Adrian's smile flashed white in the moonlight. "Were you expecting something more, my lady?"
"Of course I -" Annabelle caught herself, blushing to the roots of her hair. "No, absolutely not. That would be entirely inappropriate."
"Of course," he drawled. "But if you should desire more..." His lips hovered just an inch away from hers.
Annabelle's breath came in sharply, resented excitement gnawing at her stomach. Desire more kisses, she did. And yet... "Damn you, Adrian Morey," she hissed.
One dark eyebrow arched up. "Damn me?"
"Yes." Angrily, she raised her chin. "Why couldn't you have just left everything alone? I had it all perfectly planned out, and you had to go and ruin it by replying to the damn bluebottles!"
"Are you saying, my lady, that you did not wish me to reply?" he questioned, obviously confused.
"Of course I didn't! They were simply supposed to give you some idea as to who I was at my funeral!"
"Funeral!" Adrian echoed loudly, hands tightening on her elbows. "What the bloody hell are you talking about?"
Is she ill? he wondered. Is that why she won't marry me? She's pale, but she's always been that way as far as I can remember.
"Yes, funeral," Annabelle confirmed. "I sent you the flowers so that you would have something to think about besides how dreadful I look. Instead, you would be thinking about how very odd I must have been, and wondering what your wife will say when you tell her about -"
"Annabelle, you're not making any sense!" Adrian exclaimed, a note of panic in his voice. His hands slid up to her shoulders, and he shook her gently. "I've never thought you looked dreadful, and I don't have a wife - which is a slight -"
Annabelle harrumphed. "Well, you'd have a wife by the time I die. I've -"
"You're not going to die, damn it!"
She was quite effectively stunned into silence at this outburst. Her lips were parted in mid-sentence, and he couldn't help his gaze from falling to them. Drawing her close, he covered her mouth with his. This time, it was no mere peck.
Annabelle shivered, screwing her eyes shut. Worries about why she shouldn't be doing just this drifted away. Her hands clenched his shoulders instinctively for support, as her head spun in a dizzying rush she could barely think through. She forgot her panicked need to make Adrian understand, allowing herself to drift on the sensations his lips elicited. She had always wondered what it would be like to kiss him. Now she knew.
It was extraordinary.
"You're not going to die," he whispered against her lips.
"Oh, Adrian," she murmured, eyes still closed. Her head listed against his shoulder, where it rested ever so lightly. "Everyone dies eventually."
"'Eventually' being the key term," he responded, his voice no where near as dreamlike as hers. In fact, his whole body was tensed as if waiting for an attack, whereas her every limb was slack with airy contentment.
As her mind lazily picked apart his words, the mist within her slowly dissipated. By the time she fully comprehended what he meant, she wasn't sure whether or not to laugh. Shifting, she tried to look him in the face, but it was no small feat with his chin resting atop her head. "Adrian...when I spoke of my funeral, I didn't mean -"
"You're not going to die," he repeated adamantly, refusing to budge.
"No, not just yet, I don't think. When I spoke of it, I was speaking in terms of the future." She finally managed to dislodge his chin from its resting place and pull back enough to meet his eyes. "The distant future."
"Oh." His arms fell to his sides, and the grim line of his mouth softened. "So you're...not ill?" he inquired.
Smiling ruefully, she shook her head. "No, I'm not." She wasn't quite sure how to feel. Adrian had been worried that she was sick and dying. He had resolutely insisted that it wouldn't not happen. Of course, it wouldn't, because she was in perfect health, but the point was that he cared enough to be stubbornly irrational. After all, if she had been, there would certainly have been nothing he could have done about it.
His concern settled warmly in her stomach, and it took a moment for her to realize that she still hadn't convinced him that she was utterly unsuitable to be his wife. She was just rounding up her next argument, when he spoke.
"Well, I should like to think that marrying me would be a sight better than simply having me attend your funeral. That is, if I still hold your affections."
"Of course you still hold my affections!" How could he not? How could he doubt it?
"Well, then? Why won't you marry me?"
Annabelle wasn't sure anymore. She wrung her hands and gnawed on her lip, searching for a satisfactory answer. "Affection...it's not quite love," she managed at last - rather weakly, in her opinion.
