Perhaps her aunt did not want to admit she’d been negligent in regards to her duty, or perhaps she believed that Annabelle and Mr. Edwards had both been sitting in silence, reading the entire time.
Whatever she thought, thankfully, she asked no questions.
After the train made a brief stop in Sheffield, where everyone got off for lunch, they were soon chugging noisily down the tracks again. Aunt Millicent was knitting with impressive vigor, making it necessary for Annabelle and Mr. Edwards to ignore each other.
Having already lost interest in her book, Annabelle rested her forehead against the cool glass, gazing dreamily at the white sheep dotting the green countryside. The train rocked back and forth, smoothly at times, jerkily at others, and she might have fallen asleep herself if the elderly lady next to Mr. Edwards had not spoken up.
“What a lovely lunch,” she said as she shifted in her seat. “Did you enjoy your meal as well?” she asked Aunt Millicent.
“Yes, thank you!” Millicent shouted in reply, nodding in an exaggerated fashion.
“That’s good, dear,” the lady said. She leaned her cane up against the seat and smiled at everyone, then reached into her reticule for her book of crosswords.
At that moment, Mr. Edwards grinned at Annabelle, his heated gaze raking boldly downward.
Heart jolting with a wicked thrill that settled in the pit of her belly, Annabelle glanced quickly at her aunt, certain that if her conservative chaperone had seen the decadent spark in Mr. Edwards’s eyes just now, she would pick up the older lady’s cane and knock him over the head with it.
But Aunt Millicent was not looking at Mr. Edwards. She was absorbed in her knitting.
When Annabelle glanced back at him, he appeared amused by the whole situation—the two of them sitting across from each other with a clear attraction neither of them could pretend didn’t exist, yet unable to converse the way they would have liked to. And they both knew Aunt Millicent was not about to encourage an introduction that could, God forbid, lead to an unwanted acquaintance.
So the next two hours passed in almost complete silence, except for once or twice when the elderly lady asked a question, and everyone looked up from their books or knitting to contribute. The train made a few stops along the way, and everyone got off to stretch their legs.
Then at last, late in the afternoon, Aunt Millicent’s head began to nod again, and she went out like a wet candle.
Annabelle glanced across at the other lady, who had also fallen asleep. Then she found herself smiling eagerly at Mr. Edwards, who had just set his book down. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, clasping his large hands together in front of him.
With breath held, Annabelle waited for him to say something, but he took his time before he raised a finger and gestured for her to come closer. She quivered beneath the teasing glimmer in his seductive, dark eyes.
Laying her book down as well, Annabelle leaned forward. She and Mr. Edwards swayed from side to side with the rocking of the train, their faces only inches apart. His eyes roamed from the top of her head to her nose and lips, then to her frizzy hair and purple hat.
She studied his face, too—his strong cheekbones, the shadow of stubble along his jaw and chin, and the depths of his dark eyes. She gazed at him with more than an artist’s appreciation for male beauty. She was just a woman now, and he was so impossibly handsome in her eyes, it hurt just to look at him…
At last he spoke, in a low, husky voice, almost a whisper. Just the sound of it made Annabelle’s skin tingle deliciously with gooseflesh.
“How daring are you?” he asked.
Annabelle swallowed, shocked by the spell he’d cast over her—there was no other word for it—and she couldn’t believe her own blatant disregard for the concept of consequences. She felt as if she would blindly follow this man to the door and jump off the train into a slimy green swamp if he suggested it. If it meant she could be alone with him for just five minutes.
That scared her a little.
“What do you have in mind?” she asked nevertheless, curious, while at the same time struggling to hold tight to her common sense, murky as it was at the present moment.
He hesitated before he began to explain in a quiet voice. “Miss Lawson, all day I’ve been dreading the moment we’ll have to get off this train.”
“So have I,” she blurted out, before she had a chance to think rationally.
The two ladies were snoring beside them. Nevertheless, Mr. Edwards quickly confirmed their lowered lids before he reached for Annabelle’s gloved hand, turned it over, then slid his fingers up to the sensitive inside of her bare wrist. With the tip of his finger, he drew tiny feathery circles over the delicate blue veins…
Annabelle’s body went weak from his touch. She had never been so quickly enamored with a man before, nor had she ever experienced the true, aching cadence of lust. She had not understood its power.
“I can’t let you go,” he whispered, “knowing I will never see you again. Meet me somewhere. Anywhere. Could you do that?”
Annabelle panicked as she considered it. What he was suggesting was beyond improper, yet she wanted it with urgent desperation.
“Do you mean alone? I’m not sure that would be…” She didn’t know what to say next.
He hesitated, then bowed his head and shook it. “I’m sorry, Miss Lawson. I’m tactless. Of course it’s not possible to meet alone, and you should throw me off the train for even thinking such a thing.” He looked up, his eyes apologetic. “Forgive me. Is there another way?”
Staring into his dark, passionate eyes, she found herself leaning suddenly toward caution. Attractive though he was, he was still a stranger, and she found herself questioning his integrity. Was he testing how far he could go with her? And when he’d sensed her reluctance—because she was a well-bred young lady—was that the only reason he was retreating, and behaving slightly more respectably?
