by Julia Quinn
“And you think I’m spoiled and self-centered to make you jump through hoops to prove something to me? I can assure you, Maximilian, that I am not—”
“Yes, I did think you were spoiled—until ten minutes into our acquaintance. Or reacquaintance, rather.” Grinning, he wiped a smudge of butter from her lower lip with his thumb, because he couldn’t seem to get past the desire, the need, to touch her.
“And what stupendous thing did I say to alter your opinion of me?”
“You saw my attire, heard my declarations, and then refused me because you didn’t know my character.”
To his surprise, she set aside the remainder of her meal and stood. “So I passed your test,” she said, wiping her hands and pulling on her mittens again, “but you haven’t passed mine. And unfortunately, you can’t. Not while Halfurst remains in Yorkshire.”
Back to that again, were they? Maximilian took a deep breath as he rose. “Keep reminding yourself of that, Anne Elizabeth,” he murmured, tucking her against him as they left the bakery. Whether because of the cold or because she liked being touched by him, she didn’t object. “Make it your battle cry. Whenever you see me, when you taste my mouth on yours, when you feel my hands on your bare skin, Anne, remind yourself that Halfurst remains in Yorkshire, and that so do I.”
“I will,” she said in an unsteady voice. “And it is argument enough.”
They reached the front steps of Bishop House, and Lambert opened the door. Anne would have freed her arm from his, but Maximilian caught her, drawing her up against his chest. “I don’t intend to give up the advantage that being engaged to you gives me, Anne,” he said softly, and lowered his mouth to hers.
As he lifted his head from her, Anne’s eyes were closed, her soft lips parted in warmth and invitation. Good God, what was he getting himself into? An arranged marriage wasn’t supposed to feel so…arousing.
“We’ll go for a carriage ride tomorrow,” he forced himself to say, readjusting her cloak and barely able to keep himself from pulling her back into his arms.
“I…I have plans already.”
“Cancel them. And tomorrow I will kiss you good morning again.”
The deepening color in her fine cheeks aroused him even further. Thank Lucifer for heavy, caped coats. He pulled his closer around his front.
“You’re very sure of yourself, Maximilian.”
“No, my lady, I’m very sure of you.”
Chapter 4
On Sunday, Lord Halfurst was spied paying a call upon Lady Anne Bishop.
On Monday, Lord Halfurst was spied paying a call upon Lady Anne Bishop.
On Tuesday, Lord Halfurst was spied paying a call upon Lady Anne Bishop.
This Author must deliver this column to the printer prior to Wednesday morning, but truly, does anyone think This Author would be lacking in journalistic integrity if the following were written Tuesday eve:
On Wednesday, Lord Halfurst was spied paying a call upon Lady Anne Bishop.
No? This Author thought not.
LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS, 2 FEBRUARY 1814
“There is no imminent marriage.”
Lord Daven opened and closed his mouth. “I beg your pardon?”
“I told him that you would not force me to marry him.” Anne took a deep breath, gazing at her father’s stony expression. Best just to get it over with. “I told you I didn’t want to go to Yorkshire.”
“Slow down a moment, Annie. If you…refused him—which I can’t believe you did without consulting me—then why has Halfurst continued to call on you?”
She looked at her toes. “He’s wooing me,” she mumbled.
“I’m not as young as I used to be, daughter, so for God’s sake speak up!”
“He’s wooing me,” she repeated in a louder voice, lifting her head again. “That’s what he says, anyway.”
The earl’s lips twitched.
“Are you laughing at me, Papa?”
“At the moment, yes, I am.” He sat back in his chair, a rare smile softening his features. “Just be aware that Maximilian Trent is not his father.”
That stopped her, and she returned to her own seat. “What do you mean by that?”
“Oh no, you don’t. You’ve kept me out of this, and so you can just continue to do so. As far as I’m concerned about it, all I meant was that you shouldn’t think he does anything frivolously, my dear. He hasn’t come to be where he is by accident.”
