Kiss Me, Annabel

by Eloisa James

  When the door swung open and light flooded into the carriage, Annabel didn’t even realize it. Her entire being was focused on the feeling of Ewan’s thick hair sliding through her fingers, the demand of his mouth, the fire racing down her legs, the mindless pleasure of their kiss—

  It was Ewan who pulled away, putting his faux countess from him with a reluctance that almost made him laugh aloud. He was like a possessed thing around Annabel. Possessed. He threw a glance at the groomsman holding open the carriage door and the man shut it again instantly. The carriage fell into twilight, but he could still see her. He could reach out and—

  He had the feeling that he would always be able to see her. Even in the darkness his hands would know which patch of it held the curvy, delicious body of his bride.

  “We’re—” he caught himself. “This is a dilemma,” he finally said.

  She was pushing hairpins into that gorgeous mop of curls she had. For a second an image of those curls draping her breasts flashed into his mind and he almost groaned aloud. For God’s sake, he’d been rock hard for the last four hours. At this rate, he’d be dead by the time they made it to Scotland.

  She looked up at him, a woman who liked kissing, he could tell that. Every time he kissed her, she got a softer look about her and lost that hovering little anxiety she had in her eyes. He itched to pull her against him, kick open the carriage door and head straight into the inn. Into their best bed and—

  “Hell and damnation,” he muttered, disgusted at himself.

  Her eyes danced with merriment. “A problem?” she asked, obviously pleased with herself.

  “I can’t keep my hands off you,” he admitted.

  He liked her smile now. It made him ache, it looked that welcoming.

  “We can’t go on like this for another two weeks,” he said. “Let alone tonight.” He had a sudden image of her stretched out next to him, sleeping peacefully, while he stared hungrily at her all night long. “Do you wear a nightcap?” he asked hopefully.

  She shook her head.

  “Is your nightgown the type that covers you from neck to toes?”

  She giggled at that. He’d never heard her giggle…It was a deliciously feminine sound. Of course, it made desire explode down his groin. He wanted her to giggle against his skin. He wanted to hear that delicious, breathy sound turn to pure pleasure, turn to a gasp and a moan.

  “I’ll not make it to Scotland.”

  She raised an eyebrow.

  “I’ll be dead first,” he clarified. “And yet I’d never dare change the way we’ve planned things. Your guardian promised me last night that if I laid a hand on you before solemnizing the wedding, he’d come to Scotland and do some very unpleasant things to my limbs.”

  She laughed outright at that. “It’s hard to imagine Rafe as the avenging warrior.”

  Ewan saw in his mind’s eye the rigidly furious face of her guardian when Ewan explained that Annabel had agreed to wait for marriage until they reached Scotland. “He trusted me,” he said. “The man didn’t like the idea, but he was good enough to trust me.”

  “Of course he did,” Annabel said, smiling at him. “You didn’t have to save my reputation, you know. You could have disavowed all knowledge of Miss A.E. My whole family is indebted to you.”

  He knew he shouldn’t touch her, but he tipped up her chin. “They can think as they like,” he said, “but you owe me nothing, Annabel. I wanted you from the first moment I saw you, and to tell the truth, I should have written that article in the Messenger myself. Would have too, if I’d thought of it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “After you left the hotel, I thought it over—” But he couldn’t tell her yet. “I knew you’d seen me without any clothing, and that meant you were ruined for all other men. Naturally, I was going to have to marry you, if only to save you from a lifetime of disappointment.”

  “Now I know you’re Scots,” she said impudently, grinning at him. There wasn’t a trace of anxiety in those gorgeous eyes of hers.

  “To the bone,” he growled at her, and dared to just drop a kiss on the corner of her mouth. But: “We have to talk.”

  “Among other things, because this carriage is standing in the inn yard,” Annabel pointed out. “And all the inhabitants of the inn must be properly mystified as to why we haven’t left the carriage.”

