‘I did not intend to.’
He turned and got to the door before she spoke.
‘Hugo, what is her name?’
He stopped an instant, no longer, and then was gone.
The next day he entered a jewellers, his hat tilted rakishly, ebony cane clicking on the flooring. Just below the surface veneer, anger simmered in him. The last place he wanted to be was here, choosing an engagement ring for Elizabeth. The only consolation was that he would not give her the Garibaldi sapphire. While it was not the traditional engagement ring given to the Fitzsimmon bride—Joseph would give the Fitzsimmon engagement ring to his bride—it was a ring left to Hugo by his Italian grandmother. It had been in her family for ten generations and went to a true love. He would not give that to Elizabeth.
A clerk appeared immediately. ‘May I help you, sir?’
Hugo looked at the man, resisting the urge to snap. The situation wasn’t this man’s fault. ‘I need an engagement ring.’
‘Is there a particular type?’
Hugo paused. He had not considered what to get, only that he had to find something to replace his grandmother’s ring.
He obviously looked undecided for the clerk said, ‘Might I suggest this tray over here? They are already made so you can see immediately what they look like.’
Hugo followed the man and studied the rings displayed on a black velvet background. ‘I want something more elegant than these. Nothing ostentatious.’
‘I understand, sir. If you will give me a moment, I will go to the safe.’
Hugo cooled his heels reluctantly. The sooner this was over, the sooner he could give it to Elizabeth and be on his way back to Rosemont and Annabell.
Annabell. What was he going to tell her?
‘Ahem…’ The clerk cleared his throat. ‘I believe I have just the thing, sir.’
Hugo wished he had just the thing to turn this fiasco into a silk purse, but there was no way that he could see. Frustration made him brusque.
‘I hope so.’
The man paled, but stood his ground, a tray in one hand. Hugo looked down and his eyes widened.
‘It is a cabochon aquamarine, sir, circled by diamonds of the first quality.’ He smiled proudly. ‘We also have a necklace and drop earrings to match. They would make a stunning bridal gift, if I say so myself. The lucky woman could wear the engagement ring daily and the other pieces as she wanted.’
‘They are very striking.’ They would look perfect on Annabell with her silver-blonde hair and navy blue eyes. ‘I will take them.’
The man bowed. ‘I will have them wrapped.’
‘And,’ Hugo said just as the man stepped away, ‘I still need an engagement ring.’
The man stopped, seemed to rearrange his thoughts and turned back. ‘Let me see what else we have, sir.’
He left and Hugo wondered what he had done. Annabell did not wear jewellery. He doubted it was for lack of the baubles, since she was wealthy. Possibly she did not care for it. Still, he wanted to give her something, and most women enjoyed getting the things.
The clerk returned. This time, the tray held a large opal and diamond ring. It was lovely, but not striking. It would do.
‘We only have the ring in this style, sir.’ The clerk’s tone was apologetic.
‘I will take it.’
‘Yes, sir.’ The clerk bowed once more. ‘I will have it packaged with the other set.’
‘No, I want them separate.’
The man’s eyes widened a fraction, but otherwise his face remained noncommittal. ‘As you wish, sir.’
Not long after, Hugo left, as satisfied with his purchases as was possible. He didn’t much care how Elizabeth felt about the ring, but he cared a great deal about what Annabell would think of her gift. Surely, a parure of jewellery like the aquamarines and diamonds would bring her enjoyment.
Trinkets had always been enough before, but no matter what he told himself, somehow he did not think they would suffice now. Before, his liaisons had been for pleasure and passion only. What he shared with Annabell was more, much more.
His stomach knotted. Dread such as he had never experienced before tensed his shoulders. He had not wanted to come to London, had not wanted to leave Annabell. More than anything he wanted to return to her, her warmth, her stubbornness and her passion. But things were different now.
She might leave him. And for the first time in his life, he understood what it was to know another person held the power to hurt him. It was not a pleasant sensation.
He signalled his coach. The sooner he gave Elizabeth the ring, the sooner his business here was done and he could return to Annabell. He had to convince her that they could stay together even if he did marry Elizabeth. An arrangement like that was not unheard of, just rare. It was the best he could offer now, but he had an awful feeling it wasn’t going to be enough. She might have done it had he been single. But he had to try.
He should let Annabell go, but he was too selfish. It would hurt too much.
Annabell strode across the grass toward Rosemont, stopping to look at the daffodils beginning to turn brown. Soon the roses would begin their procession of colour and scent. Hugo’s lawn would be full of blooming flowers. It would be lovely.
She entered the hall and handed her coat to the butler who appeared as though by magic. ‘Thank you.’
He bowed, his demeanour everything that was precise. His gaze did not even stray to her unconventional attire.
She glanced down at her harem pants and boots. The hems of the pants were damp, but they weren’t muddy. Neither were her wellingtons. She would get a book from the library to keep her company before going upstairs to change.
Hugo’s absence had been harder on her than she had expected. The two nights had seemed unending; her bed cold, her body colder. And she did not know when he would return. How long did it take to give an old mistress her congé? She should have asked her brothers who certainly had plenty of experience in that area.
