She had already long come to terms with the fact that if she was to remain unmarried, she would also remain chaste.
“So we are agreed,” she said, in part to distract herself. “There is no engagement, there never was an engagement, and we will just say it was a prank.”
He gave an elegant shrug. “An odd prank, to be sure, but you can tell anyone anything you like. Including that I jilted you, if that’s preferable.”
“That isnotpreferable.” There was nothing she wanted less than for anyone to think that shewantedto marry him. “It would be better to tell people I was the one who jilted you.”
“I think few would believe you, sweetheart. I’m not known for being jilted.” He gave a bright, glittering smile. “At least, not without some prior . . . connection.”
“You’re despicable.”
“Butextremelyfun.” He winked and she glowered at him. The sooner they had no more to do with each other, the better.
The dance came to an end and he released her, not bothering to kiss her hand. She gave him a smile she didn’t feel and when she turned, Theo was already surging through the crowd towards her.
“Go,” the Marquess said, a trace of amusement in his voice at Theo’s determined expression. “And let us hope this is the last time we meet.”
Chapter Nine
Smoke, lit by the Bengal lights, hung heavy and noxious in the air as above Annabelle, fireworks burst and glittered in a shower of sparks. Directly ahead, a tightrope walker made his precarious way across the rope. So confident was he in his ability, nothing had been placed underneath to catch him if he fell. Annabelle stared at him in mingled horror and wonder.
With every bang, Lady Windermere tittered, and Theo looked into the air with a rapt expression. To her, it was probably deeply romantic, and Annabelle noticed the way Nathanial’s arm curved around her waist.
Now she had come to an agreement with the Marquess, it felt as though there was a weight off her chest. She’d explained the situation to Theo, and although it hadn’t solved the question of who had attempted to force them into matrimony, it had at least posed an immediate solution.
She was not to be married.
Relief made her giddy, and she found she didn’t mind the noise as much as usual. As they walked, their little group becoming somewhat less tightly knit, Annabelle trailed her fingers along the freshly budding leaves of the hedges. May had come fast, and the nights were warming.
She was not to be married. What was more, the Marquess had nodesireto marry her. A little too vehemently, perhaps, but better be too vehement than harbouring a secret desire to be her husband.
With a sigh, she tipped her head back to the distant stars. The fireworks continued, their bangs and pops combating the orchestra playing in the pit, and she took a deep breath of the smoky air, savouring the unexpected sense of freedom the night had brought her.
Perhaps now she would be seen to turn down the Marquess of Sunderland, no other gentlemen would ask for her hand.
When she looked up again, her party had vanished.
The sense of peace she’d been nurturing faded away on the breeze. All around were the bustling figures of strangers, and when she hurried forwards, all she could see were strangers. Panicked now, she pushed through the crowd, searching for Nathanial’s tall frame or Theo’s dark hair. All she saw were strangers. The smoke was acrid, cloying in her throat, and she coughed, her eyes watering.
Air, she needed air.
Her heart pounding, her vision blurring, she turned in a full circle, searching blindly for someone she knew. An acquaintance, any acquaintance. Theo would be preferable, but she would have even taken the Dowager Duchess.
A hand clamped on her arm. “Lady Annabelle,” Lord Helmsley said with a smile like a shark scenting blood. “Are you lost?”
* * *
Jacob was drunk. Not surprising, given this was his preferred state of being every time he came too close to feeling something. It allowed him to forget.
For Jacob, forgetting was a necessity.
Villiers and his companion for the night—he had already forgotten her name and it wouldn’t matter come morning anyway—talked in low voices beside him, probably debating what dark corner they could hide in. He smiled suggestively at a courtesan in a revealing dress, and was contemplating drawing her into a less crowded area when he saw her.
A flash of gold hair. A dress that, in daylight, might have been a pale powder blue, and in this light looked more like white or grey. A pale face with too-large eyes and a nose that was a fraction too small. She looked like a lost fairy, and over her, looking more like a goblin king, loomed Lord Helmsley, one hand at her waist, the other gripping her hair.
Jacob hesitated. Villiers paused and shot him a frown.
“Everything all right, Barrington?”
