A Lady's Addiction (Honor Prevails Book 1) Page 9

  “Are you sick?”

  She opened her eyes and observed her corpulent mate now standing there in all his glory barking at her.

  The champagne made her tongue loose. She could bear it no longer. “The thought of you, so fat and repulsive, rutting on me like a beast makes me ill.”

  Anna sat up away from the sick on her bed. Her eyes were now accustomed to the low light and she stared pointedly at Danforth’s now flaccid member. The man turned a vivid shade of red. He did not approach her. Her comments had unmanned him. He almost looked afraid of her.

  “You are a frigid bitch.”

  “You are a grotesque pig.” She shuddered. “Never touch me again.”

  Danforth left her alone after that night. He ignored her unless Neil was at home and then he treated her with civility.

  She’d had a fleeting hope he might set her aside. The desire to have a child warred with her disgust at being touched by her husband. She could not bring herself to ask Danforth to their marriage bed. Her husband conveniently had a riding accident a few months later and she was free. Free to decide if she ever wanted the attentions of a man again.

  Andrew clapped his hands. “Come here, birds!”

  “Throw them some more feed, my lord,” the nursemaid said to her small charge.

  A healthy migration of birds into the small grass park had developed. Andrew smiled and laughed at the deluge of birds surrounding him.

  “I don’t know how to tell you this,” Cecily said. “The gentleman you met at the Bell and Swan Inn was not Franco.”

  “It had to be Franco,” she replied. “Who else could it have been?”

  “Franco told me you were not at the inn that evening.”

  “I was there and so was he. Why would I lie?”

  “This doesn’t make sense.” Cecily shook her head. “He said you were not at the inn. A man had your room.”

  “The man I met at the inn told me his real name. His name is Devlyn Maitlin.”

  Cecily remained silent a moment before her hand flew to her mouth. “Devlyn Maitlin. Are you sure he said his name was Maitlin?”

  “I’ve never heard the name before. Is it Franco?”

  “Most decidedly it is not,” Cecily replied with some force. “Devlyn Maitlin is the younger son of a very old and revered family. He was said to be the embodiment of charm. Many hearts were broken when he quit England three years ago.”

  She felt a stab of jealousy; an odd reaction to have after sleeping with a stranger. Not to mention the wrong stranger. She thought it prudent not to tell Cecily the man had visited her bedchamber at Stafford House.

  “Did Mr. Maitlin claim to be Franco?” Cecily asked.

  She thought back to the conversation she’d had with Devlyn at The Bell and Swan Inn.

  “No, he didn’t. I assumed he was Franco when I opened the door to look out and a man stood outside of my room.” She said aloud what she believed Cecily must also be thinking: “A woman in a nightdress comes to the door and asks if you’re her lover for the evening.”

  “I’m no expert,” Cecily replied awkwardly, “but I can’t imagine many men not making the most of the opportunity.”

  Her next concern was to prevent the real Franco from communicating with her in the future. “I should compensate Franco for the inconvenience I caused him. Please let me know when he contacts you again.”

  An indignant Andrew interrupted their conversation as he loudly informed his mother and Anna the birdseed was gone. She listened with one ear to the boy chatter on about the birds as their party walked back to Stafford House for tea.

  Devlyn Maitlin was a member of the ton and most assuredly not a lover for hire. She had found a man that she not only desired but might also be the perfect candidate for a husband. Why had he sought her out after their first meeting, and more importantly, when would she see him again?

  Chapter Twelve

  “Are you quite sure you feel up to dancing?” Cecily asked Anna. Her friend looked pale and a little tired.

  Anna nodded. “I feel much better today and I’m frightfully bored in that large house without Neil’s company. I read almost every book in the library while I hid myself away in mourning and there really isn’t that much to do to run the house. A short rest before supper has set me to rights. I’m ready to continue my search for a husband.”

  Both women relinquished their wraps to waiting footmen and proceeded to enter the Earl of Northampton’s ballroom.