  “No, they’re not,” he said, dropping another kiss on the other side, just to balance the ledger. “They think we’ve jumped into our marriage night right here. The carriage is probably ringed with spectators waiting to see if the vehicle starts rocking back and forth.”

  “Starts rocking?” she repeated, looking fascinated and deliciously naive. “Rocking?”

  He couldn’t explain it to her. Not without grabbing her, and then the carriage would be rocking. If not tipped over. “I’ll have to sleep in the stables,” he said with a groan.

  “You can’t do that,” Annabel said, eyes sparkling with mischief. “The news would leak out and everyone would think that we were estranged, before we’ve even wed. That would never do.”

  “Eve, to the life,” he said, staring at her with fascination. She’d merely ask him to eat the apple and it would be gone in a moment. “Fornication without God’s blessing is a sin,” he said, as much to himself as to her.

  He wasn’t sure she’d know the word, but she did. Her little nose went into the air. “Eve, am I?” she said with a toss of her curls.

  “Aye. And I think we’d better set ourselves some limits.”

  “I have no need for rules,” she scoffed. “You’re not as interesting as all that, Lord Ardmore, for all you consider me ruined for other men.”

  “Then the rules are for me,” he said. “Because I’m definitely ruined for other women, and I haven’t even had the pleasure of seeing you in the buff.”

  She blushed at that and said nothing.

  “I think we’d better stop kissing,” he said with a sigh. “Because I know where this is leading.”

  Annabel felt an acute pulse of disappointment. Kissing Ewan was the only thing that made her confusion and fear evaporate. “Of course, if you’re not able to control yourself,” she said loftily.

  “Eve!” he said. But she could see him weighing his male wish to claim control against this fear of her that he had.

  “As you said, this is our courting period,” she reminded him. “In the normal course of things, you’d be trying to lure me into any handy garden.”

  “I would, would I? So were many men trying to pull you off the garden path, then?”

  She grinned at him. “And what do you think?”

  “I think that gardens came into my mind the very moment I saw you. You were cheated of a courting, I’ll give you that. How about if we simply count all the efforts of those men toward my courtship?”

  “Mr. Lemery asked me to ride in Hyde Park, and then he drove down an empty path, but he had a very wet mouth.” She made her eyes tragic. “Does his kiss count in your favor, then?”

  He laughed. “Surely all Englishmen aren’t wet kissers?” He was liking that idea, she could tell.

  “Certainly not. Lord Simon Guthrie kissed me before he asked me to marry him and it was quite pleasant.”

  For a man who seemed generally good-natured, he had a ferocious scowl. “Asked you to marry him, did he?” But then he realized. “And why did you say no, if he was such a splendid kisser, then?”

  “He was a third son,” Annabel said. “We’d be living on the parish. But his kisses…perhaps he’d had a great deal of practice…” She let her voice trail off provocatively, even though it was all poppycock because Ewan’s kisses were in another class from poor Simon Guthrie’s.

  He knew it too. He gave her a derisive look through his lashes and said, “Perhaps just kisses. But no kisses in the bedchamber, mind.”

  “I’m not begging you,” she said with a sniff. “I can do perfectly well without kissing you at all.”

  “You know, we Sc
ots are different from yon English,” he said to her.

  “I’ve noticed that!”

  “Then you’ll have noticed that we have no fear of saying the truth. And the truth is, lass, that you just tricked me into keeping on with our kisses, which means that you can’t do without those either. And another truth is that I’ve got no control when I’m around you.”

  “None?” she asked, with some curiosity.

  He shook his head. “So it’s going to be up to you, Annabel, love. You’ll have to rein us in. Kisses only. And nothing in the bedchamber, mind. I think we’d better set a limit. Ten a day should be more than enough.”

  Annabel grinned at him. There was something enormously satisfying about having this great mountain of a man admit that he had no control around her. It went some way toward making up for the humiliation of the way they got engaged, and the humiliation of his not wanting to marry her immediately. “In that case,” she said, “I’ll thank you to open that door, Lord Ardmore, and we’ll disappoint the crowd.”

  “Not Lord Ardmore,” he said.

