The reluctant cavalier (6 page)

She gazed up at him, and she blushed. He must have noticed her look, for a slight, twisted smile formed on his lips. "A small injury, Miss Smith. I hope it does not offend ... ?"

"Oh, heavens, Your G-grace, of course not!" Annabella stammered, then felt annoyed. She did not know how it was, but she always felt defensive around the duke, as if she was being measured and always found wanting. He never said anything of a criticizing nature to her, and his attentions were certainly flattering. And yet. . . Annabella shook herself mentally. What nonsense! Enough of thinking. His Grace was always a pleasant caller and conversationalist. She would enjoy his company while he was here.

"I am glad," replied Stratton and raised her hand to his lips once again. He held her hand a moment longer than usual, and feeling awkward, she pulled away. He smiled at her once again, and it seemed, oddly, that he was pleased by her reaction, for his smile widened, and there was an approving look in his eye. "However, I am not glad it will cause me to renege on our agreed-upon dance at Lord and Lady Kimball's ball on Thursday."

"I am sorry, too," Annabella said, glad she could say something complimentary. It was true, too, for he was a good dancer.

He smiled, then transferred his gaze to Lady Smith. A troubled look flashed across Lady Smith's face in response, and then she sighed. "If you will excuse me for only a moment, I believe I need to see why the refreshments are so long in coming." She gave her daughter a frustrated, apologetic look and shook her head slightly.

Panic overcame Annabella as she watched her mother leave the door slightly ajar behind her. Surely, the duke wasn't—her mother had said— She looked up at the duke, who was gazing at her assessingly, and her stomach began to ache as it always did when she felt nervous or afraid.

"Miss Smith," he said, his voice low and soft. "I hope your parents have talked to you about—"

Annabella turned from him. "I—yes, they did, and I am sensible of the honor you do me, but so soon ... I do not know what to think." She glanced, embarrassed, at him. He looked at her coolly, but had a slight smile on his face. "I did not mean to lead you to think I—but I suppose after we knew each other better—not that I—oh, heavens!" Annabella sat swiftly on a nearby chair and put her hands to her heated cheeks.

"Ah. Perhaps I have been too eager."

"Yes, no, oh—it is just too soon for me, truly!" She looked up at him, hoping the flat tone of his voice did not mean he was offended. It seemed he was not, for he only gazed at her with a cool, assessing expression. She held out her hand to him briefly in a pleading gesture. "In a few more months . . . after we have come to know each other better. ..."

"Is there someone else, Miss Smith?"

Annabella gave a relieved laugh, glad she could give him a straight answer. "Oh, no! Not at all. It is just... perhaps you will think me foolish, Your Grace." She looked down at her clasped hands, then smiled shyly at him. "I have always looked to my parents' marriage as an example of what I wish to have for myself. If I could have half the affection for my future husband that I see between them, I shall be content."

"How ... admirable," replied the duke. He looked away, his attention apparently diverted by some speck of dust upon his coat, which he flicked away with his fingers. He returned his gaze to her and smiled. "I see I have been too impatient. Your mother was right in saying I should wait. Perhaps, if I gave you time in which to become accustomed to me, you could see yourself coming to have this ... affection?"

A wave of relief came over Annabella. Her stomach unclenched itself, and she smiled. "Perhaps. I have heard you are a good and honorable man, Your Grace. With time, I am sure I can appreciate you as you deserve."

The duke smiled and took her hand, raising it to his lips. "How long am I to wait for your answer, Annabella?" he said, looking into her eyes.

She stared at him for a moment. She could discern nothing behind his smile or his eyes. He was not one who would reveal much of what he thought or felt, she realized, for he was always circumspect. But, what, after all, was she trying to find in him? She smiled at her own foolishness, then blushed, for she realized he was still holding her hand. She pulled her hand away, then glanced at him. He had a waiting air about him, and she realized she had not given him an answer.

"Three months," she said. "I shall tell you after three months."

The Duke of Stratton bowed again, and his smile grew wider. "Three months, then, Annabella," he said, then took his leave.

