‘Always.’ He took a drink of brandy. ‘Particularly when I have sampled something I long to know better.’
A faint blush mounted her features. ‘You are being deliberately provocative.’
He took another sip and eyed her speculatively over the rim of his glass. ‘Not nearly as much as I would like to be.’
A frisson ran her spine and she stopped. Danger lurked here. ‘Perhaps I should leave.’
Unfortunately, her voice was breathy, which ruined the effect she had tried for of haughty coldness. But it was hard to be cool when your blood was starting to heat. He always had this effect on her. It was unnatural as well as unseemly.
‘No,’ he said. ‘I will mind my manners—unless you invite me to do otherwise.’
She took a step back.
‘No, I meant it. Sit, and I will pour you a glass of brandy.’
‘I don’t drink. I watched my brothers consume whisky the way you swig brandy. Inebriation doesn’t appeal to me.’
She recognized the disgust in her voice that she always felt when her younger brother, Dominic, had come home, barely able to move. He was much like Sir Hugo—a womaniser, a drinker, and a charmer no member of the opposite sex seemed able to resist. She should leave now before her attraction to her host allowed him to lead them into deeper waters.
Instead of moving to the door like her mind directed, she moved toward the chair. She was like a moth drawn to the flame of his masculinity. He burned with an energy that never failed to excite her in ways she had previously never experienced. He was very dangerous indeed.
‘You drink sherry,’ he said, a curl to his mouth. ‘This is much better.’ When she sank into the opposite chair without accepting his offer, he added, ‘Trust me.’
She laughed. ‘Trust you? I don’t think so, Sir Hugo. And I never drink more than a small glass of sherry.’
He smiled. ‘Well, at least try the brandy. A sip. If you don’t like it, you needn’t finish it. Here,’ he said, holding out his glass, ‘I will even let you drink from mine. That way you won’t feel as though I am pressing a great amount on you.’
She eyed his outstretched hand holding the goblet of liquor in the way she might eye a dangerous cobra poised to strike. On one level, his offer seemed perfectly innocuous. But on a deeper level, he was asking her to put her lips where his had already been. When thought of like that, his offer was temptation in the extreme.
She appreciated that he was flirting with her. It was oddly appealing. But then, so was the mesmerising sway of an aroused cobra.
‘Perhaps a little.’ When a slow, sensual smile intensified the harsh angle of his jaw, she added, ‘Just to make you hush about it. I am sure I won’t like it.’
She stared at him for a long moment, wondering how far he intended to take this, and then wondering how far she wanted him to take it. He said nothing, but his gaze was intense, as though he found her fascinating. In its own way, that look was more seductive than anything else he could have done. Even more so than the anticipation of putting her lips to the glass he held out to her—his glass. Annabell found herself wishing he would reach across the table and touch her. Anywhere. Just touch her so she could feel his flesh against hers.
She settled for touching his fingers with her own when she took the brandy. Her reaction to him was swift and strong. Her stomach clenched in pleasure and her fingers trembled. He held on to the glass even though she also held it. He leaned forward so she could put the rim to her lips. Somehow she knew he meant for her to sip from the very spot he had just drank from. She shivered in anticipation.
She took a sip of the brandy and fire welled up her throat. Fortunately, he still held the goblet. She barely managed to swallow before a coughing fit took her. She gasped.
He knelt in front of her before she realised he had moved. ‘Easy, Lady Fenwick-Clyde—Bell,’ he murmured, using her family’s pet name for her. He set the glass on the nearby table.
‘Oh,’ she gasped. ‘I didn’t conceive it could be so strong.’
‘It isn’t. You gulped it. That will make anything seem overpowering.’
She hadn’t noticed that he had moved again until his knee nudged hers. She shivered and tried to shift so they didn’t touch. He shifted so they did.