She heard him sigh. "No, it's not." Her eyes, glued to the ground, saw his feet take a step forward. "Annabelle, we could always break off the engagement in the future. My father's only request was that -"
"Your father's request?" Her head snapped up. "Is that all this is about?"
Adrian looked taken aback. "No, no. Of course not."
"Tell me, Adrian, exactly what is so bad about Adeline? She's a bit light in the head, I'll grant, but that's no reason to persecute her!"
"I didn't say it was. I only meant that -"
"I thought you were better than this, Adrian. Really, leading her to believe -"
"I never led her to believe anything!"
"- that you carry affections for her, and now doing the same to me!"
"I do carry affections for you, Annabelle."
"That's 'my lady' to you, and I sincerely doubt it," she said coldly. Turning, she swept away, leaving a stunned Adrian to stare after her.
▫▪▫
"Don't you think you were a bit...harsh, Anna?" Melanie asked. They sat together with Lorraine in a small, almost empty salon. Upon returning to the ballroom, Annabelle had almost tripped over the other two, who had been squinting shamelessly around the edge of the terrace door. After some embarrassed stuttering, they had withdrawn to the salon.
Annabelle, still a bit upset with her sister for giving away her secret, scowled. "I didn't feel there was any reason for me to be gentle," she sniffed. "He was trying to use me simply so that he could get out of proposing to Adeline Thurston."
"You don't know that for sure," Melanie reproached.
Annabelle sniffed delicately. "In any case, it simply isn't meant to be," she insisted.
"And why is that?" Lorraine wanted to know.
"Because it simply is!"
"If you ask me, you're afraid," Melanie declared succinctly, and Annabelle turned an incredulous gaze on her.
"What on Earth have I to be afraid of?"
"Of getting what you want."
"Oh, come now, Melanie, that makes absolutely no sense."
"What makes no sense is you turning down Adrian's proposal when it's exactly what you wanted."
"I never wanted to marry him!" Annabelle huffed.
"Yes, you did. You still do. You just never expected to have the chance."
Annabelle pursed her lips tightly. She would never have expected her older sister to make so much sense. It was true that she had never expected a proposal from Adrian. She had come to terms with that years ago, resigning herself to a life without him in it. That resignation had become a comfortable niche that she was highly reluctant to leave.
But Melanie was still carrying on. "You're also scared of ruining the perfect ideal you've held of him up in that silly little head of yours. You're afraid of discovering his flaws, because that would ruin all your hero worship of him."
"Oh? And you don't think James is perfect?" Annabelle retorted grumpily.
"Of course I don't! He's far from it."
As expected, Melanie took the bait, chattering on about James' faults for the remainder of the evening. Lorraine frowned across at Annabelle, obviously aware that she had changed the subject on purpose, but said nothing. At last, the ball ended and Annabelle was being helped into their carriage by her father.
"What a lovely evening," the marchioness sighed, sitting in the seat across from her daughters.
"Indeed," the marquess agreed, looking oddly pleased with himself.
Annabelle hardly noticed, however. She was gazing distractedly out the window of the carriage. People were bustling about the front steps of the house, reluctant to let the night go so soon. A couple of young girls strolled by with their heads together, whispering furtively. When they passed, Annabelle's eyes suddenly clashed with Adrian's. He smiled at her from where he stood. In his hand was a palm-sized cluster of buckbean, which he held up to her as if in toast.
'May sweet sleep attend you.'
Annabelle sucked in a sharp breath, unable to tear her eyes away from him as the carriage began to move.
"Annabelle, what on Earth are you doing?" her mother cried, and she suddenly became aware that she was half hanging out the carriage window trying to keep Adrian within sight. Cheeks aflame, she settled down in her seat, eyes on her lap. She could feel her family watching her - Melanie with exasperation, her mother with concern and her father with disapproval. When it was obvious that she wasn't going to say anything, her family turned away, and Annabelle breathed a sigh of relief that no one had pushed for an explanation.
Her thoughts drifted back to Adrian, standing on the top step of the townhouse, watching her, smiling at her. Why wasn't he angry with her? After the way they had parted, it was only logical that he should be. But instead of scowling, he had smiled.
Suspicion crept through her. He was up to something. She was sure he was. But what?
Adrian Morey, you...you...insufferable man! she fumed weakly.
She was so lost in her concerns about Adrian, that she didn't notice her father appraising her speculatively the entire drive home.