by Julia Quinn
Still, Anthony glared at Miss Martin for a moment, trying to figure out why on earth he would want to kiss her most thoroughly, as it could only ever end in some disaster—probably for both of them.
“Have I upset you, my lord?” Miss Martin asked without even a hint of fear. “You look as if you would like to throw something, preferably me.”
“No, but I should take my leave. Your reputation is at stake.”
Miss Martin leaned forward, her shoulders shaking, and for a split second Anthony believed her to be crying. But then she straightened, her eyes dancing up at him, and he realized that she was laughing.
She kept her hand over her mouth for a moment, obviously trying to control herself. “Oh, Lord Roxbury, I have no reputation.” She waved her hand at the people around them. “Most of these people have no idea who I am. I think it is your reputation that you are afraid of ruining.” She grinned at him.
“Of course it is not.”
Miss Martin laughed. “I was only kidding. But you have already ruined your reputation in my eyes, my lord. You like everyone to believe you are the perfect scoundrel, and really, you are a perfect gentleman.”
Now there were two things he felt compelled to dissuade Miss Martin of believing: she had been properly kissed, and he was a gentleman. “I am not a perfect anything, Miss Martin, I assure you.”
“Whatever you say, my lord. Now then, I also wanted to let you know that there is a lovely Japanese display at the British Museum. If you were to go and see it, perhaps you might get some ideas for the party. Two heads are always better than just one when it comes to these types of things.”
Anthony was still trying to digest the fact that this chit believed him to be a perfect gentleman. He glanced around them again and knew that Miss Martin was completely wrong. He was surely ruining her completely. “Really, Miss Martin, we should not be speaking for so long and so intensely in public.”
“Are we speaking intensely?” Miss Martin asked, her eyes widening, her voice lowering to a whisper. She leaned closer to him. “This is intense, isn’t it, my lord?” She glanced around and then back at him.
He was being teased. It had been quite a long time since anyone had dared tease him, but he realized it was happening now. He rolled his eyes, and Miss Martin giggled again.
Truth be told, Anthony had never liked giggling females. But Miss Martin was different. Her giggles were not high pitched or irritating. And they were definitely not something she was using to try and make herself seem more naïve and innocent. She obviously did not know how to use anything to mean something she was not. Basically, Miss Martin’s giggles were pure and soft and infectious. They made him wish to giggle as well.
Giggle, for goodness’ sake. He was most definitely going insane.
“I shall put you out of your misery, my lord,” she said then. “I need some punch anyway, my mouth is as dry as the Sahara, I swear. And I will take my leave of you. Though, I may have to do so intensely.” She peered about them, looked at him as she dramatically lifted her eyebrows, then turned with a grand sweeping gesture and left him.
In her wake, Anthony caught the faint sound of her laughter.
He shook his head as he watched her for a moment. He wished, actually, that they were alone. He wanted to keep talking with her. He wanted to make her laugh again.
Strange. He had never in his entire lifetime met a woman he’d wanted to be alone with because he’d wished to converse with her.
Anthony closed his eyes and placed the back of his hand against his forehead. Perhaps he had the fever.
Chapter 4
One could not help but note that Lady Neeley’s companion was perhaps the only woman not kissed at the Hargreaves’ Ball by Lord Roxbury.
Very well, This Author refers only to hands, not lips, but truly, the man needs to be a bit more discriminate.
LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS, 3 JUNE 1816
Bella was supposed to be sketching. She stared at the open sketchbook in front of her and then glanced back up at the kimono on display in the museum. She squirmed, trying to find a more comfortable spot on the straight-backed chair Ozzie had found her.
Ozzie came marching up the hall that very second, a small square pillow in his hand. “I thought this might help,” he said, offering it to her.
Bella smiled at the young man and stood. “Thank you so much, Ozzie, it is very thoughtful of you.”
A dark blush crept up Ozzie’s neck. Where most people had dark complexions or light or even yellow, Ozzie’s complexion could only be described as red. There was a red cast to his entire visage, which made the freckles that battled for room on his face look distressingly orange. His hair, as well, seemed the color of a ripe orange, though in truth it was a very light blonde.
Bella took the pillow and plopped it onto the seat of the chair, then propped her sketchbook on top of it all. “I do think, though, that I shall walk a little before I continue with my sketches.”
Ozzie glanced down at the pad. “You have done a wonderful job. You are very talented.”
Bella smiled. “Thank you. Since I am always designing decorations for parties, it helps that I can draw. Still, I am not at all competent at drawing unless I’m copying something else. So, I guess you could say it’s a limited talent.” She laughed self-deprecatingly as she started walking down the hall.
Ozzie followed along beside her, and she was glad. The boy was lovely company. She had met him the week before when she had come looking for information on anything Japanese. He worked in the bowels of the museum helping to restore and preserve the artifacts on display. And he especially knew a lot about the Japanese artifacts, which had made her job much easier. In fact, it was Ozzie who had taught her how to fold the invitations in a design the Japanese called origami.
“I do wish I could see this party that you are decorating,” he said now.