  “Ewan.”

  At his smile, she almost kissed him again.

  He seemed to guess her thought before it even flashed in her mind, and his smile deepened. “By my count, we’re up to five kisses today.”

  She leaned forward and rapped on the door. “Perhaps we should start with half measures,” she told him. “Given your lack of control.”

  “Nay, I’ll have my full share,” he promised her.

  Fourteen

  At first glance, the inn yard of the Pig and Cauldron was a flurry of activity. Far from there being a ring of people around their carriage, no one seemed to be paying attention to it at all, except for the groomsman holding open their door. And his eyes were rigidly fixed on the sky, Annabel noticed.

  Then, as she walked down the steps, she realized that a great deal of the activity was the result of their arrival. The courtyard seemed to be full of men wearing Ewan’s colors, black and dark green, leading horses hither and thither and hoisting trunks.

  She turned to her husband. “How many outriders came with us?”

  “Six before and six after,” he said, looking around. “Oh, there’s Mac.”

  A slight, bespectacled man holding a few papers in his hands came toward them through the organized chaos.

  “And how many groomsmen?” Annabel inquired.

  “The usual number,” Ewan said. “Four behind each carriage.”

  Annabel had been so benumbed that morning that she had hardly noticed the color of their carriage, let alone that it wasn’t traveling alone. Now she slowly turned around. They had ridden in a gleaming coach, painted dark green and picked out in black. There were two additional coaches drawn up at the side of the courtyard, both in the same colors, if slightly more serviceable-looking.

  She was starting to have a very peculiar feeling. Either her future husband was a spendthrift, or—or—She turned to him, but the bespectacled man had appeared and was talking to Ewan.

  “Annabel, I’d like to introduce you to Mr. Maclean, my factor,” Ewan said. “Mac and I have been together these twelve years now, and I don’t know what I’d do without him. Mac travels ahead of us, and will meet us at each stop. You’d better call him Mac as well, if he doesn’t mind.”

  Annabel held out her hand. Mr. Maclean had rather sweet brown eyes and a harassed expression. He took her hand rather tentatively, then dropped it and bowed. So she curtsied.

  “Lady Ardmore,” he said. “Welcome to the Pig and Cauldron. The inn eagerly awaits your arrival.” He turned to Ewan. “You’ve the best chamber, my lord, and the innkeeper’s wife is preparing a special dinner for you, in honor of the occasion. They’re quite excited, so if you could spare a moment to greet them, it would be most appreciated.”

  “Of course we can,” Ewan said. He tucked Annabel’s hand under his arm. “Come along, then, wife.” The glance he sent her was full of mischief.

  “How did you obtain the best chamber, given that you hadn’t even intended to travel to Scotland until a few days ago?” she asked. “Did the innkeeper send whoever was originally in the chamber away?”

  “I’m not sure of the details,” Ewan said, steering her around a cobblestone knocked out of its place. “I leave all that to Mac.”

  When they reached the door of the inn, the innkeeper strode toward them. He was a tall man with a bald head, a cheerful smile and a strong smell of cider about him. “It’s an honor to have you choose my inn for your wedding night, Lord Ardmore, my lady. May I escort you upstairs to your chamber? Your private dining room is here to the right.”

  Two minutes later Annabel was sitting in a comfortable armchair. Her husband was talking with Mac. His valet had arrived and then Elsie, her maid. There was talk of hot baths. And a minute after that, the room was empty but for her husband, who was coming toward her with a most purposeful look in his eyes.

  “Ewan,” she said, “why do you travel with so many outriders?”

  “Because of what happened to Rosy. I would never risk anything of that nature happening to you. It’s worth spending a whole year’s harvest to travel in safety.”

  “Oh,” Annabel said, confused.

  He leaned over her chair, bracing himself on the arms, and said, “Kiss number six?” He was quite appealing, this almost-husband of hers.

  “I think not,” she said primly. “I would like a bath. In my chamber, if you please.”

  “Now, Annabel, you know this chamber has to be shared by the two of us.” His eyes had an unholy glee about them.

