Time After Time

by Elizabeth Boyce

  “Have you really taken to carrying around pistols, Annabelle?”

  “Of course not. I was bluffing. I would never ruin the line of this lovely dress.”

  His eyes sparked briefly with amusement, and perhaps admiration. “Lovely as your dress is, you can’t return to the party looking as you do. Let me help you.”

  He reached down to loosen one of the diamond clips tangled in her hair, and slowly worked it free, standing so close she had to remind herself to breathe. He smelled of sandalwood and crisp, clean linen. “This one will also have to be reset,” he said, moving to the other clip, his amusement fading. In moments, the rest of her hair tumbled down to her waist, and he ran his fingers through its long length in an effort to smooth it. Then he cleared his throat, dropping his hands to his sides.

  “I’m not much of a lady’s maid.” He tucked the clips into her gloved hands and stepped back.

  “People will wonder what we’ve been doing out here in the dark,” she said, daring him to think of her that way. But his face was inscrutable, and she fought back a stab of frustration. “Of course, no one would suspect you of misbehaving. You are far too honorable. You’re practically my brother.”

  “I am not your brother, Annabelle. And I’m not as honorable as you think.” Abruptly, he turned toward the castle. “Follow me to the servants’ entrance, and go up to your room from there.” She hurried to keep up with his long strides. “Go straight to your maid,” he called over his shoulder. “Dinner will be served soon. Your absence will be noticed if you don’t hurry.”

  He was dismissing her, because she was a foolish girl he neither wanted nor needed. It was evident in every terse, clipped word.

  When they reached the house, she passed quietly through the doorway leading into the kitchen. In the confusion, as the staff prepared trays of food to be brought up for dinner, she was able to slip by unnoticed. In moments, she was up the stairs.

  • • •

  Only when she’d vanished from sight did Alec allow his careful control to slip. The ghosts of his past were all around him. He and Gareth and Annabelle, rolling down the hillside over there on that warm spring day, laughing aloud as governesses and tutors ran after them, bemoaning grass stains and inappropriate behavior. That long ago summer night, sitting with Annabelle on the bench behind the folly, her hand in his, because while she loved to look up at the stars, she was frightened of the dark. That afternoon when he’d come down from Oxford for a visit, and she leapt into his arms. His only searing thought had been, “how beautiful you’ve become.” That morning two years ago, when everything changed.

  He hadn’t been able to sleep. It had been intensely hot, even at that early hour of the morning, so he’d gone for a walk, hoping for a breeze. Hearing her laughter, he’d been drawn to it, never expecting to find Annabelle dancing in the fountain, a pagan goddess of the dawn, water coursing over every nearly naked curve. The pink tips of her breasts had been visible through her wet shift, and he’d felt like the worst sort of lecher for wanting her. Even now, he hardened at the memory, his mouth dry as dust.

  Annabelle was free in a way he’d never been, full of life and laughter. She was warm, vital, and sparkling, like flames in the night. But never had someone been more unsuited to the path that he must follow. His happiness was not his own. It did not matter that he wanted her, that he could no longer deny his desire. How shocked she’d be to know that while he had been untangling her hair, he’d been imagining it wound around him, her body naked beneath his own.