The Devil's Waltz

Indeed, it was a shame she was too well bred to earn a living, Annelise thought as she slowly climbed the wide marble stairs. Hetty was waiting at the top of the flight, tapping her tiny foot impatiently, and Annelise had the fleeting notion that the little brat might try to shove her back down those stairs.

If she tried, she’d be going with her, she thought grimly. She reached the landing and gave the girl her coolest smile. The chit came only to her shoulders—making Annelise feel like a hulking giant.

Hetty looked up at her with her wide blue eyes. “My, you are a big one, aren’t you?”

Hetty’s comment had the opposite effect from what she’d intended. At least the girl was smart enough to know where to twist the knife. Very few people knew she was self-conscious about her height, but Hetty had homed in on it immediately. She was going to be a worthy challenge.

“Quite large, in fact,” Annelise said briefly. “But I trust you have enough sense not to make personal remarks to strangers. I’m more than aware that you are none too happy with my arrival, and plan to demonstrate just that in any way you can. However, in polite society one does not comment on another’s physical attributes. A general compliment usually suffices.”

Hetty stared at her. “I don’t have to be polite to you. You’re a mere hireling.”

“In fact, I am not. People of my station do not work for a living. I am merely helping out as a favor to my godmother. I consider you my charity work.”

Hetty blinked, and Annelise wisely moved farther from the treacherous marble staircase. “You dare…” Hetty sputtered.

“My dear child, I am the Honorable Miss Annelise Kempton, daughter of a baronet, granddaughter of an earl, with my family’s name emblazoned in the Domes-day Book long before anyone in your family learned to read. I would suggest you consider carefully what youdare. I don’t expect your father would be pleased to hear that you insulted your guest. He went to a great deal of trouble to arrange this visit.”

Hetty’s lower lip trembled, and Annelise remembered that for all her arrogance, Hetty was just seventeen, and far less sure of herself than she appeared.

“Pax,” she said gently. “I only want to be of assistance, and I promise you I’m neither a governess nor an ogre. My task is to help you attract the right sort of attention, secure the marriage you deserve. Your fortune is astonishing, particularly considering you are your father’s only heir, and of course it’s unentailed. Beyond that, you know perfectly well that you are very pretty.”

Hetty was rousing herself to fight back. “I’m not pretty, I’m beautiful! One of the greatest beauties of all time, better than the Gunning sisters, better than—”

“You don’t need to be more beautiful than the Gunning sisters—they had no money to lure a well-bred husband. With your face and your circumstances you should do very well indeed, once I’ve given you a little polish.”

“I don’t need—”

“Even a rare diamond needs a bit of polish,” Annelise said firmly. “Now show me to my room and you can tell me about the young men you’ve met, who might be a good prospect. I don’t need to ask who has fallen at your feet—I’m certain they all have. But you can afford to be very picky when it comes to a mate. He needn’t have money, but your father would prefer a title, and he must be of good character.”

“I’ve already chosen,” Miss Hetty said firmly. “And no one is going to tell me I can’t have him!”

That was what she’d heard them arguing about earlier, she thought. “Has the gentleman made known his intentions?”

“He doesn’t need to. You said it yourself, every man in London is at my feet. I can choose whomever I please, and I choose him.”

“And who, exactly, is this paragon who has captured your heart?” she inquired, following her charge down the wide, unfortunately-papered hallway until they came to a bedroom door. Hetty flung it open with a dramatic gesture that was entirely wasted, since there was nothing dramatic about the large room she was being offered.

“He’s a viscount,” Hetty said. “Or at least he will be once his uncle dies. And he doesn’t have a penny, but he does very well at cards. Besides, I’ll have enough money for the both of us.”

“True enough.”

“And he’s absolutely beautiful. I deserve a beautiful husband, do I not?”

“There is no reason why you shouldn’t have one,” Annelise replied, wondering how she was going to broach the possibility that extremely beautiful men were often not particularly interested in women.

“So I’ll have him.”

“Who?”

“Christian Montcalm.”

And if Annelise had been the type to swoon, she would be flat on the garish carpet at that very moment, dead to the world.

Fortunately Annelise had never swooned in her life, so she simply shut the door, leaned back against it to look at the defiant Miss Hetty and said, “No.”