  “Then out the door with you!”

  He laughed and strolled to the door. “I’ll send your maid up with the hot water and await you in our dining room…wife.”

  Of course, he had his kisses. There was one behind the dining room door, just before the landlord’s daughter brought in a second course. There was another in the curve of the stairs, when they heard cultured voices in the anteroom below and Ewan thought they shouldn’t go down the stairs just yet. He had another outside their room.

  That left two kisses.

  And that left the two of them.

  He went below while Elsie helped Annabel change into her bedclothes. Then she jumped into bed and waited. After a half hour or so, he strolled in, and now he had the same cidery sharp apple smell as the innkeeper.

  “The man makes excellent cider,” he told her.

  “It’s a good thing Rafe isn’t here,” she said, just to make conversation.

  He looked as if he couldn’t remember who Rafe was. “Are you planning to wear that scrap of silk to bed?” he asked, his voice gone still and deep.

  Annabel looked down at herself. She was wearing a French nightgown of pale pink silk, the color of the youngest of spring roses. Surely he’d seen a fashionable nightgown before? She pulled up the sheet a bit higher, almost to her breasts. It was a large bed, after all. “That I am,” she said. “ ’Tis the nightgown that Tess gave me for my wedding.”

  “I’ll be going through that door into our dressing room,” Ewan said firmly. “And you’d best change into something cotton, my girl, and up to your ears as well. Or we won’t last a night together. I’ll have to jump out the window and run to the stables, and that will cause more gossip than our marriage did in the first place.”

  He closed the door behind him and Annabel just grinned at the ceiling. After a second, he poked his head around the door and growled, “I’m warning you.”

  So she slid out of bed and stood up and saw the shock of it in his eyes, the way they darkened and turned tigerhungry. Annabel knew she had a lovely body, from a man’s point of view. She had always thought of it as her personal dowry, to be offered in a trade for a man of sustenance. But now she felt the swell of her breasts in a different way, measured by the sudden rasp of Ewan’s breathing, by the way he stood so rigidly by the door. The silk of her nightgown caught between her legs for a moment and he closed his eyes. As if he were in pain. Annabel co
uld have laughed with the pleasure of it.

  He felt for the latch behind him and left without another word. Luckily, there was a starched and ironed cotton nightgown near the top of her trunk. She took off the silk and folded it into a shimmering square. Then she pulled on the cotton. It billowed around her legs like the sails of a ship as she ran back to the bed.

  When Ewan came back into the room she was peeping at him from under the covers, cotton buttoned up to her chin. He was wet, his hair back against his head. But he was still dressed. She raised an eyebrow.

  “I bathed at the sluice in the back,” he explained. “And there’s something I didn’t think of.”

  “Yes?”

  “I don’t sleep in a nightshirt. I never liked them.”

  “But what do you—” Her eyes widened.

  “In the buff,” he said. “Obviously I can’t do that at the moment.”

  “Obviously not!” she snapped.

  “Although you have already seen my chest,” he pointed out.

  “I have no wish to see it again.”

  He sighed. “In that case, I’ll wear a shirt and my smalls.” And without further ado, he pulled off his boots and tossed them to the side. And then he put his hand to his pantaloons, but she realized her cheeks were turning fiery red, so she turned on her shoulder and stared at the wall.

  After a moment she felt a large body settle into the bed next to her.

  “I canna fathom how I got myself into such a stupid situation,” Ewan murmured, and she had to turn over to look at him.

  He was lying on his back, staring up at the beams, arms crossed behind his back. He’d rolled the sleeves of his linen shirt up, and it was open at the neck. Annabel could feel her heart beating in her chest, for all the world as if it were trying to escape.

  “I should have marched you over to a bishop, special license in hand, and had done with it,” he said. “Don’t you agree?”

  “No. I like being courted,” Annabel said. She felt unaccountably shy. It was as if her whole life had led up to this moment of finding herself in bed with a man. And yet it was happening under such strange circumstances!