Chapter Twelve

Jacob watched the way Annabelle swallowed back whatever retort was in her mouth before attempting a smile.

"Sunderland," Norfolk said, rising and giving a stiff nod. His wife laid a hand on his arm, presumably to stop him from saying anything more.

So, Jacob wasn't a favourite in the family. No matter. He didn't intend to be part of it for long.

"I'll ring for the flowers to be put in water," the Duchess said, hurrying for the bellpull. Jacob didn't spare her a single glance, putting all his predatory focus on Annabelle. Today, they were going to make strides towards his goal: teach her to flirt. And, if he had his way, he would test her out on some of his acquaintances, too, in preparation for when Louisa would introduce her to gentlemen who may actually be inclined to marry.

"Lord Sunderland," she said, flushing a delicious colour all the way down her neck when she finally tore her gaze away from his, her eyes alive with annoyance. Oh yes, she wanted him, and she truly did despise herself for it.

All he had to do was make sure that continued as long as they were ‘engaged'. That wouldn't be too challenging. He had a particular knack for making people hate him. She would be no different. After all, he had done an admirable job so far.

"I hope you like your flowers, Lady Annabelle," he said in a low, intimate voice.

"Oh." Now the attention of the room was on her, she looked slightly strained. "They're lovely, thank you."

She did not sound as though they were lovely. He suppressed a smile. Her sister took the flowers from her and she sagged in relief.

Tomorrow, he would bring her an outrageous necklace and expect her to wear it. Something with rubies and diamonds in, perhaps. Something ostentatious she would hate and have to pretend to love. What better thing to spend his newly acquired wealth on?

He smiled at her, and her brows pinched together like she knew precisely what he was thinking.

"How about a walk?" she suggested, sending a less-than-subtle glance at the Duke and Duchess.

"We can promenade," he said smoothly. "In Hyde Park."

What followed was a bustle of activity, but eventually they were on their way. It was a colder day, so she wore a woollen shawl over her shoulders, and her hand was warm in the crook of his arm.

"The flowers were excessive," she told him. They were a few steps behind the Duke and Duchess, who were lively in their own conversation, so he wasn't concerned they would be overheard.

"I thought you asked me to court you?"

"Yes, but be reasonable."

"I'm being perfectly reasonable." He grinned down at her, enjoying the way she shifted awkwardly. Really, this was too easy. "Admittedly, I don't have a lot of experience courting ladies, but I am positive flowers are involved. And expensive jewellery. How else will the world know that I want to marry you?"

"You could be nice to me."

"Ah, but that's no fun."

She made a tiny noise that might have been a snort of amusement, and after glancing at her sister, she leant in and asked, "What about your connection with Mrs Bentley?"

"Clarissa?" He blinked, surprised that she knew about Clarissa, and reminded somewhat abruptly of her existence. "I haven't seen her in a while."

"Did you not court her?"

"Ah, little bird." Her innocence was too adorable for her own good. "No. That's not how it works. There was no need for courting. We both knew what we wanted from the other and we took it. That was all."

"Oh," she said, and more quietly, "I thought it was a little more romantic than that."

"Not at all. There is no romance in any aspect of my life, sweetheart." They reached the gates and finally began to promenade. The purpose of the exercise was, of course, so the ton could see him escorting her, but as the attention began to settle on them, her body language changed. She stiffened, imperceptibly at first, then more as time went by. Her conversation slowed to monosyllables, and she stared at her feet more often than not.

Odd. The last time they had been this public together, they had been dancing at Vauxhall Gardens, and—

She had been angry at him.

"Don't stare at the ground," he said when she avoided yet another person's curious gaze. "No one is going to eat you."

"Easy for you to say," she muttered. "If they ate you, they would spit you back out."

"Insult me louder; perhaps that might give you more confidence."

She glared up at him, shyness forgotten in her irritation, and he almost laughed out loud. "You are odious," she informed him.

"Do continue. My ego hasn't yet been dented."

"I despise you."

"As we have already ascertained."

"You are obnoxious and difficult and I wish I had never met you."

"Better," he said, taking note of the way her chin rose. "Now look at me, little bird. Hate me all you will, but look at me."

She did, raising her gaze to his face with those blue eyes spitting fire. When she forgot to be shy, she really was lovely, and he shut away the thought before it could take root, smirking at her instead. If he could just keep her hating him, these three months would go past quickly enough.

