Page 59 of A Spinster for the Cold Duke

The implication hung in the air between them, and Annabelle knew he meant everything she had failed to become. She lifted her chin, refusing to show how deeply the barb had struck.

“How delightful for her,” she managed, her voice steady despite the turmoil in her chest.

“Indeed. She’s become rather practical about many things. Unlike some members of our family who persist in foolish pursuits that only manage to taint our family name.” His gaze flicked meaningfully around the ballroom. “I trust you haven’t forgotten the lessons of the past, my dear Annabelle. Some mistakes cannot be repeated without permanent consequences.”

Annabelle’s hands clenched into tight fists at his dismissive words; words that erased the very cause of the scandal that persisted in tainting her name, even this many years later?—

“That is quite enough,” Lady Oakley interjected, her voice carrying decades of authority. “This is neither the time nor the place for such discussions, Benjamin. Perhaps you should seek out your gentleman friends.”

He smiled thinly but stepped back. “Of course, Mother. Dear Annabelle…” His tone proved that he did not find anything dear about her at all. “Do give some thought to what I’ve said. The family reputation is a precious thing. Not to be squandered on flights of fancy. And now that we are reunited, it’s best to return to some semblance of propriety.”

As he melted back into the crowd, Annabelle found herself trembling. Lady Oakley’s hand found her arm and steadied her.

“Come, dear,” her grandmother murmured. “Let us not allow him to spoil what promises to be a lovely evening.”

As they moved deeper into the ballroom, Annabelle’s attention was immediately captured by a commotion near the far wall. A cluster of London’s most eligible ladies had formed around Henry. Their fans fluttered like butterfly wings as they vied for his attention.

He stood at the center of the group, resplendent in a perfectly tailored black evening suit that emphasized the breadth of his shoulders and the lean strength of his frame. His dark brown hair was styled to perfection, and from where she stood, Annabelle could see the way his presence seemed to command attention from every woman in his vicinity.

“Your Grace, surely you remember me from Lady Egerton’s soirée?” Miss Evangeline Brathwaite pressed closer to him. Her blonde ringlets were perfectly arranged to frame her porcelain features. “You promised me the honor of a dance.”

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken, my lady,” Henry replied with a polite bow, though Annabelle could see the frustrated furrow between his brows. “I rarely make such commitments.”

“Oh, but surely just one short dance?” Miss Evangeline Brathwaite simpered, placing her gloved hand on his arm with practiced ease. “I’ve been so looking forward to it.”

At that moment, as if sensing her attention, Henry’s gaze snapped up and his eyes locked with Annabelle’s. The effect was immediate and devastating. She watched as his expression transformed. His eyes widened slightly before darkening with an intensity that made her breath catch in her throat.

Even surrounded by London’s most beautiful women, his attention was completely focused on her.

A sharp pang of something unpleasant, like jealousy, twisted in her chest as she watched the women around him continue their attempts to capture his attention, apparently oblivious to the fact that he was no longer listening to a word they said.

“My, my,” came a voice from beside her, dripping with false sweetness. “If it isn’t the infamous Annabelle Lytton.”

Annabelle turned to find herself facing Lady Estelle Howard and two of her closest companions. Their expressions were carefully arranged to convey polite interest while their eyes glittered with malice.

“Lady Howard,” Annabelle replied evenly, though she could feel her grandmother tensing beside her.

“What aninterestingchoice of gown,” Lady Howard continued, her gaze raking over the emerald silk with obvious disdain. “So very vibrant for someone of your circumstances. One might think you were trying to attract attention.”

“One might think many things,” Annabelle replied coolly. “Though one would be wise to consider whether such thoughts reflect more on the observer than the observed.”

Lady Howard’s smile sharpened. “How amusing. Though I confess, I find it rather presumptuous for a spinster of youradvanced years to dress as though she were still on the marriage mart. Surely such displays are best left to those who might actually benefit from them?”

Before Annabelle could formulate a suitably cutting response, a familiar deep voice spoke from behind her.

“Miss Lytton.” Henry’s voice was smooth as silk, though she could detect an underlying edge that suggested he had heard at least part of the exchange. “I believe you promised me the honor of the next dance.”

CHAPTER 21

“I… that is…” she began, uncertain.

Annabelle turned. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she met his gaze. The other women had apparently followed him across the room, their expressions now ranging from curious to openly envious.

“Unless, of course, you’ve changed your mind?” He extended his hand toward her and his eyes never left her face. “Though I confess I would be deeply disappointed. I’ve been looking forward to it all evening.”

The murmur of conversation around them seemed to hush as other guests began to take notice of the exchange. Annabelle was acutely aware of Lady Howard’s sharp intake of breath and of the way several other women’s fans snapped closed in obvious displeasure.

“Of course, Your Grace,” she managed, placing her gloved hand in his. “I would be honored.”

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