She pushed open the library door and entered, glanced at Hugo’s favourite chair and froze. Someone was in it. She moved closer.
‘Hugo?’ She did not try to disguise her joy. ‘Hugo, when did you return?’
He rose and turned to face her. A glass of brandy listed in his hand. His hair was disordered. His eyes were bright. His shirt was open at the collar. He was foxed.
She closed the distance between them and took the glass from his hand. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Drinking myself to the point of courage.’ His words were only slightly slurred. ‘That should be obvious.’
She would not have noticed if she had not known him so well. He held his liquor as well as Guy and Dominic and there were times when even she could not tell if her brothers were inebriated.
‘Why do you need courage?’
Even as she said the words, her stomach tightened. He had no need of courage with her, unless he had something to say that would be unpleasant. Something like… She refused to finish that line of thought. Hugo would never do that after telling her he was going to break off his liaison with his former mistress.
He reached for the glass she still held, so she put it behind her back. Something was wrong. Badly.
He shrugged and sank back into the chair where he sprawled with one ankle over the opposite knee. ‘Keep the drink. You might want to imbibe it, bella mia.’
He had never used that term of endearment. She frowned and set the glass down out of his reach. ‘Why is that?’
He stared at the roaring fire as though trying to find answers to some world-shattering question. He looked utterly sad, as though he’d lost something he prized above all others.
She watched him without saying anything. Apprehension began to crawl up her spine. He had only been gone three days, but his behaviour made it seem as though the world had changed in that time. She sat gingerly in the chair beside him, wondering if she should run instead of stay. There was something about his whole demeanour that spoke of
disaster.
Still he said nothing. She waited him out. One thing she had learned with her brothers and later her husband was that waiting was the best option when dealing with a man who had drunk too much. They would tell you what they wanted to tell you when they wanted to tell you. Most of the time, she hadn’t wanted to hear their reason for drinking. Her heart told she didn’t want to hear Hugo’s either.
‘Give me back the drink, Bell,’ he said without looking at her.
‘Not until you tell me what is wrong. Nothing should be so bad that you could return home without coming for me and instead drink yourself nearly into a stupor.’
‘You think so?’ There was a flat tone in his voice that she sensed hinted at emotions too powerful to release.
‘Yes, Hugo, I do. I thought we had reached an agreement with one another.’ She paused, trying to think of how to say what she thought their relationship was. It was difficult. ‘Not a legal commitment, but…but an emotional one.’ When he continued to remain silent, she added awkwardly, ‘For now at least.’
He angled his head to look at her. His gaze roved over her, making her hot, then cold, then hot again. He made her think of a condemned man looking at his last meal. Her imagination was running wild. She chided herself.
‘What is wrong?’
He sighed and looked back at the fire. ‘Would you be my mistress?’ His voice was deep and raspy, nearly painful sounding.
Her chest contracted painfully. The word mistress was so demeaning. It made her remember how her brothers took mistresses, women they used, paid well and discarded. Although Guy no longer did so since marrying Felicia. But still, the word left a sour taste in Annabell’s mouth.
Until he asked the question, she had not really thought about the reality of their relationship. She had already made love with him, numerous times. They weren’t married and neither one of them had spoken of marriage. That made her his mistress already. She had thought it didn’t matter to her. Now she wondered if she had been fooling herself.
‘I thought I already was,’ she finally said.
His laugh was harsh and bitter, seeming to rip from his chest. ‘I suppose that literally you are right. But it never occurred to me to think of you that way.’
‘Then why now?’
Her voice was low and careful, under control, or as much control as she was capable of. A sense of impending doom, unbearable hurt hovered on the edge of her consciousness. Something terrible had happened and it was going to change everything between them. She knew it.
He rose and came to stand in front of her. His beautifully formed mouth was a thin slash in a face white from strain. Before she realised his intent, he reached down, grabbed her upper arms and pulled her to her feet. His force was such that she stumbled against his chest where he held her.
His breath smelled slightly of rich, sweet brandy. His body smelled of cinnamon and musk. She had missed him so much. Even now, knowing he was somewhat inebriated and that he was about to tell her something that would hurt immeasurably, she wanted him. She wanted all of him: his mind, his body, his heart.
She was a fool.
‘Ah, Bell,’ he said, his voice an agonised groan, ‘make love to me.’
She blinked, wondering where this was leading, then no longer caring when his lips touched hers. She sank into his embrace as they sank to the carpet. Nothing mattered but his mouth on hers, his hands undoing her garments, his body pressing her to the floor.
He cursed her harem pants and nearly ripped them as he pulled them down her legs. She was barely out of her garment when he opened his breeches. He sucked her tongue into his mouth and plunged his body into hers. It was a quick, sharp thrust that she rose to meet with all the passion in her soul.
‘Bell, Bell,’ he said over and over again.
His lips kissed hers, his tongue danced with hers. He shuddered. He swallowed her moans of pleasure and returned them to her with his own release.
She clutched him to her, her nails digging into his flesh, her back arching. Her body spasmed.
