Desperate and Daring 02 - Belle of the Ball (7 page)

“Is a rake a better lover than a good man?”

Anabelle felt a blush break out over her skin. That wasn’t exactly what she had asked of Lucy. His silence was palpable. She would have laughed at the absurdity of Draven being shocked speechless if only she had the air in her lungs to do it.

“Get thee to a nunnery,” he said at last.

Lucy snorted. “Very funny,
Shakespeare
. Answer the question.”

Anabelle peeked at him and he was looking around frantically.

“Where in God’s name is your brother?”

“Draven,” Lucy pleaded, “this is very important.”

“You’ve lost your damn mind and in front of an innocent like Anabelle, no less.”

At this Anabelle’s head snapped up. “It’s me who wishes to know.”

His gaze slowly turned to her. The black emptiness of his eyes pinned her where she stood.

“You want to know if a rake is a better lover than a good man.”

“Well… not exactly. I want to know if rakes have different skills than men who are not rakes.” She blushed even harder.

“In bed?” he pressed.

“No—ugh, in areas outside of the bedroom. What is it that makes a rake different from a good man when it comes to courtship? Why is it some men have something that draws women to them and other men don’t?” she finished, surprised at the calmness with which she had finished her question.

He was dead silent. He looked back and forth between them, but ultimately, his attention settled on her. “What makes you think a good man can’t be a rake?”

Both women took a moment to process that. “By the very definition of the word,” Lucy answered.

Draven turned to her. “You don’t consider your brother a good man?”

Lucy stumbled for an answer. “Well, of course. He is my brother. I know him to be a good man, but I’m not sure others hold the same opinion.”

Draven shook his head. “And what of you?” He addressed Anabelle.

“I… I don’t know.”

“You don’t believe a good man can also be a rake,” he stated.

She shook her head. “How can that be? A rake is a man who cares for naught but his own enjoyment.”

Draven digested that. “Do you consider me a rake?”

Anabelle swallowed. There was no going back now. “Yes.”

Draven wanted to press her further, but not in front of Lucy. He thought he had made their encounters quite enjoyable for her. He refused to believe otherwise—hell, he knew otherwise.

“Let me see if I understand what you are asking. Rakes are dashing and exciting. We set women aflame with a single look. You want to know if a
good
man can do the same.”

Lucy nodded. Anabelle narrowed her eyes at him.

“My answer is this. Women are drawn to rakes because they want what they have to offer. Women are drawn to good men because they want what they have to offer. A good man can be a rake and a bad man can, as well. It all comes down to the woman and the man.” He looked at Anabelle as he said this.

Anabelle felt a shudder go down her spine.

“What in God’s name are you blundering on about?” Lucy folded her arms and looked at him quizzically.

Draven sighed and looked up at the sky. “Whether the intent is a temporary liaison or lasting love, something will be felt before anything is said or done. It cannot be fabricated. It cannot be coerced. I can’t say it any plainer than that.”

“I had no idea you could be so philosophical,” Lucy teased.

Anabelle remained quiet. She was shaken inside as she comprehended his words. They were a startling realization.
Something will be felt before anything is said or done
. What did that mean for her and what did it mean for him? Because as much as she wished otherwise, she felt something with him, something so strong it was impossible to ignore.

Anabelle still hadn’t recovered from the masquerade. The rest of the evening had been uneventful, but she couldn’t stop thinking of what Draven said, which inevitably led to her thinking about him. He hadn’t stayed very long in their presence after issuing his advice—if it could be called that. But all night long, she could feel him, a presence in the room, even amongst hundreds.

She woke the following morning still unsettled and weary of the coming day. There were no specific plans except morning calls and what not.

It was already well past breakfast, so Anabelle rang for a tray and continued to stare at her canopy until it arrived. She dragged herself from the bed when the maid arrived and tried to muster some energy to dress. The maid entered followed by another with a large bouquet of flowers. Anabelle paused in her slide from her bed and stared.

“Who are those from?”

Her maid shrugged. “There’s plenty more where this came from, ma’am. The drawing room is overflowing!”

Anabelle’s eyes widened. “All for me?”

The maid snickered. “Lady Hazel has her fair share of blooms. You both must have made quite an impression with your costumes.”

Anabelle slipped into her wrapper and inspected the flowers. There was a card. She opened it, eyebrows nearly touching her hairline at the awful poem inside and then the signature. “Lord Meyers?” she said in disbelief. She couldn’t recall being introduced to a Lord Meyers.