2

“I beg your pardon?” Miss Hetty said in a frosty voice that would have done Annelise justice.

“Christian Montcalm is out of the question. His reputation is notorious, and he is no sort of match for an innocent young girl like yourself,” she said. “I know he’s a very handsome man—I’ve seen him. He’s also a shallow, degenerate wastrel, a gambler, a seducer, a charlatan, and if even half the stories that are spread about him are true then you’d be better off dead than married to such a depraved monster.”

“Don’t be ridiculous—he’s not a monster at all. He’s absolutely charming.”

“That’s what’s so dangerous about him,” Annelise said grimly. “His face and his charm lure people into trusting him. Much to their misfortune.”

“What in the world did he ever do to you?” Hetty demanded.

“Not a thing,” Annelise replied truthfully. “We have never been formally introduced, and I hope never to be. He’s a man who doesn’t belong in the kind of circles your father aspires to. I’m astonished he would even countenance such a match…”

“Oh, he says I can’t have him,” Hetty said airily, tossing herself onto the damask-covered bed with a total lack of decorum. “But I know my father. I’m his only child—of course he’ll want me to be happy, as long as I manage to secure someone with a title. If I want to marry Christian Montcalm then I shall. After all, I’d be a viscountess—not quite as nice as a duchess but all the dukes I’ve met have been old and ugly. Besides, I expect all Christian needs is the love of a good woman.”

Annelise laughed. “I’m afraid Mr. Montcalm has availed himself of the love of a great many good women, leaving them the worse for it. You’ll find someone else just as charming and far less dangerous.”

The moment the word was out of her mouth she could have bit her tongue. Dangerous. What impressionable, romantic, headstrong young girl wouldn’t be fascinated by a dangerous man? Annelise had never been that young or that stupid, but Hetty Chipple was ripe for trouble, and clearly she was not going to be listening to common sense for the time being.

She would just have to make certain Hetty wasn’t in Montcalm’s company until she came up with a suitable alternative to distract her. Girls Hetty’s age fell in and out of love quite easily. London society was certain to be able to produce at least one attractive contender to distract her from Montcalm’s dubious charms.

A demure expression crossed Hetty’s lovely face. “I suppose you’re right,” she said with a soulful sigh that Annelise didn’t believe for a moment. “I’ll just leave you to get settled in, shall I? I need a bit of a rest myself—have to be beautiful for tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“We’re going to Lady Bellwhite’s. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.”

“I’ve always enjoyed her gardens,” said Annelise, remembering the opportunities for mischief that ran rampant in the place. “I’m certain I’ll appreciate it even more with your company.”

Hetty almost made a face but she stopped herself in time, clearly remembering that she was trying another tack with her unwanted friend. “I shall, as well,” she said sweetly.

Annelise waited until the door closed behind her to sit down on the now-rumpled bed. It was a good, solid mattress—at least there were some advantages that money could buy. She pulled off her bonnet and set it down beside her, catching a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror.

Having spent the better part of an hour staring at the perfection of Hetty Chipple, the vision was even more disheartening.

She glanced down at her feet. It was really unfair that she be cursed with big feet, particularly when compared to Hetty’s tiny ones. Of course, her feet were in proportion to her ridiculously long legs, but even so, fate could have been kind enough to make at least something out of proportion.

But fate had been busy elsewhere. She had long legs, long arms, a long neck and a long face. She knew her physical attributes far too well—she had fine gray eyes, but they were usually covered by her spectacles. Her hair was an indeterminate shade—a mixture of brown, blond and red hues, and the only thing she could do was pin it tightly to the base of her neck and hope no one would notice its odd color. At one point she’d tried to wear lace caps to further disguise it, which also had the benefit of proclaiming her old-maid status, but the caps tended to flap in her face and itch, or catch on the rims of her spectacles, and she’d given them up regretfully.

The cut of the dress was suitably shapeless, disguising her small waist as well as her large chest. Indeed, she wouldn’t attract attention from anyone, which was just as she wanted it…Unlike Hetty Chipple, who would draw trouble to her like a magnet.

On impulse Annelise stood up and went to the window, looking across at the rambling downs of Green Park. In time to see Miss Chipple, totally without chaperon, disappear into the shrubbery.