Until he had pushed Annabelle Beaumont into a closet and attempted to ravish her.Wouldhave ravished her if she had not put a stop to it. It was beneath him and he should have known better.
It exposed a weakness in him that he hadn’t thought he still possessed. Despite his every intention, it transpired a pair of big blue eyes and pretty lips could make him forget himself, and when he was furious at the Dowager Duchess, unable to do anything about it without hurting Annabelle or her family, his control had slipped.
And it had been the most intoxicating kiss of his life. Little Annabelle Beaumont, the lady he had every intention of marrying to someone else, had kissed him with all the passion of a lady well practised in the art of kissing. But unless something had changed, she had just become practised at kissinghim. A fast learner.
He still wanted her. Andthatwas his main reason for staying away. If he could not rely on his restraint to hold himself in check, he could not trust himself being around her. Neither of them could afford for him to be carried away. He attended two boxing matches and took to training at Gentleman Jackson’s club just to work off the excess energy.
On the day of the ball, he arrived early to dine with the family, and he saw Annabelle for the first time in two weeks. She was pale, eyes dark like the dusk sky, and any attempt he’d made to convince himself he was unaffected by what had taken place between them was immediately dashed. The moment he saw her face, he felt the soft, gasping way she had moaned in his ear when he had pressed his knee between her legs.
He wondered if she could climax that way, and the thought was so immediately erotic, he felt himself harden.
This was not what he’d had in mind for the evening.
Then he noticed the Dowager Duchess of Norfolk and all thoughts of seduction left his head. Anger swept in its place, and Annabelle’s face, which had been distant and resolute, melted into a look of pleading.
Damn it, he could have borne anything but that.
“Lord Sunderland,” the Dowager Duchess said without preamble when she saw him. “I do hope you’re past that terrible temper outburst you showed the last time we met.”
Annabelle stiffened, and he knew precisely what she was thinking: no, he was not past it. The Devil of St James, the man who had pulled her into a closet and kissed her senseless, did not have it within himself to bite his tongue.
His temper grated against his restraint, and he gritted his teeth behind his smile as he bowed. “If you’re asking if I have forgiven you, ma’am, then you surely know the answer as well as I.”
She tutted and tapped her fan against his hand in admonishment as the Duchess of Norfolk, to his surprise, took his other hand as she curtsied. Her face was almost as pale as Annbaelle’s, and there were unusual dark circles under her eyes, but she sent him an apologetic glance.
At least the Dowager Duchess’s actions had resulted in another ally. Although, of course, if she knew his true purpose in coming here and attending the ball, she would revoke that soon enough.
Strange. He had never wanted anyone’s approval before. His entire reputation, in fact, had been based on the assumption that he craved no one’s approbation, and especially not by anyone close to him.
Annabelle took his proffered arm without a smile, her eyes remote, and he led her into the dining room behind the Duke and Duchess. Dinner passed quickly without so much as a word directed to him from Annabelle, the Dowager Duchess dominating much of the conversation. The anger he had repressed rose with every word, making it difficult to eat, and it was a relief to collect Annabelle and wait for the guests to arrive.
“I presume your intention this evening is to say nothing to me,” he murmured after the first few guests arrived.
She stiffened. “What could I possibly have to say to you?”
His gaze fell to the large ruby necklace she wore—the one he had gifted her. “It looks well on you.”
“Theo insisted I wear it.”
“Then she has excellent taste.”
“I beg to differ.” Her tone was frosty, and he glanced down at the top of her head. Her golden hair was in pretty ringlets, but he was transfixed by the tendrils of soft curls at the back of her tender neck. She was heartbreakingly lovely in the cream silk, and her clear dismissal of him stung, his insides twisting oddly.
“I see you are still on speaking terms with the Dowager Duchess even after she manipulated the both of us.”
Annabelle let out a tiny hissing breath before being forced to smile at yet another guest. Jacob greeted them absently, far more interested by the soft, angry flush that rose on Annabelle’s neck. He should not feel so victorious at provoking this sort of response from her, but anger sat on her like a crown, and anything was better than the cool distance she had greeted him with at the beginning.
“Is there anything else I can do?” she demanded in a low voice. “She is Nathanial’s mother and she thinks I am a disappointment. He has spoken with her, but the thing is done now.”
“It should not have been.”
“If you think you will gain anything by pointing that out to her, then by all means, go ahead.”
He clenched his jaw. “Don’t push me, little bird. I could just as easily end this arrangement. I only entered it for your sake.”
“Your reputation would be destroyed if you pulled out of an engagement of honour.”
“Do you really think that would change anything?” He gave a bitter little laugh. “Destroying my reputation has been my goal since I was old enough to understand the name I carried.”
