Desperate and Daring 02 - Belle of the Ball (9 page)

Draven put his hand on the lower pommel of her saddle. To Anabelle, it felt as intimate as if he had put his hand on her knee.

“I saw four women innocently enjoying nature’s offerings. It was a delight to watch.” He pointed to a hill. “We were up there. Luckily, Lord Wellsford and Lord Heath had returned to ready the carriages and did not bear witness to the exhibition.”

Anabelle bit her lip to stop a smile before it formed on her lips. She should not be smiling at him. “Thank you.”

He stepped away and doffed his hat to bow to her.

Anabelle rolled her eyes and turned her horse away. This time, she had to bite her cheek to keep from smiling. Their moment of madness was over and she needed to remind herself of that.

The group returned to the picnic area, but the carriages had already departed.

“The storm is coming fast. I sent them on ahead and we will ride,” Lord Wellsford informed them.

“Ahead where?” Lucy asked in surprise.

“Lord Draven has invited us to his Hampstead cottage while we wait for the storm to run through.”

Anabelle peeked at him under her hat. She had no idea he had a cottage in Hampstead, but then again, why would she?

The cottage was not what Anabelle expected, though she wasn’t sure what she expected. It was red brick with a thatch roof, which would have been very plain and drab if not for the beauty surrounding it. The cottage was nestled in a bluebell wood and surrounded by ancient trees. Nothing was confined or altered by man. Everything was as nature intended it to be, except for the cottage. They passed the front of the cottage and continued on the dirt road to the back where the stables were located. The canopy of trees masked the initial rainfall, but the patter of drops could be heard upon the leaves.

In the clearing before the stables, they dismounted and hurried inside. Anabelle was itching with curiosity to see the inside and how it fit with her impression of Draven. They entered through the kitchen where they were greeted by the cottage caretaker’s wife and housekeeper, Mrs. Kent.

They were ushered to a drawing room and a fire was quickly started. Mrs. Kent assured them that tea and biscuits would be promptly served. Anabelle kept her curiosity hidden as she took a seat beside Hazel. Everyone was a little damp, except the mothers, but the cozy room soon drove away the chill. The gentlemen were eager to get inside Draven’s stables. The stables looked larger than the cottage and were newly built after he purchased the cottage to house his most prized horses. While the cottage had a caretaker, housekeeper, and one maid, the stables had a bevy of grooms, stable hands, and the stable master to tend his horses.

Anabelle was thrilled when Lady Heath asked Draven more about the cottage and even more so when he offered to give a tour. Anabelle rose eagerly along with the other ladies and Lord Bainbridge. He followed at the back of the group, so Anabelle made sure she and Hazel did as well. The tea arrived just as they rose and Mrs. Kent offered to do the tour. They followed her from the drawing room like a row of baby ducks. The cottage wasn’t large. The ground floor held the drawing room and library as one room, a dining room, and the kitchen. The first floor housed four bedrooms.

The cottage was immaculately clean and in good repair. Its furnishings were simple and comfortable. Anabelle found it to be charming and inviting, but so very different from what she expected of him. Mrs. Kent was a fountain of information and it wasn’t hard for Anabelle to steer her in the direction in which she wished answers.

“His lordship’s pride and joy are the stables, but during the racing season is when he makes use of the cottage, usually with a few gentlemen of his acquaintance. It’s a cozy home, not meant for more than a place to retreat and lay one’s head, but it is a gem in the midst of the heath, if I do say so myself.”

Anabelle agreed. The cottage was by no means a showy or grand place meant to awe or intimidate its guests with grandeur. It was home, just as Mrs. Kent had described it. How it fit with Draven, Anabelle couldn’t discern, but it seemed as Mrs. Kent had said—for him it was about his prize stables and the cottage was simply a roof over his head. What a shame. She could imagine a little family here, filling the halls with laughter and love. Children running down the halls, reading by the fire, a place where simple pleasures reigned supreme.

Mrs. Kent opened the door to a guest room and the others shuffled inside. Anabelle held back, curious to see which room belonged to Draven, and if it held more clues to the man himself. Surely, the room in which he slept would be more like him, containing more of what he was as a man?