"Good. Always remember to look at the gentlemen you're talking with. Now pretend I am a respectable gentleman approaching you," he said. "I will bow, like this. What do you do?"

"Freeze, usually," she said candidly, her irritation fading into frustration. "And I can hardly pretend you are one of them when you don't scare me the way they do."

"Scare you?" Of all the gentlemen she had spent time with of late, he would have thought he was the most likely to scare a girl. "Why do they scare you?"

"Because they have expectations. Because no matter where I go, there are eyes on me. Watching. Which is bad enough, but when they speak to me, it's like this crushing weight and I can't breathe past it. And then I stammer or stumble or worse, stand mute, and I know, I just know, they think I'm an idiot." The colour had risen in her cheeks again and her breathing was erratic. "But they're interested in my dowry, so they converse with me anyway and I want to sink through the floor every time they do."

"But you attend balls."

"Not of my own volition, I assure you. I can think of nothing worse."

"No," he said with a flash of amusement. "Me neither. So, in sum, you dislike conversing, especially with gentlemen?"

"Especially with strangers." She sighed, her shoulders slumping. "I wish I wasn't like this sometimes, but I am, and I can't change it."

"But you're not with me," he said thoughtfully. "I wonder if that has something to do with the manner by which we met."

She sent him a dark look. "If you are suggesting I kiss all acquaintances in darkened rooms, you will find yourself greatly disappointed."

"While I am certain that would do excellent things for your confidence, I am not suggesting that." The thought made something dark and jealous erupt in his chest, and he ignored the feeling. It would do her a world of good to learn how to give in to someone, and that sort of confidence would sit well on her.

As it was, he would just have to teach her that she was desirable.

"Then what are you suggesting?" she asked.

"Flirtation." He gave her the kind of lazy, wicked smile he knew people never looked past—and that he knew from experience would make her blush. "Think of it as a shield. People see only what you want them to see."

"That is all very well," she said, folding her arms across her chest, "but I do not know how to flirt."

He remembered, somewhat against his will, the way she'd grasped his lapels in a mixture of desperation and fright while they were hiding from Helmsley. She hadn't known then—how could she—how much he had liked the action.

But there was no room for lapel-holding while in ballrooms.

"Pretend I am a gentleman approaching you," he told her now in a low voice. "Smile at me. Wider. Good. Now look up at me through your eyelashes." She gave him an unintentionally scorching glance that had heat prickling down his spine. "Excellent. Now, I will say something inane about the weather. What do you do?"

She looked at him helplessly. "Flutter my eyelashes?"

"Not a bad idea. Try it."

The way she looked as she squeezed her eyes shut and opened them in quick succession forced him to reconsider. "Softer," he said, pulling them to a halt and looking down at her. "It's a small movement."

More of that delectable blush heated her cheeks. "I've never done it before."

"Then let us move on. Bite your lip instead, like you're thinking of the answer." He demonstrated, and the way her gaze landed on his mouth sent another hot pulse of desire through him. It would be better if he didn't know how she tasted, or how innocently clumsy her mouth had been as it returned his kiss.

"Like this?" she asked, taking her bottom lip delicately between her teeth and holding it there, the skin turning white.

"Yes," he said, sparing it only the briefest glance. "Just like that."

"And flirting is as simple as biting my lips when a gentleman speaks to me?" she asked doubtfully.

"Lip," he corrected. "And despite your scepticism, yes. Men are simple creatures."

"And yet I never know what you want."

Telling her exactly what most men wanted was not the best of ideas, so he settled for, "What men—what most people—want is to feel special. So smile, look interested, look at them as though they are the only thing in your world."

"How?"

He lowered his gaze to hers and focused on the gold threading through her blue eyes. The lashes that framed them faded to invisible tips, and the expression in them was at first curiously searching. Then he smiled, razoring his attention on her, and touched her arm. "Like this," he said, lowering his voice and stepping closer. She visibly swallowed. "Try it."

A flush broke out across her skin, and he really, really should not be trying to make her flush, but it was irresistible. "Stop looking at me like that," she said, her expression flitting between confused and worried.

"Peace, little bird," he said, letting amusement enter his tone. "I'm not going to eat you."

"You look as though you might."

The idea wasn't exactly unpleasant. "That's another business deal entirely. Unless you would like to try?" He gave her a seductive smile, and her confusion dissolved into a deeper, hotter flush.

"Beast."

