Page 13 of The Devil’s Waltz

Chapter Seven

Miss Kempton really was the most delicious creature, Christian thought as he ambled away.

He couldn’t remember meeting such a prickly, defensive, yet charmingly vulnerable woman in his life.

Most of his female acquaintances were either great beauties or women of a certain.

..er...moral laxness, and the Honorable Miss Kempton was neither.

He’d touched a raw spot quite accidentally when he’d been flirting with her. She seemed to have no difficulty with him calling her “dragon,” but “pretty” and “little” seemed to bring forth her rage.

Well, in truth, she wasn’t little. At least not in height. But although her dull clothes were fairly shapeless, even through the evening dress last night he’d been able to ascertain that she was slender in the right places, full in the others.

The fact of the matter was, he considered her pretty.

Not a great beauty, as was more his usual style.

He loved her eyes, even when they flashed lightning at him, and he’d been wanting to taste her mouth since he’d first seen her using it to castigate him.

It had been everything he’d wanted, and if her insults hadn’t been so diverting he would have been tempted to kiss her again.

He wanted to see her with her hair loose around her shoulders and out of those wretched clothes.

He was tempted to crush the spectacles beneath his boot heel—he suspected she used them more as a defense than a tool to aid her vision.

When people were truly shortsighted the glass distorted their eyes.

Annelise’s eyeglasses seemed far too thin to be of much use.

But he was getting distracted from the main prize.

He needed to secure the impressionable Hetty first, then he could concentrate on the far more challenging dragon.

In the meantime things were moving along quite nicely.

Josiah Chippie would be extremely displeased with the arrival of Hetty’s childhood love, or so he assumed the young man to be.

Once Christian had settled on the heiress he’d made it his business to discover everything he could about her and her family, though some information had been frustratingly hard to come by.

Mrs. Chippie had died when Hetty was quite young, according to Hetty.

Mr. Chippie had amassed his fortune through shipping, though how he had advanced from a simple importer to someone with the dazzling fortune he now possessed was shrouded in mystery.

Christian didn’t particularly care where the money came from, as long as he could get his hands on it.

Which he planned to. His debts were getting more pressing, and his luck at the cards last night had been less than usual. Probably because he’d been unduly distracted by his encounter on the terrace and the damp piece of lace tucked in his coat A weakness he couldn’t afford.

For the next few weeks he would concentrate on his financial salvation. And then he’d allow himself to play.

She was still clutching the lacy handkerchief in her hand, Annelise realized.

She should throw it on the ground, stomp on it to express her total rage and disgust with Christian Montcalm.

But in the last few years economy had been drummed into her, and it was too fine a handkerchief to wantonly destroy, she told herself virtuously.

She reached under her cloak and tucked it into her bodice, next to the folded note that still lay there.

At this rate she was going to become quite top heavy, she thought with a trace of grim amusement.

She could only hope Montcalm didn’t take it into his head to present her with anything bulky.

He wasn’t going to present her with anything at all.

As soon as she got back to the house she was going to give the lovely handkerchief to one of the maids, burn the note and toss the flowers out the window.

Well, perhaps she might leave the flowers—they were lovely, and not to blame that they’d come as a mocking salute from a wastrel.

She glanced down at the duck pond. They were sitting far too close together—Montcalm had been right about that.

And perhaps Mr. Chippie wouldn’t be pleased, but once she told him of the danger his daughter was courting he might be more amenable to the safe, reliable comfort of someone like William Dickinson.

They didn’t even notice her approach. Hetty had been crying, the tears making her china blue eyes even more beguiling.

She was one of those rare females who looked even lovelier when she cried.

Her nose didn’t drip and turn red, her eyes didn’t swell, unlike Annelise’s.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise and it wasn’t the least rancorous—Hetty was simply everything Annelise was not.

They jumped up guiltily when she appeared in front of them, and Hetty fumbled in her lap for her discarded glove. It was a good thing no one had seen them but the ducks, Annelise thought, or Hetty might have done real damage to her reputation. And it was all Annelise’s fault.