  She wondered about Anna’s recent illness.

  During Anna’s early period of mourning it would have been unseemly of her to be seen at large public functions. After the initial condolence calls had been made, the rest of polite society appeared to forget about her. With her only ties to the outside world being Cecily, Andrew and Neil, it came as no surprise Anna had developed a dependence on alcohol. Without her son Andrew to care for, Cecily might herself have used spirits to escape the monotony of her life.

  Anna’s addiction to wine allowed cecily to feel superior to the other woman. Her encounter with Devlyn Maitlin had changed the way Anna viewed herself and her future. She hadn’t decided whether Anna’s current serenity was a good thing or not. She had quite grown accustomed to her only friend sharing an existence as miserable as her own.

  “Thank you for accompanying me this evening. I believe you once told me you thoroughly dislike Lady Northampton,” Anna whispered once both women took up a place in the corner of the ballroom.

  “Lord Pickerel requested I attempt a civil relationship with the woman and her husband to aid in the advancement of his political career.” She kept her tone light although she doubted she could fool Anna. Her friend knew full well Cecily’s husband never requested anything—he demanded it.

  Their hostess’s annual ball was one of the most looked forward to events of the season. Lady Northampton not only had one of the largest ballrooms in London, she did not economize on her refreshments or decoration. The theme this year appeared to be something to do with the sun. There were large paper suns on the tablecloths on the refreshment tables. The use of bright yellow fabric for the curtains resulted in an almost blinding reflection of the candlelight in the room’s numerous large windows.

  “Has Franco contacted you?”

  Anna’s innocent question so soon after their conversation that very morning took her by surprise. She would have to tell her friend Franco wasn’t done with her by a long shot. She hadn’t yet gathered the courage to do so.

  “I’m sure he will find me in his own good time.” She knew Franco did frequent Boodle’s and could possibly be contacted there. She chose not to share the information with Anna.

  “If you know where his lodgings are I could send funds around to him,” her companion said.

  “No!” A cluster of matrons seated nearby cast disapproving glances her way. She said in a low voice, “What I mean is I have no idea where Franco lives.”

  “He found you out of the blue?”

  “An acquaintance referred him to me,” she mumbled, her explanation sounding weak to her own ears.

  To her immense relief their conversation was interrupted by Lord Drake. The handsome widower claimed Anna for the next set.

  What have I done? To get out of her own muddle she’d made one for Anna. The women met at seminary in Kensington and had been good friends ever since. Many in the ton avoided Cecily because of her unpleasant husband. Anna had always been loyal to their friendship. Why hadn’t she thought this through to its inevitable conclusion? Because, when it came right down to it, her priority had been to protect Andrew and herself.

  “May I have the honor of this dance?”

  The male voice sounded vaguely familiar. When Cecily glanced up to see the man addressing her, she gasped. “Mr. Maitlin…”

  * * * * *

  “One and the same,” Devlyn answered. He bowed and held out a gloved hand. Lady Pickerel’s face had lost most of its color when she looked at him. Would the woman beg off the dance
?

  The lady took his hand and allowed him to lead her to the dance floor. To his mind, the fact Anna and Lady Pickerel attended the ball together confirmed his suspicion Anna didn’t yet know she was Franco’s latest target for funds.

  He brushed aside the voice inside his head which argued he knew no such thing. He merely wanted to believe Anna to be an innocent pawn in her friend’s schemes.

  “You are returned to England,” Lady Pickerel said.

  He replied to her comment with a healthy dose of irony, “So it would seem.”

  Lady Pickerel’s distress at his appearance at the ball could only mean Anna had mentioned his name to her in connection with the missed appointment with Franco. His patience with the woman became short lived upon seeing Lady Pickerel regain her composure almost immediately after seeing him. Her blonde hair and blue eyes gave one the image of a cherub. He knew better. The devious chit had sacrificed Anna to save her own skin.

  “Is your family well?” Cecily queried when the steps of the dance brought them back together.

