Seducing Mr. Knightly (15 page)

He also noted that she gazed up at him with those wide blue eyes and caught him looking. She smiled shyly. Her cheeks were still pink.

They obtained the desperately needed glasses of champagne without further incident and sought refuge from the crowds in a private alcove near the lobby.

“Something is different about you, Annabelle,” he remarked. It wasn’t just the new dress or, now that he looked closely, a new way of wearing her hair that allowed a few golden curls to fall tantalizingly, gently, on her face.

“You noticed?” Her voice was soft and her blue eyes widened as she peered up at him.

“It’s been hard not to, Annabelle.” Every time he saw her, there was something else to note. Even when she wasn’t around, she managed to infiltrate his every conversation—and thoughts, and dreams. When he ought to have been planning his marriage to Lady Lydia, he instead thought of discovering Annabelle, inch by inch.

“Oh. I’m sorry—” she stammered, flustered, and he realized she must have thought he was referring to the, ahem, incident in Act One. What he couldn’t tell her was that it worked. Or rather, he wouldn’t tell her for it would only mortify her more (as adorable as that sight was, he couldn’t torture her thus). And if he were practice for Owens or Marsden, then he took a perverse pleasure in denying them the pleasure of Annabelle’s touch. However unintentional, however fleeting.

“No, don’t be sorry,” he said. For once he allowed himself a long, leisurely look at her, discovering all the tempting curves of Dear Annabelle, from the soft gold ringlets of her hair to the plump mouth, as if ripe for a kiss. The swell of her breasts, the narrow tapering of her waist, and the seductive flare of her lips made his mouth go dry.

Knightly was struck with the urge to claim her mouth with a kiss. He took another sip of his champagne instead.

“I don’t know what inspired you, Annabelle. But I’m having the devil of a time watching your transformation.” All that loveliness had been hidden away before. Idly he wondered, why now?

“In a good way, I hope,” she ventured, nibbling her lower lip. Tempting. Knightly took a long swallow of his champagne, but it did nothing to quench his desire to taste her.

“Definitely in a good way,” he told her. Good, yes. And also in an intriguing, tempting, beguiling, tormenting kind of way. In an interrupting-dreams-and-waking-thoughts kind of way. Annabelle was starting to happen, and for some reason, he was the lucky bastard who got to watch this bewitching transformation unfold.

She smiled, shyly. She gazed up at him like he was the whole damn world—sun, moon, and stars included. He stepped farther back into the shadows, drawing her close with the slightest grasp of her wrist. Kissing Annabelle suddenly became a necessity.

She tilted her head up. He lowered his mouth to hers.

Then Alistair interrupted, and Knightly thought of firing him for the offense.

Chapter 17

Writing Girls’ Gossip

T
HE
M
AN
A
BOUT
T
OWN

The White’s betting book is full of wagers on when Mr. London Weekly will propose to Lady “Missing Second Season” Marsden. All agree a betrothal announcement is imminent. He’s been reported to call upon her regularly, and they have waltzed twice at each of the three balls they attended together this week.

The London Times

O
N
Sunday afternoon Annabelle often volunteered her time with the Society for the Advancement of Female Literacy. Meaning, of course, that she escaped the domestic drudgery and dull company at home so that she might spend a few hours in the company of her fellow Writing Girls.

They most often gathered at Sophie’s massive house to read periodicals, indulge in tea and cakes, and gossip shamelessly.

Sundays were definitely her second favorite part of the week, Annabelle thought as she curled up on the mulberry-colored upholstered settee in Sophie’s drawing room. Last night at the theater, however, was certainly the highlight.

If she were not mistaken, it seemed that last night, Knightly noticed her. Was it her new hairstyle, thanks to Owens’s strategic removal of a few hairpins? Or was it the silk dress that felt like a caress? Or the way those wicked silk underthings emboldened her?

Or was it the mortifying encounter with her hand and Knightly’s anatomy?

At the thought, her cheeks flamed. But she took a deep breath and reminded herself that not only did Knightly notice her now, he had said so. And he had been about to kiss her, she was certain of it. If only Alistair hadn’t interrupted.

“Annabelle, enough with the woolgathering,” Eliza said. “We are desperately curious to know what has you lost in thought.”

“And the reason for that dreamy smile and your blush,” Sophie added.

Annabelle sighed, but this sign was one of utter delight. In spite of the most mortifying three seconds of her life, all was well. Funny, the power of an almost kiss. She went breathless imagining how it would feel to actually kiss him.

“I do believe that Knightly is beginning to notice me!” she exclaimed, in spite of all her efforts to be coy or demure or restrained. She saw the way he looked at her last night, as if it were the first time.

God bless Careless in Camden Town and even Affectionate from All Saints Road, and all the others who had written to her.

“Sophie, you were absolutely right about the dresses and the silky underthings. You have my everlasting gratitude,” Annabelle vowed. “I daresay they have given me a new confidence.”

“You are very welcome. In return, please tell that to Brandon when my modiste bills arrive,” Sophie replied.

“Speaking of noticing you, Annabelle,” Julianna, ever the gossip, said, “Knightly is not the only one, it seems. There is also Owens. And Marsden.”

“You had said Owens was a ruse,” Eliza added after a sip of tea. “But he seems genuine.”

“He came up with the idea during the Forgotten Shawl Incident,” Annabelle said. He’d also been extraordinarily attentive to her and affectionate. It might have begun as a ruse, but it was starting to feel like a friendship.

“A remarkably good idea and experiment,” Eliza replied. “I daresay Knightly glowered every time Owens glanced in your direction during last week’s meeting.”