Anabelle was lured away from the flowers by the scent of bacon. Her stomach growled. She abandoned her curiosity long enough to clear her plate of the eggs, bacon, and toast, then finished dressing before going downstairs. She slowed as a footman was carrying a bouquet into the drawing room. She entered warily and paused. The room looked more like a flower shop than a drawing room. Her mother was flitting from flower to flower like a delighted bee.

“They won’t stop coming,” Hazel said from the settee, obviously beleaguered.

Anabelle couldn’t see her past the side table overflowing with arrangements. “I am at a loss.” She wandered over to her sister and peeked at some of the cards. “Oh! What lovely sentiments from Mr. Gainsby. He is very fond of your eyes, Hazel,” Anabelle teased.

Hazel groaned. “I don’t even know if I danced with him last night. I’m not sure who any of the gentlemen were that I danced with.”

“Relax, Hazel,” their mother chimed. “This is marvelous. You both will have your pick of the most eligible gentlemen this season if these flowers are any indication.”

“It’s Anabelle’s fault. She wore that risqué dress only to impress one man.”

Lady Wellsford turned and gave Anabelle a look. “Don’t think that didn’t pass my notice last night. That was not the costume I approved.”

“The gentlemen certainly approved of it,” Hazel grumbled.

“Half these flowers are for you,” Anabelle reminded her. She joined her mother in reading cards. She couldn’t remember seeing any of these gentlemen last night.

“We should prepare for a busy afternoon of calls.” Their mother trilled. Anabelle bit her lip nervously while Hazel groaned.

The door knocker pounded again and Hazel collapsed against the back of the settee. Anabelle smiled at her dramatics. Wilton came in with a box and presented it to Anabelle.

“What is this?” She took the box and went to sit beside Hazel, who sat up in curiosity. Anabelle opened the box and gasped. It was a crown of flowers, like they used to make as girls—white clover and sweet pea to be precise.

“Well, that is certainly out of the norm. Whatever could it mean?” Lady Wellsford looked over their shoulder.

Anabelle shrugged. “I haven’t the slightest idea.”

“Now this I actually like.” Hazel picked up the crown and set it on Anabelle’s head. “Very becoming on you.” She giggled.

Anabelle smiled and put the crown back in its box. “Tis a shame it won’t last very long. How on earth are we to keep the flowers alive longer than a day?”

“Let it dry and it will be a keepsake,” Lady Wellsford offered.

Anabelle carefully closed the box. She wasn’t sure what it would signify if she didn’t know whom it was from.

“What is the matter, Hazel? Don’t you want to be pursued by gentlemen?” Lady Wellsford put a hand on Hazels shoulder. Hazel looked fit to be tied.

“I want to be pursued by one gentleman, not hordes of them.”

Lady Wellsford laughed. “Don’t be so shy. You will spend the rest of your life with the affection of only one man. Enjoy the moment.”

Anabelle patted Hazels hand and stood. She wasn’t as overwhelmed by the thought as Hazel was. But then again, Hazel always preferred to not be the center of attention. “I’m going to change my dress,” she said over her shoulder as she left the drawing room. She went in search of her list. She wanted to have it on hand in case she met any gentlemen that she would want to add as a potential husband. After her disappointing kiss with Lord Marcus, she had felt forlorn, but now she felt that her chances had improved. Certainly, one among the many bouquets of flowers could be the man of her dreams? The odds had to be in her favor for once.

*

The following evening, Anabelle had her list tucked in her bodice as she entered a musicale hosted by Lady Summers. She and Hazel mingled as usual, finding Lucy and their seats before the musicale started. The afternoon after the masquerade, their drawing room had not only overflowed with flowers, but gentlemen, was well. Sadly, Anabelle only added three more names to her list of gentlemen who could be promising prospects, but she was enjoying the attention, nonetheless, and even now as they sat, gentlemen took seats around them and tried to catch their attention.

“Like bees to honey,” Lucy murmured. “You two are the talk of the town.”

“I don’t see why I have to be included. It was Anabelle who made all the waves,” Hazel grumbled.

Anabelle patted Hazel on the back. “I’m sorry, dear.”

“You don’t like it?” Lucy said with wide eyes. “Why on earth not?”

Hazel rolled her eyes. “Look around. They are like scent hounds and act as if I’ve bacon hidden in my pockets.”

Lucy laughed aloud, garnering the three even more attention. Hazel shushed her.

“What woman likes this sort of attention?”

“I don’t mind it,” Anabelle admitted.

“Neither do I. Pardon me as I linger in your shadow.” Lucy smiled wickedly.

