He sauntered across the verandah, and leaning his forearms atop the stone balustrade, stared down into the darkened landscape. The evening had gone well enough so far. The three ladies Annabelle had introduced him to certainly seemed promising. But if they were so promising, why weren’t any of them the one woman he was still thinking about? A vision of Annabelle in her glowing golden gown and matching gloves danced through his mind. Her laugh. The tone of her voice. The elegant arch of her neck. The way her mouth quirked up in that endearing little smile. He couldn’t stop thinking about any of it. Damned inconvenient. The woman had already made it quite clear that she was singularly uninterested in being courted. And if she were, he’d no doubt be the last man in London she’d be interested in, given his inexperience and lack of decorum. She’d just taken him to task for cutting in, for Christ’s sake. So why was he standing here wanting to court her? Was it merely that he’d always wanted what he couldn’t have? Or was Annabelle special? Unlike any of the other ladies in the stuffy ballroom. A breath of air as fresh as the ones he was inhaling at the moment.
A slight noise in the bushes below caught his attention and he leaned farther to see Annabelle herself walking in the darkened gardens. She was making her way to the nearby staircase that led up to him.
David briefly considered returning to the house before she made it up the stairs. That would be the right thing to do. The intelligent thing to do. But apparently, he was neither right nor intelligent this evening, because when Annabelle stepped onto the verandah, David was standing with his back against the balustrade, his arms tightly crossed over his chest.
“Lost?” he asked, smiling at her sweetly.
Annabelle lifted her chin. “There were too many people on the other side of the house. I was…looking for more privacy.”
“Sorry to keep you from it with my presence,” he drawled.
“We shouldn’t be seen together,” Annabelle replied.
David glanced around. “No one else is here. How would we be seen?” He gave her another patient smile.
Annabelle lifted her skirts and marched past him. “I’m afraid you don’t know how the ton works. If someone were to happen outside and see us together, there would be gossip.”
David stopped her with a hand to her shoulder. “There’s already gossip,” he replied. “And besides, I was under the impression that we’d have to be doing something compromising to be the subject of real gossip.”
Annabelle inhaled sharply the moment his hand touched her. She was staring ahead into the crowded, brightly lit ballroom, struggling against the desire to lean back against him.
“That’s true,” she finally allowed. “I suppose as long as we remain a decent length apart and are merely talking to one another…” She moved several paces away from him along the balustrade and turned to face him.
“Very well. You stay there and I’ll stay here.” He motioned to the distance between them. “Did you enjoy your dance with Lord Murdock?”
“You mean before you cut in?” She gave him a mock-sweet smile.
David’s teeth tugged at his bottom lip. “Yes.”
Why did he have to look so charming and boyish when he bit his lip that way? She struggled to recall why she was annoyed with him. Oh, yes. “Why did you cut in? And don’t tell me that nonsense about Lord Murdock not being a good enough waltz partner.”
David leaned his right elbow on the balustrade and shrugged his left shoulder. “Why did you dance with him? I thought you said you weren’t interested in being courted.”
Annabelle nearly stamped her foot. “One dance is a far cry from being courted. Besides I didn’t think you would have even noticed, what with all the dance partners you had this evening.”
David immediately stood up straight and narrowed his eyes on her. “Oh, my God. You’re jealous?”
“What? No!” Annabelle wheeled around to face out into the darkness, bracing her forearms on the balustrade. She refused to even entertain that ridiculous notion. Jealous? Her? Madness.
He stalked toward her and stopped beside her, staring at her profile. “Yes. You are. You’re jealous because I didn’t ask you to dance.”
Still facing the darkened gardens, Annabelle lifted her nose in the air. “I wouldn’t dance with you if you asked.”
“Why not?” he asked softly.
She lifted her gaze to the starry night sky while David moved even closer.
“Tell me something.” His voice was husky, deep. It sent a tremor through Annabelle’s center. “Aside from dancing and fetching drinks, would a gentleman ever have an opportunity to, say, kiss a lady?”
Annabelle kept her gaze steadfastly forward, but she had to swallow a lump in her throat. “Kiss? Absolutely not.” Her voice sounded stern, but it shook slightly. She was nervous. He was making her nervous.
David leaned a forearm on the balustrade next to her. He reached out with his other hand and traced the skin just above where her glove met her bare arm. “Never?”
Annabelle swallowed again and straightened her shoulders. But she did not step away from him. Her blasted, traitorous voice continued to shake. “Not unless…they were alone together.”
David looked pointedly around at the empty verandah before turning and setting his glass behind him on the balustrade. Then he faced her again.
Annabelle turned to him and tipped back her head to look directly up at David. Her heart was pounding like a hare’s in a trap. Why did she feel panicked and thrilled at the same time? She had to keep talking. Talking would solve this. Talking would keep this from turning into something it shouldn’t. “If a gentleman were interested in a kiss from a lady, he should most definitely ask first,” she said in a rush, looking away. Her body was hot and cold all over and, for the second time in her life—both, coincidentally, in David’s company—she felt faint. No. This wasn’t truly happening. David wasn’t thinking of…kissing her. Was he? That would be madness. She’d lost her mind. That’s all. Her mind was gone.
She made the mistake of glancing over at him again. She shouldn’t have done that, because what she saw was David’s tongue flick out to dab at the corner of his mouth. All she could do was stare, her own mouth going conspicuously dry.
“Ask first?” David said, his fingertip tracing down the length of her gloved arm to linger at her wrist. “That sounds like something a fop would do.”
Annabelle shook her head, trying desperately to keep her voice from shaking more. “N…n…no. It’s only courteous. What if the lady doesn’t welcome your advances?”
What in God’s name was wrong with her? She’d never been this skittish around a man before. Through the years, she’d sent well over a score of them packing when they’d become overly familiar. What made this encounter with David any different?
“I would never force myself on a lady who didn’t welcome my advances.” His fingertip moved back and forth across her knuckles.
It was only her hand, her gloved hand, but somehow his touch was melting her. Her heart pounded so hard it hurt. Her breath came in shallow pants. “Without asking her, how could you possibly know?” She wanted to sound confident and self-assured. Instead, her voice sounded frightened and squeaky.