“Pig.”
“You are always so eloquent, little bird.”
She scowled at him and he grinned back, utterly at ease in Nathanial’s drawing room. She often envied the way he seemed to be at ease anywhere he went, while she struggled to fit herself in the shapes expected of the younger sister of a duchess.
Elegant, refined, charming. And now, if Jacob had his way, flirtatious.
Privately, she could not see that happening any time soon. For that, she would have to find a way of conversing with strangersandplaying a part. It was hard enough to play the part of Annabelle Beaumont, heiress, never mind adding flirtation into the mix. Plus, the way he had reacted when she had attempted to flutter her eyelashes made her want to curl into a ball and never look at a gentleman again. Attempting to flirt made her look ridiculous.
“I think a ball is a good idea,” he said slowly. “In fact, balls in general are a good idea for this to work. You will have ample opportunity to dance.”
“I don’t like dancing,” she said flatly.
“Ah yes, of course. Just as you don’t enjoy conversing. Tell me, little bird, whatdoyou like?”
She looked longingly at the book she had been reading before he arrived. With everything in her life seeming to conspire against her, she was finding particular solace in books these days.
“Aside from reading,” he added dryly.
“I . . . like walking. And riding. And notallconversing is bad.”
He placed a hand to his heart in feigned shock. “Do you mean to tell me you don’t hate conversing with me?”
She glared at him even as she felt her blush rising. “Of course not, and there is no need to be so obnoxious, Lord Sunderland.”
“Jacob,” he said lazily.
“Excuse me?”
“I don’t like the title and it doesn’t suit me. Call me Jacob.”
“I can’t!”
“Are we not engaged?”
Even engaged couples rarely called each other by their first names. In fact, Annabelle knew some married couples who still referred to each other by their titles. She could not imagine anything worse, although frankly she still hadn’t come to terms with the idea of marriage at all.
“In name only,” she muttered. “And besides, it’s not proper.”
“Dear me, Annabelle.” Jacob’s eyes took on a devilish twinkle, and his lips curved seductively as his gaze trailed from her lips down her neck. “I hardly think you are always proper.”
She flushed and resisted the urge to fling a cushion at him and his stupid, smug face. “Do you have to say such things?”
“I recall a certain young lady in a library—this library, in fact—who took a great deal of delight in—”
“Hush,” she hissed, glancing back at Theo. “Stop it!”
“Very well.” He heaved a sigh and took a sip of his tea. “Tell me about this engagement ball. Is everyone to be there, or have the most elite of thetonmade their excuses, considering it’s being held in my honour?”
“It’s not arranged yet. Theo suggested it to me with the understanding that I could refuse if it made me truly uncomfortable. I said I would speak to you about it.”
“And hope I would refuse so you didn’t have to,” he finished, reading her with uncanny accuracy. “Well, unfortunately for you, little bird, I think it’s an excellent opportunity for you.”
“To flirt with other gentlemen? At my own engagement ball?”
“They will be delighted to get to know you.”
Stubbornly, she folded her arms. He had an excellent point, because she would need to meet some other gentlemen at some point, but she had really hoped he would have found an excuse. “You will have to be sober,” she said, her tone accusatory. “At the ball.”