Anabelle stepped back from the open door quietly and out of sight of the others. She moved quickly to the last door and placed her hand on the knob. She looked back down the hall and listened. Mrs. Kent still held the attention of her audience with a description of the bed hangings she had sewn herself.

The knob turned in her hand and the door pulled open from the other side. She held her breath, afraid to make a single noise as she stumbled into the doorway. A firm hand caught her arm.

Anabelle looked up into grey eyes devoid of emotion.

He pulled her inside and closed the door.

“What are you doing, Anabelle?” he said quietly. They were standing chest to chest in his bedroom.

“I am enjoying a tour of your charming cottage,” she whispered. If she were breathless, it was because of the near fall and not his nearness—or so she told herself.

“And how do you like it?” he asked, his eyes brightening with amusement.

“It’s quite lovely, though how it fits with you, I haven’t yet deduced.”

“Fits with me?” He cocked an eyebrow.

“Homes always tell a story of the people who live there, or at least what they are trying to convey. I see nothing of you here.”

“The cottage is a convenience for my stables and a retreat for the racing season. I have not decorated, tis true, but nor do I see the need to. It meets my present needs as is.”

“You’ve done nothing to make it your own?” she said with disappointment.

“Why would I.”

“Why ever would you not? To make it yours, to make it more familiar.”

Draven smiled as she moved away from him and further into his room. She was looking around in blatant curiosity. It’s true he did not refurnish the rest of the cottage to his own taste, but not because he didn’t care. He liked it the way it was. He had bought it from a widowed old woman who smelled of baking bread. Her husband had died the year before and she was going to live with her sister. He found the cottage immensely cozy, a bastion away from the pretentiousness of the ton. He only invited certain friends here to stay.

He paid far more than it was worth, intent to see the old woman comfortable for the rest of her days. He kept it exactly as it was except for his bedroom. He liked the way the walls breathed peace, the cheery way the fire snapped and the essence of comfort and love that practically oozed from the walls. He didn’t spend as much time here as he would like, but he breathed in every moment of its calm comfort when he did.

Anabelle masked her intrigue as she took in his private chamber. This was much more Draven. The walls still claimed country comfort with the bright white wash and shining mahogany furniture. His bed, which Anabelle gave only the briefest of glances, was swathed in midnight blue satin with a matching coverlet. It was sin surrounded by innocence. There were no fripperies or knickknacks, everything having its precise place. Clean, devoid of excess emotions or displays, regimented in its use, with the exception of the decadent bed that she kept her back to. This was Draven. He was a simple animal in his needs and wants. All that one was allowed to see was presently seen.

Everything was as cold and hard in appearance as he was, again except for the large bed that begged for Anabelle’s attention. It felt like it was pulsating heat at her back, but she refused to turn and face it.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” He was at her side, his words dangerously low and seductive.

Yes and no
, she thought. Her bravery had run its course. She was alone with a lion in its den. “I’ll leave you now.” She turned opposite him, her eyes downcast to avoid seeing the bed.

He placed a hand on her arm, softly, not truly preventing her from leaving, but nevertheless, her feet stopped moving and she looked up at him. His hand moved up to her cheek and she couldn’t look away. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. She was supposed to resist him now that she had fulfilled her need for whatever it was she had wanted from him, but her body wasn’t listening.

Her heartbeat took off like a bird set free of its cage, her hands tingling with the urge to reach out and touch him.

“I should be going.” Even to her own ears, her voice lacked any conviction. She was right where she wanted to be. On the brink of a mad rush of desire and passion, the edge of rational thought and good decision.

“You won’t be missed just yet,” he said softly as his head dipped to hers.

Anabelle met him half way. A surge of want filling her unexpectedly. The madness was not over—it was only just beginning. She was a fool to think she could control it. It was its own animal, a runaway horse that would only slow when it had exhausted itself of its need to run.

She opened her mouth, eager for the wildness that was her own desire. He took every advantage, sweeping his arms around her and pulling her against him. His hands roved over her back aggressively, molding her soft curves to his hard contours. He cupped her bottom, his hands possessively squeezing, his fingers shamelessly searching for the dip between her thighs, touching a place she’d never been touched before.

