Desperate and Daring 02 - Belle of the Ball (4 page)

Hazel nodded. “All right then. That is all we will speak of it. I promise.”

Anabelle sighed with relief. “Thank you.”

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.”

“Already?” Rigsby frowned and looked at his fob watch. “It’s only a quarter past one?”

“I promised to take Mary and Felicity riding in the morning.”

“Ah.” Rigsby nodded. “Brotherly duty calls. Goodnight then, I’ll catch you at Whites tomorrow.”

Draven spent two weeks avoiding Anabelle and the general public. He still visited his club and went about his usual business, but when it came to society functions, he played least in sight. He didn’t dance, he would arrive late and leave early, and firmly remained in the card room and billiard room. He felt better, in control even, and determined it was time to test the waters of his attraction in her presence. Rigsby had made comments, but so far, Draven was sure he was in the dark about his feelings for Anabelle.

It was the Casterwall Masquerade, a generally extravagant and entertaining affair. He could be close to her before she even knew it was he masked as he was. The only unexposed part of his face would be his mouth. His mask was that of a ferocious dragon scaled in metallic green and blue with large shiny black horns. His domino was black velvet. When he entered the ballroom, those closest to him turned in wary delight and gave him space. He paid them no mind and proceeded to scan the crowd.

*

Anabelle had anticipated this night with baited breath. She hugged her white velvet domino closed despite the growing warmth of the ballroom. Her hair was a mass of curls on her head and dangling around her ears and neck. Her mask was the same sea blue and green as her dress with delicate silver swirling accents. Real shells had been pasted to pins and adorned her hair.

Her dress was a marvelous confection. A transparent white ruffle as delicate as sea foam edged her sweetheart bodice. The shimmery blue-green satin hugged her curves until it flared below her hips into layered drapes of tulle as if she walked in a cloud of sea foam. She and her maid had secretly added some extra adornment and done additional fitting. The dress was far tighter than her mother had ever approved. Normally, she would never have done such a thing, but this night was special. This night could be the beginning of the rest of her life.

For the past two weeks, she had narrowed down her list even more as she removed three other candidates for her hand, but also in that time, her acquaintance to Lord Marcus had grown significantly. He claimed a dance at every ball, spent time with her, called on her, and often walked with her in the park. It was time to know him further in Anabelle’s mind. She already knew that he was very kind, considerate, charming, and had a dry wit. He was exceedingly proper, which she admired, but it was time to see beyond the polite mask and see him as a man, as a potential husband whom she would build a life with. She didn’t exactly know what she was looking for. She had no one to ask about love except Heather, but Heather was far from London. She supposed she better pen a letter and ask the most difficult question to ask. What does love feel like? How do you know when one is in love?

Anabelle had no idea. She hoped she would just know, or perhaps it would feel like excitement—a racing heart, warm cheeks. But how did one truly know?

Lord Marcus was tall and broad shouldered, but not unusually so. His hair was blond but not as pale as hers and his eyes a pleasant moss green. He had a wonderful smile and charming cleft in his chin. They had discussed the masquerade a week ago and he would only divulge that he was coming as a mystical beast.

Anabelle smiled as her father departed for the card room, and her mother took a seat amongst her friends. Linking elbows with Hazel, they merged into the crowd after a carefully worded warning from their mother. Masquerades invited a dangerous frivolity amongst its guests, the masks stripping the participants of their identity and sometimes, good judgment. A young lady had to be careful or she might be swept into scandal.

Hazel was dressed as a fairy. Her mask was similar to Anabelle’s but in a soft pink that matched her dress.

“Do you know what Lucy will be dressed as?” Hazel asked as she scanned the crowd.

“I thought she said a swan, but then she said a peacock. I’m not sure she had decided last time we spoke. She was upset about Rose and Charlotte’s sudden departure from London.”

“Both had to leave in the middle of the season?” Hazel said in concern.

“Yes. Rose’s father grew quite ill, and Charlotte was not clear about her reason, but I know it was because of her father as well.”

