Desperate and Daring 02 - Belle of the Ball (13 page)

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 click 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.

Anabelle moaned as soon as his lips touched hers. She didn’t think she had wanted this. In fact, she had coached herself on the conversation she needed to have with him, but when his mouth touched hers and she breathed in the scent of him, she had the crashing realization that all she had wanted all along was this. To be here in his arms. No words, no arguing as they were wont to do. Just kissing, just holding. It was fast becoming her favorite place to be.

She slipped her arms over his shoulders and pressed herself even harder against him. His arms came around her like a cage, squeezing her tightly. She loved it. She had never felt so wanted or so desired. He was just as affected as she was. It thrilled her to know that in this, they were equal. She felt her heart beating faster, the fever of passion growing inside her and flowering into a consuming need to touch and be touched.

She squirmed against him, needing to get closer, but already as close as their clothing would allow.

What was it about him that did this to her? Why was she so drawn to him like no other? Her mind froze, as did her body. The question rotated in her mind like a spinning wheel, taunting her. Why was she so drawn to him? Why was his effect on her so different from any other male?

“Anabelle… are you all right?” He pulled away just enough to bring his hands to her face and look down into her eyes.

His were shadowed, but she could feel his concern, his tenderness. Her heart thumped painfully and suddenly, she was afraid. She was afraid of what it all meant, afraid of having even one more thought that would tell her what it all meant. She didn’t want to know, she didn’t want to think of it anymore, and her only way to banish all thought and logic was to completely let go and be swept away by his touch. She threw herself into the moment again. Coming up on her tiptoes to catch his mouth, delving her tongue inside his. He wrapped his arms tightly around her again, lifting her off her feet and groaning.

He brought her back down to earth, but Anabelle wasn’t confident her weight would hold her. He held her still, but turned her to face away from him. She was about to voice her disappointment, but then his hand slipped inside her bodice and cupped her breast and all that came out was a gasp. His hand was hot against her skin, the pads of his fingers and thumbs slightly roughened. He squeezed her softly and his thumb skated over her sensitive nipple. His other arm held her tightly against him, his hand stroking the curve of her hip. She could feel his arousal against her lower back and she shamelessly moved against him.

He made a half growl half groan in her ear and then nuzzled her hair aside to wreak sensual havoc on the tender skin beneath her ear. She released a shivery sigh and tilted her head back against his shoulder. The hand at her hip moved to her stomach, kneading and caressing, inching lower and lower. She was vaguely aware of its path, but the hand at her breast was now pulling her bodice lower. She could not keep track of the progress of both. She stopped trying as she gave herself to him and the moment, trusting that he would know when enough was enough.

Her mind slipped its moors as his devilish fingers lightly touched on the mound of her womanhood. Her breast was now free of her bodice and his fingers doing magical things with her nipple. The fingers below her waist searched further, pressing into the fabric of her dress to follow the curve of her mons and dip in between her legs.

Anabelle bit her lip. She had never felt such a sensation before, a painful jolt of pleasure. She didn’t know she could feel like this or that her most private of places could feel so wonderful when touched by a man.

He continued the slow slide of his fingers gently, but for Anabelle, it was not enough. Her body knew what to do, and she involuntarily thrust her hips against his hand and was rewarded with another bolt of pleasure. Her skin was on fire now, her mind and body greedily consumed with deriving more from his skillful hands. He seemed to know, and became more deliberate in his touch, feeding her bodies need.

He went a step further and began to gather up her skirts. Until now, Anabelle had remained mostly passive, but at this, she reached up and back to glide her fingers into his hair. She wanted to participate now, to do more than just accept his caresses. She didn’t know where this was leading, but she didn’t want to think that far ahead. She knew she could trust him to know when to stop. And certainly, she could trust herself. She could never become so lost in the moment that she would risk it all, could she?

Her dress moved higher, the slide of silk becoming tantalizing as it moved past her garters and brushed her thighs. Then she felt his fingers on her skin. She bit her lip. She didn’t know how to react, her nerves screaming in anticipation. His fingers danced along her skin towards the center of her body until finally they reached her core, touching upon the delicate hairs and dipping into the folds of her sex. Anabelle shuddered. She had never felt anything like it. It was a relief to the pressing wants of her body, but it also stirred them further. She found her breath again and turned her head towards his wandering mouth. He caught her lips and she was overtaken by everything she was feeling. She could no longer think, only feel, only experience. His hand pushed the fire inside her, driving her towards an eclipse. Little pants and cries escaped between their lips as she moved her hips in time with his hands and a growing sense of urgency took over. She was pushing for something, pushing for some sort of satisfaction to stop the burning urgency inside her. She kept going, breaking from his lips to cry out in frustration.

