Rage still seared him every time he thought of it. How determined she’d been to stay out of his bed, the little temptress!
Ah, but not entirely determined. Once or twice she’d melted under his caresses like an icicle under sunlight. Only when he’d nearly undressed her had she iced over again, acting skittish as a virgin on her wedding night.
Was he right? Was it seduction that she feared? Her reaction to him had been most maidenly. Although if she were indeed a maiden, then why did so many men seem to have known her intimately?
No, only one man—Somerset. And if anyone would have fallen for such a ruse, it was that fop.
Still, could an actress truly be chaste after months treading the boards in London?
Either way, he didn’t care. He wanted her, and he would have her, despite her tricks. After all, there was his promise to Walcester to find out her secrets. And what better way to learn a woman’s secrets than to take her to bed?
He groaned. That was the spy in him talking. But the thought of using Annabelle in such a manner sat ill with him now that he thought she might be a maiden. The few times he’d glimpsed the vulnerable woman who masked a deep pain behind her many faces made him loath to hurt her more.
Somerset entered the drawing room, followed by Sir John, and Colin smiled. At last. It was time to learn what part Somerset had played in her deception, assuming that Sir John had prepared the man sufficiently.
Given how nervous Somerset appeared in his presence, he had. Colin approached the man. Sir John suddenly found something to do elsewhere and took the other occupants of the room with him as planned, leaving Somerset alone with Colin.
“Good day, Somerset,” Colin said coldly.
“Ahem, nice to see you, Hampden. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”
“I wish a word with you.”
Somerset sighed. “It’s about Mrs. Maynard, isn’t it?”
That startled Colin. “How did you know?”
“Her maid . . . er . . . warned me yesterday that you’d been bothering her mistress. Paying her attentions and such.” He met Colin’s gaze warily. “The woman doesn’t want them. Her maid said I should defend her from you.”
Colin couldn’t help but laugh. The very thought of this fop defending anyone was ludicrous.
Somerset looked more pained than insulted. “Look here now, Hampden. Mrs. Maynard asked me to defend her, and I shall.” He drew himself up like a stuffed goose. “Desist in your attentions at once. Mrs. Maynard wishes that you leave her alone.”
Colin eyed the man askance. “The woman’s name is Annabelle, or haven’t you gotten far enough with her to know that?”
A flush darkened Somerset’s powdered cheeks. “I call her Mrs. Maynard out of respect. She prefers refined gentlemen, who treat her with consideration.” He swept Colin with a contemptuous gaze. “Not beasts like you with base appetites.”
“Which means you haven’t bedded her,” Colin said dryly.
“Sir, you go too far!” Somerset tugged at his flowing cravat, then glanced around, clearly torn between bragging of his exploit and holding to his position that Annabelle Maynard deserved respect. Colin’s amused expression apparently decided him. “I have bedded her, as you so crudely put it. Not that it’s any of your affair.”
Colin took a stab in the dark. “Did you bed her in your sleep? Because you and I both know you slept through your night with her.”
Rage rose in the fop’s cold eyes. “Did the little trollop tell you that?”
So much for respect and consideration. Hell and furies, what had the woman seen in this pompous ass? “Charity told me,” he lied.
“Well, she’s mistaken,” Somerset said stiffly. “Ask Mrs. Maynard . . . er . . . Annabelle herself. I’ve given her gifts, and she’s given me kisses . . . and much, much more.”
His knowing glance sent Colin over the edge. “I care not what you claim she has given you,” Colin snapped. “I want her, so find another actress willing to toy with your affections.”
“You would take my leavings?”
Colin could barely restrain his temper. “If I thought for one moment that you’d truly possessed any part of her, you’d be welcome to her. But she’s too much of a woman to have any real interest in you. That’s the only thing saving you from having your face smashed in.”
Alarm leapt in Somerset’s gaze, no doubt fueled by the false tales Sir John had fed him regarding Colin’s unpredictable temper and tendency toward violence.
