Chapter Eight

To Annabelle's dismay, news of her engagement had spread like wildfire, rendering it impossible for them to merely quietly break the engagement off. Whatever they did would end in scandal. Her only, brief, reprieve was that Nathanial's mother was bed-bound with a fever, and so Annabelle would not have to endure her shock at the engagement. She was not sure if the Dowager would be relieved Annabelle was finally to be married, or disappointed in her apparent choice of husband.

Regardless, Annabelle endeavoured to put it from her mind. If she thought about the Dowager's disapproval, she would never have the strength to end the engagement; whatever the Dowager's thoughts on the marriage, she would not condone a lady breaking it off once an announcement had been made, and without a severe transgression on the gentleman's behalf.

In that regard, at least, she could still have hope.

As Annabelle and her party entered Vauxhall Gardens and reached Lady Windermere's box, they had been subject to a level of attention Annabelle never wished to be accustomed to. Theo, chatting away as though nothing in the world was wrong, seemed to have no problem keeping a smile on her face. Annabelle, who had never been good at chatting, and was certainly no expert on smiling, kept her eyes fixed to her plate. For something to do, she counted her peas and thought about all the ways she wanted to throttle Lord Sunderland. With her hands would be the most satisfying, but she rather suspected ribbons would be fitting, in a way.

Something light and feminine around his throat, his dark eyes on her as she took hold of the ends and pulled.

There was something somewhat appealing about that image, but not for strictly bloodthirsty reasons, so she abandoned that train of thought before it disturbed her too much.

When she glanced across at Theo again, her face was a little blank, and Nathanial appeared to be nodding off in front of his empty place setting.

"Have you considered chickens?" Lady Windermere asked Theo. "I have found there is something particularly relaxing about all that clucking."

Annabelle gaped then let out a snort she tried to pass as a cough. Theo's foot connected with her ankle.

"No," Theo said, her voice a little strained. "That is—darling, do we keep chickens?"

Nathanial jerked fully awake and looked up in alarm. "Chickens? Where? I hope not."

The terrible, hysterical urge to laugh assailed Annabelle as Theo pushed back from her chair and held out her hand to Annabelle. "I believe there is dancing over there," she said in blind disregard for the fact Annabelle hated dancing. Anything would be better than this and both sisters knew it. "Will you join us, Lady Windermere?"

Lady Windermere, a lady in her early middle age who had been widowed a few years prior, chuckled gently. "No, no. You young folk enjoy yourself."

Theo gripped Annabelle's arm almost painfully as they made it to other couples swirling around a small quartet. "Heavens, I'd forgotten how boring she was," Theo said, gasping like she hadn't been breathing for their entire conversation. "I'm sorry, Anna, but surely dancing with Nathanial would be preferable to sitting there one moment longer."

Annabelle didn't have the heart to confess she hadn't been paying attention to the conversation at all. "But who will you dance with?"

"Anyone. I hardly mind."

Nathanial raised an eyebrow. "Anyone, my love?"

"Well I would dance with Annabelle if I could, but I think Lady Windermere would burst a blood vessel," Theo said. "It's a good thing your mother is ill, Nate, or she'd have had an apoplexy."

"Luckily for us all, even if she were well, my mother would never deign to be seen in Vauxhall Gardens," Nathanial said. "Not even for fireworks."

Considering fireworks were loud, bright, and overpowering, Annabelle wished she could have been spared the delight as well. But just as she'd resigned herself to dancing at least one with Nathanial, she spied a tall gentleman approaching, daggers in his eyes aimed straight for her heart.

"Lady Annabelle," he said when he reached them, his voice all soft menace. She felt the danger of it curling around her. "Just the lady I was hoping to see."

Nathanial caught her eye, and she knew if she gave him the signal, he would step in for her. But she shook her head.

This was something she needed to do. And if he thought he was going to take advantage of her, he was going to have another think coming.

"Lord Sunderland," Theo said, not bothering to curtsy. The tension deepened and everyone must be able to sense it. People turned to them.

The Marquess either didn't notice or didn't care. His eyes glittered as he looked at Annabelle again, and she had that same urge to throttle him. Maybe stab him with a hairpin or two. He had no right to look at her with that air of night and unspeakable sin as though she should have something to apologise for.

I'm ever so sorry for having a dowry you covert, my lord. Evidently you despise it as much as I do.

"Would you do me the honour of this next dance, my lady?" he asked, still looking straight at Annabelle. Her toes curled as she looked back. I hate you, her eyes said.

His smouldered. I know.

"Actually," Nathanial said, but she cut him off, not looking away from the Marquess.

"Very well," she said, letting her reluctance colour her voice. "One dance."

"Believe me, I would not ask for more."

She doubted that, but said nothing as he brought her into the middle of the floor. Of course, fate was not on her side, and the next dance was a waltz. Naturally it would have been impossible for her to dance with her nemesis to anything else.

