She felt the tension in his body and it was matched by an unwelcome sensation in her own. She wanted to melt into his embrace. The feeling infuriated her. She struggled to be released from his hold, not caring now if she caused a scene. “Let me go.”
“Nay, the music has not ended.” His reasonable tone enraged her all the more.
She was desperate to break his hold on her before her body betrayed itself. How unfair to experience her first taste of desire with a man who believed her too ordinary to court. “Do you really think I wish to dance with you after your insult?”
“’Twas no an insult, lass. ’Twas a proposal.”
“My name is not ‘lass’. It is Lady Annabelle, as Ceddy told you these many days past. Are you hard of hearing? Perhaps you need an ear trumpet.”
“Nay, ’tis no an ear trumpet I need, but a wife. You’re neither too beautiful, too rich, nor too young to pass on the proposal I’m giving you.” She almost choked on her anger. “Must I be subjected to your list of slurs again?
You may need a wife, but I do not need a husband.” Ian danced toward an unoccupied corner and pulled her into it. “Do not be so foolish as to label virtues insults.”
“They are only virtues because you believe that by possessing these traits, or rather lack of traits, a woman would willingly marry you without even rudimentary courtship.” She tried to step around Ian. He blocked her path like a marble column. She glared at him. “That, my lord, is not a list of virtues, but an insulting recipe concocted by you to gain a wife without the customary work or effort.” At Ian’s look of consternation, she was convinced that she had guessed correctly.
“I’m right. You are too indolent to properly court a woman. I can only assume some catastrophe has generated the need for you to take a wife.”
“’Tis no indolence that causes me to avoid the playacting of courtship, but aversion to the games ladies play.”
The genuine emotion she heard in his voice confused her. He stood so close she could feel the heat of his body. It did strange things to her insides. Drat. Now was not the time to become a simpering twit. He would not win this argument.
“I may not be a beauty, but I do expect to be courted and I will only marry the man that convinces me I cannot live without him.” Her voice vibrated with emotion she wanted to suppress.
She had to leave before she turned into a watering pot and completely disgraced herself. She could not stand the strain much longer. When she tried to sidestep him again, he placed his hand on her arm. He squeezed gently. Against her will, she found comfort in the gesture.
Her breath started to come in short gasps as the nearness of his body continued to affect her equilibrium. He looked into her eyes as if searching them for the answer to some question.
Finally he sighed. “If it’s courting you want, lass, it’s courting you shall get. I’ll give you until the end of the season to reconcile yourself to the idea of our marriage.” The man was mad. “Courtship is wooing, not giving me a set time to reconcile myself to your arrogant plans.”
“If it ’tis wooing you need, then wooing you will have. I’ll call on you tomorrow.” She couldn’t believe his denseness. “You may call on me until I’m old and gray, but I will never marry a man I do not love and respect.” It would have been a wonderful last word had he still not blocked her path. “Please, let me by. The set has ended.” She could not prevent her voice from trembling.
Thankfully, she was promised for the next set. She watched her partner approach with relief. “I must go.”
“We are no finished with our discussion.”
“Please.” She hated that she begged him, but she needed to get away before her devastated emotions slipped her control.
Mr. Green’s voice came as welcome relief. “Lady Annabelle, I believe our set is forming.”
Ian turned and gave the younger gentleman an arrogant glance. “’Tis our dance, I believe.”
Fury overcame Annabelle’s pain. “It most certainly is not.” She wanted to throttle the man.
Ian just stared at Mr. Green who mumbled an excuse and retreated. He had deserted her. The coward.
Yanking her arm from Ian’s, she said, “Regardless, I did not promise this dance to you.” She turned to hurry away.
“’Twas an oversight, I’m sure.”
In her haste to get away from Ian, she bumped into another gentleman. “Pray excuse me. I did not realize you were there.”
The gentleman placed a monocle in his eye and gave her a condescending stare. “It was nothing, I’m sure.”
Annabelle’s skin grew unbearably warm. Twisting her head, she hissed at Ian, “Do you see what you made me do?”
His rich laughter stoked her fury. “Dinna let that popinjay upset you, lass. ’Tis of no account.” He took her hand and placed it in the crook of his arm.
“Release me.”
He sighed. “Would it no be easier to finish our talk?”
“It is finished.”
He shrugged.
“Your arrogance is only exceeded by your stubbornness.” Conceding defeat, but only for the moment, she said, “Fine.”
She would convince him to leave off this ridiculous courtship. “Wouldn’t you do better to search among ladies more amenable to marriage for the sake of marriage than myself?”
Rather than answer her question, he posed one of his own. “Marriage for the sake of marriage? What do you mean, lass?”
She twisted her fan with her free hand. “There are many ladies of the ton whose greatest desire in life is to be wed.”
“Yours isn’t?” The words held a hint of mockery.
“No, it is not.” She spoke forcefully, willing him to believe her.
“Why come to the season if you dinna wish to be married?” If only he knew. She was tempted to tell him and see how quickly he would go looking elsewhere for a wife. She would not betray her secret in a fit of temper, however.
“I would gladly marry if I knew I would share a union like that of my parents.” The emotion she felt when she thought of her parents’ love spilled over into her
words.
“And what was so grand about your parents’ marriage?”
“They loved each other.”
“You canna expect a love match?” Ian sounded horrified.
“Yes, that is exactly what I do expect.” For the first time, Annabelle felt she had succeeded in piercing Ian’s complacent assumption that she would marry him. Giving him a full-blown smile, she nodded her head for emphasis.
“Ye’ll get over that soon enough. Love is no basis for a marriage.” In his agitation, Ian’s burr was more pronounced.
Her smile died on her lips as indignation filled her. “I will not get over it. Marriage for me will have a great deal to do with love or I will not get married at all.”
“Finchley said your head was no filled with romantic drivel.” Incensed, she frowned at him. “Love is not drivel.” He put his finger under her chin and forced her to look into his eyes. “You will marry me.”
“Never.”
He shrugged and stepped aside. “I’ll call on you tomorrow.” Catching Annabelle’s hand, he bowed over it, never taking his eyes from hers. When he let go, she felt she had been branded by his touch.
She stood dazed for several moments after Ian left. She noticed that he left after speaking to her without dancing with anyone else. Why should he? He had found what he was looking for, an aging spinster to marry.
* * *
The rest of the evening was a trial. When she was not dancing, Annabelle fielded questions from young ladies and their mothers regarding the handsome laird. This had become a normal pastime since Ian had singled her out. Never before had it been such a chore. By the time she and her aunt retired to their carriage to travel home, Annabelle had a pounding headache. Removing her gloves, she massaged her aching temples.
“Annabelle, are you quite all right?” Lady Beauford’s voice registered concern.
“I am simply tired.”
The other woman’s smile alerted Annabelle to the fact that she should not have been so quick to dissuade her aunt’s concern. “Ah, then you won’t mind telling me what you and the Lord Graenfrae discussed quite privately in the corner?” Annabelle groaned. The inquisition had arrived. “I’d rather not.”