by Kim Bowman
But the nights… in particular, the nights… Annabella sighed. Those were lonely. In many ways even more lonely than those she’d spent in self-imposed exile at Rose Cottage. Even after their lovely day in Coventry, her husband hadn’t come to her, and she couldn’t bring herself to be so unseemly as to approach him. But embarrassing thoughts of him consumed her — and not always at night.
“Why did you have to hide the truth from me, Jon?” she whispered, as a cloud drifted in front of the sun and the air chilled. “You complicated everything.” Her heart whispered back that perhaps he wouldn’t have hidden anything had she not been such a shrew. “That’s the truth,” she said softly. “I was never very cordial toward him. And now… what?”
That certainly was the question, wasn’t it? Her life had been filled with changes and uncertainty of late.
A swift breeze lifted the edges of her wrap, and she drew it tighter. Perhaps she should turn around. Her steps slowed, but she kept walking and glanced over her shoulder, unable to shake the feeling of being watched.
Blackmoor Hall stood against a backdrop of trees, the stone glowing pale gold even in the diffuse daylight. The cloud moved off, allowing the sun’s heat to caress Annabella’s shoulders once more, and she shook her head. It was silly, of course, thinking herself watched. At most a servant, perhaps, tidying a room and chancing to look through a window.
“More likely one of the cats,” she told the empty air around her. She loosened the ribbon beneath her chin and allowed her hat to topple from her head. It bounced against her back as she walked, caught on her neck by the satin strands.
She longed to release her hair, but that might call her character and intent into question should she meet anyone. Unlikely, according to Gran, but not impossible, Annabella would wager. She did allow herself the pleasure of loosening the shawl as the air around her warmed again.
The road curved gently, and soon Blackmoor Hall was out of sight. A tiny charge of anxiety rippled through her as she realized she really was quite alone. Maybe a walk wasn’t such a good idea. It was one thing to stroll on the grounds of Wyndham Green by herself but quite another to do so in a strange place. Would Gran accuse her of simpering if she returned to the hall too quickly?
Something scraped the road behind her, and Annabella whirled about.
A boy jumped backward with a sharp cry, tripped over a sizeable rock in the road, and landed on his backside. “I’m sorry, m’lady. I tried to keep well behind so as not to pester ye,” cried Ernest as he scrambled to his feet. “Only you went ‘round the bend and I didn’t want to lose sight o’ ye.”
“Gracious, you gave me a fright!” Annabella walked back to the boy as he dusted off his saggy breeches. “Whatever are you doing out here?”
“Mr. Franklin charged me with seein’ ye didn’t lose yerself, m’lady.”
A frown pinched Annabella’s forehead as she tried to place the name.
“The butler, m’lady,” supplied Ernest.
“Oh, right. Samuel… er Mr. Franklin.” Annabella frowned. Why on earth would the butler send the boy to watch over her? Coldness swept through her. Or had Samuel been acting on his lordship’s behalf?
Surprise edged into irritation and threatened to bloom into full-out fury, but Annabella tamped back her emotions. They’d only ruin the day, and one look at Ernest told her he either didn’t know the answers or wouldn’t share them.
“Well, I should very much like your company on my stroll.” She smiled. “If you think you can keep up.”
Ernest grinned and hastened his steps as Annabella began walking along the lane again.
~~~~
With a ringing clatter, the gray slab joined its mates in the heap of discarded slate. It slid across the pile and finally came to rest about halfway down. Jon jumped from the low roof and landed with flexed knees within feet of the wizened old man watching him.
“I’m sure I don’t know how to thank ye, my lord.” Cecil Houghton shook his head. “I’m not near as spry as I was when I was younger.”
“Happy to do it, Mr. Houghton.” Jon glanced up at the roof of the small stone cottage. Watery sun bounced off the pale slate shingles he’d just added to replace several that had cracked over the past century or so. In no time, the new ones would be as weathered and dark as the originals. “Those tiles should be in place for another hundred years now. That’ll keep the rain out.”