“That is a shame. I will write to them tomorrow.”

The sisters headed for the refreshment table for glasses of punch and then continued to search for familiar guests. Gentlemen occasionally stopped to make small talk with deviant smiles, but Anabelle was too preoccupied with searching for Lord Marcus to give them any thought. With Hazel’s help, they began to catalog the different costumes. Some were plain and poorly constructed, others were meticulously extravagant, and some were outright scandalous.

There was a commotion around a lady who was dressed as Lady Godiva, complete with a gown with a nude colored bodice and a stuffed horse protruding from her front and rear. Hazel giggled as the lady galloped around in a small circle and then a gentleman tried to mount the rear protrusion of the horse.

Anabelle would not be deterred by the spectacle. Feeling confident that she was far out of sight of her mother, she opened her domino and pushed it over her shoulders like a cape. She could feel many stares, but she refused to meet any unless they were dressed as some sort of mystical beast. So far, she hadn’t seen any mystical creatures.

A devil and an angel stopped before them and merely stood. The devil was giving Anabelle’s costume a thorough examination when the angel elbowed him and spoke. “Kindly put your eyes back in your head, brother dear.”

“Lucy!” Hazel laughed.

Lucy did a pirouette to show off her tiny feather wings. “I thought it would be charmingly ironic.”

Anabelle blushed. “It is very becoming on you.” Rigsby had yet to pull his gaze from her body.

Finally, he pulled himself together. “My apologies, it seems my costume fits me quite well. Has Draven seen you yet?”

Anabelle hesitated. “No? Why?”

Rigsby looked around the crowd. “No reason in particular, just wondering where he might be lurking.”

Anabelle panicked a little. She hadn’t seen Draven since the garden fete. It had been a blessing. She couldn’t focus with him around, and on this night, she needed all her wits about her.

“Shall we mingle some more?” Hazel offered.

Lucy had caught the eye of a knight in full armor, who was noisily making his way towards her. “Yes, we should. Preferably before that knight asks me to dance.”

They shifted into the moving crowd and were instantly lost amongst the revelers. Rigsby disappeared after giving his sister one more warning to behave herself. Anabelle was relieved. His remark about Draven disturbed her, and where ever Rigsby was, Draven would soon be. She still searched the colorful masks for any trace of Lord Marcus but was becoming disheartened. Where was he? Wouldn’t he be searching for her as well? She couldn’t say he had definite intentions towards her, but he had certainly been giving her enough attention to give a girl hope.

They found a reprieve against the press of bodies against a pillar along the wall.

“This is absurd. How will there be any dancing if we can barely walk?”

“The room will clear, I’m sure,” Hazel added, “Did you see the donkey? I think it was Lord Mayhughe. What on earth was he thinking?” Hazel giggled.

“It was better than his wife’s mouse costume. The whiskers suit her a bit too well.”

“What did you find?” Hazel asked Anabelle.

Anabelle shrugged in defeat. “Certainly no mystical beasts,” she mumbled in growing discontent.

“Did I hear someone say mystical beast?”

Anabelle jumped and turned. A figure cloaked entirely by his black domino stepped from behind a pillar. His mask was that of a dragon. The blue and green scales were amazingly vibrant and shimmering under the candle light. The mask was terrifying and thrilling.

“Dear lord, what a work of art!” Lucy exclaimed. “May I touch it?” She boldly stepped forward.

Anabelle hadn’t moved. Her heart raced inside her chest and she anxiously searched the shadowed hollows of the eyes for something familiar.

“If you wish,” the man said without taking his gaze from Anabelle.

Lucy wasted no time, and Hazel was not shy about appeasing her own curiosity.

“You all look lovely this evening,” the dragon said, though it was clear his attention was drawn towards Anabelle.

“Your mask is remarkable, Lord…” Lucy pressed.

His lean lips smiled slyly in response. “Anonymity is very enticing, but I must say, I am surprised you don’t recognize me.” His gaze moved from Lucy back to Anabelle. She couldn’t tell the color of his eyes, but she could see the glint of them and could feel when they touched on her. Surely, that was a sign.