“She makes a fool of you with others,” Colin persisted. “Whatever her game in sending her maid to you, she is as enamored of me as I of her and has given me kisses to prove it.”
He hated revealing any part of his intimacy with Annabelle, but it was the only way to keep Somerset from pawing her. She deserved better, damn it.
“God-a-mercy, I hate to give her up,” Somerset murmured, surprisingly stubborn. “She’s a pretty wench.”
Colin clenched his hands into fists. “And you, sir, are a pretty man. If you want to stay that way, relinquish your interest in her. Unless, of course, you want to ‘defend’ her on the field of honor.”
“A duel?” Somerset squeaked. “Over some actress? Good heavens, no! I’m a man of peace, sir.”
Man of peace, hah! Somerset couldn’t win a duel with a tortoise, much less a swordsman of Colin’s caliber, and he knew it. “Well, then. I see we have an understanding. You’ll cease your pursuit of Annabelle Maynard, and I’ll overlook your previous association with the woman.”
Regret tinged Somerset’s face before he waved his hand in an affected gesture of nonchalance. “You’re welcome to her, sir. In truth, the woman has cost me a pretty penny. I don’t envy you the expense of buying her affections.”
The expense didn’t bother Colin nearly as much as the difficulty he was having in making the transaction. “Good day, then, Somerset.”
The man fled the room with unseemly haste, no doubt going in search of less forbidding company. There’d been a time when Colin would have enjoyed routing such a coxcomb. Now it merely saddened him to see a man so little concerned for his pride that he would rather sully the reputation of a woman he supposedly cared for than chance being forced into a fight.
How shallow the courtiers in London had grown under Charles II, how caught up in their clothes and wigs. These days he couldn’t tell the actors from the real people. Everyone seemed to be in costume.
Including Annabelle. She was playing a double role—he felt sure of it now. The Silver Swan, widely acclaimed to be a wanton, had drugged at least one man to keep him from bedding her.
Why create such an elaborate scheme? To protect her virtue? Such an odd concern for an actress. And if she wanted to protect her virtue, why go with gallants in the first place? Somerset claimed she’d bled him for expensive gifts, but if this were only about money, why had she spurned Colin’s ring, which had to be worth more than anything Somerset could afford?
Her resistance pricked his pride and heightened his suspicions. Hell and furies, but he couldn’t figure her out. He would, however. Because if his lovely swan maiden thought spurning his gifts and provoking Somerset to defend her would send Colin running in terror, she had a surprise in store.
WITH HALF A dozen other chattering women, many of them actresses, Annabelle and Charity swept into Sir John’s surprisingly fine town house. Charity had said Sir John had a good income, but Annabelle hadn’t guessed it would be this good. His spacious hall was decked with Italian paintings of the first quality, and servants rushed to attend them. No doubt his “informal supper” would be a seven-course affair with music and dancing.
Good. After her long afternoon, she could use a fine meal and something to keep her mind off that cursed marquess. Sir John had said Colin was out of town, thank heaven, or she would never have come.
They entered the drawing room to find Lord Somerset lounging in a corner and their host watching for them. As Sir John approached them with a broad smile, Annabelle tamped
down her dismay. What a shame he’d been the one to capture Charity’s heart. A man of his obvious wealth no doubt had a string of mistresses as long as the Roman road.
Yet there was no mistaking his pleasure at seeing Charity. Though he conversed with them both, it was Charity who received his most fervent attention, Charity whom he undressed with his eyes.
Annabelle could take a hint. Murmuring some excuse, she left them to their cooing. She looked about for Lord Somerset, wanting to thank him for his agreement to keep Colin away from her, but he seemed to have disappeared. How odd. He usually rushed to her side whenever she entered a room.
It took her a while to find him in a parlor that adjoined the dining room, speaking with Sir Charles. She walked up to slip her hand in the crook of Lord Somerset’s arm.
“Good evening, my dear,” she murmured as she kissed his heavily powdered cheek.
He jerked back in what looked like alarm. “Mrs. Maynard! What are you doing here?”
