And it made him wish he might have given her a different answer. If he had been able to.
“You’re rumpled,” she murmured, shifting so that she was concealed by the back he’d presented to the room. Reaching up, she tenderly adjusted the folds of the cravat he’d ruined on his way here. When she’d finished righting the article, she patted it gently. “There.” And there was such an intimacy to those almost casual actions, ones that a devoted wife might have seen to, that a wave of longing spread through him. “You’re being summoned,” Annalee murmured.
He blinked slowly, and then he followed her stare.
And the magic of the moment was shattered.
From across the room, where his mother stood conversing with the Duke and Duchess of Kipling, she waved a hand impatiently, urging Wayland over. He furrowed his brow deeply. “Where?” He made a show of glancing about. “I’m afraid I do not see her.” Lifting his fingers to his forehead, he continued his over-the-top perusal of the music room.
A startled laugh spilled from Annalee, tinkling and clear and bell-like, not the jaded, husky one he’d come to recognize as her feigned humor.
He winked. “She is . . . nothing if not . . . obvious.”
“Yes, one might say that.” Annalee nudged him slightly with her elbow. “Go.”
Yes, he should go. He’d lingered here alone with her certainly long enough to merit looks, particularly following the recent pairing of their names. He hesitated. “Is that what you want?”
“Lila and her husband are due to arrive!” Did he imagine there was a forced cheer to that pronouncement? “You should go. I’ll be fine. Truly.”
And yet as she rushed off, it didn’t escape him that not only had she not answered his question . . . she’d also given every indication that she was not fine.
Chapter 19
The night was destined to be miserable.
Not only was she at a musical hosted by her parents, but her brother and his betrothed wouldn’t look at Annalee, let alone speak to her.
Lila, who’d been scheduled to attend, still had not arrived.
The only briefly bearable moment had been when Wayland had come to speak.
He’d sought her out, and he’d been willing to stay despite his mother’s tangible outrage. He’d also risked the wrath of the powerful Duke and Duchess of Kipling.
Is that what you want?
Despite the scandal that had followed his attack on Lord Welles and their being discovered, he’d still come over, and ultimately left the decision as to whether he should stay or go in Annalee’s hands.
Given the changes to his demeanor and the way he carried himself, the last thing she’d expected was that he would boldly cross a room and greet her, and offer to defy a duke and duchess for her.
Of course, she’d also not expected he’d ever lose control and beat a man senseless, and certainly not for her. But he’d done that, too.
If she were as selfish as the world believed, she would have asked him to stay.
Instead, she’d sent him on his way, for him . . . and his family.
And now had the pleasure of watching Wayland charm that very innocent, stunningly beautiful diamond.
Ah, this was the misery she’d expected for the night.
“How could you?” her mother clipped out.
And more misery on top of it. At some point the countess had extricated herself from her guests and found time to greet her daughter.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific, Mother,” Annalee drawled.
“I specifically told you no, Annalee Elise.”
Yes, her own mother had rejected her request to attend a respectable affair she was hosting. Annalee draped an arm about her mother’s shoulders—narrow, almost bony shoulders that tensed. “Ah, in fairness, Mama, you didn’t tell me anything. You sent a note.”
The countess squirmed and shrugged to be free of her touch. “Do not be common.”
Annalee touched a finger to her chin, and sticking out a foot, she fashioned her features into a contemplative mask. “Tell me, do you take familial affection to be as grievous an offense as indulging in spirits and smoking cheroots?”
Color splashed her mother’s high cheekbones. “I do not find you amusing. Having you about brings nothing but problems for this family.”
“Because I’m amusing?”
“Because you cannot help but find yourself in a scandal,” she said on a furious whisper. “You continually bring shame and humiliation to this family. It wasn’t enough that you ruined your brother’s betrothal ball. There is the scandal you dragged Lord Darlington into as well.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to point out that she’d in fact not dragged him into that one. That he’d come hurtling, leaping, and bounding all the way forward himself. But she swallowed the words, ones that would put any part of what had transpired last evening in Wayland’s lap. Not when he’d defended her.
“Fighting Lord Welles as he did has only set tongues to wagging for him and his family now. There are those who automatically assume he did so because he is involved with you, instead of realizing his deep devotion to Jeremy and this family, and now the Duke and Duchess of Kipling have their eyes upon our family, and unfavorably, because they see you as a threat to their families’ partnership.”
Their families’ . . . partnership.
As in Wayland and the Lady Diana.
Her gaze slipped across the room to where he now stood speaking with the lady in question.
It made sense.
The papers had abounded with tales of the heroism of a young man who’d put himself between the angry masses and an overturned carriage, and plucked each beloved member of the duke’s family from it and seen them to safety. Now, the girl had grown up, and in properness and decorum, the lady was Wayland’s match in every way.
Annalee knew that. She’d also accepted long, long ago that anything and everything of a romantic nature between her and Wayland had died as sure a death as the souls who’d been cut down on the fields of Manchester.
Just then, the young lady rested her fingertips upon Wayland’s sleeve and leaned up and close, whispering something into his ear, and Annalee wrenched her stare away from that handsome pair.
“It is not my intention to bring shame or scandal this night,” Annalee said, infusing a solemnity into that promise. “I will be a model of propriety.” That was, after all, the goal. She crossed an X over her chest. “You have my promise.”
Her mother’s brows came together. “Why are you so determined to be here?” And then she froze, doing a hurried search of the room. “If you dare say you’re intending to meet one of the gentlemen present . . . ,” she muttered.
“Tsk, tsk. Come, Mother, you know I’d never dare engage in a tryst with one of the staid fellows you’ve invited.”
Except . . . unbidden, her gaze slipped across the room, over to Wayland. Her former lover . . . and love.
Wayland, who was also now thoroughly engrossed in discourse with the dainty, delicate, and undoubtedly innocent Lady Diana.
“You need to leave.”
Annalee recoiled. She’d toss her out. Her own mother. Hurt and heartbreak jolted through her. Even as she shouldn’t be surprised. Even as she knew her family despised her and was ashamed of her.