Hazel sat up straighter and faced forward.

Anabelle watched her curiously and then looked in the direction Hazel was intently looking. Anabelle poked Lucy in the side behind Hazel’s chair. “Is that Lord Bainbridge?” Anabelle said.

Lucy nodded and smiled knowingly. “Indeed. Why have the attention of many men when you only want the attention of one.”

Hazel gave them both withering glares. “Please excuse me. I’m going to the ladies’ room.”

No sooner had Hazel departed and Rigsby took her seat.

He nodded to Lucy and then turned to Anabelle. “Beg pardon, but I need to hide amid your skirts.”

“Excuse me?” Anabelle choked.

“No time to explain.” He put his arm over the back of her chair.

Anabelle looked at it like it was a snake and then back at him. “You better explain what this is about.”

He sighed. “You are all the rage, and if I’m seen courting you, then Lord Paller won’t think I’m the one who was with his fiancée last night.”

“Jonathan, you wouldn’t,” Lucy admonished.

“Well, no. Not exactly. It wasn’t actually me, but rumor has it that it was.”

“He will put a bullet through your heart,” Lucy added.

“Which is why I need Anabelle to protect me—excuse me, may I call you Anabelle?”

Anabelle nodded. “I suppose it’s all right given my connection with your sister.”

“You don’t consider us friends?” He put his free hand to his heart and looked devastated.

Anabelle didn’t buy it for a second.

He dropped the act. “Be that as it may, if you do this for me, I will consider you a dear friend, my savior even.”

“You may sit beside me, but you must confine yourself to your chair.”

“That is Hazel’s chair,” Lucy reminded them.

“She won’t mind. She can sit beside Draven. Save the seat beside you, ol’ boy.”

Anabelle turned just as Draven entered the row. He raised a brow at all the gentlemen surrounding the seats containing Anabelle and Lady Lucy with a mocking brow. He sat beside Anabelle as if he owned the spot. “For Lady Hazel? She won’t want to sit next to me.” But he set his program down on the remaining empty chair anyway.

All the adoring gentlemen turned away like sad puppies. Hazel did return shortly and noticed the lack of mooning faces. She looked down at Draven. “Is this your doing?”

He shrugged. “I was told to sit here and save you a seat.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “It appears you have a use after all.”

“I accept the compliment,” he said dryly.

The musicale began shortly with a duet on the piano and violin from the daughters of Lady Summers. The highlight of the program would be the famous Senorita Isabella. Anabelle was looking forward to it, although she presently couldn’t pull her attention from the tingling awareness along the left side of her body.

It was all because of him sitting there, not having said a single word to her, and yet commanding all of her attention with his presence. Would it ever end? When she was an old married woman, attending the opera on her husband’s arm, would she see him across the balcony, and then still have this same tension throughout her body? She prayed not. She wanted it to end, as exciting and exhilarating as these feelings were, they were also exhausting. Why couldn’t she feel this way over another man, a man who would wish to marry? It was such a waste of energy and time, a craving that could not be fulfilled and would likely drive her mad.

She sat up straight, a sudden idea coming to her. Not long ago, Hazel had been longing for Mr. T’s Peppermint Comfits. She ate so many at once that it made her ill, and she never wanted to look upon a peppermint comfit again. She peeked at him from the corner of her eye. He looked so serious, as if he longed to be anywhere but here. Anabelle couldn’t recall seeing him smile, unless the smile had a purpose, usually to intimidate or tease. He looked so cold and hard, a man incapable of laughter and happiness. Even the way he wore his hair, styled and pomaded into absolute obeyance, was harsh. The cleanly shaven square-ness of his jaw was unrelenting. Anabelle examined his jawline, surprised by the dark stubble visible under his skin. It reached all the way to his cravat and disappeared underneath. She swallowed, and for some reason, felt warmth fill her cheeks and spread all the way down her breasts to the pit of her stomach. She shamefully wondered if he had hair on his chest and even imagined it in her mind. She had never even seen a bare male chest, not in real life, but she had flipped through a medical book in the library and there were drawings of men, indisposed, and some had quite a bit more hair than she would have thought.

“May I help you?” he whispered.

Anabelle’s attention snapped to his lips and then she looked up and met his eyes. In her reverie, she hadn’t realized she had been so bold as to turn her head and actually stare at him.

“Um…” Oh, bother, why waste more time? “I have another question to ask you.”

She would have sworn his pupils dilated, but he quickly looked away.

“You may ask me your question at intermission.”

Anabelle faced forward again, taking a deep breath to calm her nerves.