“I was invited, of course.” This grew more curious by the moment. “I wish a private word with you. Perhaps we could step into the next room?”
“Oh no. No no no. I was . . . er . . . just this moment leaving. Yes, exactly.” He cast an anxious glance at the parlor door. “Another engagement, you see.”
The man seemed oddly agitated, even for him. “What other engagement?”
“Dining with a friend. A good friend. I have to go. So good to see you.” He hurried for the door without so much as a kiss of farewell.
“Wait!” she called out, but he’d already gone. How very peculiar.
“It seems you’ve lost your fop this evening,” Sir Charles said.
“Yes,” she said absently. “I wonder what that was all about.”
“Perhaps he doesn’t wish to fight the other men vying for your affections.”
“Fight them? Why should he have to fight them?”
“Because one of them is Hampden.”
Her heart plummeted. “Prithee, what do you mean? Did Lord Hampden challenge him, for heaven’s sake?”
“If I had,” said a voice behind her, “who would you champion? Him? Or me?”
Annabelle whirled to find the scoundrel approaching. “What are you doing here? You’re not supposed to be here!”
“I don’t see why not. Sir John is my friend.”
Oh, of course. And his friend had obviously lied to get her here, curse him.
“But answer my question,” Colin said solemnly. “Who would you champion? Somerset or me?”
“Neither,” she choked out. “Fighting is foolish. I abhor violence.” She’d seen far too much of it in her day.
She had to get away from him before she did something just as foolish—like noticing how well he looked this evening. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, my lords—” she began as she turned to leave.
“Somerset and I had a very intriguing conversation,” he called out behind her. “We compared notes about your tea.”
That brought her to a halt. Sweet Mary, she’d been afraid of this.
Colin hurried to block her path to the door. “I believe Somerset actually had the chance to drink his, but he couldn’t tell me much about it.”
She snapped open her fan, fluttering it in front of her face to cover her confusion. Bad enough that Colin had realized she’d tried to drug him, but now he’d figured out that she’d also drugged Lord Somerset. What would he make of it?
“No barbed denials?” Colin said, at her continued silence. “No protestations of innocence?”
All too aware of Sir Charles listening behind them, she met Colin’s gaze and forced a bored smile to her lips. “What is there to deny? I offered you both . . . er . . . tea when you came to my chambers. Or perhaps you’re complaining about the tepid condition of yours.” Turning to flash Sir Charles a knowing smile, she added, “The warmth of my ‘tea’ depends on how well I like my visitor. I assure you that Lord Somerset’s ‘tea’ was steaming.”
Sir Charles chuckled.
Colin did not. His eyes narrowed. “Perhaps that explains why he isn’t returning for another serving. He must have scalded himself. I’m not so foolish. I know how to deal with hot tea.” His gaze raked her, reminding her that he’d tasted more of that ‘tea’ than she cared to admit.
She snapped her fan shut. “Yes, but it would have to be offered to you, wouldn’t it? And there’s little chance of that. All I can offer you is tepid tea, Lord Hampden, and I doubt that would satisfy you.”
Before he could answer, voices sounded from behind them. “There you are,” Charity said breathlessly as she hurried to Annabelle’s side with a worried look. “I didn’t know Lord Hampden was going to be here.” She flashed Sir John a daggered glance.
“Neither did I,” Annabelle said as she, too, glared at Sir John, who looked utterly unrepentant. “Apparently, our host meant to surprise us.”
Thankfully, Charity and Sir John were accompanied by others of the party, which gave her a reprieve from Colin’s questions.
And Charity jumped in to rescue her as usual. “Lord Hampden, we were talking about the rumors of a treaty with the Dutch against the French, and Sir John here said you know the most about it, since you came from Antwerp a few weeks past. What did you find out?”
Flashing Charity a grateful smile, Annabelle chimed in even as she moved discreetly away from Colin. “Yes, do tell us about the Dutch. It sounds very interesting.”
She wasn’t to be let off so easily. With a smooth, leisurely grace, Colin followed her until he once more stood at her side. “I would be more than happy to entertain you with news, madam, but I heard nothing of any consequence.”