Scowling, Anne leaned forward. “Papa, where is he, and how do you know? You haven’t even mentioned his name in a year.”
The earl chuckled. “Let’s just say that I’ve followed his career more closely than you have, Annie. I’ve written him letters, and he’s written back.” He opened the accounts book on his desk. “Now if you don’t mind, I have some work to do.”
“You aren’t being very helpful.”
“Hm. Neither have you been. You might have asked my advice before you told him what I would or wouldn’t do.”
Still frowning, Anne left the office for the more congenial domain of the morning room. She’d expected her father to be livid when he’d finally summoned her to discuss Lord Halfurst. Maximilian. The sheep farmer, who apparently had some secrets.
She’d barely picked up her embroidery when Lambert scratched at the door. “Come in,” she called, smoothing her skirt and trying to pretend that her heart wasn’t racing. He’d come calling every day, and Lord and Lady Moreland’s skating party on the Thames was that afternoon.
The butler entered. “My lady, Lord Howard is here to inquire whether you are at home.”
“Lord Howard? Yes, of course.” She’d barely thought of Desmond in almost a week, except to cancel the museum visit he’d suggested.
The viscount entered, still shaking snow from his tawny hair. “Anne,” he said with a smile, coming forward to take her hand, “I’m pleased to find you home.”
“Yes, I’m afraid I’ve been rather occupied the past few days.”
“Monopolized is more like it,” Desmond returned. “May I sit?”
“Of course.”
He took a seat in one of the overstuffed chairs, while she sat opposite him on the couch. She’d known him since her debut in London, and as she thought about it, he’d always been available to dance with, to escort her to various soirées and fireworks displays, and most of the other amusements the town had to offer.
“Do you attend the Moreland skating party?” he asked.
“I’m invited. I haven’t yet decided whether I—”
“You mean Halfurst hasn’t asked to escort you yet.”
“Desmond, I am obligated to spend a certain amount of time with him.”
The viscount lurched to his feet, striding to the window and back. “I don’t see why you should feel obligated to him at all. You’ve told me again and again how he’s ignored you for your entire life.” Abruptly he sat beside her, taking her hand in his. “Which makes me wonder—why is he here now, in London?”
A little uneasy at Lord Howard’s outburst, she frowned. “He read about me making snow angels with Sir Royce Pemberly.”
His grip on her hand tightened. “That explains it. He perceived that another man had an interest in you, and hurried to London to make certain he still had a claim on you—and your money.”
Whatever his monetary situation, Maximilian obviously had enough blunt to purchase an all-new wardrobe and to open his house on High Street again. On the other hand, she knew of some families completely without funds who had still managed to dissemble for years before the truth came out.
“In all honesty, my lord, you’re the only one who’s mentioned Lord Halfurst’s money problems.”
“Ha. You don’t expect him to tell you, do you? And if it’s not money he’s after, why hasn’t he acceded to your wishes, dissolved your parents’ agreement, and married one of the other chits who’ve been throwing themselves at him since he returned to London?”
Other women had been pursuing
Maximilian? She’d had no idea. When they were together, all his attention seemed so…focused on her. “What do you suggest I do, then, Desmond?”
He leaned closer, near enough that his cheek touched her hair. “Whatever Halfurst’s motives, Anne, we both know you don’t belong in Yorkshire. And he isn’t the only man who would welcome your affections.”
With that, he brushed his lips against her cheek. When Anne looked at him, startled, he repeated the motion, this time against her lips.
Other than stunned surprise, the first thought to cross her mind was that with Lord Howard she didn’t have to stop herself from flinging her arms around his neck. She didn’t crave a deepening of the embrace, or even a repeat of it. “Please stop that,” she said, pulling her hand free and standing.
He stood at the same time. “I beg your pardon, Anne. I…allowed my feelings to dictate my actions.” The viscount seized her hand again. “Please forgive me.”
“Of course,” she returned, relieved that this oddness was over. “We are friends.”