Houghton sighed. “And a blessing that’ll be, I assure ye.”
“Have you anything else that needs seeing to?” asked Jon. It was barely midday, far too early to return to Blackmoor Hall, but he was running out of tenants who needed help with their homes. Only a few were infirm or elderly, and Nicholas had kept up on repairs for the most part.
Cyril Houghton leaned heavily on his gnarled wooden cane and squinted up into Jon’s face through milky blue eyes. “No, no. Got some ewes what’ll be in lamb soon, but that’s it.”
“Right.” Jon studied the pile of discarded slate. “I’ll carry this lot to the fence then and shore up any weakened places.”
“I’ll fetch ye the cart,” said Houghton, already hobbling off.
Jon let him go without offering assistance — not only would the offer have been rejected, it wouldn’t have been appreciated by the fiercely independent old man.
The sun beat down with the merciless intensity of Lucifer’s hammer. The muscles Jon had been using in hard labor over the past several days burned as though he’d been mining in the devil’s fiery pit. He’d long since shed hat, coat, and tie, needing the freedom to move about on Houghton’s roof. As rivulets of perspiration traveled down his neck and beneath his collar, Jon loosened his shirt buttons and fluffed the garment to move air across his overheated skin.
By the time the tenant returned with a pony cart, Jon had rested enough to begin again. Anything to avoid returning to Blackmoor. He could only take so much of Annabella’s presence before he found himself burning in a completely different way.
The sturdy brown pony rolled a baleful eye in Jon’s direction and stomped a foot, raising a tiny puff of dust. Jon kept an eye on those feet, fairly certain he wouldn’t survive the humiliation of finding himself kicked by a disagreeable pony.
He began pitching broken stones into the cart, welcoming the exertion and the reprieve of thoughts that constantly strayed toward his wife. Grasp, lift, swing his arms, release. One by one, stones landed on the cart amid clatters, thuds, and rattles. The repetitive motion was almost like dancing, though perhaps a bit less entertaining. The pony snorted as a particularly large stone landed on the cart with a thud. Jon turned to reach for another and slammed into a warm body.
Pale hair, gilded by the sun, fluttered around her face. Annabella wore it partly up and mostly down again, in a state of déshabille that delighted and excited… and left him in an indelicate state, not fit for polite company. So much for keeping his mind off her. The confounded woman had somehow wandered into his sanctuary of self-banishment and invaded his sanity once again.
“What in blazes are you doing here?” he asked, attempting to school his features and drive away his scowl of mild annoyance.
Her lips pursed into a pretty pout, and she tilted her head to the side, regarding him through thick, honey-colored eyelashes. “You wound me, sir.” The playful lilt in her voice as she mocked him with his own words fired lustful darts straight to his center. “Here I’ve come seeking the company of my husband, and he greets me with such disdain, when all I wanted was to offer my assistance.” A slow smile spread over her lips, and she thrust a small bit of slate into his hands.
Mystified, Jon looked down at the slice of gray stone. Odd, how he didn’t feel inclined to toss it into the cart with the rest. “You were looking for me?”
Her pretty face clouded, and she shifted her stance. The blue wrap slipped from her shoulders, catching on her elbows and drooping to her mid-back. “In truth, no. I was strolling by and chanced upon a nobleman who seemed in need of a dancing
partner.” She spread her hands at the cart of rocks. “But alas, not only is the nobleman not in need of a dance partner, it seems he was not dancing after all.”
But I want to be… The words filled his head, and he very nearly said them aloud. His heart had skipped beats just being near her. For a moment he had dared hope Annabella had deliberately sought him out, that perhaps she had missed him…
Her gaze drifted downward, and Jon became conscious of his disordered state. Her face colored up like a soft pink rose, and her tongue stole a fleeting touch of her upper lip.