Perhaps he made a habit of taking advantage of young women he met on trains. Perhaps he only wanted to steal her overstuffed reticule.
Aunt Millicent twitched and snorted.
Annabelle immediately pulled her hand out of Mr. Edwards’s grasp, as anxiety cooled her thoughts. She was being rushed into a decision. Her aunt could awaken at any moment…
Which was why she answered so quickly, whispering, “Perhaps somewhere we could be properly introduced.”
Though she didn’t know why she should even bother with such a formality. Even if this man’s intentions were honorable, her aunt would never encourage such a match. She was very ambitious. Aunt Millicent knew Annabelle would have a substantial dowry, thanks to her generous brother, Whitby, and she was searching among the aristocracy for a husband for Annabelle. Even though Annabelle was not truly one of them.
“Where?” Mr. Edwards asked, staring intently at her. “A shop perhaps. But no, what would be the point? We’d only say hello and good-bye again.”
Annabelle experienced a sudden flash of fear. Indeed, what would be the point in seeing him again, unless she intended to defy her family and run away with him and live the modest life of a bank clerk’s wife?
Oh, good gracious. She was getting ahead of herself. She’d met a handsome man on a train. She’d known him only a few hours, and already she was plotting an elopement, despite the fact that she was slightly wary and had just wondered if he wanted to steal her reticule. She had best regain control of her senses.
“Perhaps it’s not a good idea,” she said. “I couldn’t deceive my aunt that way.”
His gaze fell upon Millicent for a long moment before he nodded, almost in defeat. He leaned back. “Of course. You’re right. I shouldn’t have suggested it.”
She recognized the disappointment in his eyes. He was surrendering to the reality of their situation—that he was not a suitable acquaintance for her—and all Annabelle’s suspicions about his integrity fell away, because she felt positively beastly over the direction this was heading. She had enjo
yed their conversation so very much. He was the kind of man she would wish to know. He was intelligent, polite and interesting, not to forget handsome and exciting—so much more so than all the young lords she’d been dancing with of late. She did not wish him to think she considered him beneath her. She did not. But her family would certainly not support any—
Just then the steam whistle blew and Aunt Millicent sat straight up, eyes wide. Annabelle sucked in a breath, while Mr. Edwards calmly turned his head toward the window.
“What time is it?” Millicent asked, looking around, confused.
“It’s just past three,” Annabelle replied.
“I think I fell asleep for a few minutes.”
“Did you?”
Annabelle struggled to smile casually at her aunt. She and Mr. Edwards glanced briefly at one another.
“We should be arriving soon,” Millicent said, running a hand over her hair, patting down some untucked strands. “Thank goodness. It was a rather tedious trip, don’t you think?”
“Yes, Auntie,” Annabelle lied.
In a matter of minutes the train was slowing down, but Annabelle’s heart was racing faster and faster, for she was about to disembark and never see Mr. Edwards again. She had just rejected him, and surely he was under the impression that she did not wish to see him again, that she did not trust him, nor find him interesting or appealing.
Though she did not know him well enough to trust him, she certainly did find him appealing, in every possible way.
With the slow lumbering of the locomotive and the noisy screech of the brakes, Annabelle felt more and more as if the walls of the train were closing in on her. She was running out of time, and soon she would have to say good-bye to Mr. Edwards for good.
If that happened, she knew she would always wonder what would have become of them if they’d had more time to get to know each other…
Aunt Millicent leaned forward and shouted to the older lady, “We’re pulling into the station!”
The woman jumped and awakened. “Oh, we’re here, are we? Thank you, dear.” She reached shakily for her cane.
Annabelle was breathing hard now. This was it. They would be getting off in a few short minutes.
She glanced across at Mr. Edwards. He returned her steady gaze.
“Don’t forget your book,” Aunt Millicent said, picking it up off the seat and handing it to Annabelle.
“Does anyone see my pen?” the older lady asked, appearing flustered as she searched around her seat. “My grandson gave it to me. Did it fall on the floor?”
Everyone leaned forward to look. Then Annabelle was struck by a thought. Well, not so much of a thought. It was more of an involuntary action. She reached into her own reticule for her pen and sketch pad, and while everyone was distracted by the older lady’s panic, she scribbled something on a small corner of the pad and ripped it out.
The pen was soon located by Mr. Edwards, who had spotted it under Aunt Millicent’s feet. Annabelle quickly crumpled the note in her hand.
She knew she was doing something rash and imprudent, but she couldn’t help herself. She could not get off this train and say good-bye forever to Mr. Edwards. She could not explain it. She simply had to see him again, even if it was only to discover he was an unscrupulous character. At least then she would know.
A short time later the train screeched to a halt at the station and they all stood.
“It was a pleasure traveling with you,” the older lady said to Annabelle and Aunt Millicent.
“Indeed it was,” Millicent replied.
One of the uniformed guards opened the door and helped the elderly lady down first, and as soon as Millicent took the first step down, Annabelle turned and discreetly slipped her crumpled note into Mr. Edwards’s hand.
