The Devil's Waltz. Anne Stuart
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“We’re going to Lady Bellwhite’s. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.”
“I’ve always enjoyed her gardens,” said Annelise, remembering the opportunities for mischief that ran rampant in the place. “I’m certain I’ll appreciate it even more with your company.”
Hetty almost made a face but she stopped herself in time, clearly remembering that she was trying another tack with her unwanted friend. “I shall, as well,” she said sweetly.
Annelise waited until the door closed behind her to sit down on the now-rumpled bed. It was a good, solid mattress—at least there were some advantages that money could buy. She pulled off her bonnet and set it down beside her, catching a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror.
Having spent the better part of an hour staring at the perfection of Hetty Chipple, the vision was even more disheartening.
She glanced down at her feet. It was really unfair that she be cursed with big feet, particularly when compared to Hetty’s tiny ones. Of course, her feet were in proportion to her ridiculously long legs, but even so, fate could have been kind enough to make at least something out of proportion.
But fate had been busy elsewhere. She had long legs, long arms, a long neck and a long face. She knew her physical attributes far too well—she had fine gray eyes, but they were usually covered by her spectacles. Her hair was an indeterminate shade—a mixture of brown, blond and red hues, and the only thing she could do was pin it tightly to the base of her neck and hope no one would notice its odd color. At one point she’d tried to wear lace caps to further disguise it, which also had the benefit of proclaiming her old-maid status, but the caps tended to flap in her face and itch, or catch on the rims of her spectacles, and she’d given them up regretfully.
The cut of the dress was suitably shapeless, disguising her small waist as well as her large chest. Indeed, she wouldn’t attract attention from anyone, which was just as she wanted it…Unlike Hetty Chipple, who would draw trouble to her like a magnet.
On impulse Annelise stood up and went to the window, looking across at the rambling downs of Green Park. In time to see Miss Chipple, totally without chaperon, disappear into the shrubbery.
Annelise didn’t waste time with her hat. She raced out the door, grabbed the first maid she saw and tore down the steep marble stairs and into the street, dragging the poor girl behind her. Fortunately Josiah Chipple was nowhere to be seen. While Annelise was there as a favor to the shipping magnate, she still had a strong sense of responsibility, and letting a young girl run through a park unchaperoned was not going to happen while she was a member of the household.
It was a cool day, and there were doubtless strange looks being cast their way, but Annelise was too determined to catch Hetty before she caused a complete scandal to even notice. She plunged into the bushes where she’d last seen Hetty, dragging the hapless maid with her.
She could see Hetty up ahead, alone, seemingly waiting for someone in the shelter of one of the overgrown bushes. There was no doubt who she was waiting for, and no doubt that Annelise would have to move fast.
She sped up, just as Hetty started to step through a narrow break in the hedge, and caught her by the back of her gown, hauling her backward.
Hetty was too astonished to let out more than a little squeak, but when she saw who’d grabbed her, her bright blue eyes filled with a murderous rage.
“You!” she said, her voice rich with bile. “Leave me alone.”
There was one advantage to being almost a foot taller than Hetty—they were no even match. Annelise turned her around and shoved her at the maid. “Get back to the house, now!” she said. “And perhaps I won’t tell your father that you’re out to ruin all his careful plans.”
Hetty opened her mouth to protest, then shut it again. So there was something that still had power over Hetty. “I’ll never forgive you for this!” she hissed, and then flounced off, the maid rushing to keep up with her.
Annelise stood there in the chilly air, watching the pair of them, and she sighed. Challenges were all well and good, but her godmother had failed to tell her what a handful the girl was going to be. She might have to go to Mr. Chipple with her concerns, but not before she tried to talk Hetty out of her infatuation. Chipple might not know of the depth of Montcalm’s depravity—he wouldn’t have traveled in circles where Montcalm’s unsavory reputation was bandied about, but Annelise had heard more than enough tales of the absolute perfidy—
“I take it that’s Miss Chipple being dragged away?” a voice, rich with amusement, sounded in her ear. It was a warm voice, the same voice she’d heard earlier at the Chipples’, but Annelise froze. She considered her options. She could ignore the voice, follow the two women and never look back. Or she could turn and face the cause of all this trouble and put him in his place.
She had never been a coward and she wasn’t about to start now. Even though some small, sneaking part of her felt like someone turning to face a Gorgon, she knew perfectly well she wasn’t going to be turned to stone, or a pillar of salt, or anything at all. But when she turned, she felt herself stiffen like one of Chipple’s marble statues.
She had never been so close to him before. Her previous acquaintance, such as it was, had been across crowded ballroom floors, where she’d heard whispers about the women he danced with, the women he flirted with. She was well out of her league with someone like Christian Montcalm, and he would have been totally unaware of her existence—just another awkward wallflower. She had watched him, fascinated, and told herself “pretty is as pretty does” with a deprecating sniff.
But, oh my heavens, he was pretty! His dark hair was long, tied back simply, but one lock fell forward to caress his high cheekbone. She’d always had a weakness for well-defined cheekbones. His faintly tilted eyes were a deep, fascinating green—she’d never been close enough to see them before, but they held a hint of laughter that was undeniably appealing. And his mouth, his lips…It was no wonder he seduced every woman he met, talking them into doing unspeakable things. His rich, full mouth alone could seduce a nun.
And he was taller than she was. She’d expected he probably would be, since he towered over most of his dance partners, but that his height made her feel suddenly delicate was simply one more unfortunate circumstance. The man was well-nigh irresistible, particularly as he looked at her steadily out of those laughing eyes.
But Annelise was made of sterner stuff than that. She swallowed, then found her voice, grateful that it came out calm and cool. “That was Miss Chipple,” she said. “And she had no business being out here meeting a gentleman without a chaperon. Though no gentleman would have ever agreed to such a meeting in the first place.”
He appeared unruffled. “And what business is that of yours? Hetty didn’t mention she had an ogre spying on her every move. I would have been more discreet.”
“I doubt you know what discretion is,” she said. “—and I’m a friend of the family, keeping her company while she makes her debut.”
“No, you’re not,” he said, tilting his head to survey her more closely. “The Chipples know very few members of society as yet, and you’re clearly not of their world. You’re not a governess—you’re not meek enough. If I guess right, you’re a woman of breeding who’s fallen on hard times. So exactly who are you?”
A number of retorts came to her, most of them originating from the stable. She had learned a very colorful vocabulary of curses from her father’s stable lads, but she tried to keep them to herself. It was a cold spring day, but he was radiating heat, and those exotic eyes of his were very…disturbing.
“I’m someone who is going to make your designs on Miss Chipple impossible to carry out,” she said. “So cast your lures elsewhere.”
He laughed. Like everything about him, his laugh was enticing. “That sounds like a challenge. And a gentleman never resists a challenge.”
“But I thought we’d