He smiled again, relief in his sky blue eyes. “Yes, we are friends. And as your friend, please allow me to escort you to the Moreland party. Whatever you decide about Halfurst, there’s no reason you can’t spend one afternoon simply enjoying yourself.”
Well, he was right about that. Intriguing and tantalizing as she was coming to find Maximilian’s company, she couldn’t forget that he meant to take her off to Yorkshire. And if he followed his previous pattern, it would be at least six years before she saw London again. How could she bear that?
“Yes,” she stated. “I would be happy to attend the Moreland skating party with you.”
“Thank you, Anne. I’ll come by for you at noon.”
As he left, Anne turned to look at Daisy, seated in one corner and ostensibly sewing a stocking. “Do more gentlemen seem to be kissing me, lately?”
“Yes, my lady. None so well as Lord Halfurst, though.”
“What?”
“You said yourself, my lady, that he kisses quite well.”
She sighed. “Yes, I did, didn’t I?”
Not ten minutes later, Lambert scratched at the open door again. “Lord Halfurst is here to see you, my lady.”
Warmth swept beneath her skin. “Please show him in, Lambert.”
Maximilian paused in the morning room doorway as the butler stepped back to allow him through. Soon he wouldn’t have to ask anyone’s damned permission to enter a room and see her. Soon he wouldn’t have to stop at a kiss, and he wouldn’t have to imagine what lay beneath the tantalizing curves of her gown.
“Good morning,” he said, crossing the room as she stood.
“Good morning.”
Already her gaze was focused on his mouth. Maximilian wrapped an iron fist around the abrupt desire to lay her down on the couch and make her his in more than just an old agreement on paper. Stroking her cheek with the back of one finger, he leaned down and touched his mouth to hers. Keenly aware of the maid seated in the corner, he held back, ending the kiss far sooner than he wanted to.
Her fingers had wrapped into his lapel, and she’d pulled herself close against his chest, so that he could feel the swell of her breasts as she took a deep breath. Sweet Lucifer, he should have come to London the moment she’d turned eighteen, whatever his personal feelings about the place and the people. He shouldn’t have stayed away, no matter how much he disliked it, because by doing so he’d missed nearly two years of knowing Anne Bishop.
The maid cleared her throat. With a start, Anne released him and took a step backward. “Good morning.”
He smiled. “You said that already.”
“Did I? I forgot.”
“Then perhaps you forgot our kiss as well, and I should remind you.”
She closed her eyes for a brief moment. “I don’t think that would be wise,” she whispered, gazing up at him again.
“Amen,” the maid muttered.
Maximilian glanced over at her. Daisy was right, as was Anne. He needed to show restraint; he’d already realized that pushing his betrothed only made her push back. And he had no intention of letting her get away now.
“Very well,” he said, reluctance making him sigh. “Then might I instead ask you to join me this afternoon? I’ve been invited to an ice skating party on the Thames.”
Her fine cheeks paled. “Oh.”
Suspicion tightened the muscles across his shoulders. “What is it?”
“I’ve…Lord Howard was here earlier. I agreed to attend with him.”
Damn that buffoon. “You kiss me, and you make plans with him?”
“She kissed him, too,” the maid blurted, and ducked her head.
“Daisy!”
“What?’’
Anne took several more steps backward. “I didn’t kiss him. He kissed me.”
Maximilian clenched his fists. “Has he kissed you before?”
“No! Of course not.”
He believed her, but anger continued to charge through his muscles and his nerves. Desmond Howard had touched her, and she’d agreed to go skating with the bastard. “I’m not playing a game with you, Anne,” he said stiffly. “And I would appreciate if you would do me the courtesy of not playing one with me.”
“I wasn’t—”
“Enjoy your skating.” Too annoyed and too bloody frustrated to continue conversing in anything resembling polite tones, Maximilian turned on his heel to stalk back down the hallway, grab his coat and hat from the surprised butler, and stride back out to the street.