They collapsed with him still sheathed in her, her muscles still gripping him, her legs still cradling his hips. He looked down at her, his eyes deep green pools of pain.
‘I have missed you so much. You will never know.’
She lifted her head to kiss him softly on the lips. ‘I know, Hugo, for I feel the same.’
They stayed in each other’s arms until their bodies cooled. Hugo finally rolled to the side and buttoned his breeches. She pulled her harem pants back on and secured them.
‘Will you tell me now?’ she asked quietly.
He gave her an inscrutable look. It was as though their passion had burned to ashes whatever had held him in its grips. Her chest clenched.
He stood and gave her a hand. She took it and he pulled her up. One arm cradled her to his heart while the other smoothed the tendrils of hair that had come loose from her braid during their lovemaking.
‘You mean more to me than anything.’
She looked at him. He had not said he loved her. It was as though he could not say the word, but then neither could she. She understood his reticence. To love someone was to give yourself into that person’s power. Neither of them wanted that. Or so she told herself.
He took a deep breath and let her go. She stumbled when his arm left her and he stepped away so he no longer supported her. She grabbed the back of the nearest chair, the one Hugo had been sitting in when she found him.
He shifted to the fireplace. Whatever he had to say, bothered him greatly.
He looked at her, looked away. ‘I…I did not end it with Elizabeth, Bell.’
Her stomach lurched. ‘You are going back to her.’ Her words were flat from pain and disillusionment.
‘I have to.’ He reached for his nearly full glass of brandy that still sat on the nearby table and downed it in one gulp. ‘She is carrying my child.’
Annabell reeled under the words. ‘Surely not. You always use protection.’
His mouth twisted bitterly. ‘She says so and I have no way of proving her wrong.’ He closed his eyes as though in pain. ‘Oh, Lord. I did not use protection just now.’ He opened his eyes and looked at her, his countenance twisted as though he were being tortured. ‘I am so sorry, Annabell. I did not mean to lose control like that. I have never done so before.’
He took a step toward her, his arm out to gather her to him. She moved backwards, her hand out to stop him. The bitterness of betrayal created a sour pit in her stomach. She felt as though she was in a nightmare, but knew she was awake.
The words spilled from her lips. Words meant to hurt him as he had hurt her. ‘And if I get pregnant, Hugo, will you marry me as well?’
Chapter Twelve
Annabell curled into the sanctuary of the chintz-covered chair in her bedchamber. She had walked out on Hugo before he could answer her question. She had not wanted to know what he would say, knowing it would be too painful to bear. She felt as though someone had taken away her world. Tears tracked down her cheeks and she ignored them. Her chest was tight with pain.
Annabell gulped back an hysterical giggle. He was going to marry his former mistress. How ironic. How funny. How painful.
And she might be pregnant from their lovemaking in the library earlier. Her life could not be worse.
She dissolved into fresh tears.
A long time later, she stared into the dying fire. Surely she would not become pregnant from one time. Fenwick-Clyde had never done anything to protect her during their years of marriage and she had never conceived. She doubted she would now. It was some comfort.
But no matter what happened to her because of their lovemaking, she could not stay here. It would be too painful to see him daily and know he was going to marry someone else.
Not that she wanted to marry him, she told herself. She had made a vow after Fenwick-Clyde’s death that she would never put herself in a man’s control again. That meant never marrying. Yet…
H
e had asked her to stay, to be his mistress. His marriage was not a love match. Elizabeth Mainwaring carried his child. That was all. That was enough.
Annabell had thought her pain was too intense to worsen. She was mistaken. Her heart thudded, skipped a beat and her stomach twisted.
She could not ever remember feeling this devastated, not even on her wedding night. Fenwick-Clyde had demeaned her in ways she would not have imagined possible until they were done to her. But he had not broken her heart.
At the time she had decided she was in hell and death would be preferable. Now she knew better. Hell was losing the only man she had ever loved. No matter what Hugo said, she could not be his mistress. She could not do to another woman what had so often been done to her.
She would have to relocate to the inn that weeks ago had been full with sportsmen come to see the prizefights. Hopefully there would be room for her and Susan now. If she stayed here, she feared her resolve would weaken.
She struggled to her feet, feeling as though her body had aged fifty years in the past several hours. She would start packing. She usually packed her own things. The places she went often did not have servants. The activity would give her something to do. She didn’t think she could sleep and she couldn’t stand to keep thinking about what had happened.
Every piece of clothing had a memory of Hugo attached. Her brown harem pants. She folded them carefully and put them on the bottom of her portmanteau. She had worn them the first time she met Hugo. He had come upon her at the villa, and she had not known who he was. He had kissed her. She should have known from her reaction that he would mean more to her than she could ever have imagined. But she had not.
Her mauve silk evening gown. She had worn it the night she first went to Hugo. He had made love to her the entire night, erasing from her mind the horror of Fenwick-Clyde’s groping hands and slobbering mouth. Hugo had shown her how wonderful the joining of a man and woman could be. She trembled with the force of the memory, her fingers stilled, the fine muslin crushed in her grasp.
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