Bella stopped. “You know, I am sure that you can. Would you help me set up the party the day before? That way you can see everything when it is done.”
Ozzie’s green eyes became glassy as he nodded quickly. “Oh, yes, I would love to.”
He did remind her of an overeager puppy. Bella giggled.
“I would know that sound anywhere,” a soft male voice said from behind them.
Bella jumped and Ozzie slouched. “Well, my goodness!” Bella said. “’Tis Lord Roxbury, as I live and breathe.” She tried very hard to sound nonchalant, which was extremely difficult seeing that every single nerve in her body had started to vibrate, of all things.
Bella pressed her fingers against her chest, wondering if she was about to collapse from apoplexy, with her heart apparently beating much too fast.
“I came to take in the Japanese exhibit you informed me of, Miss Martin,” he said, his eye roving slowly over Ozzie until the boy babbled an unintelligible excuse and scuttled away.
Lord Roxbury watched Ozzie fleeing for a minute, and then turned his full attention on Bella. Goodness, being on the receiving end of Lord Roxbury’s full attention was quite daunting, Bella decided. No wonder Ozzie had scampered off like a mouse faced with the largest cat in Christendom.
His brown eyes, which she distinctly remembered admiring because they always had a glint of humor in them, had most definitely lost that glint. He seemed to be in a bad mood, actually. And Bella had to curb an intense urge to brush the shock of brown hair off his forehead and ask him what the matter was.
Instead she clasped her hands together tightly in front of her, as a precaution. “Did you get your invitation, my lord?” she asked with a smile.
“Yes, as did my father. He was quite over the moon about the unique design.”
Bella smiled. “Oh, lovely, I’m so glad.”
“Yes, unfortunately, though, my father was not on my invitation list.”
“Ah, well, I took it upon myself to combine your list and your father’s list, so that meant he did receive an invitation.”
“Really? I’m paying f
or this party, but my father gets to decide who comes?” Lord Roxbury asked.
“No, not entirely.” Bella tightened her hold on her own fingers. “I did notice that each of you had extremes on your lists.”
“Extremes?”
“Well, that is to say, I noticed that your father’s list was made up of very young unmarried ladies and their mothers, and your list was predominantly made up of men and older married women,” Bella said.
“And?”
“And so I cut out the extremes and meshed the middles together. That way you have a much better mix of people.”
Lord Roxbury nodded his head but said nothing for a long moment. “Do you not think,” he said finally, “that you have rather overstepped your bounds, Miss Martin?”
“Not at all. I am here to make your party a success, and that meant I definitely had to take charge of the invite list. If it bothers you that much, my lord, I shall quit this job.”
“I never exactly hired you.”
“Exactly,” Bella said with a smile. “Your father asked Lady Neeley to allow me to help you. Because of that, I did feel it necessary that I take some notice of his list and not just burn it, as you suggested. But since it is, ultimately, your party, I wanted to invite people on your list as well.”
“In other words, you are acting the diplomat to my father and me?” Lord Roxbury asked.
“I was just taking the woman’s role when faced with two stubborn males,” she said lightly.
Lord Roxbury blinked.
Lord Roxbury was cute when he was flustered. Though she was sure no one else in society would ever think of cute and Lord Roxbury in the same sentence, it was true.
Even now, he was trying very hard to look angry and pompous, and it was not working in the least. She had realized the day she’d first met him that he was probably one of the nicest men she knew.
She really did like that about him.
“Now then, my lord, did you want to see the Japanese display? It is exquisite, and I must tell you I am actually very glad that I have had this opportunity to study the Japanese. I have learned much about another culture and am thoroughly enjoying myself.”
Roxbury just stood there staring at her as if she were a ghost. Or a woman. Obviously, he had never met one who’d actually spoken to him, either that or he’d never listened to any of the women he’d met. Bella bit her bottom lip to keep from laughing. “My lord?” she asked. “Would you like to see the display? Or would you rather keep arguing over something that has already been done?”
Later on Bella realized that she had become so smug by this point in the conversation that she had probably started to sound like a know-it-all, boring schoolteacher. She probably deserved to be taken down a peg, but, really, she did not expect what came next at all…though she thoroughly enjoyed it.
Chapter 5
Has anyone noticed that Lord Roxbury seems rather more serious of late? After all that kissing of hands at the Hargreaves’ Ball, he’s become a veritable monk.
Not a single party attended all week. How very unlike him.
One can only wonder whether his father is rejoicing or sobbing with despair. The lack of merriment might indicate a certain willingness to settle down, but on the other hand, one can’t meet an eligible young miss if one never leaves one’s house, can one?
LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS, 7 JUNE 1816
Anthony was very out of sorts when he sought out Miss Martin. He had been informed by Lady Neeley that her companion was at the museum sketching. That had bothered him on top of everything else. The lady did not care in the least that her young and terribly lovely companion was alone at the museum. Miss Martin needed a chaperone.
As he rode his horse toward the museum, Anthony became even more agitated. He had spent the weekend in a mood that could only be called black. And, as most everyone that knew him understood, Anthony was never anything but happy and easygoing. The last weekend had proved beyond a doubt that he was his father’s son.
