Annabell took a deep breath, surprised at her last thought, and felt unexpected tears well up. She wiped them away, appalled at her maudlin reaction. Her emotions were all twisted up. She had not consciously thought about how long life was or wasn’t since her parents’ untimely death in a boating accident.
But life was short.
The library door opened and closed, and, without looking, she knew Hugo had come in. There was a sense of electricity in the air—and his scent of cinnamon.
She folded the paper and made herself smile as she stood to face him. ‘I was just leaving.’
He studied her, not moving from the door so that she could exit. ‘What is wrong?’
Her gaze skipped away. He was too perceptive. Would he understand her upset when she didn’t really understand it herself? She sighed and looked back at him.
‘I have a letter from Felicia—my new sister-in-law. The…’ She stopped to clear the catch in her throat. ‘It seems baby Adam has the croup and Felicia is worried. Not that there is really anything to worry about,’ she added hastily. ‘Croup is so much a part of being a baby. I dare say Felicia isn’t getting enough sleep and the tiredness is making her more emotional about the situation.’
Instead of the cynical curve of lips she expected, Hugo crossed the room to her. ‘And you are worried too.’
He was so close that cinnamon seemed to surround her, and she could feel the heat from his body. She wished he hadn’t got near enough that a step—just a tiny little step—would put her in his arms. He did not want to comfort her in his embrace, as she wanted right now, he wanted to seduce her. Two totally different goals.
‘Yes. Silly as it seems, her letter made me think how short life can be.’ Her voice became little more than a whisper. ‘She lost her two children by her first husband in an accident. Felicia will never forget.’
‘No mother would.’ Hugo’s voice was as quiet as hers, and his arms gathered her in.
She went, knowing it was a mistake, but no longer wanting to resist. He was gentle, his hands cradling her back. He made no move to kiss her, only held her.
She revelled in the feel of him and the security his solid chest gave her. For a brief moment, she let herself sink into his warmth before pushing away.
‘And I am not even a mother, just a silly woman who has let her emotions get the better of her. Adam is not even in danger. I am merely reacting to Felicia’s worry.’
He let her go, but did not step away from her. He made her do that. ‘You are the furthest from silly that I have ever encountered in a woman. You let your head rule your emotions nearly all the time. You must be tired.’
Her eyes narrowed, wondering if he was jesting with her or serious. ‘Why would I be tired?’
He shrugged. ‘I don’t know, Annabell. I only know I’ve never seen you distraught over anything.’
She moved, realising she had not put any real distance between them. ‘It is past time for me to be getting to work. I have much to do and the sooner I do it, the sooner I will be out of your way.’
He stepped aside for her with an ironic bow that made him grimace. ‘As you say.’
Concern lined the space between her brows. ‘You are in no condition to be making bows yet.’ She sniffed. ‘And where is that nasty-smelling poultice Jamison made to help you heal faster?’
A smile hovered over his full lips. ‘He is making me a fresh one.’
‘A more potent one.’ She shuddered. ‘Do not come near me when you are wearing it, please.’
He laughed outright. ‘Obviously, Jamison’s ministrations do nothing for my appeal.’
She shook her had. ‘Absolutely nothing.’
He sobered instantly. ‘That is unfortunate.’
Her eyes widened as she realised his mood had changed instantly, like a storm that had hovered in the distance and finally blew in without warning. No longer comforting, he was now flirting.
‘I must be leaving.’
This time, she did not wait or hesitate at the pinching around his mouth created by his movement as she skirted past him. He was too dangerous to her sensibilities. First he seduced her with desire, then he seduced her with concern for her feelings. He was too skilled for her.
Hugo watched her escape, for that was what she did, and smiled. She was much more susceptible to him than she wanted to admit, and it was making her emotions raw. Like her, he knew croup was likely not dangerous to the baby, and he believed that normally she would not have been so upset. But he also knew she was undecided about what to do about him and the sensations he created in her.
He limped over to his favourite chair and sank gratefully into the cushion. He lifted his injured leg with a sigh, wondering briefly if he would be up to making love to Annabell when she finally decided their joining was inevitable.
He only wished she would realise soon that they were meant to be together. Or did he? He grimaced as his old wound knotted. Kneading the muscle, he knew he hoped it would be soon and be damned to his injury.
Chapter Nine
Late that night, exhausted by an intentionally long day digging, Annabell took refuge in her room from the activity still going on in the drawing room. Susan and Mr Tatterly had got Lady Fitzsimmon and Sir Hugo to play cards. The last thing Annabell felt like doing was watching Hugo try to control his exasperation with Susan, who was blithely unaware that she constantly irritated the man.
Annabell dug her portable writing desk from the trunk where she had packed it when it had seemed she was to relocate to the inn. It seemed eons ago, but was only days. Sinking into the nearest chair, she settled the desk on her lap and took a thick sheet of paper from under the hinged top and dipped her quill in ink.
