by Kim Bowman
“Hail!” Jon snatched his hat from where it must have fallen to the ground and pushed it onto Annabella’s head. Then he took up her hand and tugged her toward the woods. “Hurry! I know a shorter way home.”
Laughing at the absurdity of their situation, Annabella allowed him to lead her onto an obscure path through the underbrush. Branches that might have beat and clawed at her were somehow miraculously moved out of her way, held back by her personal gallant rescuer. In moments, the hail was replaced by a deluge of icy rain. Hand in hand and laughing, they emerged from the woods near the back of Blackmoor Hall and raced across the archery range then up the path to the servants’ entrance.
Jon yanked open the door, and together they stumbled out of the dreadful weather. A single sconce in the dingy recesses of the back entrance spilled weak light over them. Jon’s eyes glittered as, still grinning, he pushed Annabella against the wall and ran his hands upward from her waist to splay across her ribs. As he nuzzled her neck, she giggled and allowed herself to be swept away on crazy, giddy passion. The chill of the stone wall at her back, the heat of the man pressing against her combined and twisted through her body, raising exquisite awareness.
~~~~
Annabella’s pale muslin gown had become almost sheer in the rain. It clung to her every luscious curve and created a hunger in Jon that he knew must be sated soon. He ran his hands over her, needing to possess every inch as his own.
With a soft cry, she dropped her head back against the wall, exposing her creamy throat. Her feverish hands never stilled their roaming over his neck and shoulders, the only places she could reach, he knew, because of how he’d pinned her.
A throat cleared behind him, and Jon froze in his exploration of that silky skin.
“Beg pardon, my lord,” murmured Samuel with a discreet cough.
Shame washed over Jon, dragging the remnants of passion off in protest. What had he been thinking, nearly taking her against the wall where any servant could walk by? He turned, tucking Annabella behind him and hopefully out of sight. Her heavy gasps began to slow, but at least for once she had the good sense not to move.
“What is it?” he snapped.
Samuel averted his gaze down and to the right, but otherwise showed no reaction. “A gentleman has called for you. He declined to give his name. Robert has seen him to the drawing room.”
Jon looked down at his soiled and soaked clothing and frowned. “If he declined to give his name, I suppose he didn’t state his business either. Please see that the caller is offered refreshments while I make myself presentable.”
“Yes, my lord.” Samuel bowed his head and turned for the door.
Behind Jon, Annabella shivered.
“Samuel.”
The butler halted and turned back. “Yes, my lord?”
“After you see to my visitor, please see that a bath is arranged for Lady Seabrook and send her maid to her.”
“Of course, my lord.”
After Samuel disappeared, Jon turned back to Annabella. Crimson stained her face, and her entire body shook fiercely — from the shock of their discovery or perhaps from the cold.
Then a giggle slipped past her lips, followed by another, and Jon realized she was neither trembling nor shivering, but laughing silently.
“Is he gone?” she whispered, bracing herself with both hands on Jon’s chest and peering around him. “Oh, gracious.” A laugh rocked her, and she fisted her hands in his lapels as though unable to stand on her own. “I thought the poor man was going to be struck apoplectic.” She drew a few deep breaths in quick succession and loosened her grip. Then she tipped her head back and stared up at him.
The intensity in her gaze shot through him like an arrow. He mentally cursed the uninvited visitor. Maybe he could dispense with him in short order and return to his wife. Jon’s thoughts drifted down the delightful lane to the bath he’d just ordered.
“Come along.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her to the back stairs.
She giggled. “Using the servants’ stairs, Seabrook? One might think you do this sort of sneaking about quite often.”
He grinned at her, his heart suddenly feeling lighter than it had for years. “One might be correct. After all, I’ve had Gran’s sharp eyes on me all my life.”
Their feet clomped on the wooden steps as they hurried to the second floor, murmuring and shushing one another.
“Whom do you suppose is visiting?” asked Annabella as they entered their private parlor.
