The Wicked Wallflowers

by Tammy Andresen

  “Your father is the famous inventor?” Finding an open spot on the floor, he took her waist as he reached for her hand. He began the steps to the waltz, swinging her about with a power and grace that left her breathless.

  “Notorious might be the better word,” she answered. He’d managed to invent a farming tool that had made them money, though it had long ago been spent. And that success had only fueled her father’s resolve. He spent larger and larger amounts of time on his designs rather than his duties.

  Lord Harding’s eyes scrunched as he considered her words. His large hand covered her entire back, making her hot in the strangest way. “He created a new shovel of some sort?”

  Heat burst in her cheeks. She’d been proud of her father in one respect. He had a great mind. In terms of finances, however, he couldn’t be bothered and his inventions cost far more to build and produce than they ever made. And in terms of his daughter, he cared even less than he did about his duties to the barony. “It was a hoe, actually with a wheel at its center to help turn over soil faster.”

  He gave a stiff nod. “If the gossip is correct, he’s bankrupted your family in the pursuit of science.”

  The heat in her cheeks spread to her neck. Gossip was in this case, correct. They had enough from the residual sale of his creations to live on the entailed property of the barony but that was the extent of it. In fact, she’d adopted a nom de plume with which to publish scientific papers in order to buy food and other essentials.

  There had been no money for dresses, or dowries. There was very little chance she would marry. Annabelle didn’t know how she felt about that. She wasn’t always certain she wanted to live under the umbrella of another man. What made her even more furious was that her father had also invested so little in her education. Being a man of science, and watching his daughter’s agile mind, one might have thought he’d done more to foster her natural curiosity. But this was not an opinion she shared with anyone. “We have a home. We have enough to eat and even manage to keep on a few servants.” Not many. Just the two who stayed more for loyalty than anything else. “I’m afraid the rumors surrounding me are correct.” She leaned a little closer. “Are they true about you as well?”

  * * *

  Luke tightened again. What did this woman want? “No. They are not.”

  She pressed her lips together, puffing out as she assessed him with a careful eye. “Is that so?”

  “You don’t believe me?” He spun her again, his fingers flexing on the silk of her dress. Her back felt lovely. Its gentle curve held his hand as though it had been made just for him. It fit his fingers perfectly. “Not that it matters.”

  She swept her gaze down his face in a way that made him feel slightly exposed. People saw his size, his scar, and they rarely looked at him. But the intelligent glint in her eye told him she saw through where most people stopped. “Your breathing is normal. That would indicate you’re not lying. Your eyes aren’t dilated.” She studied him for a few seconds more. “You appear to be telling the truth.”

  Satisfaction rumbled in his chest. Why did he like that she believed him? “Thank you?” he answered. “But it begs another question. Why do you care?”

  She nibbled her lip as she looked up at him, her eyes growing larger before darting away. “I’m just curious. That’s all.”

  If he had appeared to be telling the truth then she appeared to be a pretty little liar. Her creamy skin flushed with pink and her gown exposed a decent amount of her chest. The blush crept down her neck and over her chest, disappearing under the neckline. He had the ridiculous urge to sweep one finger under the fabric to see how far the heat of her blush extended. He forced his gaze back up to meet hers. What the bloody hell was wrong with him? “Curious? That’s why you stared at me from behind a plant for nearly an hour?”

  He spun her again and Luke swore that he heard her gulp. “I wasn’t—”

  “You most certainly were.” He leaned down, his nose close to hers. “Your breathing is ragged and your pupils have definitely dilated.”

  She drew in a little gasp. “I didn’t expect you to be so intelligent.”

  His eyebrows shot up at her confession. Was she judging his intelligence? He’d known a few sharp women in his life, his mother the best of them. He supposed he’d also known a few smart men. But as a general rule, the women were not regarded for their intellect. Not that he shared that opinion. “No one mentioned that about you either. But I wonder. Do you often go about telling men where they fall in their mental capabilities?”