"Concentrate, Beaumont. We are discussing flirtation." He paused to think of an explanation that might make sense to her, pushing all other thoughts to one side. "Think of yourself as the lure."

"The lure?"

"Fishing, sweetheart. Are you not familiar? The fisherman casts the lure and the fish, attracted to its false promises, bites the hook."

She frowned. "I am a false promise?"

"Every woman is." He took hold of her chin and her eyes widened. "Every smile you send, every time you look up through your eyelashes, every time you put your hand on their arm, you are sending out a lure. See if they bite."

"That doesn't sound very . . ." She wrinkled her nose. "Romantic."

"You may find your romance once you have the gentleman's attention." He assessed her face. Still slightly flushed, eyes sparkling. Even this would be charming enough without any overt attempt at flirtation, if only he could get her to look this way around strangers.

"My lord?" she asked cautiously as he assessed her, still pinching her chin between his fingers. Finally, he released her and looked around, finding Villiers strolling along the path in the height of good fashion.

He looked down at Annabelle. "Remember everything I've told you. It's time to practise."

"What?" She clutched at his arm. "With an actual gentleman?"

"Villiers is the perfect target," he assured her. "He's my friend and not in the market for a wife, but he is always in the market for a flirtation."

"I can't!"

"Of course you can. It's easy, and he'll make it especially so. Just remember all the things I've told you."

"Regular gentlemen scare me," she muttered.

Regular gentlemen. Jacob almost laughed. "I'm flattered. Now smile. He's coming over. And relax, little bird. There's nothing to be afraid of. If you're at a loss, remember how much you hate me."

She dug her nails into his arm and he almost laughed. But Villiers was upon them, a lazy smile on his face and his eyes alight with interest.

"Barrington," he said with casual grace. "I see you're taking your beloved for a walk. How delightful."

Jacob toyed idly with Annabelle's fingers in an attempt to ease the vise-like grip on his arm. "Just doing my duty," he said. "As you know, I take it extremely seriously."

Villiers offered Annabelle a sweeping bow. "Lady Annabelle. I'm delighted to make your acquaintance."

Jacob nudged her and she glanced up at him, eyes wide. If she were any other girl, she would have giggled, maybe blushed. Villiers was a handsome devil, that was for sure. But after he nodded at Villiers, she just plastered a mechanical smile on her face and nodded back.

"The pleasure is mine," she said, and immediately blushed to her hair.

At least her blush was pretty. If she was going to do it to everyone regardless, it was better she looked well doing it.

"It's a beautiful day," Villiers said. "Made all the more beautiful when one makes new acquaintances."

Annabelle drew in a deep breath, her body stiff and radiating tension. Her gaze dropped to the ground, and when he nudged her, she looked back up with a frightened expression, similar to the one a doe might wear when it was caught off-guard.

Petrified.

Good Lord, he was going to have to do some rethinking if this was how she responded to every gentleman except for him.

Making the snap decision to end the conversation, he nodded to his friend. "We should rejoin the Duke and Duchess."

Villiers touched his hat and Annabelle's fingers dug into his arm with what he could only assume was approval. They walked slowly away, Annabelle's face reddening still further until it looked as though she was deeply in shame.

"Well," he said with forced bravado. This deal he'd taken felt a great sight harder if she couldn't so much as talk to anyone else. "What happened to the flirting?"

"I couldn't." She closed her eyes as though in repentance. "I'm sorry, I know you tried, and I'm sure Lord Villiers is excessively agreeable, but as soon as I'm faced with gentlemen, it's as though my tongue is twisted and I feel so stupid. Which, of course, makes it worse, because once I feel stupid, I don't even dare look at them in case I see it on their face."

"Why should you care what they think?" As her shocked gaze met his, he shrugged. "I don't."

"Yes, but you're . . ."

"Commonly despised?" he supplied with a sardonic smile. "Deplorable? Despicable? What other epithets have you used to describe me?"

"It's different," she said, though her gaze was back on her feet.

"Only because you care for others' opinions."

"No," she said, glancing up at him seriously. "It's because I'm a woman. You are a man and a marquess to boot. You can get away with doing almost anything you choose. I, however, must watch my reputation. For my family's sake, if not my own."

Her damned family. And Henry Beaumont, Lord Eynsham, coming to disturb their peace in the next few weeks. No doubt he would find a way to disrupt things. At least, Jacob reflected grimly, no man could force him down the aisle before the summer was out.

Their three months had well and truly begun.