She sighed, looking tired and so sad, he had the irrational urge to gather her into his arms.
This was not the behaviour of the Devil. But when he was with her, he was nothing like the man he had driven himself to become, and the thought held a vague fear with it.
“I don’t want to fight with you again,” she said eventually, and the rush of relief made him exhale sharply. “I’m too tired.”
“Then I shall be on my best behaviour.” His knees ached so he rose and sat beside her. “What book are you reading?” He tilted the cover towards him so he could read the embossed cover. “Belinda?”
“It’s one of my favourites,” she said defensively.
“Then I’m certain it’s excellent. What’s it about?”
A tiny line appeared between her brows. “Do you really want to know?”
“Of course I do,” he said, and found he meant it. Reading as an activity had never held any draw, but that was largely because it wasCecil’schosen activity, and if it was Cecil’s, it could not be his. With Annabelle, though, the appeal of books was different. He found himself interested in anything that could make her eyes light like twin stars. The sadness melted from her face as she looked back at the book.
“I suppose it’s about people,” she said thoughtfully. “And the misconceptions we can have when we judge with incomplete information. And it’s about love, of course.”
“Of course,” he echoed. “Tell me, Annabelle, are books like these why you never wanted to marry? Because you thought no gentleman could match up to the ones you have read about?”
“Well . . .” Her cheeks flushed, just as delectable when the underlying emotion was self-consciousness as when it had been anger. Perhaps even more so. “Not precisely, although no manhaslived up to the ones in books. I merely . . . Theo had her great love—that’s enough for me. I’m content to read.”
“And you never thought that perhaps someone could love you as much as the Duke loves your sister?”
A pale brow rose as she glanced at him. “Why would he?”
Because you are captivating.
Crushing that rogue, alarming thought, he stood and held out his hand. “Because, sweetheart, you are going to be the belle of the ball. Come, I have a friend I would like to introduce you to. She has promised to help find you a husband.”
Annabelle eyed him dubiously, but she accepted his hand. He tucked it in his arm and led her back to the ballroom. The door was cracked, and they slipped in discreetly. Her chin trembled as they stepped into the overpowering swirl of heat and sweat, and he wanted to lead her right back out to the library.
But he had made her a promise.
“My friend’s name is Lady Bolton,” he said, leading her confidently through the fray. “She’s a little older, a widow, and—don’t give me that look, little bird. She is nothing but a friend. We met after another gentleman broke her heart, and she’s been pining away for him ever since, though she would never admit it.” And that gentleman was Lord Eyresham, Annabelle’s brother.
“That sounds sad,” Annabelle said with a frown.
“Oh, she won’t make you feel like she’s sad. And she would never forgive you for pitying her, so make sure you don’t. She lives a charmed life now, with all the freedom and independence a lady could want. She’ll make you an excellent friend.”
“What if she doesn’t want to be my friend?” Annabelle asked, sounding as though she was genuinely concerned about the prospect.
“Impossible.” He steered her to where Louisa was standing, an expression of distinct amusement on her face as she watched them approach. “Lady Bolton, may I present the delightful Lady Annabelle Beaumont?”
Chapter Fifteen
Annabelle waited for the inevitable moment where she wanted to shrink back into obscurity as Lady Bolton looked at her. Curiously, it didn’t come. Lady Bolton had the same air of unshakable confidence as Jacob, but when she smiled, the confidence was replaced by gentle understanding that put Annabelle immediately at ease.
“It’s all so overwhelming, isn’t it?” she asked, nodding at the crowd and the lights and the flowers and thenoise. It scraped at Annabelle’s senses, rubbing them raw. “I remember when I was first out, I hated it.”
“What did you do?” Annabelle asked, unable to help herself.
“I fell in love. Nasty business; I don’t recommend it.” She gave a lively smile that made her hazel eyes twinkle. Closer to thirty than she was twenty, she was someone Annabelle’s mother would have referred to as ‘on the shelf’ if she had been unmarried. Yet despite the very fine lines around her eyes, and the sense of weary disillusionment that cloaked her, she was rather devastatingly beautiful. It was to do with the way she held herself, wearing a shimmering green gown that caught the light and sent it sparkling back in every direction.
Annabelle wanted to learn how to be like her.
“But,” Lady Bolton continued, “I then married an older gentleman, retired to the country for a few years to further refine myself and establish myself as a lady, and when I returned to London I discovered it wasn’t as terrifying as I’d believed it to be.”
“It was never terrifying, you just hadn’t found your place in it,” Jacob said, gazing out across the crowd. “There’s Mr Comerford. Son of a viscount, I believe, and fond of a more gentle life.” He flashed a brilliant smile that Annabelle was coming to suspect hid something. “As you can imagine, I can count on one hand the number of times we’ve attended the same events. Louisa, you should introduce her.”