  “Heavens no.” She squeezed his arm lightly. He looked down at her gloved hand, her graceful fingers long and so delicate. “The less intelligent a man, the more likely he is to respond unfavorably to such observations.”

  That made him smile, just a little. It was an excellent point. “Wouldn’t you if someone questioned your intelligence?”

  “I am a woman. Most men think I have none and those that presume I have some question it incessantly.” Her pretty, full pink lips tipped up at one corner.

  He started to laugh, then stopped. He never laughed in public and rarely at home. How had she done that? Then he realized she’d completely distracted him from the conversation they’d been having. “You intentionally changed the subject.”

  “I did not. In fact, you promised me that I’d regret dancing with you, but you’ve yet to explain why.”

  She was doing it again. Attempting to distract him. How annoying and…interesting. He begrudgingly had to admit that she was not dull. His mother had been sharp-witted as well, a fact that his father had found infuriating. Just thinking about his father made his insides clench and bile fill his mouth. “Everyone is staring at us. I think the answer as to why you would regret our dance is evident.”

  She swept the room with her gaze and then her eyes came back to his. “You’ve got me there. I was much safer behind the fern.”

  “You’ll be the talk of London tomorrow. Dancing with the Scarred Marquess. The man whose dark soul destroys debutantes and frightens children.” He couldn’t quite keep the bitterness from his voice. It left his mouth dry and pasty.

  “As will you,” she answered softly. “The Scarred Marquess and the Destitute Bluestocking. I can already see the gossip page headlines.”

  He stiffened in displeasure as his gaze narrowed. Something he’d been hunting around the edge of came into focus. She wanted to be seen with him. She’d asked him to dance, she’d kept him engaged in conversation. Women did not seek him out ever unless they were interested in his title or his wealth. She had done a better job than most in appearing interested in him rather than his assets. Clever girl. If she cried ruin, he’d have a much harder time denying her claim. She was destitute, in need of saving, and his position was weaker than normal.

  “Yes. We’ll be linked, won’t we?” He straightened and pulled away, his posture stiffening as he put more distance between them.

  She studied him from an angle. “I suppose that’s one way to look at the situation.”

  The music ended and Luke came to an abrupt halt. He’d be damned if this woman was going to trap him into anything. He tucked her hand in his elbow again and began leading her back to her party. “It was lovely to meet you, Lady Annabelle.”

  “You as well,” she answered, sounding slightly breathless. “Perhaps we’ll see each other again?”

  He shook his head stiffly. Of course she was trying to elicit another meeting. “I doubt it. I rarely come to such affairs and I’ll return to my country estate soon enough. I only came tonight to prove I was innocent by not hiding—” He stopped abruptly already having revealed too much.

  “Oh.” Her feet faltered and he slowed his pace. He wasn’t trying to be mean. The truth of the matter was that he’d have to marry eventually. It was his duty and that was one thing he took seriously. And Annabelle was lovely. But he couldn’t be with a woman like her. She was far too dangerous.

  Chapter Three

  Annabelle’s s
tomach clenched as she and Lord Harding exited the floor. She’d said something wrong but what? He’d been relaxing in her company, slowly but surely. Then, all of a sudden, he’d completely changed, stiffening up again.

  Oddly, she found she liked him, and disappointment made her nibble her lip. Not only did he not share her feelings but she wasn’t going to be able to research him if she couldn’t spend time in his company.

  “If you don’t go to many social events, what do you do?” she asked, attempting one last time to set up another meeting.

  He gave her a sideways glance. “I run my affairs.”

  Not helpful. “And what does that entail?”

  He let out a small but sharp breath. The kind that told her he’d grown tired of her questions. “Reports. Papers. Ledgers.”

  She cocked a brow. “So you don’t leave your house? You only came out tonight to dispel the rumors?”

  He stopped then, turning toward her. “That’s none of your concern.” He bent his head down. “Lady Annabelle. I have no intention of seeing you again so you can cease fishing.”

