Элоиза Джеймс – Kiss Me Annabel (страница 4)

He opened his mouth, but at that moment Imogen appeared at her shoulder. ‘Darling,’ she said to Annabel, ‘I’ve been looking everywhere for you!’ Without pausing, she turned to the earl. ‘Lord Ardmore,’ she purred, ‘I am Lady Maitland. What a pleasure to meet you.’

Annabel watched as the earl bent over her sister’s hand. Imogen was looking as beautiful as any avenging goddess. She gave Ardmore a look that no man, especially a man in search of a dowry faced with a wealthy young widow, would consider resisting. In fact, it looked very much like one of Annabel’s own come-hither glances.

‘I have an unendurable longing to dance,’ Imogen said. ‘Will you please me, Lord Ardmore?’

Unendurable? But Ardmore wasn’t laughing; he was kissing Imogen’s hand again. Annabel gave up. The man would have to find his own way out of Imogen’s net. Imogen had always been thus: once she made up her mind, there was no stopping her. ‘I shall return to my chaperone,’ Annabel said, curtsying. ‘Lord Ardmore, it has been a pleasure.’

Lady Griselda was holding court in a corner of the room, their guardian sprawled beside her with a drink in his hand. Not that there was anything unusual in that; the Duke of Holbrook always had a drink. He came to meet Annabel when he saw her winding her way through the crowd.

Now that she had come to know a number of English nobility, she was more and more surprised by how unducal Rafe was. For one thing, he refused to go by his title. For another, he was as far from scented and curled and sartorially splendid as could be imagined. At least his valet managed to get him into a decent coat of blue superfine for the evening, but when he was at home he tended toward comfortable pantaloons and a threadworn white shirt.

‘Griselda’s driving me mad,’ he said without formality. ‘And if she doesn’t succeed, Imogen will finish me off. What the devil is she doing, dancing attendance on that Scottish fellow? I don’t even know the man.’

‘She’s decided that she wants a cicisbeo,’ Annabel told him.

‘Stuff and nonsense,’ Rafe muttered, running a hand through hair that was already wildly disarranged. ‘I can escort her wherever she needs to go.’

‘She’s being plagued by fortune hunters.’

‘For God’s sake, why’d she choose a penniless Scot to dance about with, then?’ Rafe bellowed, only belatedly glancing about him.

‘Perhaps she won’t care for him on further acquaintance,’ Annabel said, trying to see whether she could glimpse Lord Rosseter anywhere. At the moment Rosseter was her first choice for a spouse.

‘She’s making an ass of herself,’ Rafe said.

For some reason, Imogen’s antics always drove Rafe to distraction, especially since she’d returned to London and begun to order gowns that fit her like a second skin. But no matter how much he bellowed and raged, she merely smirked at him and said that widows could dress precisely as they wished.

‘Surely it’s not as bad as that,’ Annabel said absently, still searching the crowd for Rosseter.

She caught Lady Griselda’s eyes, who called: ‘Annabel! Do come here for a moment.’

Their chaperone was nothing like the dour old ladies who generally earned that label; she was as good-looking as the infamous, altar-deserting Earl of Mayne. It went without saying that none of them held her brother’s behaviour against Griselda; she had been devastated when Mayne galloped away from Rafe’s house approximately five minutes before he was due to marry Tess.

‘What on earth is Rafe bellowing about?’ Griselda inquired, without much real concern in her voice. ‘He’s turned all plum-coloured.’

‘Rafe is worried that Imogen is making an exhibition of herself,’ Annabel told her.

‘Already? She is a woman of her word.’

Annabel nodded over to the right. A waltz was playing, and the Earl of Ardmore was holding Imogen far too tightly. Or perhaps, Annabel thought fairly, Imogen was doing the holding. Whatever the impetus, Imogen swayed in his arms as if they were in the grip of a reckless passion.

‘Goodness me,’ Griselda said, fanning herself. ‘They’re quite a couple, aren’t they? All that black on black…Imogen certainly was correct about the aesthetics of choosing Ardmore as a partner.’

‘Nothing will come of it,’ Annabel assured her. ‘Imogen was just blustering. I’m sure of it.’ But the words died in her mouth as Imogen threw an arm around the earl’s neck and began caressing his hair in an outrageously intimate fashion.

‘She wants a scandal,’ Griselda said matter-of-factly. ‘The poor dear. Some widows do suffer through this sort of thing.’

She made it sound as if Imogen were coming down with a nasty cold.

‘Did you?’ Annabel asked.