Lucy raised a dubious brow. Anabelle fervently wished she could be sure it was Lord Marcus. This mysterious playfulness was new for him, but perhaps the mask and disguise drove him to show new depths of himself. She fervently hoped so.

“Are you intending to dance tonight, my lord?” Anabelle asked tentatively.

“Oh, yes… among other things.”

Anabelle felt her skin come alive at his words. This was it. This was exactly what she had been looking for. This excitement, this heart racing giddiness that made her knees weak and her skin hot. It had to be him, she was sure of it now. No other man would dare to be so forward, but Lord Marcus must understand that it was time to take things further, to show her that he was more than a pleasant acquaintance and that he had true intentions to court her and know her romantically.

He offered his arm and she took it. The crowd shifted again and two more gentlemen joined their circle and requested the first dance from Lucy and Hazel. Conversation was rife with innuendo and flirtation, but Lucy and Hazel could hold their own. Anabelle remained quiet, her nerves tingling every time his eyes turned her way.

“Your costume is… riveting,” he finally said. His voice was deeper, raspier than it usually was.

“Thank you. Yours is very impressive. A little frightening, but also majestic.”

He nodded. “May I have the first dance?” he asked.

Anabelle wished to say he could have every dance, but she could never be so bold. “Yes.”

“The dancing should commence soon. Would you like a refreshment beforehand?”

Anabelle smiled. He was always so considerate of her needs. “I’m fine, thank you.”

“Whatever you need, you only have to ask.”

Anabelle smiled and looked away in a sudden burst of shyness. She took a deep breath, stretching the limits of her low cut bodice. She could feel his eyes on her, on the slopes of her breasts. She let him look all he wished. She wanted him to see her as a woman, to see her as his future wife and lover.

She flushed. She couldn’t help it. This was new territory for her and far from her comfort zone. But, if it meant a marriage of love and passion, then it was worth every uncomfortable moment.

The musicians began an intro piece and it was a mad shuffle of bodies before the dance floor appeared. Her dragon led the way and guests parted before him like the red sea. They took up their positions. The music was light and airy, which was at odds with the heavy tension she felt. Every time he touched her, she felt a jolt of energy. By the time the dance was over, she was ready to hand her domino over to a passing footman. She was nervous. She was making an obvious statement with her dress.

The tension between them grew thick it seemed. His attention was rarely not on her and he often stood so close she could feel the brush of his velvet domino against the exposed skin of her arms. It felt tantalizing and wicked. Was she in over her head? Was she conveying more than she wished? She wanted to invite him to want her in a romantic fashion with marriage in mind, not a liaison. His gaze, hidden though it was, felt so intense at times that she was worried he might get the wrong idea. She pushed the thought aside. Lord Marcus would not get the wrong idea. He was the consummate gentleman.

All she wanted was a kiss from him, a kiss to determine if there was something stronger between them, the elusive something that she searched for. She would not marry with anything less.

“Shall we stroll the gardens?” Lucy suggested on the arm of a lion.

Hazel nodded. “It would be a relief from this crush.”

Anabelle and her dragon followed without a word. Her nerves stretched even tighter as the possibilities of the garden offered a chance to allow Lord Marcus liberties. They exited the terrace doors left open for the guests and followed the terrace steps down. It was a topiary garden, strung with lanterns and busy with other strolling guests. It was magical, but hardly the private romantic venue she was searching for. They walked slowly pausing to look at the various animals carved from hedges. Footmen were staged at nearly every turn.

Anabelle was disappointed, but the evening had only just begun. She hoped Lord Marcus was sharing her thoughts. They returned to the terrace but were hesitant to return to the sweltering ballroom.

“There are ices in the drawing room courtesy of Gunter’s,” the lion offered.

“That sounds lovely!” Hazel grinned.

“And refreshing,” Lucy added. She turned to Anabelle. “Are you coming?”

Anabelle hesitated. “I think I will linger out here a bit longer. My slippers are not holding up as well as I hoped.”