Her eyes watered, blurred his image. His hand cupped the side of her face, his touch warmer than the fire. With his thumb, he wiped away the tear trailing down her cheek. It was a gentle gesture, yet her body reacted as though he had crushed her to him. There wasn’t enough air for her to inhale. Her mouth opened.
He leaned into her and his lips touched hers.
He did not hold her or in any way confine her. She could pull away, and she knew it. But she didn’t. She was caught, like a butterfly pinned to a board. Only she didn’t want to escape.
Her eyes drifted shut, and she sank into his caress.
His mouth drank from hers. She tasted brandy on his lips and tongue. It was sweet and strong and intoxicating. He sucked at her, nipped at her and made her want him with nothing more than his kiss. He barely touched her.
When he finally broke the contact, she sighed in regret. She opened her eyes slowly to see him watching her carefully.
‘Will you come to my room, Bell? You want me as much as I want you.’ His voice was low and raspy, his hands clenched on his thighs. He still crouched so their knees met.
She swallowed her need. ‘No, Sir Hugo. I… That is not what I want from life.’
He rocked back so they no longer touched, his face blank. ‘What do you want?’
She had to look away from him in order to think straight since, seeing him so close, all she wanted was him, but in her saner moments she knew she wanted more. She wanted freedom to do what she wanted when she wanted to do it. Marriage to Fenwick-Clyde had taught her well that a wife has no freedom. She was subject to her husband’s every whim.
‘Independence,’ she whispered and wondered why it hurt to say that.
‘You can have that and still come with me,’ he said, his offer sweet and beguiling.
She shook her head. ‘No. What if I became pregnant? What then?’
He frowned, his beautiful mouth turning down at the corners. ‘I am not some callow youth with no experience, Bell. I would protect you.’
She tilted her head to the side and studied him. He was not classically handsome. Her brothers were more attractive. But there was a magnetism about him. And his body was firm, broad in the shoulders and lean in the hips. He had an athlete’s body, a body that belonged on a Greek marble.
And he intrigued her.
‘How would you protect me? I don’t believe there is any such thing for the woman when she and a man make love.’
‘Of course there is,’ he said gently, still not touching her. ‘Your husband was a cad or he would have shown you.’
Her eyes widened slightly. ‘You malign someone who can’t defend himself.’
He held her gaze without flinching at her criticism. ‘Could he defend himself? I don’t think so.’ His voice hardened. ‘What I find hard to believe is that your parents gave you to him.’
She was instantly defensive. ‘They did not know.’ He raised one brow in doubt. ‘They didn’t. They did not go about in society. He came from a good family. Besides…’ she sniffed ‘…it was a marriage of convenience. They had made one and found they fell in love. They thought the same would happen to me.’
He snorted. ‘They were fools.’
She felt her shoulders begin to bunch. They were skirting uncomfortable memories. She wanted to be angry with him for bringing this up, but instead she found she wanted to discuss Fenwick-Clyde. She wanted to find out what another man thought of her husband. She had never been brave enough to discuss her husband with either of her brothers. She had sensed that his actions would have infuriated her brothers to the point where they might have done something everyone would regret.
‘Who are you to say that?’ The question was as close as she could come
to asking him what he thought of Fenwick-Clyde.
‘Do you really want to know?’
She clenched her hands and wondered if she really did. How could she even contemplate discussing what Fenwick-Clyde had done, and to someone she barely knew? Yet, she sensed she could discuss this with him. Strange. She even trusted him, at least in this.
‘Yes,’ she finally said.
He settled himself more comfortably on his knees as though sensing this conversation would be long. ‘I knew your husband.’ When she started in surprise, he held up his hand. ‘Not well, but we often ran into each other during the course of a night. We frequented many of the same places.’
She bit down hard on the urge to make some scathing comment. She had not asked him to talk to her so that she could denigrate him or accuse him.
As though he sensed her disapproval, he said, ‘I am not going to ask you to understand. I am a man and I do as I please. And what I please is to enjoy my life as I see fit. For me that is often women, gambling and drink.’