He changed his tempo, focusing the pressure of his thumb on a sensitive spot beneath her mons that made her jump in her skin. Something broke inside her. Sweet relief flooded her. She cried again, but this time it was with joy. She didn’t have control of herself, she simply was.

He held her tightly against him, supporting her weight as she shivered and sighed with release. He kissed her temple and lifted her, turning to sit in the chair she had accommodated earlier. He hadn’t said a word, and Anabelle felt completely incapable of forming a coherent thought. He pulled her skirts down and her bodice up and now cradled her in his lap.

She opened her eyes and looked up at him, timid, but also curious. She could still feel the evidence of his own desire beneath her. He looked tense, his lips pinched at the corners, nothing like the pleasure that was singing through her veins. He must have read the question in her eyes.

“It’s all right,” he assured her as he brushed a curl from her face. “I got all that I need. Far more than I deserve.”

Anabelle sat up gingerly. The weight of reality was returning. A hot blush covered her skin making her feel prickly. “We’ve been gone for some time.” She stood and brushed at her skirts. They were wrinkled, but not horribly so. She felt like she was waking from a wonderful dream and was only just realizing the absurdity and danger of what had just occurred.

“Use the reflection of the glass cabinet to fix your hair,” Draven offered.

She smiled weakly. He knew exactly what to do in these situations. She approached her reflection warily and re-pinned a few curls. She inspected her dress. Overall, she looked rather normal, though she felt far from her usual self. Her hands felt shaky, so she folded them before her.

“We can talk another time. As you said, enough time has passed that you should return.”

She nodded. He went to the door and unlocked it and checked the hall. “It’s clear.”

Anabelle spared herself one last look at his elegant profile. He was all business again, cool and collected, a master of dalliance.

She brushed past him, feeling the caress of his fingers across her palm. She did not look back as the door closed behind her.

Anabelle returned to the ballroom, internally shaken but outwardly composed. She found Lucy returning from the dance floor on the arm of her partner. She intercepted her before they reached their mothers. They would be leaving shortly.

“Where have you been?” Lucy asked with a smile.

“Everywhere but the dance floor. I couldn’t punish my feet any longer.”

Lucy nodded. They reached their mothers and her partner departed. They took two empty chairs and Lucy leaned close. “You’ve been wandering around by yourself for the entire set?”

“Of course not. I’ve been chatting with acquaintances.”

“Like who?”

Anabelle turned to Lucy and narrowed her eyes. “Am I being interrogated?”

“If it feels that way, tis no one’s fault but your own. You’ve been strangely preoccupied—speak of the devil.” Lucy looked up at the approaching gentlemen.

Anabelle did her best to appear completely unaffected, but the sight of him made her heart race and her cheeks warm.

Lucy acknowledged her brother with a beleaguered sigh. “What have I done now?”

“Nothing. I came to bid mother goodnight and see you both safely to the carriage before departing.”

“Oh.” Lucy’s hackles deflated. “Well, I am ready to put my feet to rest for the evening.”

“We’ve already paid our respects to Lady Smithdale. We can depart whenever you wish.” Lucy’s mother stood.

“Perfect. Let us depart at once.” Lucy jumped up from her chair.

Anabelle stood more slowly, aware of Draven’s attention. She couldn’t meet his eyes, not with so many around them. Draven offered his arm to her mother and Anabelle fell in on the other side. Her father appeared and seeing his wife already with escort, he presented Anabelle his arm. She smiled up at him, feeling a swell of guilt.

What kind of daughter was she to be so callous with her innocence? Her father would be so disappointed if she did anything to tarnish their family’s name. Her mother and father spoke jovially with Draven. It was clear they held him in kind regard. If only they knew.

She broke away from that thought. He was not a villain. He didn’t take advantage or lure her into seduction. She had gone knowingly, eagerly even, driven by the cloying net of desire. They parted ways on the steps, offering Draven a polite but unemotional smile. He offered his cursory nod and they were off.

Once home and in her room, she relived the evening in her bed in the dark. She thought about her list and one thing was abundantly clear. Whatever it was she was looking for, she found it, only it wasn’t with a man who would care for her and love her. It was with Draven, or Ethan as he had wished her to call him. It felt so intimate, even in her mind. Ethan, who didn’t wish to marry, who thought love was foolish. He displayed everything she didn’t want in a husband, and yet it was he who made her feel everything she thought she should feel upon falling in love.

