Belle of the ball Read Online Free PDF Page B

asked her when she was going to get down to the business at hand, which was catching a husband, most likely Lord Pelimore, before some other widgeon had him locked up tighter than a dowager's jewel chest.
    Pleasure in the evening was over, and Arabella set herself to charming the gentlemen, but it seemed that the harder she tried, the more difficult it became. Apart from her looks, it had always been her gay flirtatiousness that had attracted the men, she supposed, but she could not seem to find the right lightness. She felt herself trying too hard; her laughter sounded forced, her banter strained, her voice feverish. More than one gentleman had fled her company the moment the dance was over with just the barest of civility.
    All the gentlemen clustered around the newest diamond, a Lady Cynthia Walkerton, another lovely blonde; she flirted and teased and had her choice of men begging her for the next dance. The Honorable Miss Swinley, diamond of years gone by, was left on the sidelines watching more than once as the evening wore on, for after all, she could dance with no gentleman more than once or twice and her court was soon depleted, especially as more and more gentlemen drifted off to the card room or to Lady Cynthia's side.
    And so she tried harder. Working through the figures of the dance with Sir William Drayton, she gaily said, "So, Sir William, how pleasant to see you again this year Shall some lucky lady find you ready to set down in parson's mousetrap this year?"
    'P—p—parson's mousetrap?" The man goggled visibly. "I d—d—don't intend to m—m—marry this year, M—M—Miss Swinley."
    He had never stammered before. How odd. They parted and came together again to the beat of the lilting country tune as the flickering lights of the chandelier winked and twinkled above them. "Ah, but no gentleman intends to marry, isn't that true?" She smiled up at him, putting all her effort forth to be charming and witty. He paled.
    And just at that second she caught the mystery gentleman’s eyes on her—what was the name he had introduced himself by?—from his position on the sidelines, as if he could read what was happening. She swiftly looked away and gazed up at her dance partner with a lingering smile that made his eyes goggle again.
    "T—t—true? I d—d—don't know."
    The moment the dance was over, Sir William escorted her back to Lady Swinley's side and bolted off to the card room, not to be seen again that evening. So far, she was having a lot of luck with the gentlemen, all of it bad. And always the tall gentleman’s eyes were on her. He seemed invariably to be in her line of sight, and she freely admitted that he stood out, quite literally, head and shoulders above the other men.
    His hair, still that same unfashionable length from the day before, was dark and straight, falling below his collar onto his shoulders, and his features were strong, his nose slightly beaky, his cheekbones high. Arabella had to admit to herself that he epitomized masculine good looks, to her thinking. But there was more to him than just his looks. There was an intelligent sharpness in his eyes—they were a clear gray, she remembered— and his air was confident without being swaggering, as if he was comfortable with himself on all levels and did not need to make a show about it.
    But it was his smile that stayed in her memory even when she looked away from him. It transformed his face as sunlight does a landscape, changing it from brooding to beaming in one breathtaking instant.
    And she would have to stop mooning about an ineligible man who infuriated her for some inexplicable reason. She was there to meet the man she would marry, whoever he might be, and she must get down to the serious business of finding him. She could not count on good luck forever. Myriad things could go wrong: Lord Conroy could come to London and speak openly of the whole mess, or some intimate of the Farmingtons' could speak of it, or word could get around