But it wasn’t too late to mend. “I think you should come back to the house with us after all, Mr. Dickinson. It’s almost teatime, and I’m certain you’ll want to renew your acquaintance with Mr. Chippie. I expect Hetty will welcome the chance to restore amity between the two of you.”

Hetty didn’t look as if she welcomed anything. “He can’t come home with us,” she said flatly. “You don’t know my father—he doesn’t like to be thwarted.”

“No one’s thwarting him, my dear. And I suspect he would dislike subterfuge even more, and word will certainly get to him of this afternoon’s accidental meeting.”

“How would he know?”

“Because I would tell him. I have a certain responsibility, and it was my choice to allow you to have some time in relative privacy.”

“You don’t have to...” Hetty began, but Annelise continued smoothly.

“Besides, if I don’t, you can be sure Christian Montcalm will. He saw the two of you, and he would find it to his advantage to inform your father.”

“Who’s Christian Montcalm?” William asked. His ruddy cheeks were the complete opposite of Montcalm’s pale handsomeness, and Hetty’s face flamed at the mention of her suitor.

“He was here?” Hetty said in a choked voice, clearly horrified.

Annelise didn’t wait for Hetty to come up with an explanation. “He’s simply one of her many suitors. The most determined and the least desirable of them. If he has the chance he’ll cause trouble, and I need to circumvent that.”

“He wouldn’t do such a thing!” Hetty protested.

William looked down at her in surprise. “Hetty, are you in love with this man?”

“Of course not, Will!” she said in a cross voice. “I just want to marry him.”

William looked tempted to bolt at this artless confidence, so Annelise simply took both their arms and herded them back up the path. Mr. Chippie could scarcely be as difficult as Hetty warned, but it wouldn’t hurt to be as honest as possible. The sooner they faced him, the better.

“We’ll have tea in the green salon,” she informed the maid when they arrived back at the house. “And ask Mr. Chippie to join us if he’s able.”

In fact, the green salon was a bilious color designed to make any inhabitant look like a corpse, with the notable exception of Hetty.

As far as Annelise could tell, nothing could lessen her incandescent beauty.

Perhaps she was being too cynical—Christian Montcalm might have fallen desperately in love with the exquisite creature and her fortune was merely a happy adjunct, despite his crass avowals.

And the moon might be made of green cheese, she thought.

If it were, it was probably the hideous color of Josiah Chippie’s parlor.

After all, if Montcalm was really in love with the heiress why had he kissed her on the terrace?

He should be focusing all his efforts on winning his beloved, not tormenting her protectors.

William and Hetty seemed to have exhausted their entire conversation, though Annelise suspected the mention of Christian Montcalm had put a decided damper on things.

Therefore it was up to her to keep matters going, and she prattled on like a total idiot, serving tea, discussing the weather, asking polite questions, which resulted in monosyllabic answers except when she happened on the topic of country livings.

William became almost voluble, and to her surprise Hetty joined in.

Since Annelise herself preferred living in the country things loosened up for a bit, until Mr. Chippie appeared in the open door, glowering.

Hetty didn’t help matters by looking nervous and guilty, but William jumped to his feet, instantly polite, and took the proverbial bull by the horns by starting up a conversation.

“Good afternoon, sir,” he said, his voice betraying his nervousness only slightly.

“I ran into Miss Chippie and Miss Kempton in the park, and Miss Kempton was kind enough to invite me back for tea. I hope you don’t mind that I trespassed on your hospitality, but I wanted to renew my acquaintance with both of you during my short time here in the city. ”

Annelise must have imagined the chill that had emanated from the door. Mr. Chippie stepped into the room, affable enough. “It’s good to see you. Will. What brings you into the city? You’re a country boy, born and bred. I wouldn’t think the likes of society would suit you very well.”

“I had a commission for my father,” Will said with only a slight stutter. “I thought I would take advantage of the trip to acquire a bit of town bronze. I expect it’s a lost cause.”

“It’s smart of you to recognize when a cause is lost,” Chippie said with a pleasant smile that somehow failed to warm. “When are you going back home?”

“I’ll be here for a week.”