He looked down at her, gaze moving from her eyes to her cheekbones to eventually her lips, and back to her eyes. Fury was alive in his face, and it was a dark thing, ravenous. A starving wolf confronted with a rabbit.

She lifted her chin. If he decided to take a bite, he would discover she was no rabbit.

"So," he said, a hard edge to his words. "I hear you have been busy."

"Not as busy as you."

He narrowed his eyes at her and she narrowed hers right back. Two could play at that game. But when his hand gripped hers and his other, rather scandalously, landed on her waist and drew her close, her expression slipped, mortification creeping in. This was not how gentlemen danced the waltz—or at least, not how they danced it in public.

It would have been too much to ask for him not to go out of his way to humiliate her at every given opportunity.

"I thought we agreed not to tell anyone about our little jaunt in the garden," he said, bowing his head to hers. The dance began and she felt his proximity like a flare. Her skin tingled even though he wasn't touching her directly, because she could remember the way he had.

Darkness. Warm breath. That heady sense of being wanted.

"I said nothing," she hissed back.

"And yet here we are."

"Because of you."

He frowned, eyes slits now. "No, little bird. Because of you. My brother died before you could get your hands on his title, so you supposed you could entrap me into marriage. But if you ever thought that would succeed then I'm delighted to disappoint you."

She would have jerked away if he wasn't holding her so tightly. "Entrap you?"

"Well, what would you call it? I am a marquess and you are the daughter of a man whose only defining feature is his propensity to lose at the card table."

Annabelle forgot she was in full view; she forgot they were outside with the darkened sky and flaming torches, and that a quartet played slow, gentle music around them. All she could think about was how much she hated Jacob Barrington.

"You do not get to speak about my father like that!"

"Is that not his reputation?"

"Is not yours worse?"

He smirked. "Believe me, my lady, when I tell you I know exactly what my reputation is."

"Then you should have a very clear idea of why I don't want to marry you."

"Is that so?" His voice lowered into a sticky hum that clung to all her senses, soaking her in awareness that felt as flammable as tar. His fingers dug in uncomfortably on her waist, and although there was a smile on his face, it didn't reach his eyes. "You may pretend you dislike me, but I know better, sweetheart." His gaze latched onto the uneven thrum of her pulse and his smile was all cruel amusement. "You want me, Annabelle. And you hate yourself for it."

Her heart thudded, betraying her. Every part of her was aware of him—and he was right, she despised herself for it. "This is entirely untrue," she snapped. "I don't want to marry you. Is that so difficult to understand?"

His eyes widened very slightly, and his lips thinned. "Then why," he said, pulling her indecently close so he could breathe in her ear, "is there an announcement in the newspaper claiming we are engaged?"

"I thought you had put it there."

"Me?" He threw his head back and laughed. "Why would I possibly want to marry you, little bird?"

The words stung, though she tried not to let them. "I have a large dowry."

"And I have a fortune all of my own to squander."

"Fine." She glowered up at him, contriving to forget the eyes on them and the hot bodies that occasionally brushed against her. Nothing held her attention long except for the Marquess, who looked down at her as though he knew exactly what she was thinking.

"So if neither of us did, then that poses the question of who did put the announcement there," she said.

"Your sister?"

"Of course not! Theo would never do such a thing. She doesn't even want me to marry you. And my mother was as surprised as we all were. Natha—the Duke's theory is that whoever did it had something to gain." She gave him a meaningful look.

"Then you would be better looking elsewhere," he said smoothly. "Marriage is not something I aspire towards."

"What is?" she heard herself say, though she didn't know why. She didn't have interest in this man and his unconventional life choices.

The corner of his mouth kicked up. "Debauchery, mostly, little bird. Why, do you want in?"

"No!" Her cheeks flushed and he chuckled, the sound soft and sinful, making her think of silken sheets and midnight kisses. He would, no doubt, be a better lover than any of the men in Fanny Hill. And she had absolutely no interest in learning more about it.

She had already long come to terms with the fact that if she was to remain unmarried, she would also remain chaste.

"So we are agreed," she said, in part to distract herself. "There is no engagement, there never was an engagement, and we will just say it was a prank."

He gave an elegant shrug. "An odd prank, to be sure, but you can tell anyone anything you like. Including that I jilted you, if that's preferable."

"That is not preferable." There was nothing she wanted less than for anyone to think that she wanted to marry him. "It would be better to tell people I was the one who jilted you."

"I think few would believe you, sweetheart. I'm not known for being jilted." He gave a bright, glittering smile. "At least, not without some prior . . . connection."

"You're despicable."

"But extremely fun." He winked and she glowered at him. The sooner they had no more to do with each other, the better.

The dance came to an end and he released her, not bothering to kiss her hand. She gave him a smile she didn't feel and when she turned, Theo was already surging through the crowd towards her.

"Go," the Marquess said, a trace of amusement in his voice at Theo's determined expression. "And let us hope this is the last time we meet."