Annabella stared at the door he had just shut behind him. He had called her by her Christian name, and she had not corrected him. She would have three months to come to know him better, to fall in love with him, a man of impeccable reputation and handsome, besides. Three months. Then she would have to give him her answer.

She turned and walked to the windows of the drawing room and flung them open, breathing deeply of the air flowing in. She looked across the field behind her family's house. The duke's lands marched with her father's property, along the western line. It would be an advantageous marriage for all concerned, she argued with herself.

A sudden urge to leave the house came over her, to ride Daisy, her mare. Quickly, Annabella ran to her room and changed into her riding dress, and just as quickly ran down to the stables. There she ordered her horse saddled, and as soon as it was ready, she climbed up and galloped away, leaving a protesting groom behind.

She did not know how long she rode—perhaps a quarter of an hour—alternating between a gallop, a canter, and a walk. Finally, she stopped and looked about her. She'd ridden to the east, just a little distance from Wentworth Abbey, the Earl of Grafton's property. While the Wentworths were an old family, older than the Duke of Stratton's, she rarely came here. The Wentworth family's wild ways were well known. Her mother had warned Annabella against letting herself be drawn into their society any more than the usual balls and such, although they were still accepted into the highest strata of the
ton.
 

She knew well enough to stay away from Geoffrey, Lord Grafton; she did not like him, for though he was amusing and handsome, his moods were unpredictable and his words biting. Thankfully, he seemed no more attracted to her than she was to him. She knew Miss Caroline fairly well, for she was Corisande's dear friend, and they had gone to school with her. Caroline was wild and spoiled as well, but had great charm, and it was easy to forgive whatever she did. Caroline had talked of her other brother, older than herself, and Annabella vaguely remembered meeting him once. She shrugged. No doubt he was as wild as the rest.

And yet, here she was, closer to the Wentworth property than she ever had been before. It was never forbidden, of course, but she knew her mother felt more comfortable if Annabella had a groom with her when she ventured in this direction. She shrugged her shoulders, annoyed. If only Papa had not inherited the title and these lands! She had been quite content in their townhouse in London and liked the freedom of the country when they moved here at the end of the Season. But if they had not, she would never have met the duke and would not have to make a decision she did not want to make within the next three months.

Annabella stared into the woods separating her father's property from the Wentworth land. It was dim and thick with trees, even with the sun bright and shining upon it. Only a few flickers of light reflected from the green leaves within. She peered into the darkness as if somehow she could penetrate through the branches and undergrowth. What was life like on the Wentworth side of the world? They were just on the edge of respectability, with only their wealth and lineage to make them acceptable to the
ton
and country society. Did they live a more adventurous life, being less virtuous? She supposed they must.

She sighed and turned away from the woods. It was no use thinking of such things. Besides, she needed to ready herself for Lady Bowerland's card party. A smile came to Annabella's lips. Lady Bowerland was a terrible gossip, but her gatherings were always enjoyable. Sometimes her card party included dancing, or at least some music, and she always gave her guests the freedom to come and go as they pleased, or roam about their grand house.

Annabella patted Daisy on her neck and started home. But she sighed again and could not help taking one last glance at the Wentworth woods or help the brief flash of envy quickly suppressed.

For one small moment she wished she were not the respectable Annabella Smith, but a wild Wentworth instead.

"What was the Cavalier like, Lady Bowerland?"

"Was he tall?"

"Was he handsome?"

Lady Bowerland smiled grandly at the ladies gathered around her, a queen at court. She touched her grey hair as if adjusting a crown. Most of the small company had abandoned their card playing to gather around her and hear about her mysterious rescuer.

"He was all of these things," she said, her voice low with portent. "And more." The ladies around her sighed.

Annabella bit her lip. She should not be listening to gossip, and she knew Lady Bowerland had a taste for dramatics, but she could not help wondering if this Cavalier who came to Lord and Lady Bowerland's rescue was the same one who had come to hers . . . and had kissed her. Annabella's cheeks became warm, and she bit her lip again, this time to repress the tingling she felt on them at the memory. Well, it was not
gossip,
really, for Lady Bowerland was not relating something she had heard from someone else, but her own experience.