For he had started sounding just like the man: barking orders to poor Herman and sitting hunched over his desk, his eyes shooting daggers at anyone who’d disturbed him. And, the strangest thing of all, Anthony had not been with a woman since Wednesday.
He’d spent the entire weekend without even the desire to see a woman, much less speak to one or, dread the thought, touch one. Of course, Miss Martin had pervaded his thoughts most unnervingly, and the desire to touch her had almost overwhelmed him.
What on earth was wrong with him?
When he’d found out that his father had received an invitation, Anthony had been immensely relieved because now he could be angry with Miss Martin. That seemed a safer emotion than whatever he’d felt for her before.
But then he saw her walking with some boy whom he did feel the need to throttle, of all things. She was such a slight thing, slender, with her pixielike hair curled about her head. She wore a plain gray gown that would have looked really horrible on anyone else, but she had added a soft blue sash that accentuated her waist and made her eyes seem like mist. She had also pinned a little bunch of flowers to her collar, and when he stood close, their fragrance went straight to his head.
In truth, every thought in his brain was like those of a besotted schoolboy. And then she laughed at him and spoke to him in that forthright, intelligent manner she had, and Anthony did feel the need to kiss her soundly.
And so he did, finally.
Afterwards, he wasn’t really sure what exactly had made him do it, but he did remember feeling like he was either going to hit her or kiss her in that moment, and he would never hit a woman, so he grabbed her arm, pulled her close, and took her mouth.
And then she kissed him back, and he really did lose himself as he had never done before.
He was harsh at first, but she immediately opened to him: Her arms went around his neck, her body molded against his, and her mouth was soft.
He was hard with wanting within seconds, definitely a besotted schoolboy. He curved an arm around her back and leaned over her, kissing her as he had never kissed a woman. He kissed her with an urgency that was beyond physical.
When he finally came to his senses and realized that they were in a very public place, and that he could ruin her completely in that very second if only one person were to see them, he pulled away from her.
He held her arm for a moment to make sure that she had her balance, but then he let go of her completely and even took a few steps away from her.
She just stared at him, and he really did wish she wouldn’t. He was not himself. He could not figure out who he was, or what he was feeling, but it was not normal, that much he knew.
“Do you do that to all the women who aggravate you?” she asked finally.
“No,” he said.
“I can now say that I have been kissed, though. Can’t I?”
He shook his head, confused.
“You seemed to think it funny that I thought I had been kissed when you kissed my neck. This, though…” She waved her hand between them. “This was definitely a kiss, was it not?”
He closed his eyes for a moment. She had no idea how much of a kiss it was. “Yes,” he said. “This was a kiss.”
She grinned. “Well, that’s good then. Now, did you want to see that display?” she asked.
Display? Anthony truly could not remember what she was talking about. He was having a hard enough time remembering where they were or who he was. Truly, he had meant to shock the woman in front of him, and instead he’d put himself into a stupor.
“Uh,” he said.
“Come along then,” she said, turning and walking off down the hall.
Lovely, he was forever changed by one kiss, and the woman who had inspired it could care less. Anthony stood for a moment staring at the ceiling. Surely this was God’s perverse way of getting back at him for his debauchery in days past.
With a shake of his head, Anthony followed the little nymph that was Miss Isabella Martin.
“Isn’t this lovely?” she asked when he reached her. She gestured toward the wall with her hand.
Anthony tried to see the display, but instead his gaze stuck on Miss Martin’s hand. It was such a lovely hand, slender with perfectly rounded nails. Probably sometime this evening he would sit down and write a bleeding sonnet to Miss Martin’s hands. He was that far gone.
Or maybe he just needed to lose himself in another woman? Perhaps that would break this strange spell.
“Miss Martin,” he said. “How on earth did you get a name like Isabella?” Just one of the many things that he’d wondered about as he had sat hunched behind his desk over the weekend.
She shook her head, obviously confused by the change of subject, but then smiled. “Ah, it was my mother. I received my imagination from her. She was constantly telling me stories about Spanish princesses and English princes. She named me Isabella after the Spanish Queen.”
See, Anthony thought, nothing so extravagant that it should be pondered to death over an entire weekend.
“My parents were older when they had me, and they knew they would die when I was relatively young, so they made sure that I had a place to go and someone to take care of me.”
“Lady Neeley?” he asked.
“Yes, Lady Neeley offered to take me on as her companion. But my mother always insisted that anything could happen. That I should dream of all sorts of wild and wonderful things, because you never knew, it could happen.”
Miss Martin sighed, and her large gray eyes looked sad for the first time since Anthony had known her. “I kept that thought through the years, but it does seem that this is the end.”
“Excuse me?” Anthony asked, a bit alarmed.
“I mean, I will be thirty next week. I don’t think an English prince rides off with a Spanish princess who is thirty years old.”
“But you are not a Spanish princess.”
Miss Martin laughed. “Obviously, you don’t have much of an imagination, my lord.”
That was debatable. He could, in fact, at this very moment, imagine Miss Martin stark naked on his bed.