AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I have a good mind to trace every dot with my tongue.
“The balcony is large enough to accommodate the both of us,” she mentioned before turning back to the stars, gracing him with a smooth turn of her neck.
“I seemed to have been stunned,” Gabriel said, even while seeing—and dismissing—her telltale white debutante dress. “I am amiss in introducing myself. I am Gabriel Williams, Duke of Clovervale.”
She pivoted a little, her lips curving at the edge. For once, it struck Gabriel how much he preferred un-rouged lips. She gave him a long, level look as he admired her gown, a soft washed-ivory confection gathered under the bosom that fell in a soft, graceful column to her small feet with delicate puff sleeves that bookended the curve of her shoulders.
“And I am Anastasia Porter, daughter of Baron and Baroness of Porter,” she curtsied. “I think I shall call you Helios, Your Grace. I sense you could charm the birds from the trees if you wished. You certainly look like him.”
“I think I have been insulted and complimented in the same breath,” Gabriel frowned, even while a part of him felt thrilled at her witty response. It felt good to be teased for once. “I do not know which to address first.”
She rewarded him with another smile before coming to lean her gloved arms on the balustrade next to him. Her poseseemedrelaxed and companionable, but he saw tiny trembles her hands—she was nervous but about what? “You needn’t address either, Your Grace.”
As she tilted her head up and moonlight shimmered over her flawless skin and the dark hair, Gabriel felt his blood pump thickly through his veins, affected by the innocent sensuality of her actions. What the bloody hell was the matter with him? He’d known his fair share of women, yet he couldn’t recall reacting to a debutante this way.
Matter of fact, I have nothing to do with innocents, so why I am engaging with her?
After a moment of study, he asked, “I assume this is your début, is it not?”
“I set foot in London a month ago,” she replied. “I come from a village you might not have ever heard about, Your Grace. My aunt is my patroness here.”
As he meant to ask her to walk the garden with him, light streamed unto the balcony as theDowager Viscountess of Crescentwood swept unto it. She took one look at him and frowned. “Anastasia, dear, please come with me; it is time for the ball. It is pleasant to see you, Your Grace.”
Gabriel felt his lips twitch. If Anastasia was under the Lady’s charge, he might have better fortune fetching a chuck of cheese from the moon before he got close to her.
“Ah, Your Grace, so pleased to see you,” Margaret Fletcher, the Dowager’s daughter, came in; her icy blue gown featured silver shimmering tassels that caught the light as she curtsied before him. “I see you have met my cousin.”
Miss Fletcher was pretty enough, but she had never caught his eye. He bowed, “Miss Fletcher, a pleasure as well.”
“Come along, girls,” the Dowager said, turning, but before Anastasia walked away, he took her hand, bowed, and kissed the back of it.
“It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Anastasia,” he murmured. “I ask you to save a spot on your card for me.”
She pinked. “Erm… I will? Please, enjoy the fresh air you sought to have, Your Grace.”
As the two ladies hurried over, the Dowager gave him a hard eye which was a warning enough. If he daredbreathenear one of her charges, much less touch them, he would feel the full force of her wrath.
CHAPTER2
Rule Two: Never Reveal Your Intentions
It is better to be aloof and free then have your actions known and expected.
—Gabriel Williams
A Rake’s Rules
Aunt Elizabeth was not pleased, and Anastasia saw it. She had a polite smile, but her jaw was stiff and at times her lips flattened. When they came to a quiet corner in the room, Aunt Elizabeth stopped and pulled her closer.
“Dear, I know you are not familiar with the lords and ladies in the ton, but that man is the one you must steer clear of at all times. He may look like an innocent one with his fair hair and blue eyes, but he is a libertine, a vile seducer, and a rakehell to pass all others in London. He is a rogue and a scoundrel who cannot keep his hands off vulnerable young women even if he were offered a free pass to heaven upon the charge of leaving them alone,” her aunt finished, flushed and upset.
Thinking of the Duke, Anastasia could see why; the man was the embodiment of Narcissus with high cheekbones, a squared jaw, and full lips. His hair was the shade of bleached wheat with red undertones, the clipped waves gleaming around his handsome, chiseled features.
His voice had been deep, rich, and smooth like honey, and she could understand why His Grace—Gabriel—could so easily charm women into his bed.
“Don’t worry, Aunt,” she said. “He already knows I have little interest in entertaining him.”
“But you promised him a dance.”