  Drat. Had she been that obvious? “I am simply trying to learn about you, my lord. Is that so wrong?”

  A muscle in his jaw ticked. “When I eventually marry, it will be to a woman of excellent social standing with a large dowry that benefits my land and my people. I apologize for my blunt response, but I have no wish to give you false hope.”

  Dear lord. The man thought she was trying to garner a proposal from him. She nearly laughed out loud but managed to refrain. Her cheeks, however, still shared her amusement and she felt them pull into a grin. “Lord Harding. I’ve no wish to marry you. Sincerely, I’m not sure I wish to marry at all. My father has not been a shining example of how a woman benefits from being dependent on a man.”

  His brow furrowed and his mouth twisted as though he didn’t believe her. “Then why did you ask me to dance? It’s a highly unconventional move.”

  “I’m not a conventional woman,” she replied, forcing herself to keep still. She wanted to shift on her feet but that would be another signal that she was nervous because she did have an ulterior motive.

  “We can dance about all night where you answer without really answering, but I’ve grown tired of the game.” He turned and started toward Chloe and Fin again.

  Drat, she was losing him. “Fair enough. I am equally tired of your company.”

  He stopped again. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Did I hurt your pride?” She lifted her brows. “I was curious about the man who ruins debutantes and then attends a ball where he stares down partygoers.”

  His mouth fell open, pulling at the scar on his face. She’d hardly noticed it, but she wondered if it bothered him. He had referenced being scarred specifically. She had the urge to run her finger along the line that cut his face from eye to mouth as if to soothe away the hurt she sensed. “I’ll have you know that I did not ruin her. I’ve never even met the woman. And I won’t allow a girl to force me into a match just because she claims a falsehood.” His spine straightened with every word, his voice growing louder.

  His words rang with truth. Annabelle pursed her lips. People were staring. A lot of them. Chloe and Fin had gotten up and stood not two feet away wearing matching looks of horror.

  “Annie?” Chloe asked quietly.

  She didn’t reply to her friend. Instead she stared at Lord Harding. “Well you told me.” Then she swallowed, her throat working. “You said I would regret dancing with you.” Leaning forward, she dropped her voice. “I don’t.”

  His eyes widened as she unthread her hand from his arm. “You should,” he finally pushed out in a harsh whisper.

  She gave her head a little shake. “I’ll see you again soon, Lord Harding.”

  That made him snap straight. “You won’t, Lady Annabelle.”

  He didn’t know her and so he had no idea how wrong he was. “We shall see about that.” Annabelle still didn’t know if he was or wasn’t a rake. She had to remind herself that was her primary goal because another thought was taking seed. He was a challenge. So few men were, and she found herself honestly excited at the thought of seeing him again.

  Chloe held out her hand and Annabelle took it, stepping into the small circle of her friends. “We shan’t.” Harding called from the spot she’d left him. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave me be.”

  Annabelle turned back just in time to see him stalking through the crowd as it parted for him. Her heart thrummed in her chest as her hand floated to the base of her neck. Was she afraid or excited?

  “Oh Annie,” Chloe said next to her, her voice quavering. “I told you to stay away from him. Was he that horrid the entire time?”

  “No,” she answered, still watching him. “He was actually quite…interesting.” Invigorating, challenging, handsome, large. A thousand other words crowded her lips. He must be a rake. Why else was she so thoroughly intrigued?

  “Interesting?” Fin rumbled, his voice naturally low and deep, which added drama to everything he uttered. “I’ll give him credit on one account. He’s a successful landowner and businessman. I’ve a meeting with him in two days to discuss a joint shipping deal for some of the crops we harvest.”

  “What?” Annabelle turned to her friend’s husband, her fingers tingling with the anticipation that suddenly sparked through her.

  “Don’t tell her,” Chloe snatched her hand again. “He isn’t a man to trifle with.”