“I’ve no notion, but he won’t be staying long.” Jon had other ideas for how he intended to spend a rainy afternoon. He shrugged out of his coat as he crossed the carpet.
Behind him, Annabella let out a cry.
Jon dropped the coat and whirled, ready to do battle. But nothing seemed amiss. Annabella stood near the fireplace holding her hands toward the heat. But she stood at an odd angle, leaning away from the logs stacked on the hearth.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Oh, it’s just a horrid spider crawling in the woodpile.” She shuddered. “I thought ‘twas a mouse. I’m sorry if I disturbed you.”
“A mouse, eh?” Jon began poking through the stack of logs. “Are you certain it wasn’t one?”
“Seabrook, I certainly know a mouse from a spider.” She leaned over his shoulder. “What are you doing?”
“Well, I’m going to dispatch the little beast.”
“You can’t!”
Her sharp tone gave him pause just as he saw a brown and gray spider — fair-sized with bits of gray fuzz poking off its legs — scurrying along the top of the next log.
He glanced up with a frown. “Whyever not?”
“You mustn’t kill a spider in the house!” She stepped in front of him, blocking his access to the woodpile. “You’ll bring on the rain.”
About to move her aside, Jon froze. Gran’s influence, without a doubt. He slid a glance between Annabella and the window, currently being pummeled by heavy raindrops, and his lips tugged into a smile. “In case you haven’t noticed, it’s a bit late to worry about that.”
Annabella parked her hands on her hips and tossed her head, sending her still-dripping hair behind her shoulder. “Well, do you want to risk worsening the storm?”
He chuckled as he settled his hands on her shoulders and moved her out of his way. “I believe I shall chance an extended rainy season. That was a mouse spider. It won’t kill you, but it does deliver a rather painful bite.”
Using a bit more caution than he had previously, he crouched and began picking through the logs again. Finally, his sharp eyes caught the tiny movement on the bottom log. “Close your eyes then, if you cannot bear to see the carnage, Lady Seabrook.” Using a bit of kindling, he smashed the spider. Then, just to be safe, he tossed log and spider onto the fire.
At her gasp, he glanced over his shoulder. She stared at him with hard intensity. “That was positively barbaric! I had no notion you could be so fierce.”
Jon stood and faced her, a bit surprised at the surge of protectiveness that puffed out his chest. “When it comes to protecting you, nothing is too fierce,” he said quietly. Then, casting her a wry smile, he crossed the room and snatched his coat from the floor. Quickly, he slid another coat over the soiled shirt and wrapped a fresh cravat around his neck. His breeches had seen better days but would have to do.
“I shall return soon, Annie.” He scrambled over the threshold to their suite and closed the door before the temptation to stay with her had him sending the unexpected caller away.
~~~~
Annabella sank deeper into the tub until the lavender-scented water lapped at her chin. Steam rose in little clouds in front of her. She’d sent the maid away, preferring peace and privacy for bathing. Not to mention, if Jon dispensed with his visitor, mayhap he would wander into her bedchamber and…
She sighed, closing her eyes and calling his delicious kisses to her memory. They almost made her wish she’d gone ahead and danced with him that fi
rst afternoon at Rose Cottage.
Of course, if she had, things might not have happened the same way, and she might not be Lady Seabrook.
“Lady Seabrook,” she whispered, testing the sound. A smile slid into place, and she flicked her toe, sending droplets of water sailing through the air.
The outer door to the suite slammed, soon followed by the bang of the door to Jon’s bedchamber. Had the caller delivered bad news? Stretching like one of Gran’s cats, Annabella wondered who it might have been and found herself hoping the news didn’t mean they’d soon have to leave Blackmoor.
She swished a hand through the sweet-smelling water. It was still quite hot, and a replenishing kettle hung near the fire. Juliet had always used lavender for relaxation. Perhaps Jon would like to relax…
She pushed to her feet and stood still, allowing the water to roll off her before she stepped out and toweled herself dry. Driven by mischievous imps, she slid her arms into a satin dressing gown without a stitch underneath. The cool fabric caressed her skin in soft whispers of movement as she shuffled barefoot across the carpet to the door that connected her room to Jon’s.