“I suppose I should quit my interruption of your work,” she said, her words floating on the breath of air between them. She cast a look at him, which he could almost mistake for… longing, and then she pulled her wrap closer and took a step backward, turning her head and glancing over her shoulder. “My escort and I shall take our leave.”
Jon followed her gaze across the yard to where Ernest stood listening to one of Mr. Houghton’s stories. “The boy accompanied you on your walk?”
A wry smile lifted her lips. “Apparently Mr. Franklin feared my loss in the woods should I wander about on my own.”
“And so he should have. Blackmoor is a vast estate. I’ve been remiss in not showing you around. Perhaps it would be best were you to take your fresh air in the gardens until I do.” Jon winced at the hint of censure he detected in his own voice and attempted to temper it with a smile.
She stiffened. Had her chin quivered? The movement had been so brief he couldn’t be certain, and then her face had gone carefully blank.
“With that horrid cat statue?” Annabella shuddered. “I think not. However, as you apparently do not wish me to explore on my own, I shall have to content myself with reading in my room.”
Jon sighed. He’d managed to stir the bee’s nest as usual. “Annie… I should love the opportunity to escort you around the grounds.” He caught his breath, waiting for her to correct her name.
Her lips lifted into a stunning smile. “Truly, Jonnie? May we go now? Or… I suppose you’ll have to finish your task. I can help…”
He winced at the name even as heated tingles rippled through his veins. In that moment, with her staring at him wide-eyed and hopeful, he didn’t care what she called him — he’d have walked through a fiery pit without his boots at her behest. But she was correct. He did need to finish the task he’d promised.
Mr. Houghton’s raucous laugh rang through the yard along with Ernest’s high-pitched chuckle. Then again, perhaps the job might be accomplished another way if the boy was willing to earn a few extra coins.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Sunlight streaked through the trees overhead. Annabella stole a sideways glance at the confusing man walking next to her. He’d seemed eager enough to come with her that he’d dropped a handful of coins into Ernest’s hands to finish his job. But then he had carefully kept greater than an arm’s length between them as they strolled back to Blackmoor.
And he had spoken not one word.
“Your grandmother has informed me that I’m to represent the Durhams at the archery tournament.”
“Did she?” He didn’t sound particularly surprised.
“I suppose you had something to do with it?” She moved a bit closer.
He adjusted his path. “Why would you suppose that?”
She could very likely run him into the underbrush at the rate they were going. “Just a notion, since you don’t appear surprised in the least.” And I know how you work now. You don’t deny anything — you step back and let others draw the wrong conclusions.
He grinned at her, but he still neither confirmed nor denied her suspicions.
“Am I to take your silence to mean you did have a hand in conspiring with the dowager?” Annabella pressed, irritation prickling along her skin.
Jon shrugged. “Well, it would be an honor.”
Annoyance drove her. “Of all the conceited — forgive me if I don’t offer my undying gratitude for being given the honor of representing the Durhams. I—”
He turned his head and looked at her, tenderness shining in his eyes. “It would be our honor… to have you represent the Durhams.”
Her steps faltered. “Oh… I — oh.” The fight and fire went out of her. A warmth, tender yet intense, reached in to squeeze her heart. He meant it; the sincerity in his voice was apparent. The knowledge humbled her, touched her deeply. “Thank you,” she whispered, unsure of what else to say, unable to say much more.
“No need to thank me. You’ve earned it.”
She could only smile in answer, afraid if she spoke the floodgates would open and she’d cry.
They fell into a more comfortable silence. The wind toyed with the lock of hair that chronically fell across his forehead. Annabella curled her fingers inward, so tempted was she to brush it from his eyes. It gave him the look of a poet… or maybe a pirate. He had looked rather dashing when she’d come upon him earlier, in his rumpled shirt, with a tear on one sleeve and stained with dust and perspiration. Not a bit like the nobleman.
