The Devil's Waltz. Anne Stuart
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Why were all the men so short and she so tall? Except for someone like Montcalm, who was out of reach and unacceptable?
She dashed that thought out of her brain instantly. She’d been around matchmakers too long—why in the world was she thinking such thoughts in terms of herself? She was about to give him a look of smug triumph when she realized the cool green of his eyes did not appear particularly amused.
“Miss Chipple had promised me this dance,” he said. “I don’t like having my plans thwarted.”
“I imagine you don’t,” she said sharply. “There are any number of women who would be more than happy to dance with you.”
“And only one who’d hate it beyond belief,” he said. And before she realized what he was doing he’d taken her hand and swung her onto the dance floor.
She hadn’t danced in years. Certainly not since her father’s death. She should have fumbled, tripped, but dancing had always been one of her few gifts and the steps came back to her by instinct. She should have pulled away, and indeed, she felt dozens of curious gazes in their direction, but the hand that held hers was very strong and Christian wasn’t about to let her go. He wasn’t the sort of man to give in and having a struggle on the dance floor would be undignified and unwinnable.
“Everybody is staring,” she said in a whisper. “Let go of my hand.”
“I wanted to dance. You robbed me of a partner—it’s your duty to replace her—”
“Not with me!” she whispered, horrified. It couldn’t have been a worse dance. It was one of the newer dances, one where the partners always remained with each other, always touching. If it had been a quadrille she could have easily slipped away, but his fingers gripped her tightly, and he wasn’t about to release her.
At least they were on the edge of the dance floor and not in the middle, where Hetty was enjoying herself just a bit too noisily for all to see. She’d have to caution her about laughing too loudly, Annelise thought absently as she turned gracefully. She would do so as soon as she managed to get away from this awful man. At least they were moving back now, beyond the curtains toward the balcony, where no one would see them.
It wasn’t until he’d swept her out into the chilly darkness of the terrace when she’d realized this was not a good idea after all. There were no witnesses to her embarrassment, but no witnesses to stop him, either. Stop him from what? Tossing her over the side, two flights down to the street below? They’d whispered of frightful things….
He came to a halt, but he still hadn’t released her. “This is the second time you’ve gotten in my way, dragon,” he said, his voice a drawling caress. “I don’t like being frustrated.”
“You’ll have to get used to it as long as I’m around. I’m not letting you near Miss Hetty.”
“Why not? Clearly the girl will be married for her money. With that background her pretty face won’t be enough to lure much of a title, which must be her father’s intention.”
“True—” Annelise said, tugging her hand from his strong hold surreptitiously. His gloved hand was still on her arm and he didn’t seem in any mood to let her go. “—but with the money then she can at least find a respectable suitor, and you, sir, do not qualify as such.”
“Ah, but not everyone likes respectable. I’m convinced Miss Chipple is enjoying the consternation she causes when she flirts with me.”
“I’m not enjoying it,” Annelise said crossly. “Will you please let go of me?”
“Not yet,” he drawled. “I came to this insufferably boring party for the sole purpose of furthering my suit with your flighty young heiress and you’ve botched that entirely. I think you and I have to come to an understanding.”
“I consider that highly unlikely.”
“I intend to marry your silly little charge. I need the money, and I have little doubt that she’d choose me above all the men she’s met so far in London. She has a fascination for danger, and anything you say to discourage her will have the opposite effect.”
“I won’t argue with that.” Why wouldn’t he release her? Why did the warmth of his hand spread through the thin kid gloves he was wearing so that it almost seared her skin? “You’re quite dazzling in a tawdry, ne’er-do-well sort of way,” she continued, “but it’s not going to be her choice.”
She’d managed to silence him. He stared at her in astonishment. “Tawdry?” he choked.
“Young girls are always attracted to rakes,” Annelise stated in practical tones she was far from feeling. “Which is why wiser heads rule attachments of this sort. If her father doesn’t realize how unsuitable you are I’ll make certain he’s informed of it. You’ll have to look elsewhere for your fortune.”
She didn’t like that gleam in his eyes. Beautiful eyes, tinged with green and gold, and sly like a cat’s. “I don’t know of any other heiresses who’ve chosen to arrive in London this season,” Montcalm said. “Unless you’re possessed of a tidy income, dragon—”
“I haven’t a penny.”
“Too bad. I could have enjoyed making you eat your words,” he murmured in a voice far too affectionate. He reached up and flicked the lace cap surrounding her face like a nun’s wimple. “And what the devil is this? You weren’t wearing it in the park this afternoon.”
“I wasn’t wearing anything at all in the park this afternoon.” The moment the words were out of her mouth she could have bit them back, but he did no more than raise an eyebrow. “That is, I ran out without a hat or cloak. I am a lady of a certain age and this lace cap denotes my position…”
He ripped it off her head and sent it sailing over the side of the terrace. She watched it drop to the ground with mixed feelings. It was made of very fine lace. It made her feel eighty years old, and she was not yet thirty. “Exactly what color is your hair, dragon?”
Enough was enough. “Gray,” she snapped, yanking her arm from his. He still didn’t release her. She took a deep, calming breath, picturing herself as a starched and disapproving governess. “Mr. Montcalm, you have no interest in what color my hair is or whether or not I have a fortune. I am certain you have an innate sense of who is worthy prey for your schemes, and I hardly qualify. I realize I frustrated your plans for the evening, and while I can’t apologize, you can surely see that this is getting us nowhere. Please let go of me and I’ll return to the party.”
There was an absolute stillness about his face that made her stomach tighten nervously. He was an astonishingly handsome man—there was no doubt of that whatsoever. With his high cheekbones, exotic green eyes and soft, beguiling lips, it was little wonder that he managed to enthrall an impressionable young thing like Hetty Chipple. Indeed, if Annelise were ten years younger and just a little more foolish she might be distracted, at least momentarily, by the laugh lines around his eyes, by the way he looked at a woman, which doubtless had to be dispensed to all women in his vicinity because he could hardly be looking at her in any particular way, could he? He had nothing to gain.
“Ah, dragon,” he murmured. “You underestimate yourself. You do your best to convince the world that you’re a stiff old maid, when I doubt you’re much older than me.”
“I beg your pardon! I’m twenty-nine!” she said, goaded. Deliberately, she realized belatedly.
“Not such a great age after all. Then think of me as a wise elder, dispensing advice. Don’t enter into battles you can’t win. You’re outmanned and outgunned when it comes to Hetty Chipple. I will have her. I don’t care what lengths I have to go to in order to marry her, but I’ve never been one to be squeamish. I’m afraid I can be quite ruthless.”
She believed him and her own sense of certainty began to falter. She had never been a coward or a quitter, but this was starting to look like a fight she might lose. And indeed, what business was it of hers? Josiah Chipple