She stood in front of the door, seeking the courage to knock.
Just do it, you chicken brain. You know he wants you. He’s made that quite plain. Of course, it did seem a bit scandalous to offer herself up like a platter of rabbit… and in the middle of the afternoon at that… But it couldn’t hurt to offer him the use of the bath. After all, he’d been laboring all morning and had, himself, been caught in the same bone-chilling rain.
It was the polite thing to do, offering him the bath. She raised her hand and rapped sharply, four times. The sound echoed through the room. She strained to hear. Was that rustling she heard? Or had he already left? Should she knock again? Or steal a peek inside and see if he was even in there?
She reached for the latch, paused, then jumped when the door was suddenly jerked open. Jon stood on the other side. He’d thrown on a brocade and velvet dressing gown and drawn it tight. The burgundy fabric darkened his coloring even more. Over his shoulder, she noted a ceramic pitcher and bowl on his dressing table. Obviously, he was already cleaning up.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she began, hating the warble in her voice. “My bath— That is, I’ve finished, and I thought you might like…”
The look he settled on her was part heated interest and part murderous intent. “Thank you, Annabella, but I’ll just finish up in here. It likely won’t be long before supper. Gran tends to request an early meal when the weather is bad.”
At the edge of frost in his voice, Annabella gathered her dressing gown closer. Gracious! He must be cross about something. Something she’d done?
“Oh… very well.” She turned away from the door, willing away the sting behind her eyes.
“Annie…” he said softly. “Thank you for the offer. I’m sorry I’m in such a foul mood. The man who stopped by left without waiting… or leaving his name. It’s an odd deal, really, and I was trying to figure out who he might be when you knocked.”
She stopped walking but remained facing away from him, certain he’d read far more on her face than she was comfortable with him knowing.
“It’s nothing to do with you, or your offer of… a bath.” He sighed and lowered his voice to a gentle whisper. “You understand that, don’t you?”
“I… I suppose.” Boldness took over, and she turned, meeting his gaze with a smile. “I was just wondering if it might take tactics like those of Lady Godiva to capture your interest.”
Jon frowned slightly and angled a look at her, clearly pondering the reference. Finally, he offered a stiff smile. “Make no mistake about it, Annie… you have my interest.” He stepped behind the threshold and closed the door with a soft click.
Annabella stared at the plank of oak that separated her from her husband and dashed away the tears that rolled over her cheeks. “It’s not just your interest I’m after,” she whispered, allowing the sadness to course over her.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Jon drained the tea from his cup and set it back on the saucer. He might have accomplished some preliminary work on his project had Mr. Webber called with the paperwork as promised. He sighed. Perhaps it was for the best. At least he was free to concentrate on the tournament.
“I need to speak with you, Jonathan.” His grandmother’s low urgent tone startled him. When had she joined him?
“Yes, Gran?” He glanced at her feet. Thankfully, she appeared to be without her blasted cats, though one never knew when a feline might suddenly appear as though conjured from the air. “Would you care for some tea? It’s a bit early for chocolate and pastry, I fear.”
She made a dismissive movement with one hand. “Jonathan, this is a matter of utmost importance. I’ve—” She drew a shaky breath then continued, her voice a bit stronger. “I’ve had a vision. A very dire vision involving your wife.”
Jon gripped the edge of the table until his fingers turned white. He routinely discounted his grandmother’s visions.
Not this time. Not when it came to Annabella.
“What is it, Grandmother?” he asked, his voice coming out terse over his tight throat.
She settled a solemn look on him, somehow gluing Jon to his seat when he only wanted to race up the stairs to seek Annabella… to keep her safe.
“Yes… yes… I see it now.” Gran wagged a finger at him. “You must protect your wife.”
“Against what am I to protect her?”
Her eyes rolled back in her head. “A man… evil… twisted. Dark.” She blinked. “That’s all I know… but I do feel this. Things are going to change, and you must be mindful of the darkness.” Apparently that was all she had to say, since she reached for the teapot and a cup from the serving tray.