  “Very well,” he replied. “And you? Are you quite well?”

  Cecily responded with a brief “yes” accompanied by a blank look. Her guileless expression goaded him into another question.

  “Is there nothing of any importance bothering you?”

  “Excuse me, sir?”

  Lady Pickerel’s gaze darted away from him.

  “Your conscience is clear?”

  His partner missed a step and stumbled, her eyes returning to his face. “I have no idea what you possibly could be referring to.”

  He tamped down the urge to shake the woman. “I suggest we speak to Lady Stafford together. The words ‘Franco’ and ‘blackmail’ may afford you some illumination.”

  Anyone would have admired Lady Pickerel’s nerve. Although she looked as if she might faint, she continued to dance. Marriage to such an unpleasant man as Lord Pickerel must have given her some inner strength. After missing her at home two days ago he’d delayed an attempt to speak to her again. He acknowledged some of the anger he now felt was in part due to his own reluctance to find out how involved Anna was in Franco’s schemes.

  “Anna knows you aren’t Franco,” Lady Pickerel said boldly, her attention now firmly fixed on him. “You slept with her under false pretenses.”

  “And you led her into the clutches of a blackguard.”

  His petite dance partner smiled, the gesture not reaching her eyes. “If the rumors about your physical health are true, you’re wasting your time pursuing Anna. She attended this ball tonight for precisely one reason: To find a husband who can give her children.”

  So, the cherub has claws. The music ended. Lady Pickerel pulled away from him and marched off into the crowd. He would have followed her if he hadn’t noticed Anna and her dance partner come to a halt near where he stood. As luck would have it, he knew the man standing with Anna.

  “Drake, old man, how are you?”

  Although the two men had never been friends, Lord Drake greeted him with a broad smile. “I’d heard reports you were returned from the Continent.”

  “My assignment was complete.” He looked pointedly at the viscount’s companion.

  The man cleared his throat and made the introductions. “Lady Anna Stafford, may I present Mr. Devlyn Maitlin.”

  Anna looked paler than he remembered, and he wondered if her recent illness was the cause. The midnight blue of her gown was a perfect foil for her chestnut hair and coffee-colored eyes. He was relieved to see her gown for the evening was less revealing than the one she’d worn to Lady Beauchamp’s ball.

  “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

  “The pleasure is all mine,” he replied as he took Anna’s hand and placed a chaste kiss on her glove. Such a gesture was common on the Continent. He used it now to have an excuse to steal some measure of intimacy with the lady.

  He felt a slight tremor go through her when his lips met the fabric on the back of her hand. Glancing up quickly he saw her eyes widen. Did she feel the same excitement he’d experienced from the mere act of kissing her gloved hand?

  “I must share in some of the pleasure,” she rejoined, with spirit.

  He didn’t release Anna’s hand and never took his gaze from her lovely face as he asked Lord Drake, “Would you mind terribly, my friend, if I commandeered Lady Stafford for the next set?”

  Drake snorted, bringing Devlyn’s gaze to his face. “I find the only lady in the room whose head isn’t filled with nonsense and you steal her from me.”

  “Lady Northampton is quite a renowned conversationalist,” he replied.

  Lord Drake observed Anna’s hand still in Devlyn’s and shook his head. “I can see I’m beaten.”

  Devlyn placed Anna’s hand on his arm, led her to the center of the ballroom, and forgot all about Lord Drake.

  The orchestra struck up a tune.

  Anna asked, “A waltz?”

  “I had absolutely nothing to do with the choice of music,” he replied with a chuckle and pulled her into the circle of his arms.

  Anna was taller than most women of his acquaintance. The top of her head was level with his chin. He enjoyed being able to converse with her without having to lean over. Her light scent-possibly lemon-enveloped his senses as the warmth from her body so close to his reached out to him.

