The Worldly Widow (31 page)

"Very,
"
said Annabelle. "She doesn
'
t look a day over thirty.
"

They entered the ballroom, which was normally the picture gallery, only minutes later. The great room was a blaze of lights. Though the announcement had yet to be official, there wasn
'
t a soul present who had not heard the report of their engagement. Well-wishers greeted them from every side.

Annabelle was more than a little surprised to see how cordially Dalmar was received. Evidently, the
ton
had finally forgotten the old scandal. He led her out in the first waltz. She should have been savoring the moment of triumph which was to come. Instead, she could not stifle the first faint pangs of guilt. Annoyed with herself, and wondering at Dalmar
'
s preoccupation, she kept up an unending stream of chitchat. It was a relief when the dance finally came to an end.

Her curiosity about Lady Diana was not to be satisfied until well into the evening. It was Lord Temple who volunteered what Annabelle wished to know. "She was twenty or so when she became engaged to Dalmar. It was his uncle, the Earl, who pushed for the marriage. But once the old scandal was resurrected, her father forced her to break it off and marry some old codger who left her a wealthy widow by the time she was two-and-twenty.
"

"They seem to be on the best of terms,
"
murmured Annabelle. Her wandering glance came to rest on the couple who were the cynosure of all eyes. She could not fail to notice how well Dalmar and Lady Diana moved to the rhythm of the waltz. Her own partner, Lord Temple, was stiff and unyielding, his steps carefully executed. She felt a rush of remorse for the uncharitable comparison, knowing how great a price the Viscount paid to appear as normal as the next man. Though he rarely spoke of his injuries, it was her understanding that a bullet or a piece of shrapnel was still lodged close to his spine.

Without his daily dose of laudanum to dull the pain, he would be reduced to spending his life as an invalid, more or less.

"Diana is on the best of terms with everyone,
"
said Lord Temple, his eyes lightening in amusement. "She
'
s a charming girl. You
'
ll love her.
"

"I
'
m sure I shall,
"
said Annabelle mendaciously. Trying to feign indifference, she added, "I hear she
'
s looking for a husband?
"

"If that
'
s true, there will be no end of applicants for the position. She
'
s young, beautiful, and sinfully rich, if you
'
ll pardon the expression. What more could a man want?
"

Annabelle strained back slightly to catch Temple
'
s expression. "Are you thinking of applying for the position, Gerry?"'

He laughed. "I
'
ve given it some thought,
"
he admitted. "It
'
s time I was shackled. U
nfortunately, Lady Diana lacks something
of
…
well
…
spark. She
'
s a clinging vine. Definitely not my style. I
'
m afraid you
'
ve spoiled me for other women, Annabelle.
"

Annabelle caught the quirk at the corner of his lips and smiled back. His words left her feeling more relieved than flattered. He was teasing her. It had been some time since their converse had been so free and easy. For months past, and long before Dalmar had come on the scene, the Viscount had turned possessive and sometimes truculent, as if he could bully her into marriage. It suddenly occurred to her that by not discouraging his attentions with more vigor she had done him a great disservice. Suddenly disliking the turn of her ruminations, she said, "Spark! I
'
m not sure that
'
s a compliment.
"

"In moderation, it
'
s an asset,
"
said Temple with a twinkle. "However, there are some ladies, mentioning no names, who have more spark than a bolt of lightning. It
'
s a brave man who thinks to channel so much fire. I wish Dalmar success where I have failed.
"

"
He can try,
"
she scoffed. She caught his sardonic look and was moved to exclaim, "I mean it, Gerry. No man is going to tell Annabelle Jocelyn what to do.
"

How it quite came about, Annabelle was never able to determine afterward, but from that point on, their conversation degenerated into an argument about whether or not Bailey
'
s Press would publish the diaries of Monique Dupres. That Dalmar had boasted to the Viscount that there was not the least likelihood of such an event coming to pass provoked Annabelle to the point of rashness. By the time the dance came to an end, she had let Temple know in no uncertain terms that the diaries would be published come hell or high water.

Across the room, she met Dalmar
'
s stare. His eyes blazed into hers. Endless seconds seemed to pass before he released her and turned away. She wondered what it might mean.

She was more than a little insulted. For a start, the Earl had engaged her for only the opening dance of the ball and had scarcely spoken two words to her all evening. For another thing, it was evident that his tongue had been running a malicious course. On every side she was mercilessly cajoled about her aversion to dogs and horses. The intelligence from Lord Temple respecting Dalmar
'
s confidence that the diaries would not be published was one more faggot to add to the fire. Well, she had planned a fine revenge for my Lord Arrogance, and she refused to entertain the misgivings which had begun to gnaw at her conscience.

She marched off the dance floor determined to search out more congenial companionship. Her purpose was deflected when she caught sight of Dalmar
'
s brother. He was on the sidelines, looking a little lost and sampling champagne from a long-stemmed glass.

He looked up at her approach, and something like alarm crossed his face before he quickly masked his expression.

"I don
'
t bite, you know,
"
said Annabelle, determinedly settling herself beside the young man.