Anabelle should have been scared of such an intimate touch, but it only fueled her more, setting fire to her blood. She was busy with her own hands, sinking her fingers into his thick hair, scoring his scalp with her nails. He lifted her nearly off her feet, and a part of her body awakened she never knew existed.

His manhood was pressing firmly against her womanhood. He was molding her hips against him and the result was bursts of pleasure between her thighs. She had never felt such a thing. It was intoxicating and alarming. She didn’t understand it—but dear God, she didn’t want him to stop. In fact, she wanted to get closer. The friction was building something inside her, a maelstrom of angst and sweet relief. She had the insane notion of wrapping her legs around his waist when he abruptly pulled his lips away.

“What?” she cried in agitation.

“This is not the time or place.” He let her down slowly until her feet held her weight. “Your parents are downstairs and I would like to not be shot by your father.”

Anabelle’s scattered wits struggled to settle. His words reached her through a dense fog of pleasure. “Oh, God.” She stepped away from him. “How long have we been—”

He shook his head and laughed. “Not nearly as long as I’d like, but enough that it’s time for you to go before we are caught.”

Anabelle turned on wobbly knees. How could she return to her family without her actions being as obvious as a sign around her neck? She frantically faced the mirror and blinked at her reflection. Her lips were a tad swollen, but otherwise, she looked perfectly acceptable. How could that be?

He chuckled. “You’ve called me a rake and I didn’t deny it. Suffice it to say, I know what I’m doing when it comes to discreet dalliance.”

Anabelle threw him a scathing look.

“Go with haste, my wicked angel, and your reputation will be safe.”

Anabelle didn’t wait to give him a retort. She hurried to the door and opened it just enough to peek out. There was no one in the hall. She slipped out the door and to the next room over where the group was currently admiring a sixteenth century wall hanging. Anabelle’s heart felt like it was going to burst out of her chest and flop around disgracefully on the floor.

Hazel turned to her. “Are you all right?”

Anabelle nodded, her breath not quite caught up. I tripped on the rug in the hall, frightened the breath right out of me.”

“I hate when that happens. One catches themselves from a simple fall and it feels like your heart nearly stops.”

Anabelle nodded. “Exactly like that.”

“Some more tea will help.” Hazel patted her on the back and turned back to Mrs. Kent.

They remained at the rear of the group as they left the last room and returned to the drawing room. Draven was there, a tumbler of brandy in his hand and a bored expression.

“The rain is lightening, but still persistent. It shouldn’t be long now,” her father informed them. “We will tour the stables before we leave.”

He looked as eager as a boy with his first pony. Anabelle took a seat beside her mother and accepted another cup of tea. Her heart and breathing had returned to normal, but her nerves were frayed. She peeked at Draven as she sipped her tea. He looked completely unaffected. It was then she noticed he had changed his jacket. What would have happened had she snuck into his room while he was dressing? What if he had been shirtless?

A hot blush filled her cheeks. She kept her face towards the fire, which she was closest to, until she felt in control again. She was in deep, deep trouble. Her own thoughts were a danger to her.

She looked around the room again, focusing on everyone but Draven. The company paid her no mind. She caught sight of Lord Bainbridge. He had been so quiet and still, she hadn’t noticed him by the window. He was looking out at the wet landscape. Anabelle hid a discreet look in Hazel’s direction behind another sip of tea. Hazel was smiling at something Lucy had said, but right before Anabelle gave up and looked away, she saw Hazel glance in the earl’s direction. Anabelle smiled to herself. She remained watchful and sure enough, as consistent as clockwork, Hazel’s gaze returned to the earl time and time again.

As much as Hazel would deny it, it was clear she had a tender for the earl. This was just the distraction Anabelle needed. Her sister would never be so bold as to pursue the earl, and the earl seemed inclined to avoid social interaction altogether. But, Anabelle would bet her best gown the earl had interest in Hazel if she was any judge of the way she had seen him look at Hazel. How would she get two people so determined to not be noticed together? She would need to ruminate on the idea.

Lord Heath announced that the rain had let up enough to return to the city before dark. The gentlemen eagerly rose to tour the stables, the ladies not so eagerly followed. Anabelle loved horses, and she loved to ride whenever able, but the breeding and racing of horses were not of particular interest to her. Still, she followed. It was that or remain behind alone.