  As he whirled her about the dance floor he made sure to keep her body some distance from his own. His brief taste of her charms had left him hungry for more, but he would not bring scandal upon her by dancing too close to her in such a public venue. Despite the size of Lady Northampton’s ballroom, her ball was a crush, attended by the crème de la crème of the ton.

  Cecily’s behavior tonight convinced him Anna wasn’t involved in whatever scheme Franco had concocted. She was instead the victim. Should he tell Anna what he knew about Franco or hope he could take care of the threat without her knowledge?

  “I had heard you were ill. You are recovered?”

  She nodded. “I feel quite a bit better. Thank you.”

  He wanted to pull her closer into his embrace so he could feel every curve of her body against his own. He would have to settle for the feel of her back against his palm and her gloved hand inside his own. Thank goodness his pantaloons were not cut too close as he was worried about embarrassing himself despite the little contact their bodies shared.

  “You are a very graceful dancer.”

  His partner shrugged. He had already noticed Anna wasn’t comfortable receiving compliments. Another aspect of her personality he found intriguing.

  “Thank you. It is the only social grace I excel at.”

  “And you admit it?”

  “I was Mrs. Forester’s disgrace at her school in Kensington.” Anna shook her head in mock sorrow. “Alas, I despise needlework; I cannot paint, draw or play the pianoforte. My fellow classmates told me my singing voice is deplorable.”

  “Deplorable?” He was captivated by her impish smile. Her modesty was refreshing and a stark contrast to most women he’d known.

  “The headmistress requested I never again sing in her presence.”

  “Your dancing ability would make any headmistress or mother proud,” he replied and saw a cloud pass over Anna’s eyes. “Anna?”

  “My parents died when I was a small child.”

  The moment hung there, awkward.

  “Why did you come into my room at the inn?” she asked.

  He gave her an amused look.

  “All right, the obvious answer is that you are a man,” she muttered, a becoming blush tinting her cheeks. “But you’re not Franco.”

  “You wouldn’t have let Franco take such liberties with you,” he replied with certainty.

  Her chin lifted. “And how do you know such a thing?”

  “I’ve met him.”

  “When?”

  “He was at the Bell and Swan Inn that night.”

  “Then he knows I was there.” Her eyes widened. “Does he know
I met with you instead?”

  “I’m not sure. Has he contacted you?”

  “No.”

  “Then that might be the end of it.” It was only a little white lie. He would spare her any further unpleasantness if he could.

  The tempo of the music quickened for a country dance. The lively steps lightened his mood. Anna smiled at him over the other dancers. When the set was finished, he drew her towards a refreshment table, patently ignoring the giggling of the young debutantes they passed.

  Anna’s artlessness and self-deprecating attitude about her lack of ‘womanly graces’ was far more attractive to him than the tittering of the young misses who sought to catch his eye.

  “Why did you start to make love to me at the inn?”

  He grinned. “It was the gentlemanly thing to do?”

  “One could say you haven’t exactly behaved as a gentleman,” Anna replied. Her lips thinned. He wondered at her quick change of mood.

  “Your behavior has been rather unorthodox as well. Hiring a lover?”

  “I had to prove something to myself.”

  “Prove to yourself you could find another husband? One who could give you a child?” He wasn’t looking to marry this woman, but to know he wouldn’t even be considered husband material because of his infertility was a bruise to his ego. “Lady Pickerel informed me of your quest to find a mate.”

  Anna looked taken aback by his words. “Mr. Maitlin, I don’t believe my hunt for a husband is any of your business.”

  “Shall we now be formal with each other?” he asked. “Behave as if we hadn’t lain together?”

  A moment ago, he had felt contentment with the world, a feeling he’d rarely experienced since the accident three years ago. He looked about him at the dancing couples and giggling debutantes and a stark truth came to him. They all knew. The interested looks from the married or widowed ladies at the ball had blinded him to the fact not one marriage minded matron had pushed her daughter under his nose. Although he was a second son, he came from a respected family. He had his own small fortune.

  His infertility was common knowledge and consequently his worth as a husband had become nil.