Tears pricked her eyes. She would be a fool to fall in love with someone so determined to avoid it. He was destined to be a cold husband, to break his wife’s heart with no remorse. He was exactly who he meant to be and made no apologies for it. Though he would be attentive in the bedroom—Anabelle had no doubts about that, his heart would never be engaged. What would stop him from growing bored and seeking another? Nothing. Draven did as he pleased.

Anabelle rolled over to her side and hugged her pillow. She was lost now more than ever. What if she weren’t capable of finding that same passion with another man? Would she be doomed to settle for a man that she only found likable? Would she ever be able to look upon Draven with anything other than desire? She closed her eyes and prayed the aching in her chest wasn’t heartbreak.

*

It was a quiet night at the clubs, thankfully. Draven had one drink with Rigsby and headed home. He had some thinking to do and thinking was best done sober and alone. He found refuge in his study, taking solace in the low light of the fire and a finger of brandy in his glass. He stared at the portrait of his father and wondered if he would be proud of the man Draven had become.

When it came to his responsibilities towards his family, yes, Draven felt sure of it, but when it came to his actions tonight, Draven felt like a scoundrel. What the hell was he doing? Somehow, beyond all reason and logic, he found himself seducing a virgin at a ball. And not just any virgin, a woman of good family and reputation, a woman who was actively searching for a husband, not him. A woman he respected. And her parents had smiled and thanked him for his kind escort and generosity for the events before.

He was the worst sort of rake—hell, it went beyond rake. He was the worst sort of man. At least, he felt like it this night. If he had any kind of sense left, he would never touch another hair on her head. He would distance himself considerably. But, even as he thought it, he knew it would not happen. He was a fish wriggling on a hook eager to be served before her. It would come to this and only this. The ultimate sacrifice, but he would gain so much, and his family and hers would be pleased. The only one who wouldn’t be was Anabelle herself. He could see the skepticism in her eyes now, the outright distrust.

He couldn’t blame her. He had made his thoughts on love and matrimony quite clear. He could even anticipate her refusing him. He was what she didn’t want, except when she was in his arms. And if she did refuse him, what would he do? His feelings wouldn’t just die upon her acceptance of another. He would have to live with it, or perhaps abandon London life. He couldn’t do that, not when he had two young sisters to debut, and a mother who needed the drive to reenter society for the sake of her health.

He had one option, one seemingly impossible option. He would ask for her hand, but first, he had to speak to her father, take all the appropriate steps to show her and society that he had a real interest. He was confident her father would not refuse him, but his real obstacle would be Anabelle. More and more, young women were being given the choice of their suitors, and Anabelle and Hazel would be no exception. She would have to choose him, and that meant that he would have to convince her to believe him.

*

It was a lovely day in the park. Anabelle and Hazel occupied a bench and tossing crumps to a greedy swan. Hazel was telling her about a book she had started reading, and Anabelle responded appropriately, though her mind was elsewhere. She had her list scrunched in her hand to remind her of her hopes. She had been swept away by Draven; so much so, she had forgotten her own hopes and dreams. The list helped her feel more focused, more in tune with herself and her goals.

Hazel had stopped talking so Anabelle looked over at her sister and found herself being closely watched.

“What is it?” Anabelle said nervously.

“You’ve been
hming
in all the right places, but it’s quite obvious something is bothering you.”

“It’s nothing important.”

“It’s stopped you from confiding in me. I consider that important. We’ve been each other’s sole confidants since before we could speak. When did that change?”

Anabelle swallowed. She had kept so much from her sister, but she couldn’t bear her sister’s judgment just now. Her own feelings were too raw. “I’m worried about my list. I’m half way through it and not feeling very hopeful.”

“You think a list will help you find love?” Hazel asked skeptically.

“No, the list simply provides direction for meeting prospective husbands. I’m hoping once I meet them, I will find love.” Anabelle folded her arms over her chest.

“Sounds very contrived. I think falling in love has to be natural.”

Anabelle tossed her sister a glare. “And you know this how?”

“I thought everyone knew that.”

“I only want the kind of love Heather and her duke share. Is that so difficult to find?”

“You do remember how they met, don’t you? There was no list for Heather to pick and choose from. She was determined to wed herself to an aging duke, and as it happened, Mr. Calder was that duke, and he was far from aged and smitten from the beginning. It was natural for them, even when they tried to fight it.”

