It was a trick she wished she had learnt years ago.
Still, after her third dance in which she did nothing but smile until her cheeks hurt, stuck on the outside of a discourse which she really had no part in, she was exhausted. All she wanted was the comfort of a friend with whom she couldtalk. Express her opinions. The gentlemen she had been dancing with would have been surprised to know she had opinions.
The thought of doing this every year for the rest of her life filled her with a peculiar sense of dread. As a single woman, after a few Seasons she would have been able to largely retire from Society; as a married woman, she would not have that luxury.
The prospect was horrifying.
After her fifth partner bid her farewell, she cast a look around for Jacob, who had abandoned his brooding for something else. Theo was talking with their mother, her fan working overtime, and Annabelle would have joined them except she didn’t want to face their questions.
There was nothing for it—she took refuge behind her potted plants. There was no book this time, but at least she had the luxury of some space to pull herself together. She released a long, slow breath. The music still continued, a lively jig that sent her thoughts flurrying about her head, and the overbearing noise of the ball ground her down until she felt like a husk. Like dust, blown about in the wind, reduced to nothing. If she could have had her way, she would have sent everyone home at midnight. As it was, the ball would likely continue until daybreak unless something drastic happened.
What if she faked an illness? Theo would whisk her away from the ball immediately.
But then she’d worry her sister unnecessarily, and that seemed cruel.
Maybe she would just stay here. At least for a few more minutes until her heart rate slowed. Until she would be able to put the smile back on her face without snapping.
“There she is!” A hand reached down and pulled her up, and the unwelcomely familiar face of Lady Tabitha came into view. “Don’t tell me you were resting on a night like tonight.” She was accompanied by a gaggle of other debutantes, looking at Annabelle with mingled curiosity, envy and pity. “You have to tell us how you did it.”
“We already know how she did it,” another girl said. Her aquiline nose was a little upturned. “She lured Lord Sunderland into the garden and as soon as rumour spread, he had no choice but to marry her.”
Annabelle gaped, her face flushing, her tongue doing its usual job of sticking to the roof of her mouth. Under their beady eyes and not-so-silent judgement, she felt as small as a caterpillar under their feet: easily squashed.
“That’s not fair, Lucy,” another voice said. This girl looked kinder and a little older; not a debutante in her first Season, then. “I’ve seen the way he looks at her.”
“Ruination,” the first girl snorted. “That’s all it amounts to.”
“How did you manage it?” Lady Tabitha pressed. “I mean, to entice him out into the gardens with you alone.”
Annabelle wanted to close her eyes and disappear. “I-I didn’t.”
“You must have donesomething,” the first girl said impatiently. “Why else would he be hanging around you like this? Everyone knows the Devil of St James had no plans of marriage.”
“That’s why it’s so ingenious,” Lady Tabitha said. “How else could she ensure a marriage with him? And after his brother died and he inherited. I wish I had your foresight!”
“No,” Annabelle tried. “I didn’t.”
But the girls kept pushing around her, crushing her, making her hot and uncomfortable and pressed to answer questions she had no answer to. Like “what is he like?” and “is he as devastating as I heard?”
He was devastating, in his own way. Criminally long eyelashes around eyes so dark they could have held the night sky, wicked amusement gleaming in them like the cold moon. His mouth was a sensual slash, caught halfway between mockery and an odd grimness that sat unsettlingly on a man so young. Perhaps that was how he had become a rake in the first place, because he had a masculine beauty no lady could deny.
“Excuse me,” came the voice she was looking for. When she glanced up, it was to find that dark gaze pinning her to the floor. Within it, she was utterly caught. “I have come to collect my bride-to-be.”
At once the girls parted, and Jacob strode up to her. His eyes were hard, glittering with anger, but his fingers were gentle as they took hold of hers. “My lady,” he said, his voice low and intimate. Slowly, achingly slowly, he brought her knuckles to his lips and kissed them.
Annabelle felt that kiss all over, in places she should adamantly not. Under her gloves, her skin burned.
Lady Tabitha’s titter was loud enough to disturb nesting birds, but Annabelle hardly noticed. Her embarrassment faded as he took her hand and led her away. Past the musicians sawing at their strings, past Theo and her mother, who watched her with a cautious look in their eyes, and out onto the patio.
“There,” Jacob said briefly, releasing her hand. “Take a breath.”
“Thank you, I—”
“Don’t thank me. Just breathe and stop your fretting over their opinion. They’re not worth your time or energy.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“Is it?” His gaze rested on her for a moment, and she knew now that in the light, they were brown threaded with gold. Compelling enough for her to fall into; deep enough she might drown.