His laugh lacked something of conviction. "Forgive me,
"
he said, "I
'
m not used to town parties. In the country, everybody knows everyone else.
"

Snatching a glass of champagne from the silver salver of one of Dalmar
'
s footmen, Annabelle remarked, "You don
'
t much care for town, then?
"

"No. I like the solitude of the country.
"

"With me it
'
s the other way round,
"
confided Annabelle. "I
can never find anything to do in the country.
"

"There are a million things to do in the country,
"
protested Falconer.

"Name one,
"
challenged Annabelle.

A good ten minutes went by before John Falconer realized that for the first time in memory he was talking to a vivacious lady without tying himself in knots. He could not think what possessed him to reveal so much about his likes and dislikes. He looked at his champagne glass and tried to remember how much he had consumed during the evening. He did not think it could be more than a couple of glasses. This saucy girl, either by accident or design, had provoked him into forgetting himself. More. She was flirting with him, and he was flirting back. He laughed, a truly spontaneous sound.

Glancing down, he saw that Annabelle was patiently waiting for him to respond to something she had said. "Your pardon,
"
he apologized, smiling easily. "I was woolgathering. But I disagree with you. Of course you must learn to ride. It
'
s no wonder you haven
'
t taken to country life if you
'
re afraid of horses.
"

"I know scores of ladies who don
'
t ride,
"
said Annabelle.

"Who, for instance?
"
asked her companion, relishing their thrust and parry.

Annabelle
'
s eyes flicked to the lady who had evidently become the belle of the ball. Lady Diana was surrounded by a swarm of admirers.

Following her gaze, Falconer murmured, "Diana may look fragile, but I assure you, she rides as if she were born in the saddle.
"
Keeping his lips grave, he commiserated, "Don
'
t repine. In a hundred years or so, you
'
ll be almost as good as she. Dalmar and I shall see to it.
"

"Horrid man!
"
said Annabelle, tossing her head. "Tell me, are all the Falconer men so disgustingly domineering?
"

A shadow came and went in his eyes. When he spoke, the hesitation
was back in his voice. "Y…
yes. Awful, ain
'
t it?
"

Her smile faded. After a moment she laid her hand on his sleeve and said, "Don
'
t take it to heart, John. I can handle domineering men. Ask anyone.
"

Her own words sobered her. She could not think why she
had allowed herself to be deflected from her purpose even for a moment. It was so totally out of character. Yet she had spent the last number of hours acting as if she were truly to become Dalmar
'
s consort. It was not her business to charm his younger brother, no matter how strong the temptation to banish the shadows from his eyes. And as for the slight—very slight— pang of envy she had suffered when she
'
d first set eyes on the Earl
'
s former betrothed, it was positively ludicrous. By morning Dalmar would be free to pursue Lady Diana without restraint. By the looks of it, the chase had already started. Well, let him. Her one wish was to go back to a time when she
'
d never heard of the Earl of Dalmar.

In another hour, she would be shot of him. It was what she wanted. No one took advantage of Annabelle Jocelyn with impunity. It galled her to think how easily she had become his dupe. Well, he was about to learn a lesson he would not soon forget. She did not think that he would resort to violence when her gift to him was unveiled, but she was taking no chances. She intended to make herself scarce the moment his hand pulled the cord to draw back the curtains. Only one hour to go, and it would all be over. She refused to be flustered by last-minute nerves.

The hour sped by in double quick time. When Dalmar came to lead her in to supper, Annabelle could not believe that the clock had already struck midnight.

"Just one more dance,
"
she implored, her voice sounding strange and breathless.

"Annabelle, you
'
ve danced the feet of half the gentlemen here tonight. You
'
re not having second thoughts, are you?
"

"What?
"
Her eyes were enormous.

He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. "Our engagement. It
'
s too late to back out now.
"

She looked around frantically, as if seeking help from some quarter.

Dalmar chuckled. "Come along, dear! Don
'
t be bashful. I
'
m quite certain you
'
ve arranged things just as you ought.
"

"David, truly I
'
m not hungry. I couldn
'
t eat a bite!
"

He looked at her oddly. "You
are
nervous, aren
'
t you? Are you afraid I won
'
t like my engagement present? Is there some
reason I shouldn
'
t?
"

Almost desperately she said, "I think I should go home. I
'
m not feeling very well.
"

Her protestations went unheeded. Her elbow was gripped in a firm clasp, and she was propelled through the doors and down the marble staircase to the rooms which had been reserved for supper.

Her eyes were involuntarily drawn to the red velvet curtain which concealed her gift from curious eyes. When the guests were assembled, through a haze, she heard Dalmar
'
s voice, deep and resonant, make the announcement of their engagement. She was dimly aware of accepting a glass of champagne from his hand and of the many expressions of congratulations which were tendered. The moment that Dalmar laid his hand to the cord which would unveil her gift, however, her senses sharpened and her instinct for self-preservation took over. She set down her glass of champagne and edged her way toward the exit. Colonel Ransome was stationed at the doors. He refused to let her pass.