Page 69 of A Virgin to Tempt the Duke

The Hartfield ballroom that Saturday night was overfull and overwarm, banked with hothouse flowers and candlelight and too much expensive perfume. Frederick had thoughtfully positioned himself near a pillar with the express purpose of being present but overlooked.

He saw her instantly. Anna stood at the center of a small, devoted crowd, Rachel beside her, both laughing at something one of the gentlemen had said. Always laughing, always light. Such a change from all that had transpired just a year ago. Anna’s dance card, Frederick happened to notice, was nearly full. He happened to notice a great many things about Anna this evening that he had no business noticing, like the way her dress had been cut perfectly to her every curve.

“I haven’t the slightest interest in dancing,” he said finally.

“Glad to know you’re still in there.”

“I mean it.”

“No,” Thomas agreed amiably, “you’ve a tremendous interest in standing very still and watching her dance with other men, which strikes me as a considerably worse way to spend an evening, but you must please yourself.”

He wandered off toward Rachel’s corner of the room with a smile. Frederick was left alone with his thundercloud expression and his very bad evening, until a young woman approached him.

“Good evening, Your Grace,” she said as she curtsied. She was a bright young thing, no more than eighteen, with dark blue eyes and red hair. “I hope I am not disturbing you. My father is Lord Richard Trimble; we were introduced at the Bufton Musicale last year.”

“I do recall,” Frederick said, as he had always been a fan of Lord Trimble and remembered the encounter. She had looked different then; the last year had been kind to her, but she did nothing for him. She was pleasant, and surely kind, but all he could do was look over her shoulder to see where Anna was.

“… Are you having a pleasant evening?”

“Yes, my Lady,” he said flatly, unable to perform niceties for nicety's sake, even with so kind a young girl. “If you will excuse me,” he said gruffly and walked off.

She will find another man to speak with, I am sure of it. I did her a favor.

He found a lonely corner behind a plant and was unbothered then. He sipped a brandy and watched Anna dance with Carstairs, who held her half an inch too close.

He watched her dance with a baronet whose name he couldn’t be bothered to recall and laugh at whatever the man said. Despite his best efforts, Frederick discovered that jealousy had a particular flavor, bitter and metallic, that no amount of punch seemed to dissolve.

He was midway through composing several uncharitable opinions about the baronet’s dancing when he realized Anna was no longer on the floor at all.

Where could she have gone?

He scanned the room once, twice, with a thoroughness that surprised him. He hadn’t realized he’d memorized the exact auburn notes of her gown until he was searching for it among a hundred other gowns and not finding it. Rachel was still by the refreshment table.

Anna was nowhere.

Where in the devil is she?

The doors to the terrace stood open to the night air, and beyond them, the dark shapes of the garden. He told himself there was no reason for the unease tightening in his chest as he crossed the room and stepped out into the cool evening.

There was no reason at all, simply the ordinary brotherly concern he extended generously to his sister’s closest friend. He told himself this all the way down the terrace steps and along the gravel path and stopped believing it entirely the moment he heard her voice.

“…very kind of you to say so, my lord, though I think you flatter me rather more than I deserve.”

Anna’s voice, so light and easy, drifted from somewhere among the hedges. A man’s voice answered, too low for Frederick to make out the words, and Anna laughed in response.

It was not unkindly, not in distress. She was enjoying herself.

Frederick stood frozen on the path, like a man who has walked somewhere he very much should not have walked.

I should leave.

He told himself so plainly. She was a grown woman entitled to private conversation in a garden with whomever she pleased. His presence here, skulking in the dark like some jealous specter, was beneath him in every way. He could not make his feet move.

But then?—

He heard Anna cry out.

It was high and frightened, then cut off as though a hand had been clapped over her mouth.