir Stanley. “My card is full, I’m afraid.” He bowed away gracefully and Anabelle felt guilty. What if Draven didn’t even ask her to dance? She contemplated taking it out again, but when she looked in her reticule, she saw a folded piece of paper. Her list!

  She looked around. There was no privacy here. She had completely forgotten about her list of potential husbands. She made an excuse to urgently speak with her mother and slipped away from the crowd of admirers. Finding a little curtained alcove shared with a bust of some Greek deity she couldn’t recall, she opened her list and reviewed the names. She was at least dancing with two of the gentlemen tonight. She sighed in relief. What had come over her? She had completely forgotten about the purpose of these gatherings, her ultimate goal. She looked down at her list again and wondered if her goal was even possible. She’d never felt further from it than she was right now, and all because of that blasted man who was either kissing her senseless or confounding her.

  As if summoned from her thoughts, the curtain moved aside and he stood before her.

  Anabelle was too astonished to remember what she held in her hands, but of course, it was the first thing he noticed.

  “What is this?” He plucked it from her fingers.

  She couldn’t breathe as time slowed and she watched his eyes skim over the list with a crooked twist of his lips. She marshaled her courage. She didn’t care what he had to say about her list. He already knew what she was about.

  “Is this a list of conquests?” he teased.

  “It’s a list of prospective husbands,” Anabelle said nervously. “How did you find me?”

  He looked up and met her eyes. “What do you mean?”

  “Are you watching me?” She saw his jaw tense.

  “And if I am?” he said in a low purr.

  She felt it all the way to her toes. “You were watching last night?”

  “That was a fortunate happenstance. I was already preparing to leave when I came upon them.”

  “Well, I wish to thank you.” She took her list from between his fingers and refolded it.”

  “I thought you already thanked me.”

  Now she could feel the heat of a blush spread across her breasts at the memory of their kiss last night. “Be that as it may, I wanted to thank you again. With words.”

  His lips curled up in the corners in that dangerous way that meant he was enjoying the moment far too much. “You are most welcome. I do have one question though.” He hesitated.

  “Yes?” Anabelle tipped her chin up, trying to regain some sort of steady ground.

  “Why isn’t my name on your list?”

  Suddenly, the metaphorical ground was gone. “I beg your pardon?”

  “That is a list of very eligible gentlemen, titled, wealthy… but my name is not on it.”

  “With good reason.” She scoffed and laughed. “In your own words, you have said how terrible it would be to be a lovesick fool.”

  He stroked his chin as he pondered that. Anabelle was sure he was mocking her.

  “That is something I would say.” He pinned her with his eyes. “You think they would be amenable to it?”

  “I won’t know until I find out, will I.” She tried to push past him, but he stopped her by simply stepping near her. Heat and awareness spread across her skin, and she knew he would see it in her eyes, but she looked up at him anyway.

  His eyes had a surging heat, a glimmer of what they had shared last night. “I will take your last dance,” he stated.

  “How did you know?”

  “I’m watching, remember?”

  Anabelle nodded and slipped away. She was warm enough to start a fire with her hands, so she found the refreshment table and then Lucy exactly where she had left her.

  Draven didn’t move as she escaped him. His brow was pinched, a peculiar feeling spreading through him as he committed the names on her list to memory. He didn’t know why he had bothered her over the lack of his name. He had made it quite clear that he had no intention of marrying, and yet it galled him. He stared at the wall until he felt a semblance of calm and then re-entered the growing mass of guests.

  He shouldn’t feel this way about a woman. It wasn’t healthy. But, the more he denied his want of her, the stronger it became, and what terrified him, was the growing realization that it wouldn’t end with a dalliance or a number of fevered k
isses and touches in the darkened halls of balls just like this one. It would grow and change, turning into something out of his control. Where would that leave them?

  He didn’t know, but it felt like a path he had no hope of straying from even if he wanted to. His only hope would be that she found some sense to put an end to it and him, but if the look in her eyes had been any indication, she was just as caught as he was.