He glanced up, surprised at first, then his eyes filled instantly with a flirtatious spark of understanding that sent Annabelle’s senses whirling. He held her for a moment in the pounding allure of his gaze.
That instant, she knew she had to see him again. She simply had to, and she prayed he would understand what she had written in the note and would not let her down.
Physically wrenching herself away, she turned for the door, seizing the opportunity to steal just one more backward glance at him before she left the train.
Magnus watched Miss Lawson walk the length of the platform until she was gone from view, then he immediately opened the tiny, crumpled note and read it.
Bloody hell…
He stuffed the note into his breast pocket.
What had he done? What the devil was wrong with him?
Sitting forward, he dropped his head into his hands, raking his fingers through his hair. He could never have her. Never, never, never. She came from that world. She lived with—and loved—the very people he despised, the people who despised him equally in return.
He still could barely comprehend that she was one of them, because she was so undeniably different, and for most of the day he had practically forgotten the connection. He supposed he’d been distracted by the shining, disturbingly lovely blue of her eyes.
Magnus sat back again and gazed with weariness out the window at the mulling crowd on the platform. The uniformed guard blew his whistle, signaling that it was time to depart.
This was a wretched predicament indeed, he thought, recalling the pleasure of stroking her slender wrist and the displeasure of having to resist touching his lips to it.
His actions had been beyond reproach, to say the least, but he hadn’t been able to stop himself.
No, he should not see her again. He should not, for on top of everything, he had lied to her about who he was.
The best thing to do was put her from his mind. Forcefully. Permanently. He was a strong man. He could do it.
But as the train pulled away from the station, damned if he wasn’t thinking about her luscious full lips again, and feeling most inconveniently aroused.
Chapter 3
1892
S truggling to banish such painful memories of her unforgettable first love, Annabelle gazed upward at the swaying branches of the oak tree and listened to the leaves fluttering in the wind. She covered her face with both hands.
A lump formed in her throat. She swallowed hard over it, trying to suppress it, but couldn’t, because it had been years since she’d recalled that day in such vivid detail, when she had met Magnus for the first time on the train.
Yes, that had been his real name. It had not been John Edwards, as he’d led her to believe.
These days, she only remembered the unpleasant things about Magnus, because she had forced herself to forget the way he had made her feel when she first met him. Forced herself to forget how handsome he had been, how charming and polite with the elderly lady, and how her body had responded to him.
He had awakened every passion that existed within her, when she had not even known she possessed such passions to begin with. She had never been in love before.
Nor since. It had been thirteen long years, and she was a woman now—an experienced, sensible woman—no longer the girl who had stepped on a train believing in love and romance and the private mate of one’s soul. Those beliefs had been very dangerous, and had set her up for a tremendously painful and damaging fall…
She dropped her hands to her sides and squeezed the cool, green grass between her fingers. It hurt to remember all this. Why was she doing it? Because she knew she would have to see him again?
His letter angered her suddenly. Why was he back here, thinking he could write to her as if none of it had happened?
Well, it had happened…all the lies and betrayals.
She rolled over onto her stomach and rested her chin on her hands. She watched a bee land in a patch of clover a few feet away. The bee collected some nectar, then buzzed away, searching for more.
Annabelle inhaled the scents of the grass and earth, so close to her nose. She closed her eyes and again thought of the letter in her pocket. She also thought of the
first one he’d written a few weeks ago, when he arrived in London, which she had not answered. It was locked away in the cedar box in her desk…
She could feel the key to the box, which she wore on a long chain around her neck inside a locket, pressing uncomfortably between her breasts.
Annabelle sighed and rolled over onto her back again. She had started something today with these memories, and somehow she knew that if she were going to see him again, she would need to remember everything, especially how he had hurt her. She could not forget that. She would need to strengthen her guard.
So she forced herself to go back to the two excruciating weeks that had followed that first day on the train, the weeks she had spent longing to see Mr. Edwards—Magnus—again. She had thought of nothing but his face and his hands and the sound of his voice. She had dreamed of being reunited with him, being held in his arms, and finally running away with him.
Oh, she had been so young and innocent…
Paintings
Chapter 4
August 1879
T he crumpled up note Annabelle had placed in Mr. Edwards’s hand had said:
National Gallery
Two weeks, 2 P.M.
Dupre
The day had finally come.
There she stood, pacing back and forth in front of Dupre’s painting, while her brother Whitby was elsewhere in the gallery, moving along at his own pace.
Whitby and Annabelle had come here many times in the past, and thankfully he had learned to give her time alone to admire the art. Which was why she had chosen this place.
Annabelle checked her timepiece, praying Mr. Edwards had understood what her note meant and would be able to find her. Her heart began to pound when she noted the time. It was two P.M. She nervously glanced around at the other patrons.
Oh, she hated this. She hated worrying that he would not come, or that he had met another young lady on another train and forgotten all about her, while she had spent the past two weeks dreaming of nothing but him.
Portrait of a Lover Page 3