“Surely you heard something,” Charity pressed. “Are we really to be allied with the Dutch?”
“You’re wasting your time badgering Hampden,” Sir Charles put in. “He doesn’t care about affairs of state anymore. He’s too busy talking about how enjoyable it would be to sail off to the colonies.”
Annabelle’s startled gaze shot to Colin’s. “Why would you go there?”
He laid his hand in the small of her back and, when she tried to shift away, hooked two fingers in the laces of her gown. Short of engaging in a tug of war, she couldn’t move.
His gaze locked with hers. “Perhaps I’d like to experience living in a country of unlimited potential, where a man can create a new world from the earth’s bounty. Where people are exactly who they appear to be.”
She swallowed hard.
“Is there such a place?” drawled Sir John.
“Apparently the colonies are, if Hampden is to be believed,” Sir Charles retorted. “Damned fool doesn’t seem to understand that in the colonies you can only be a farmer.”
“Not quite a farmer, Sedley,” Colin said dryly. “But a landowner, yes. Exactly as I am here, with my estate. The land in Virginia is rumored to be quite fertile.”
Annabelle could only gape at him. He would leave court, travel so far away, just to explore a new continent? That didn’t seem like him. But oddly enough, it made him even more appealing, if that were possible. Curse the man.
Sir Charles snorted. “I can hardly imagine you beating your sword into a plowshare, Hampden.” He glanced down at Colin’s breeches. “ ’Twould be a waste of a good sword.”
Sir John slid his arm around Charity’s waist. “Aye. A sword is more amusing to a lady than a plowshare, wouldn’t you say, Charity?”
The normally unflappable Charity blushed, provoking laughter from the others.
But Colin seemed more interested in working his fingers further inside Annabelle’s bodice in back. She pulled away. He jerked her back. She cast him a scathing glance. He merely grinned.
With a sniff, she said, “Perhaps Lord Hampden prefers the plowshare because his sword lies useless in its scabbard.”
Her attack on his virility got a laugh from everyone else but didn’t seem to bother him. “Plowing a fertile field does provide its own amusement,” he said boldly.
The men all laughed again. These gallants would always find the double entendre in any comment. Meanwhile, Colin twisted the laces of her gown to draw her close enough that her backside pressed against his hard thigh.
A delicious shiver swept down her spine, annoying her. “Be careful, my lord.” She arched an eyebrow at him. “Some of those fields are full of thorns sure to prick you.”
His eyes gleamed at her. “That’s why plows are made of iron, my dear. To cut through any defense.”
“Now who’s pricking whom?” Sir Charles called out gleefully, garnering more laughter.
She leveled him with a dark look. “Certainly not you, Sir Charles. Given the reports of your naked dancing on that balcony last week, your plow is the size of a thorn. It wouldn’t even make a dent in my field.”
While the man flushed, everyone else laughed, but before he could respond, the steward announced that supper was served. The rest of the company paired off, chattering as they headed into the dining room. But Colin kept Annabelle trapped with his fingers in her laces.
He leaned close to whisper, “My plow is more than sufficient for your field, dearling.”
The endearment made her despair. He would never leave her be. And the more he pursued her, the more she wanted to be caught. If it weren’t for his facility in uncovering secrets . . . “Ah, but you have to get near enough to my field to plow it, sir, and that will never happen.”
They were alone in the room now. She reached back to pry his fingers from her laces, but he caught her hand and lifted it to his lips for a kiss as arousing as it was tender.
“Why not?” he rasped. “I met your terms. You said you wanted gifts, and I provided the first of many to come. Yet you returned my ring. Now, why is that?”
She tried to pull free of him, but he wouldn’t let her. “I don’t like small gems,” she tossed out, desperate now to escape him and his tempting advances. “You’ll have to do better than that if you want to win my favors.”
He surprised her by chuckling. “I suspect you’d have rejected my gift even if it had been a diamond the size of a pear.”
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