She nodded, trying desperately not to show him how his words hurt. She was being silly and knew it. What he wanted from her was sex, not love. She knew from watching her brothers that for a man the two were often mutually exclusive.
‘Your husband obviously felt the same.’ His face hardened. ‘The only difference between us is that I believe in making my encounters enjoyable for everyone involved. Fenwick-Clyde did not.’
She jerked. Her nails dug into her palms, but she said nothing. He was absolutely right.
‘There were rumours about him. Unsavoury ones. After a while, many of the women refused to service him. From what I heard, I didn’t blame them.’
The memories rose inside her, memories she had tried so hard to bury so deeply they would never surface again in her life. She stared, not seeing the present. Her breathing increased.
‘Annabell!’
Sir Hugo’s firm voice called to her, but the memories would not stop. Once Fenwick-Clyde had tied her, spread-eagled, to the bed. He had done things to her she had never imagined possible. That had been their wedding night.
‘Annabell, stop!’
This time Sir Hugo’s voice penetrated her misery. She blinked and focused on him. Her breathing eased.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.’
He laid a hand over one of hers. ‘I wish he had not misused you.’
She blanched and started to pull her hand away from his, then hesitated. He was warm and strong, and his touch made her feel safe. She stared at his concerned face and realised she cared for him. Cared for him a great deal.
‘It is in the past,’ she finally said, wondering how she was going to deal with the man kneeling in front of her now that she appreciated the fact that he meant more to her than he should or than she wanted him to. ‘He is gone and cannot touch me ever again.’
‘Nor can any other man because of what he did to you.’ His tone was bitter. Not at all like him.
‘You have certainly touched me,’ she said with more irony than necessary.
He studied her. ‘I kissed you. That is only the beginning. But you keep who you are locked away.’
He was much more perceptive than she would have thought. It must come from his experience with women.
‘Why do you care?’ she asked without thinking and instantly regretted it. ‘I’m sorry. It is none of my business. Please ignore that question.’
He held her gaze with his. His tone was rueful. ‘Because I find myself intrigued by you. I want to know more about you and at the same time my body aches for you.’ When she gasped, he added, ‘Is that sufficient reason?’
Shocked, she nodded.
His smile was wry. ‘Surely, I’ve told you enough times how I feel for you that you should not be surprised.’
‘Well…’ She noticed that he still held her hand. She pulled free. ‘Yes, you have been very forward in regard to your physical wants, but this is the first time you’ve indicated an interest in anything else.’
He leaned back, as though deciding that more distance between them would help prove his attraction was more than skin deep. ‘In all honesty, this is the first time I realise that I want more from you than physical pleasure.’
He stood and moved back to the chair he had vacated what seemed eons ago. He sprawled with his slippered feet nearly touching the fireplace grate. He was relaxed and enticing all at once. A heady combination.
‘Are you serious?’
He turned to her. ‘Regretfully, yes.’
‘Regretfully?’ She was not sure if she was offended or amused.
‘Yes, Annabell, regretfully.’ He picked up the glass of brandy and drained it. ‘I don’t normally become interested in the workings of my lover’s mind. Usually I am more than satisfied to understand how her body responds to mine.’
The image conjured by his last words sent tingles through her spine. He was being prosaic, and she was finding him seductive. No wonder she found him nearly impossible to resist when he set out to entice her. She wanted him to make love to her, and she went cold with the realisation.
She licked suddenly dry lips and tried desperately to find a subject to scintillate him with and take her thoughts from the image that seemed lodged in her mind. Nothing came to mind.
‘I can’t image what you find interesting,’ she finally said. ‘All I can think about is y—’ She stopped herself, her fingers shaking at her near admission. ‘All I can think about is antiquities. I can’t image that interesting a man like you.’
He watched her from the corner of his eye. ‘Why?’
‘Because you are a rake,’ she blurted out.