Anabelle let out a huff of anger and then composed herself. Her sister was right, but that didn’t make her feel any better. “What else can I do? Simply hope that I fall in love? I can’t be passive over something so important.”

Hazel watched her sister carefully, biting her tongue against saying more. “My point is that it will happen when it happens. You don’t have to marry the first man who proposes or even the fifth. Mother and father won’t pressure you to marry anytime soon. You have time, Anabelle.”

Anabelle looked down and worried the middle finger of her glove. She didn’t feel like she had time. The more time she spent not in love with her future husband, the more time she had to dwell on her feelings for Draven. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Of course, I’m right.” Hazel nudged her side.

Anabelle turned her head to look at her sister. “Is that how you feel? That you have plenty of time to find a husband?”

“Don’t I?” Hazel laughed. “I’m not like you. I’m in no rush to fall head over heels in love. I think I will know when I find the right man, but for now, all the attention we’ve had since the masquerade sets me on edge. I don’t want to be chased. I’m not prey to be caught.”

Anabelle considered her sister’s words. She didn’t feel like prey, rather she felt as if she were doing the hunting.

That night, Anabelle and Hazel were being treated to a private play at the home of Lord Fullerton on the outskirts of the city. Lord Fullerton was a friend of their father’s, who shared a love of theatre. There was a surprising turnout for what Anabelle had hoped would be a quiet affair. Hazel was already tense by the time they entered his lordships private theatre and attempted to find seats.

“Dear lord. Since when are private plays all the rage?”

“Lord Fullerton hired a famous actress to play the lead. I’ve heard she is known for quite more than her acting skills.”

“That explains the abundance of so-called
blades
.” Hazel grimaced with distaste.

“Half the ton is here to see her… men and women,” Anabelle mused.

“I don’t want to sit yet. Let’s find something else to bide our time so we can find seats in the back.” Hazel took Anabelle’s hand and led her back into the hall. The dining room was laid out as a buffet so guests could help themselves. Having had dinner, Anabelle was not tempted. She did except a glass of champagne for herself and Hazel.

“There is a gallery above the theatre. Let’s see if we can hide up there.”

Hazel nodded, and they climbed the stairs at the end of the hall. Reaching the top, they found they were not quite alone.

Anabelle hesitated. She knew that scent of cigar smoke. Rigsby saw them first and waved. This time it was Hazel who led the way.

“Wandering about alone, I see. Don’t you know there are dangerous men about?” Rigsby teased.

“All I see are you two,” Hazel returned playfully. “Where are these dangerous men?”

“I’m right here.” A figure stepped from the shadows. It was Lord Bainbridge.

Anabelle could feel Hazel’s entire aura change. It was a needed distraction from her own tautly stressed nerves.

“Good evening, Lord Bainbridge. A pleasure to see you again.” Anabelle stepped forward tugging her sister.

“I assure you the pleasure is mine, Lady Hazel, Lady Anabelle. Tis my good fortune to have the pleasure of your company this evening.”

“To what do we owe this pleasure?” Rigsby said suspiciously.

Anabelle gritted her teeth. She would bet her best dress he knew something simply by the way he looked at her with such speculation.

“Don’t pretend you are not escaping the madness below. We are seeking refuge as well,” Hazel said smartly.

“Then by all means, please sit.” Rigsby held out a chair that had been pulled near the railing.

“We’ve bribed a footman to see to our needs,” Draven said as he held a chair for Anabelle. She ignored him completely.

“Lord Bainbridge, would you care to sit as well?” She turned to the reclusive lord, who still hung in the shadows against the back wall.

“I’m quite comfortable standing, my lady. Thank you.”

Anabelle faced forward, but she could feel Draven’s presence beside her like a fire built too high. She turned to Hazel. “I hope the performance is worthwhile.”

Hazel nodded but didn’t speak. Anabelle looked past her and caught Rigsby looking past herself to the man beside her. Some silent communication was occurring with the movement of eyebrows. She sat back in her chair and devised what to say next. She decided taking the bull by the horns would be necessary. She turned to Draven and offered him an icy smile.

“When the footman returns, would you please ask him for some water for myself and Hazel?”

“I’d be delighted,” he returned with a stony face.

Anabelle narrowed her eyes slightly. “Have we interrupted something? If you’d prefer we go, we will. Far be it for us to impede on your gentleman’s evening.”

“Utter nonsense,” Lord Bainbridge said immediately behind her.

Anabelle and Hazel looked up behind them to find him standing with his arms draped over the backs of their chairs.