“Is that why he was scowling? I noticed he was brooding. Then my mind drifted, ” Annabelle admitted with a sheepish smile. And she had been spending half of her attention on winks and smiles for Owens—even a sultry glance or two, for his amusement.

“Speaking of Knightly,” Sophie said delicately, as she intently examined the lace trim on her dress sleeve, “they say that he is courting Lady Lydia. The Man About Town reported on it this morning.”

“And that explains why Knightly forbade me to write about the Marsdens,” Julianna grumbled. “I loathe when I am scooped by the Man About Town.”

“It was just that one afternoon walk, was it not?” Annabelle asked. “Remember, Sophie?” One walk did not a courtship make. He couldn’t possibly be courting another woman, not now. Not when she was finally coming out of her shell. Not after three years, seven months, and two days in which she languished in the shadows, only to emerge when it was too late.

“It’s more than that, I’m afraid,” Sophie said, wincing. Annabelle glanced from Sophie to Eliza to Julianna. Three dear faces with expressions of concern and anguish and worry, and even traces of pity.

“He’s visited her on at least three other occasions,” Julianna said. “Furthermore, they have waltzed twice at the Winthrop soiree.”

Given that Knightly was not known to spend much time outside of
The Weekly
, three visits, two waltzes, and one afternoon walk were significant indicators of a courtship. Even Annabelle, ever the optimist in possession of an inventive imagination, could not see any other excuse. The truth left her breathless. A knot formed in her stomach. That warm glow of pleasure faded, leaving her cold.

She felt her shoulders rounding. She felt that familiar bleak hollowness as she contemplated a life without love; a life under the same roof as her brother and Blanche. A life just off to the side, in the shadows, forever handing props or whispering lines to the actors on stage.

“That is an interesting turn of events,” Eliza said thoughtfully. “Perhaps it has nothing to do with the woman herself and everything to do with strengthening the relationship with Marsden and his blasted Inquiry looming over all of us.”

“Are you suggesting it’s some noble sacrifice to protect
The Weekly
?” Julianna asked.

“He would do that . . .” Annabelle said softly. “But Lady Lydia is also beautiful. And titled. And probably a lovely person.”

“I’ve heard her dowry is paltry,” Sophie said. “The Marsdens have recently fallen on hard times.”

“Knightly has a fortune of his own,” Julianna said. “He has no need of a wealthy bride. Though it sounds like she needs a wealthy husband.”

“What she has is an immensely powerful brother,” Sophie said. “Brandon works with him frequently in Parliament. Given this Inquiry, and the practices of
The Weekly
, Knightly needs all the allies he can get. Marsden is stirring up many, many supporters. He is so popular, and charming, and righteously outraged over the matter, no one is able to refuse pledging their support to his cause.”

“And then there are the rumors,” Julianna said, with such relish that Annabelle felt a spark of hope after the sinking feeling in her stomach following Sophie’s appraisal of the situation.

“Have you discovered her mystery lover yet?” Eliza asked, leaning forward, intrigued.

“No. But the latest
on dit
is that her illness was the sort that lasts only nine months,” Julianna shared, pausing for effect and to sip her tea.

“Knightly probably doesn’t care one whit about the rumors,” Sophie said with a shrug. One should never believe in rumors, especially disparaging ones. How many times had Annabelle counseled her readers thusly?

“She is quite the competition,” she said softly. A battle of tug of war erupted in her soul.
Give up
, Old Annabelle whispered.
Fight for him,
New Annabelle urged. The conflict made her stomach ache. “I did not realize that he had set his cap for someone else when I started my campaign to win him.”

“So what if he has?” Julianna asked, shrugging. “What does that have to do with anything?” Not for the first time, Annabelle wished she possessed some of her friend’s brazen spirit. Or her ability to
not
consider the contents of Lady Lydia’s heart or her lifelong happiness when considering what to do.

“I shouldn’t want to steal him,” Annabelle said softly. “Or make anyone unhappy.” That was the thing about always seeking the good in everyone, and doling out advice for years. Her point of view always focused on how to make everyone else happy.

It pleased her to do so. Truly. How could she even enjoy Knightly’s love if it came at the expense of another woman’s happiness?

“It’s not ‘stealing,’ ” Eliza said. “He would be exercising his free will.”

“Annabelle, you have loved him for years—” Sophie began.

“Three years, seven months, and two days. Give or take,” Annabelle replied. She gave a shrug of her shoulders as if to suggest it mattered not. But it did. Her heart had beat just for him for all those days . . . and all those nights.

“Precisely. You have loved him for quite some time, and now, finally, he is showing signs of returning your affections,” Sophie pointed out, bolstering Annabelle’s confidence.

“He is beginning to notice me. I know he is,” she said fiercely. But she now realized that noticing was only the first step. She wanted his love. She wanted his undying devotion and eternal passion. She had wanted it for three years, seven months, and two days.

“Until a few weeks ago, you’d never quite had a conversation with him,” Eliza pointed out, “and now you two are gallivanting all over town in a closed carriage and sipping champagne together at the theater. You cannot give up now.”

“But how can I compete with Lady Lydia?” Annabelle cried.

The woman was a formidable opponent. Lady Lydia owned numerous gorgeous gowns, all in the first stare of fashion, whilst she had only two nice dresses and a wardrobe that demonstrated the different shades of brown and gray.

Lady Lydia’s every movement was elegance itself. Annabelle had, in an attempt to be flirtatious and affectionate, placed her hand where no lady would dare, while asking, “What was that?”

Lady Lydia indulged in the social whirl, and she was oft found busying herself with other people’s problems.

Lady Lydia’s brother held the fate of
The London Weekly
in his hands. Annabelle’s brother never looked up from his newspaper and didn’t even read
The Weekly.