  He found refuge in the card room as the dancing began. In his present mood, he had no wish to see her dancing with another man. Lord knew what strange emotion could come over him. The debacle of last night was bad enough. He was thankful he had been there for Hazel, but the moment that bastard had touched Anabelle, his rage had known no bounds. If it hadn’t been for her watching him, he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t have killed the wastrel.

  Draven found a chair to relax in and a footman to pour him a drink. He would have to bide his time for now, and pray God favored him enough to provide him some much-needed sanity when it came to her.

  It was an hour later when Rigsby found him.

  “You look like the devil.”

  “You would know,” Draven quipped.

  Rigsby shrugged. “It comes with my estimable reputation.”

  “Where’s Winchester this evening?”

  “He left this morning for god knows where. He can’t stay in one place too long.”

  “What about his holdings?”

  “He has more solicitors than he knows what to do with.”

  Draven raised his eyebrows but didn’t say anything more on the subject. “Is Bainbridge here? I haven’t seen him, but then again, he is a ghost.”

  “I haven’t seen him either, though his grandmother is here, so he must be lurking about. Did I see you with Lady Anabelle in an alcove?” Rigsby said quietly.

  Draven controlled his features. “Perhaps. We were discussing the weather.”

  “Of course, you were, it’s a fascinating subject.” Rigsby took the chair across from him. “I can’t help but wonder—”

  “It’s nothing, Rigsby. Leave it alone.”

  Rigsby sighed. “I didn’t say a word when you stole Lord Westland’s mistress, even though he is a trigger happy fellow. I didn’t say a word when you took that lovely widow from me at Lord Marshals hunting box, but this is something else altogether. Men like us don’t prey on women like her.”

  “I’m not preying on her,” Draven said with disgust.

  “Then you are courting her?”

  “Keep your voice down,” Draven warned, “and no, I am not courting her. I don’t exactly know what it is.”

  “It’s idiotic, is what it is. Are you a fool? One whiff of it and there won’t be any other choice for you but performing the wedding march.”

  Draven glared at Rigsby. “Do you doubt my ability to be discreet?”

  “Never, until now. If I saw you, someone else could have, too.”

  “You only saw because you know where to look.” Draven snorted half-heartedly.

  “I’m just giving you a friendly warning. Keep your head out of your ass.”

  “Am I poaching? Is there some reason you have taken such an interest in my association with her?” Draven accused him.

  “Dear lord, Draven. No. But, she is a friend of my sisters, and since the Endervale house party, I’ve come to know both Lady Hazel and Lady Anabelle, and I feel responsible for them. They have no older brother to watch out for them.”

  “But they do have a father,” Draven stated.

  “As does my sister, but I am still her keeper. You have sisters. How would you feel if one of them was being stalked by the likes of you?”

  Draven narrowed his eyes at Rigsby. “Careful.”

  “I give you the same warning. She’s not a merry widow, she’s not a neglected wife, she’s not a dancer at the theatre or a traveling singer. She’s an innocent.”

  “I know all that,” Draven bit off.

  “Then act like it. You are not behaving like your normal self at all.”

  Draven clenched his teeth. “I will take it under advisement.”

  Rigsby sighed again. “Please do so. I’m off to check on Lucy.”

  Draven nodded as he left. He didn’t want to be angry with Rigsby. After all, he was only providing a much-needed warning. But Draven didn’t like having to defend himself. He’d never had to defend himself to anyone, except his father when he had fought with the butcher’s son in the village near their country seat.

  He didn’t need to defend himself now. He was a man full grown, so why was he doing it? Draven pushed out of his seat and returned to the ballroom. As much as he loathed seeing her courted by other men, keeping her in the scope of his awareness calmed him and helped him think clearly. That was until he got too close, and then other parts of him took over. He positioned himself against the wall, somewhat out of the way, but able to keep a watchful eye over her.

  She was right. He watched her constantly. It was all he could do when he couldn’t have her in his arms.

  Chapter 14

  Anabelle anxiously awaited the last dance. Truthfully, she didn’t want to dance, but she could admit she did want to see Draven, and she did want to be close to him. A crowded ballroom was not her preferred locale. There was always so much feeling between them, a tension that seemed to hum around them, swarming.

