Free The Devil's Waltz by Anne Stuart Page B

had no interest in walking in the park.
    They walked along the path in a surprisingly companionable silence. She should have spent the time with an improving lesson on sedate behavior when dancing, but then, given her own behavior last night, she was hardly the one to talk. Except that the trouble had begun when they’d stopped dancing.
    Thank God Hetty hadn’t seen her, she thought once more.
    Annelise was so lost in her disturbing thoughts that she wasn’t even aware of the voice. Only that Hetty had frozen in place with an unreadable reaction on her usually expressive face.
    â€œHetty! Miss Chipple!” A young man was calling her name, ignoring the neat pathways and moving toward them across the carefully manicured lawns. Annelise couldn’t remember that voice from the night before, nor could she see him clearly. She pushed her spectacles up to her forehead and was able to focus on him as he hurried toward them. A perfect stranger wearing country clothes, his hair too long, his face too unguarded for anyone who’d spent time in town.
    â€œMiss Chipple!” he called again, but the two of them had stopped, waiting for his approach, and he sped up, until he reached them, breathless.
    To Annelise’s astonishment the boy had manners. “I beg pardon, miss,” he addressed her first. “I’m an old friend of Miss Chipple’s, and my enthusiasm got the better of me. If you’d allow me to introduce myself I’d be most grateful.”
    Hetty was standing painfully still, her expression still unreadable, and Annelise nodded her permission, more curious than anything else. Who or what would turn Hetty into a white-faced, stone statue?
    â€œI’m William Dickinson,” the young man said. “An old friend of the Chipples. We grew up together, Hetty and I.”
    It was more than that, as any fool could see. Hetty finally broke her frozen pose. “What are you doing here,Will?” she asked unhappily. “You know we weren’t supposed to see each other.”
    Hetty wasn’t supposed to see Christian Montcalm, as Annelise was tempted to point out, but she was much too fascinated with the drama going on in front of her.
    â€œCan’t an old friend check to see how another old friend is doing? I just happened to come up to London…”
    â€œJust happened? You hate London. You hate cities, you told me. You want nothing more than to spend your entire life in Kent as the perfect country squire.”
    â€œI thought I could change,” Will said in a quiet voice.
    More and more interesting, Annelise thought. She should put a stop to this, invite the young man back to the house. If he were really persona non grata he’d come up with an excuse. But right now this was far too fascinating to interfere.
    â€œIt wouldn’t matter,” Hetty said. “You can’t change your family, and their estate is not nearly old or illustrious enough to suit my father. And you can’t suddenly come up with a title when your future clearly lies in being Squire Dickinson of Applewood. I’m destined for better things in this life than living a dreary existence in the country with nothing to do but have babies and grow fat. I’m very happy here. I have more than a dozen suitors, I go out every night and dance until I’m exhausted, I hear music and go to the theater and have stimulating discussions about books and such…”
    William Dickinson snatched his hat off his head in frustration, crushing it between his big hands. “You haven’t changed that much, Hetty,” he said. “You nevercared much for music, you don’t like plays unless there’s a murder in them, and your taste in literature isn’t the sort of thing people sit around and discuss. Most people despise novels. Your father has put too many grand ideas in your head, when you know you’d be happiest back home with a man who loves