  She gave Fin a long look, but he only shrugged in response. Annabelle wanted to stamp her foot. Fin would not go against Chloe and so he wouldn’t tell.

  When she didn’t answer, Chloe huffed. “Just last week, he was reported to have had an altercation with Lord Bixby. Bixby ended up with his ribs broken. Harding has a terrible temper. Everyone knows it.”

  Annabelle cocked her head to the side. “Fin had an altercation not too long ago where he broke a man’s nose. Does that make your husband bad?”

  “You know Fin had a very good reason for that,” Chloe fired back

  Fin did have a very good reason. The question was did Harding have a good reason or was he a rake and scoundrel? Annabelle had ways of finding out.

  * * *

  Luke left the party and went straight to his club. He didn’t frequent the establishment often, but tonight he was too restless to return home.

  Try as he might to forget the woman who’d just stormed into his life, he could not get the feel of her, her scent, or her wit out of his thoughts. Then he smiled. She hadn’t stormed…no. She’d snuck in, half hidden behind a fern, completely shrouded in mystery. Well, for a bit. He was fairly certain he’d discovered her motives until they were about to part. She’d tossed several barbs his way and knocked him off kilter all over again.

  Which was odd. No one unbalanced him. At least not since his father. He’d learned long ago how to create a shell that everyone bounced off of. How had she pierced that shell right from the very beginning?

  And just when he’d had the upper hand, she’d changed tactics again, insulting him. Did I hurt your pride? Were those the words of a women looking for a husband? Or did she just understand exactly how to keep poking at him?

  He sighed and ordered a whisky. Rubbing his temples, he caught a whiff of smoke and frowned. The scent was blocking out his memory of summer grass and…

  Bloody hell. Lady Annabelle really had gotten under his skin. He knew why. Though she looked nothing like his mother, Annabelle had the same air about her. Intelligent and funny, she was full of life. His heart constricted. Losing his mother at the age of ten had brought him to his knees.

  He shook the memories away. Whatever she wanted from him, it wasn’t genuine. She was playing him, and he couldn’t allow that.

  His drink arrived and he took a large swig, letting the calming burn work its way down his throat. He’d leave London at the end of the week. Summer was coming and he needed to be back for the planting anyhow. With an entire countr
y between them, he’d forget about Lady Annabelle and the way her waist had molded to his hand.

  He gave a low groan under his breath and then took another swallow.

  “Drinking alone?”

  He looked to the side to see Lord Pierson Marksman standing next to him. His lips curled. Pierce was the sort of chap that had all the flashy good looks that set women atwitter. The man knew it too. Always smiling as though the world were his toy. Luke had travelled in the same circles as the baron for many years, but the two hardly knew one another. “It’s my favorite way.”

  “Really?” Pierce said as he sat down. “I prefer company.”

  He let out a low rumbling breath. “That wasn’t an invitation.”

  Pierce shrugged. “I don’t care. I pay for this club same as you. I’ll sit where I like.”

  “Fine,” he replied standing. Pierce wasn’t man enough to outwit him. Then again, Annie wasn’t a man at all, and she’d done a pretty fair job.

  “Wait.” Pierce stood too. “Please sit. I’d like to talk for a moment.”

  Luke gave a single jerk of his chin. That was more like it. Why hadn’t he been able to do that with Annabelle? Get her to just tell him in a straightforward manner what she wanted. “Talk about what?”

  Pierce rubbed his jaw. “Is it true that you danced with Lady Annabelle this evening?”

  Jealousy hot and white burst behind his eyes. “What’s it to you?” A man like Pierce shouldn’t go anywhere near Annabelle. First, she was likely to misbehave. Which was fine in his company, but a man like Pierce? He’d take advantage. There was no doubt.

  Pierce held up his hands. “I am simply asking.” The man licked his lips then pressed them together. “My interest isn’t romantic, not for Lady Annabelle but…”

  Luke leaned over, his face now inches from Pierce’s. “But?”