Charlotte Featherstone - Addicted

A small smile lifted her lips upwards. She had almost completely forgotten that Rebecca had been in attendance at dinner.

“Come, now, Anais, spill your secrets! I know you must have had an impassioned tryst in the stable.”

“And what makes you think that?” Anais thought back to the moment when she had heard a crash outside the stable, and had seen a figure fleeing through the window. Had Rebecca been spying on her? But why?

“Anais, we have been friends much too long. All the signs of a torrid embrace were there on your person when you arrived back in the salon. Your color was high, and your lips,” Rebecca teased, “were as pink and swollen as anything. Either you were stung by a bee in February, or you were utterly and pleasurably ravished! Now do not keep me in suspense any longer. I am positively dying to learn what happened between the two of you!”

Anais flushed and stabbed her needle through the purple silk, trying to prevent her hand from shaking and making the hem uneven. She wanted this costume to be perfect.

“Anais,” Rebecca said teasingly, “we’ve been friends too long, you know. You cannot hide the truth from me. He kissed you, didn’t he?”

“Perhaps,” Anais said, unable to hide the huge smile that parted her lips.

“ You fiend! ” Rebecca cried, coming off the bed and tearing the fabric from her hands. “Two days you’ve kept this from me! Tell me all of it. Was it divine? Does he have strong lips?”

“Rebecca, I’m quite certain you already know that it was heaven. After all, you’ve been kissed many times before.”

“But never by anyone as deliciously wicked as Lord Raeburn.”

For some reason Anais did not want to discuss Lindsay with Rebecca. It was not that she didn’t trust her friend to be discreet and keep her secret. She trusted Rebecca implicitly. But she realized that what had happened between her and Lindsay was meant to be kept just between them.

“Well?” Rebecca prodded.

“I’m quite certain Lord Broughton is just as deliciously wicked, Rebecca. A fact I’m certain you shall discover when he proposes marriage to you.”

“Oh, I’m afraid Lord Broughton is the most pious of gentlemen. Deliciously wicked are two words I would not use to describe him.”

Anais frowned and thought of the man who had been courting Rebecca. Garrett, Lord Broughton, was a gentleman. Handsome and rich, Garrett was much sought after by the marriage-minded girls and their mamas. He was a gentleman and given to quiet introspection, true, but there was no disputing that Rebecca had captured his attention.

“What are you making?” Rebecca asked suddenly, running her finger along the gold cording that Anais was busy sewing to the purple silk.

“My costume for the masquerade tonight.”

“You told me you were going as a shepherdess. I thought your mother already had your costume made up for you.”

“I’m not wearing that hideous monstrosity.” Anais glanced at the costume that hung on the door of her wardrobe. “I’ll look as wide as a frigate in that hooped skirt.”

Rebecca’s gaze roamed over the costume. “It is revolting, isn’t it?”

“I’m not wearing it.”

“So then, what are you wearing?”

“I’m going as an odalisque.”

Rebecca’s mouth hung open before she snapped it closed again. “You do know what an odalisque is, do you not? You’re aware that you’re going to be baring a great deal of…” Rebecca swallowed and looked pointedly at her. “You’ll be baring a great deal of your person, Anais.”

“Oh, I will incorporate the appropriate modifications that will allow me to be presentable in society—never fear that. But I have it on good authority that I would look rather fetching dressed as an odalisque. Lindsay suggested the idea and I want to please him.”

Her friend’s eyes went round with disbelief. “Icannot believe that of Raeburn. Well, not that he shouldn’t find you attractive,” Rebecca said in a rush. “It’s just that after all these years…after years of being…well, seemingly uninterested in that sort of relationship…” Rebecca murmured before trailing off altogether.

“I can hardly believe it myself. Oh, Rebecca, I do believe he loves me. He says we’re going to be married.”

“Are you certain, Anais? I would so hate for you to be disappointed.”

Something in Rebecca’s words made Anais’s blood freeze. The sinister coils of doubt began to unfurl, slowly choking out her new self-confidence, but she shoved it aside. Lindsay did want her. She had seen it in his eyes, heard it in his voice, felt it in his touch.

“Come, now. Let us not dwell on gloomy thoughts. Of course he loves you, Anais. How could he not? You’ve been traipsing in his boot tracks for years. It was only a matter of time before Lord Raeburn tripped over you and took notice of your presence.”

Is that what had happened? Had Lindsay merely relented? Was he tired of always having her near? Had he just resigned himself to the inevitable and finally given in to his mother’s fondest wish—a desire his mother had taken no pains to disguise?

“Anais,” her sister Ann’s voice rang out. “You have a letter.”

“Quick.” Anais jumped up from her chair and scooped the purple-and-gold skirt from the bed. “Help me hide this.”

Rebecca helped her tuck the costume into a coarse muslin sack seconds before the door was flung open and her fourteen-year-old sister came rushing into the room, her ringlets bouncing and her cheeks flushed pink with excitement.

She looked like an excited little pixie, with her gently upturned nose and sparkling, pale blue eyes. Ann was slight and petite, her hair was paler, more silvery than gold and straighter than Anais’s curls. Her skin was like porcelain and her features, while aristocratic, held a certain fragility that made her seem almost ethereal. But her bubbly personality stopped her from being untouchable.

One day, Ann Darnby was going to be stunningly beautiful and the most sought-after woman in England, and Anais suddenly couldn’t wait for her sister to find the man of her dreams.

“A valentine,” Ann announced, her voice breathless with her exertion.

Anais reached for the red wrapping and tore it out of her sister’s hand. Turning her back, she stripped away the wrapping to find a heart-shaped piece of vellum tucked neatly inside.

Your pasha awaits, you. At midnight, on the terrace.

“Well?” Rebecca asked, excitedly. “Who is it from?”

“An admirer?” Ann said coyly. “Do you have a secret admirer, Anais?”

“Ann, do stop being a pest,” their mother said from the door. Her mother’s expression suddenly sobered as her gaze fixed on Anais. “Of course your sister does not have an admirer, don’t be a goose, Ann.” Her mother’s lovely eyes raked over her and Anais saw the familiar emotion of displeasure shining in them.

Anais was well aware she was a disappointment to her mother. Such a lovely, passionate name, quite wasted on that plain creature . She had heard that remark many times, most of which had been uttered in her mother’s bitter voice.

How many times had Anais overheard someone say at a ball that there had to be at least one plain one amongst all the beautiful Darnby women? However, the truth of that statement wouldn’t hurt so much had she not had the misfortune to be the plain one.

Her older sister, Abigail, who had been the belle of the ball and was now the Countess of Weston, had been the raving beauty of the family, not to mention her mother’s favorite child. Her mother never failed to remind Anais of Abigail’s beauty or cachet in snaring a most sought-after husband. Now Ann, her youngest sister, was poised to be a great beauty—even more beautiful than Abigail, and much less conceited about it, too— thank heavens .