Lord Bowerland snorted and slapped down a playing card. "I do not see how you could have seen what he looked like, Edna. He was masked, and it was dark as pitch last night, except for the moonlight. He could dashed well have been platter-faced for all we know." He turned his attenion back to the card table and the gentleman with him.

Lady Bowerland cast him an irritated look. "Well, then, he was tall—"

"Not much more than middling height, I'd say," Lord Bowerland said over his shoulder. "Your turn, Wentworth." He nodded to the dark-haired gentleman next to him.

Mr. Wentworth flicked a brief look toward Lady Bowerland, then pushed some guineas in front of him. "Five," he said. "And I stand."

Annabella glanced at him. Mr. Wentworth was a young man—not above five-and-twenty, she was sure, and aloof in his manner. He seemed almost unfriendly, for he merely looked coolly at one when he spoke to him, and said little. It was a pity, really, for though his skin was sadly brown, and his hair was black and tied back into an old-fashioned queue, he was not uncomely. She turned her attention back to Lady Bowerland.

Her ladyship let out an impatient breath. "You cannot deny he was very strong, Albert!"

A fanatical light sparked in Lord Bowerland's eye as he turned once more toward his wife. "Now
that
is something I'll not argue, my dear. Charged up on that pale horse of his like a demon from the nether realms, and knocked that highwayman flat in no time at all. Good science, no wind-milling at all. Straight on the chin. Had good, broad shoulders on him, from what I could tell. Probably strips to advantage, I'd say—wouldn't mind seeing him in the ring against, oh, what say you, Carlyle—Big Jim Brown?"

"Wouldn't be a match at all, if the Cavalier's of only middle height. I'll take a card and . . . yes, I'll raise you seven," said Lord Carlyle, a portly, middle-aged man.

A morose expression spread itself over Lord Bower-land's face. "Dash it all. I'll wager you have that court card I was looking for." He tossed his cards down on the table. Lord Carlyle grinned and showed his hand—including a queen. "Wentworth—your cards?" Lord Bowerland asked.

Mr.
Wentworth blinked, as if he'd been thinking
of other things than the game before him. He
put down his cards.
 

"Deuce take it! Beat me to flinders!" exclaimed Lord Carlyle.

"Looks like your luck is in, Wentworth,"
Lord Bowerland
said at the same time.

Lady Bowerland shuddered. "I wish you would not talk of such vulgar things as prizefighting, Albert." Lord Bowerland only shrugged.

"Could you tell what color his costume was, Lady Bowerland?" Annabella asked. She had the peculiar feeling that she was being watched, and looked through the corner of her eyes at Mr. Wentworth. He looked quickly down at the pile of coins in front of him. Annabella almost thought that a slight pink tinged his cheeks, but she could not be sure, for his sun-browned skin obscured any other color that might have appeared there.

"Alas, Miss Smith, I could not tell," Lady Bowerland said and shook her head. "The moon was bright, but all I can say is that his costume was dark—it could have been black, blue, or brown for all I know."

Annabella reflected that there had been quite a few men dressed as Cavaliers at the masquerade, and though most of them had dressed in lighter shades, there were a few—her own Cavalier amongst them—who had costumes of a more somber color. It could have been any one of them. But if Lord Bowerland was right, that his rescuer was no more than middling height, perhaps it was the same one as hers. She frowned. How frustrating it was that she had no clue to her Cavalier's identity!

Well, she had
one
the Cavalier had given her: his kiss. Annabella opened her fan and fanned herself, glad the evening was warm enough to give an excuse for her heated cheeks. A little annoyance rose in her. He had charmed a kiss from her, and she had allowed it. She frowned more deeply. It was no clue at all! She could hardly go about kissing gentlemen to find out if it was indeed him.

"My dear Miss Smith, there is no cause to frown, is there?"

Annabella turned and found the Duke of Stratton gazing down at her. She smiled politely at him. "Oh, no. Only a brief, unpleasant thought that distracted me—inconsequential, I assure you."

"Perhaps a more pleasant diversion would help. A walk out on the balcony, perhaps?"

She gazed at him, at his smiling face and his eyes that never revealed anything more than pleasantness, and suddenly she did not want to walk with him at all. But what excuse could she give? She nodded.