“Indeed,” she said, her voice managing to sound relatively normal rather than her usual breathy fare. “It’s a pleasure.”
“The pleasure is mine.” He took her hand and pressed his lips to her knuckles in a pointed gesture. “A shame it came a little too late, I suppose. Still, I don’t suppose you would honour me with a dance?”
Annabelle glanced at Lady Bolton, who gave an imperceptible nod. In the distance, standing at the edge of the ballroom with a glass of punch in his hands, was Lord Sunderland. Jacob. Her Marquess. He was watching her from across the room, just as brooding as Lady Bolton had instructed.
Maybe he was in love with Lady Bolton. That would explain why he had obeyed her every command.
The thought sank like a stone to the bottom of her stomach, and she sucked in a deep breath.
“I would be delighted,” she said to Mr Comerford, accepting his hand and allowing him to lead her into the centre of the room.
* * *
Jacob sipped his drink, feeling again the ridiculousness of the situation as he watched Annabelle smile up at her partner. It was a hesitant smile, not like the occasional wide smile she’d given when she knew no one was looking, but it was something. More than he had expected.
And while she was there enjoying herself and charming another gentleman into wanting her, he was condemned to bore himself by watching. Usually, by this time in the proceedings, he would have already made his way into the card room, letting people believe he could think of nothing but whist and pharaoh. Given the alternative, it was hardly a poor choice.
Instead, he was here. He ground his teeth, placing his half-full glass on a table. He’d made Annabelle a promise that he wouldn’t drink while they were together, but the urge to dull the sensations in his chest wouldn’t leave him.
He was becoming precisely the man his father and Cecil had thought him to be; it was no longer a pretence. The thought should have comforted him, but it felt a little as though he had swallowed jagged glass.
The Duke of Norfolk came to stand beside him, leaning against the wall with deceptive idleness. “She’s lovely, isn’t she?” he said, nodding towards Annabelle. “We’re both very fond of her.”
Jacob sent Norfolk a sidelong glance. They were only a few years apart in age, but they ran in very different circles. “I have no doubt.”
“I know you never wanted to marry her,” the Duke said. “And I know she doesn’t want to be married. In another world, I’d indulge her. But we don’t always have a choice. And I should warn you now, Barrington—if you ever, ever hurt her, you will feel the consequences.”
“A trifle overdone, don’t you think?” Jacob drawled, knowing it would irritate, needing it to. He wanted to dig his claws into something and make it hurt. The urge was primal and he wasn’t sure from where it originated. “I think Lady Annabelle and I have come to an understanding.”
“Oh?”
Jacob had no intention of explaining the terms. “Suffice to say she’s satisfied.”
“She looks it,” Norfolk said dryly, watching her smile at her partner. The urge to rip things to shreds increased. “If she asked it, would you let her retire from society?”
Considering they were not intending to marry, it hardly mattered what he said. He gave Norfolk a cool smile. “If she asked, she could have the moon on a platter.”
“I see.”
“If you wanted to allow her not to marry, you should not have placed the burden of a large dowry on her head.”
“Is that your way of saying you’re marrying her for her money?”
“We’re engaged to save her reputation.” He gave the Duke a long look. “I hardly care for mine.”
Across the room, Annabelle was dancing with another gentleman. Now she was making her interest known, the gentlemen were lining up for her attention and the soft, shy smiles she passed around like delicate treasures. His plan was working and no doubt soon, with enough prompting that she would be receptive, she would have at leastsomeoneprepared to marry her.
He cast a disgusted look at the punch beside him, wishing it was wine, and snatched it up. It shouldn’t have stung, seeing her prefer others the way everyone else did, but somehow it did.
The Duke of Norfolk was still watching him, so he made his way to the refreshment table, taking a glass of wine with him, and continued to the open doors leading to the patio. The curtains fluttered behind him and the moon scowled coldly on the garden.
He stared at the world beyond, but although the wine was held loosely in his hands, he made no move to drink it.
Chapter Sixteen
Annabelle lost track of the hours. Jacob’s words still lingered in her head, and she was learning to read the expression on gentlemen’s faces when they looked at her. The want, half concealed, the way their gazes lingered on her mouth. If there was one thing she was concluding from this ball, it was that men liked mouths. Lips were something they paid special attention to.
Smiling was easier than talking, and she discovered that if she gave an encouraging smile to a gentleman, he needed nothing more from her. Strange how she had never unlocked the power before, though that was probably because she had never looked into the gentleman’s face as often until now. So while her brain worked overtime and she dissected every comment delivered to her with a physician’s precision, she found she was able to uphold a conversation by doing little more than maintaining her expression. Occasionally, she found, a word here or there was necessary, but often the smile would do.