Cursing, he swung up on Kraken and trotted back toward Trent House. One damned thing was certain; he was going ice skating on the Thames that afternoon. Lord Howard might have the edge for the moment, but Anne Bishop belonged to him.
Anne sat between Theresa and Pauline on the bench provided for the ladies. The Morelands had invited nearly a hundred guests from the looks of it, and she fervently hoped the ice of the new-frozen Thames would hold all the resulting weight.
“I’ve been doing a gender count,” Pauline whispered, as her maid helped her fasten the ice skates over her boots.
“What did you expect?” Anne returned in the same low voice, for Lord and Lady Moreland were only a short distance away at the end of Swan Lane Pier. The orchestra they’d hired for the outing seemed absurd in the extreme, but at least they were on the pier and not adding to the strain on the ice.
“What do you mean?” Theresa asked, tentatively standing in the last inches of snow before the river ice began.
“One hundred guests, and nearly seventy-five of them are female,” Pauline said dryly. “What do you think it means?”
“Oh. Donald again.”
For the past four years Viscount and Lady Moreland had been holding off-Season soirées, presumably because most of the other young bucks would be elsewhere, in hopes of convincing some young lady that their son, Donald Spence, was a fine catch. Everyone knew the ruse, and obviously no one was fishing. Each year the ratio of female to male guests grew greater, but still no one had fallen for Donald’s lackluster charms. Anne had already spent ten minutes conversing with him, having been cornered nearly the moment she descended from Desmond’s carriage. It seemed to be the price of admission to the soirée, but if anything he’d grown duller since last she’d seen him.
“Here comes Lord Howard,” Pauline muttered. “I’m off. Wish me luck.”
“Don’t break anything,” Anne called after her. The warning was unnecessary; Pauline swished across the ice as though she’d been doing it daily for years.
Lord Howard trudged over from the men’s bench as Anne climbed to her feet. She hadn’t skated in ages and barely then, but from the look of some of the other guests, Pauline excluded, she wasn’t the only unsteady one.
“Shall we?” Desmond asked, offering his hand.
Her ermine muff hanging from the ribbon about her neck, and her right hand tightly gripping his arm, Anne nodded. They stepped onto the ice together, and thankfully she didn
’t collapse as they glided forward in a fairly competent fashion.
“Oh, this is fun,” she exclaimed, relief making her chuckle.
“And even better, all chaperones must remain on the bank.” Desmond slipped his arm free of her grip and skated a slow circle around her. “Green velvet becomes you,” he said, continuing his circles. “And the cold brings roses to your cheeks. You are breathtaking, Anne.”
That odd feeling started in her gut again. This was not how friends spoke to each other. “You look very fine yourself, Lord Howard,” she returned, keeping the smile on her lips. “And I think you’ve been practicing your skating. You far outshine me.”
“Nothing could.”
Trying to gather her thoughts, Anne looked across the ice. Fifty or so guests had joined them already on the cold surface. As she watched, Moreland servants in socks emerged onto the Thames, pushing carts of sandwiches and Madeira before them while the orchestra launched into a country dance.
“You haven’t answered me,” the viscount said from behind her.
She shook herself. “Beg pardon. Answered you about what?”
His sky blue eyes narrowed for a brief moment as he passed in front of her, then cleared again. “I have to rescind my earlier apology, Anne. I did mean to kiss you.”
Oh no. “Please stop circling,” she snapped. “You’re making me dizzy.”
Immediately he returned to her side, taking her hand again as they neared the far bank and the higher piles of snow there. “Perhaps it’s your feelings making you dizzy. I know this must be unexpected, but we have been friends for some time now. Surely you’ve realized my admiration and regard for you.”
Anne swallowed. His recent declarations that he would never remove her from London and that he feared for her happiness in Maximilian’s company abruptly made sense. It wasn’t friendship he was after. “Desmond—”
“Damn him,” the viscount cut in. “How did he manage to get invited? Obviously the Morelands had no idea what they were doing.”