She wasn’t sure what to say to Felicia. Her first inclination was to make light of Adam’s problem and tell Felicia not to worry, but she knew that would not help her sister-in-law. Felicia had written because she had needed someone to share her fears with, not someone to tell her they were unfounded. The woman had already lost two children—any threat, serious or not, to Adam would be enough to cause near panic. And Guy would be no better than his wife if Felicia tried to confide her fears to him because of his previous loss.
Annabell sighed and laid her quill down. Who was she to say Felicia was overreacting? Life could be too short. She had seen that often enough. Her parents. And even Hugo. He might have died at Waterloo instead of becoming a hero and knighted for his bravery. Many men had died during that battle.
Hugo. What if something happened to him? Not that anything would, but what if? What if he were thrown by a horse? That wasn’t uncommon, and his thigh often caused him to hesitate just as his leg went over his mount’s back. It might also cause him to land badly.
Her heart clenched painfully. Stop it! She closed her eyes, trying to close her mind to the possibilities.
The mantel clock struck the half-hour. Annabell opened her eyes and stared at the timepiece. Hugo would be in his chambers by now. He would have escaped the cards as soon as possible.
She wanted him. She wanted what only he could give her.
As though walking in a dream, her actions already planned, she set the writing desk on the floor and stood. She took a deep breath and ran her damp palms down the sides of her dress. She would go to him. It was what she wanted to do, what she had nearly done last night.
She moved to the door and inched it open, belatedly worrying about someone being in the hallway. Life might be too short to deny herself and Hugo the pleasure of loving one another, but it could be all too long if her reputation were ruined.
Not seeing anyone, she slipped into the hall. The sconces were still lit, throwing her shadow against the wall. She moved swiftly and quietly.
She stopped at Hugo’s door. Breathing deeply, wondering if she was going to faint from nervousness, she raised her hand and tapped lightly with her knuckles. Her heart pounded so loudly, a herd of horses could have come down the hall and she would not have heard them. When there w
as no answer, she gripped the door handle, telling herself he had invited her to his room so many times he would not mind her letting herself in.
She slid inside and shut the door behind herself, her chest rising and falling like a bellows. Her gaze darted around the room until she located the bed. It was empty. She scanned the room slowly this time. It was empty. He wasn’t here.
She slumped against the solid wood of the door at her back. The butterflies that had rioted through her blood disappeared as though they had never been. Disappointment was a rock in her stomach.
She sighed. All her trepidation, all her strength of purpose needed to come here, and he was still playing cards. She giggled at the release of tension and to keep herself from crying. Until now, feeling this keen disappointment, she had not realised just how much she truly wanted to make love with Hugo. She had known she wanted to, but this bone-aching, heart-wrenching need seemed too big for her body to contain.
She took a deep shuddering breath and pushed away from the door, intending to leave. She stopped and turned back around. She could wait for him. There was no place else for him to go at this time of night. He would be here eventually.
So would his valet. She did not want the servant, or anyone else, to know she was here. She shook her head sadly. No, she couldn’t wait for him. If he had already been here and the valet dismissed, that would have been different. She could have left before daylight and no one would have been the wiser. She had to go.
She took one last look around his room, as though a part of her thought Hugo might be hiding somewhere. The walls were golden, the furniture finely carved and heavy. The carpet under her feet was thick and well cushioned. The fire roared in the grate and a small brazier stood by the bed to heat that area. Everything was neatly in its spot or folded. She knew from her own experience that not even the best servant could keep a room this immaculate if the person who lived here wasn’t fastidious.
A smile lifted one corner of her mouth. She was such an untidy person, who left things lying where they fell or where she last put them. She looked once more around his room, noting his dressing robe folded neatly over the back of the chair nearest the fire so it would be warm when he put it on. Several books lay on a table near the same chair. Each spine was centred on the one below it. In some ways, Hugo was her exact opposite.
A gilt Louis XIV clock chimed the hour, its high tinkle disconcerting in the quiet room. Annabell started. She had been here too long.
Still bemused by her discoveries, of herself and Hugo, she cracked open his door, made sure no one was about and slid into the hall. She ran to her own room, heart pounding, and slipped inside.
She collapsed onto the chair she had climbed on just the night before to hide her bedchamber key atop the wardrobe. Her hands shook. Her chest rose and fell as she dragged in air, more winded by her emotions than her exertion. She was also exhilarated.
She realised with no real surprise that she was going to go back to Hugo’s room. She was going to make love with him. She was going to take this chance to be happy, to be a woman experiencing one of life’s greatest pleasures. Life was too short not to. But he wasn’t there yet. She would reply to Felicia’s letter while she waited.
Once more she gathered her writing desk and set it on her lap. She took a deep breath to calm herself and dipped a quill in ink and started.
Dearest Felicia,
I hope this finds Adam much better. I will not make light of your fears. I know how you love him and worry about him, as does Guy. I also know you will not leave him alone and that he will receive the best care possible and your love will surround him, giving him strength. My thoughts are with you. If you need me, I can be there in a day.