  He seemed to appear from nowhere, taking the place of the young lord at her side without her realizing it.

  “Lady Anabelle, I believe this is our dance.” He bowed nobly. Such a master at playing the gentleman.

  “That it is, Lord Draven.”

  He offered his arm and she placed her hand on his sleeve. They approached the dance floor, but upon reaching the edge, Anabelle stopped.

  “I’d rather not dance at the moment. My poor slippers can’t withstand anymore.”

  He turned to her. His eyes were speculative. “What would you prefer?”

  “A quiet place to rest and converse.”

  “As you wish.” He directed her away from the floor and towards the entry way.

  Many rooms were open to the guests, including a music room come Library. Anabelle pursed her lips in disappointment when it looked as though that would be their destination, but while they paused by the door, he continued on down the hall. Anabelle was tempted to look back.

  “Confidence is key,” he murmured. “Like a magician’s sleight of hand.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  They came upon another door.

  “I will be but a moment with a glass of lemonade.” He opened the door and handed her through.

  Anabelle was still perplexed, but she did as he directed and found herself alone in a small study. For the most part, it was dark, but the curtains were open and the radiant full moon lit the room enough for her to see clearly. She wandered further into the room and took a seat by the banked fire. This must be Lord Smithdale’s study. It looked like a room of daily use but tidy. It smelled vaguely of sandalwood and ash.

  Idly waiting, she thought about what she would say when he returned. Her mind drew a blank. What would she say? The speculative look in his eyes suggested he knew her motives were something other than conversing. She blushed. When did she become so forward? She heard footsteps in the hall and froze. They moved away again and she took a deep breath.

  She wanted to kiss him, but she didn’t want to be obvious about it. His ego was large enough already. But there wasn’t really any other reason for requesting being alone with him and that was—essentially, what she had done. Her feet did hurt though. That part wasn’t a lie. She was also fearful of the way she felt when near him, and she didn’t want that to be observed by others if they danced together. There. That was what she would talk about with him. She would inform him that dancing was not a good idea and go from there.

  There were more footsteps and this time, the door handle turned and the shape of a man that she could now recognize as his entered. He closed the door softly and she heard the clic
k of the lock.

  “Why didn’t you light a lamp?”

  Anabelle shrugged, and then thought he might not see the gesture. “I’m not sure. This is your forte, not mine.”

  He didn’t answer, but he did move to the desk and light the lamp. He did indeed have a glass of lemonade. He turned to face her.

  “My feet do truly hurt, you know.” She didn’t know why she felt the need to make that clear.

  “I don’t doubt it. Those scraps of silk and leather can barely be referred to as shoes. Why women insist on suffering for vanity—”

  “Vanity thy name is Draven,” Anabelle teased. “You wouldn’t dream of purchasing boots from any place but Hoby.”

  “And they fit like a glove. I can dance all night and not feel a twinge of pain.”

  “You never dance,” Anabelle scoffed.

  “I was eager to dance with you, but here we are.” He pushed away from the desk and approached her. He stood before her and presented his hand. “May I?”

  Anabelle placed her hand in his tentatively. He pulled her to her feet, sliding one arm around her waist as her body softly bumped against his.

  “We can still dance.”

  Anabelle was slow to respond. She was already losing herself to the heady sensation of being pressed against him. “I don’t want to dance, Draven.”

  She felt his slow release of breath against her breasts. He stopped swaying with her against him and brought their entwined hands to his chest.

  “What do you want to do, Anabelle?” He paused, cocking his head to the side and squinting. “I think it’s time you called me by my given name.”

  She licked her lips and took a deep breath. She enjoyed the press of her breasts against his chest. “I don’t even know your name. We need to talk, Draven.”

  “You need to call me Ethan, and I need to kiss you.”

  “Ethan?” she breathed his name.

  “Yes, Anabelle?” He smiled, not one of his regular smiles, but a true smile. It changed his entire face, lightening his eyes, lightening everything. Suddenly, he wasn’t severe and cold, but looked warm and inviting, even happy. Anabelle couldn’t look away and swayed even closer to him. His gaze dropped to her lips and he dipped his head.