She’d come close to asking him not to put his coat back on — a shame she hadn’t spoken up, really, since he’d grown distant again as soon as he picked up the mantle of Lord Seabrook. She rather preferred the laborer. She suppressed a titter at the thought, but not quickly enough.
“Something amuses you, lady fair?”
She decided to honor him with the truth. “I was just considering how little like a nobleman you looked when I came upon you.”
A sarcastic smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “And of course, your appearance was so very ladylike when I first came across you at Wyndham Green.”
“Have a care, now,” she protested between giggles. “At least I looked something like a lady. You looked more like the Earl of Chaos than the Earl of Seabrook.”
“Well, you look a bit more than something like a lady now.” The honeyed tones washed over her. Sparks leapt in the depths of his dark eyes, rendering her breathless.
When she edged toward him, he didn’t move off. Try as she might, though, she couldn’t bring herself to be so bold as to take up his hand. At a rustling in the woods, Jon peered around her into the shadows.
“Rabbits,” he announced with a shrug and started walking again.
The sun dimmed as it hid behind a low cloud, stealing the heat with it. But Annabella didn’t feel chilled. Her mind raced. So many things she wanted to ask, but shyness held back the words.
Where had he been for the past several days? Had he been working on the cottage? Were there other cottages? Other tenants? Did he usually labor like that when he came home? Was Blackmoor even his home? If a mind could be breathless with questions, hers certainly would be. She knew so little of her husband, but suddenly she wanted to know everything.
“Did you play in the woods when you were small?” Annabella sent him a sidelong glance. At his raised eyebrow, she added quickly, “Juliet and I used to play in the woods at Wyndham Green. Mother detested it, said it was quite unladylike.” She chuckled, recalling her mother’s often cherry-red face when she caught sight of ruined frocks and matted hair.
“My brother and I once knew every inch of these woods,” he answered quietly. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. “When my sisters started wanting to follow along with us, we had to sneak off before they got an idea of where we were going.”
The road suddenly dipped downward into a rut, and Annabella stumbled forward. With a cry, she reached for Jon’s arm to catch herself and missed.
With lightning speed, Jon jumped in front of her and caught her against him. Instinctively, her arms wound around his neck, and when he straightened, her feet left the ground. Out of breath, she could only cling.
His arm around her waist tightened, and sudden awareness of stone-hard muscles hampered her ability to think. Then he spun around and released his hold, allowing her to slide along his body until her feet met the road. When she looked down, she was on the other side of the rut.
Giddiness bubbled like a country stream, and Annabella shrieked with delight as she pressed against him, loathe to let go. He settled one hand on her waist and raised his other hand to cup her chin.
The warmth in his eyes erupted into flames that seared wherever his gaze lingered. Annabella leaned into his touch, craving it, needing his heated embrace like she needed her heart to continue beating.
Jon lowered his mouth to graze her lips. He followed the touch with a brush of his thumb on her chin. Annabella moaned then stood on her toes, reaching for more of the sweet, hot connection.
With a deep groan, Jon tugged her closer and crushed his lips against hers. He slipped his hand from her chin and threaded his fingers in her hair, pulling at it until it came free of the pins. Her heavy tresses cascaded down her back, and Annabella reveled in the freedom. She scooped his shock of hair from his forehead, fisted her hand in it, and held on as she returned his kiss, allowing the fires that had never quite lain dormant to spark.
Jon drew back and dotted hot kisses along her jaw toward her ear. Then he dragged his lips down her neck, stopping just above her shoulder.
“Annie,” he said with a moan. “Oh, Annie, I’ve—”
Something cold and sharp bounced off her forehead. Before she could react, she was struck on her shoulder, then her arm.
“Oh! That hurt!” she cried, ducking her head as she took another strike just above her right eye.
She pulled back at the same time Jon did, both of them darting frantic glances at their surroundings. A dreadful clatter arose, and suddenly they were being pelted from all sides. Tiny white pebbles of ice bounced on the road.