‘Thankfully not,’ Griselda said with a little shiver. ‘But I do believe that Imogen’s feelings for Lord Maitland were far deeper than mine for dear Willoughby. Although,’ she added, ‘naturally I had all proper emotion for my husband.’

Imogen was smiling up at Ardmore, her eyes half closed as if – Well. Annabel looked away.

What Imogen wanted, Imogen took. She had loved Draven Maitland for years, and never mind the fact that he was betrothed to another woman. The moment Imogen had a chance, she somehow sprained her ankle in such a way that she had to convalesce in the Maitland household. That ankle injury was remarkably fortuitous. The next thing Annabel knew, her sister had eloped with Draven Maitland. In fact, given Imogen’s strength of will, Annabel rather thought that Ardmore might have to find and woo his bride in the next season.

‘Have you seen Lord Rosseter?’ she asked Griselda.

But Griselda was mesmerised – as doubtless were most of the respectable women in the room – by Imogen’s behaviour on the dance floor. ‘Imogen is not my duty,’ she said to herself, fanning her face madly.

Annabel looked back at her sister. Imogen could not have made her intentions to engage in a scandalous affair more clear. She was clinging to Ardmore as if she’d turned into an ivy plant.

‘Oh, Lord,’ Griselda moaned. Now Imogen was caressing Ardmore’s neck, for all the world as if she meant to pull his head down to hers.

Annabel’s elder sister Tess dropped into a chair beside them. ‘Can someone please explain to me why Imogen is behaving like such a wanton?’

‘Where have you been all evening?’ Annabel asked. ‘I thought I caught a glimpse of you and Felton earlier, but then I couldn’t find you.’

Tess ignored her question. ‘She may ruin herself with this behaviour! People will draw the conclusion that she is Ardmore’s mistress.’

‘And they’ll be correct,’ Griselda put in calmly. ‘How are you, my dear? You look blooming.’

But Tess just stared at Griselda. ‘Imogen has taken a lover? I knew she was distraught, but –’

‘She calls it taking a cicisbeo,’ Annabel put in.

On the dance floor Imogen was dancing thigh to thigh with the Scotsman, head thrown back in an attitude of sensual abandon.

‘We have to do something,’ Tess said grimly. ‘It’s one thing to take a cicisbeo, if that’s what she wants. But at this rate she’ll create such a frightful scandal that she won’t be invited to parties.’

‘Oh, she’s already beyond the pale on that front,’ Griselda said, a little too cheerfully for Annabel’s comfort. ‘Remember, she eloped with her first husband. And after this exhibition…Well, she’ll still be invited to the largest balls, of course.’

But Tess had raised her three younger sisters from the time their mother died, and she wasn’t going to resign herself to Imogen’s disgrace so easily. ‘That will not do,’ she stated. ‘I’ll just put it to her that –’

Annabel shook her head. ‘You are not the one to give advice. The two of you only reconciled a matter of weeks ago.’ Tess looked rebellious, so Annabel added firmly, ‘Not unless you wish to engage in another squabble with Imogen.’

‘It’s all so absurd,’ Tess muttered. ‘We never really quarrelled.’ Just then Lucius Felton came up, dropped a kiss on his wife’s hair, and winked at Annabel.

‘Give me a chance and I’ll scare up a reason to stop speaking to you myself,’ Annabel said, smiling at him. ‘All this marital affection is hard to stomach.’

‘Imogen apologised very prettily,’ Tess said. ‘But I still think her behaviour was remarkably unjustified.’

‘Your husband –’ Annabel began.

‘Is alive,’ Tess said, accepting the point. ‘But does that mean I have to allow my sister to ruin herself without saying a word?’

But Annabel had a twinge of sympathy with Imogen, seeing the way Lucius brought Tess’s hand to his lips before he left to bring her a glass of champagne.

‘Do you think that Ardmore is aware that Imogen has only just been widowed?’ Tess asked. ‘Perhaps you could appeal to his better self. Weren’t you just speaking to him?’

‘He has no idea that Imogen is my sister,’ Annabel said doubtfully. ‘I could –’

‘It wouldn’t make any difference,’ Griselda put in. ‘Imogen made it quite clear earlier in the evening that she fully intends to create a scandal, if not with this gentleman, then with my own dear brother. And frankly, if this is the way she intends to go about it, I’m grateful she didn’t choose Mayne. I still have fond hopes for a nephew at some point and my brother may have slept with most of the available women in the ton, but he’s never put on a public exhibition.’