‘Rakes have more than one interest,’ he answered, his voice sardonic.
‘Gambling?’
‘More than two.’ He turned to face her full on. ‘Are you flirting with me?’
‘I…’ She had not intended to. He was making her lose control of herself. This was unacceptable. ‘No.’
He laughed, a short bark that wasn’t really amused. ‘I didn’t think so. More’s the pity.’
‘It is time I left.’
She stood, no longer able to withstand him this close. One minute he was trying to seduce her, the next he told her he admired her brain, and now he was being charming. He was as multifaceted as she was confused.
He got to his feet. ‘Wait a minute. I have something you might want to take to bed with you.’
She paused, wondering if he had meant to be provocative. The blade-sharp angle of his jaw told her he had.
He went to one of the shelves and pulled two books down. Handling them carefully, he came to her. ‘You probably already have these, but, if not, they will make for interesting reading.’
She looked at the top book. ‘William Camden’s Brittania.’ She looked up at him. ‘This is considered the first book to give topographical descriptions of monuments in Britain. It was written in 1585.’
‘I know. This copy is from the early 1700s.’ He lifted that one and put it underneath the second book, which was actually a bound manuscript. ‘This is part of John Aubrey’s Monumenta Britannica.’
She gaped. ‘That is extremely rare.’
‘I know. But I also know you will handle it as though it was a relic.’
She glanced sharply at him. Was he being sarcastic? She couldn’t tell from the neutral expression he wore.
‘I will certainly treat it with the respect it deserves,’ she said more tartly than he deserved. ‘But where did you get this?’
‘One of my ancestors must have been friends with the man. Who knows?’
‘Spoken like a man who isn’t interested in the contents.’
‘Take them and enjoy them. I read them a long time ago.’
She took them with reverential care. ‘I am sorry for implying that you hadn’t read them.’
He shrugged. ‘It has been a long time. I studied antiquities at Oxford and read them then. I have forgotten most of what I learned.’
/>
She doubted that. She was fast learning that Sir Hugo was a very intelligent man with a superb memory.
‘I imagine you remember everything you intend to remember,’ she said drily.
‘Perhaps.’ He stepped back. ‘Goodnight.’
She gave him a hesitant smile, wondering if he was going to add an invitation to his bed as he had already done several times. When he said nothing further, she turned and left.
Sir Hugo watched her leave the room. She was tall and elegant and intelligent, all attributes he valued and admired. He would have a difficult time leaving her when the affair he intended to have with her ended.
Which reminded him that there was still Elizabeth. She must have reached London by now and would be expecting to hear from him. A task he was no longer looking forward to fulfilling.
He returned to the chair and sank down. He poured another full glass of brandy and lifted it to his lips. For a fleeting moment, he remembered Annabell putting the glass to her mouth. He shifted the glass to where he imagined she had sipped from it and downed the contents. The liquor burned all the way down.
The hairs on Annabell’s nape tingled as though someone watched her. She looked up to see Sir Hugo in the morning-room entrance. He didn’t look much different from last night in the library. And he still aroused feelings in her that she didn’t want to experience.
She felt a fleeting sense of embarrassment caused by the memory of their talk last night. She also found herself glad to see him, something she did not want to be happening. But it was.
‘I see you have invaded my breakfast room as well as my library and my orchard with my Roman villa.’ He sauntered toward her. ‘I am curious to discover what other areas of my property you intend to inhabit.’
She thought instantly of his bed and blushed a bright pink. The idea had been unbidden and unexpected. He always took her by surprise.
‘Good morning to you too.’ She ignored his leading statements. Some things were better left unaddressed. ‘You are up early.’
He came closer. ‘I see you are going to ignore my comment. Never mind. You will show me sooner or later. I am a patient man.’ Before she could think of a retort, he gave her a mock frown. ‘And you seem to have a jaundiced opinion of me. I am often up this early.’
An Unconventional Widow Page 9