Love, Bell
She had written from the heart. She sanded the paper and quickly folded it and sealed it. She would ask the butler to see that it was posted. She set her desk on the floor and stared at the fire.
Annabell thought about what she had written. She had written about love and its power to make even the toughest situation somehow bearable. We give love to others no matter what the risk to ourselves. She had loved her parents and lost them. She loved Guy and Damien and now Felicia and Adam. She would risk anything for them.
But why was she risking her reputation to go to Hugo? Because she desired him? Because he made her blood course hotly through her body until she thought she would burst into flames for the want of him?
Because as she got to know him better, she found she liked him better? She sighed. She even admired him. He was a rake and a womaniser, but he was not callous about it. Nor did he lie. And he risked himself for those he loved, as he had demonstrated with Rosalie. And even more amply when he had stood guard over his valet at Waterloo.
If she denied herself this opportunity for happiness with Hugo, she feared the chance would never come again.
The mantel clock that had chimed hours ago chimed again. It was one in the morning. Surely Hugo was in his room by now—and alone?
Suddenly calm for the first time in days, Annabell rose. This time she would not turn back. With a determined tread, she went to her door and into the now-unlit hall. The candles in the wall sconces had been snuffed. Even the servants were abed.
She made her way as quietly as possible across the small distance that separated her room from Hugo’s. Her breathing was the loudest noise in her ears. She grimaced. Though she had made this journey twice already, she was still scared.
He had asked her to his room and to be his lover often enough that she should feel confident. But she did not. She had never had a lover. And she was the one making the final move.
She stopped, but only for an instant. She wanted this. Either she went to him tonight or she waited for him to ask her again. She did not want to wait. She covered the rest of the distance to his room.
Annabell took another shuddering breath and reached for the doorknob. Her fingers shook as she twisted the brass lever. Her entire body trembled as she slipped into Hugo’s bedchamber.
The fire still simmered in the grate, giving the room a warmth that normally was not present during this time of year. Hugo pampered himself.
The curtains at the window were open and the full moon spilled through the tiny diamond glass panes in a river of silver prisms to the floor. Light fell across the bed where Hugo lay, raised on one elbow watching her. His eyes met hers.
She shifted her gaze, unable to meet the intensity of his. Half his face was in shadow, the other was outlined in harsh angles of cheek, jaw and enticing mouth. His shoulders and chest rose from the bed in firm delineation against the dusky sheets beneath him.
The linens draped dangerously low on his hips. His lean, muscular hips. She swallowed.
‘Annabell?’
His voice was deep and raspy and made her insides turn to lava. Then he threw aside the sheet and rose. He was naked. Somehow, she was not surprised.
Annabell reached for the back of a nearby chair to support her suddenly weak legs. He was everything she had ever imagined a man could be. More.
The fire turned his right side to burnished copper. The moon silvered his left. His muscles rippled with each movement. He was magnificent.
Dark hair fell over his forehead in waves of reckless abandon. His shoulders swayed just a little, just enough to draw attention to how broad and well formed they were. His torso tapered into narrow hips, leading to strong, muscular thighs and calves that needed no padding for their shape.
‘Annabell?’ he said again, moving inexorably toward her.
‘Hugo,’ she managed to say around the constriction in her throat.
She collapsed into the chair she had recently used for support. What was she doing here? She belonged in Bedlam. And yet…
He reached her and squatted down in front of her. His face level with hers, his bare knees brushing hers through the fabric of her dress, she saw him wince. His wound.
‘Oh, Hugo,’ she said, her voice a hoarse whisper, ‘I should not be
here. You are still hurting.’
His firm lips formed a seductive, wry smile. ‘Only a little, Annabell.’
‘Are you sure?’ She barely got the words out, her throat was so tight. He smelled of cinnamon and brandy and desire.
She glanced to the inside of his thigh, where the wound was, and her hand reached instinctively to touch the scar. But it was too close to another part of his body, a part that was more than ready for her visit. She felt a rush of hot blood.
‘What are you doing here?’ He had seen her glance, and now his voice was hoarse.
There was a look of hunger in his eyes as they met hers without wavering. His mouth, that temptation that haunted her dreams, quirked up at one corner. She reached out without conscious thought and lightly, oh, so lightly, touched the left corner of his lips with her right index finger. This was much safer than touching that other part of him, no matter how she longed to do so. Carefully, she traced the outline of his mouth. He let her, the only evidence that he felt her touch being the sudden stiffness of his jaw. The need in his gaze intensified.
He caught her hand and held it away from his face. ‘Annabell, don’t start something you have no intention of seeing through to the finish.’
She let him keep her hand in his. ‘I know what I’m doing, Hugo.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘If you are sure the pain from your wound will not be too much.’
She did not want him to hurt when he made love to her. She wanted him to enjoy it as much as she knew she would.
His mouth twisted. ‘Look at me, Annabell, where you did before.’
Aghast at his bluntness, she hesitated. But only for a second. She wanted to do more than look at him there, she wanted to touch him there. She licked her dry lips.
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