“What am I to do with that information, Gran?” snapped Jon as irritation flashed. “Am I to put myself between Annabella and all dark men?”
Gran sighed. “It might be for the best if you did.” She sipped her tea, studying him over the rim of the teacup. “You’d best ready yourself for the tournament, wouldn’t you say?”
Yes… he should be readying himself, but as long as Annabella was still in her bedchamber dressing, he’d wait. Her proximity was becoming a source of discomfort he’d not be able to deny for much longer. If only he could be certain of her feelings. He left the dining room and headed for the study.
~~~~
“Just pull my hair back and secure it with a piece of leather at the nape,” Annabella instructed, thinking of the picture in the hallway near the study. If those ladies could do it, so could she.
Marie gaped. “You mean leave it hanging down, my lady?”
Suppressing a giggle, Annabella nodded. “Yes, leave it down and just secured, please.”
“Certainly, my lady.”
As the maid brushed her hair and pulled it back, Annabella examined herself in the mirror. Not the most flattering dress, to be sure. A simple green frock with a high waist and V-neck trimmed in red and overlaid with blue. Red triangles lined the bottom hem with the same blue edging. The puffed upper sleeves gathered at the shoulders and had the same triangle pattern while the lower sleeves fit snuggly and stopped just above the wrist. The official uniform for the Mercian Bowmen Archery Society.
The maid collected the round black hat with the short brim from the vanity. “Shall I secure this with pins, my lady?”
A white ostrich plume rising from the wide green band waved a greeting as Marie carefully settled it on Annabella’s head. I’ve certainly worn more fashionable head coverings.
Though none had made her more proud to wear. Well, in thinking about it, maybe one did. Her thoughts drifted to the veil Jon had fashioned from his cravat for their wedding. She touched the center of her chest, seeking his signet ring, secured in place with a dark blue satin ribbon around her neck.
They’d had so many false starts and sudden, heart-wrenching stops. And after the kiss near the servants’ en
trance, he’d returned to his habit of keeping a cautious distance. Would he ever come to truly see her as his wife?
She peered in the mirror, mentally tracing the lines of the shapeless gown. Likely not while I’m wearing this…
“M’lady?”
Right. The pins. With a start, Annabella realized she’d been lost in her thoughts. “Oh, no that won’t be necessary, Marie. Thank you.”
A few moments later she descended the stairs to meet her husband and the dowager. The Earl of Seabrook was breathtaking in his crisp white shirt and breeches. His waistcoat was the same green as her dress, with a wide red lapel trimmed in blue. He wore white stockings with black half-boots and the same sort of black hat, though his ostrich plume was tucked into a black silk band.
The dowager wore a beautiful white silk dress with a very untraditional tailcoat that matched Seabrook’s, although with a more feminine cut. Her hat matched his as well, only it was adorned with a red feather.
Annabella brushed a hand over her skirt. “I appear to be very underdressed. You both look as though you’re going to a grand ball.”
As she reached the last step, Seabrook took her hand and kissed her knuckles. “I fear the gentlemen will miss their marks, because they won’t be able to take their eyes off you. And the ladies will be so envious, they, too, will shoot poorly. Leaving you to bring home the silver arrow.”
She tilted her head. “Silver arrow?”
Gran pulled on white gloves. “For the females, the archery contestant with the most direct hits and the one with the highest amount of points each win a silver arrow.” She shrugged and added, more as an afterthought, “The men compete for gold arrows.”
Annabella’s stomach tightened into a ball of nerves. It sounded very cutthroat and a bit daunting. She’d wanted to see the contest, not participate in it. She was nowhere near ready to compete when the stakes were so high.
Jon offered her his arm. “Shall we?”
Part of her wanted to turn and flee. Her heart pounded so hard, surely it rattled her ribs. The notion of not only attending such a grand affair but being involved in such a manner suddenly terrified her. She wasn’t ready.