by Lucy Monroe
“Capital orchestra, don’t you think?” Ceddy’s words forced her to focus on him and she agreed.
“Oh yes, I think they are just wonderful. Lady Markham never stints on her entertainment.”
“That is true. Her midnight suppers are legendary,” Ceddy said, exposing his favorite part of the evening.
Annabelle laughed. “Ceddy, you should look like a roly poly baker, liking food as much as you do.”
“I take after my grandfather. He was a true food connoisseur.” Annabelle agreed as the pattern of the dance separated them. She found herself facing Ian, who looked daggers at her.
“Have you a fondness for Finchley, then, Lady Annabelle?” Annabelle was so startled by his accusation that she laughed out loud. “You’re far off the mark. He is my dear friend, just as he is your boon companion.” His glare lessened infinitesimally. “Aye, friendship is a good and sometimes rare thing.”
Annabelle nodded. “Yes, friends are a blessing, especially in the life of the ton where appearance is so important and often deceiving.” Would Ian ever understand how deceived he was about her? He insisted on seeing her as the rest of the ton did, an aged spinster desperate to marry. She turned again to face Ceddy.
“MacKay looks like thunder. Is all as it should be?”
“Yes, but, Ceddy, he thought I had a tendre for you and that would have disarranged his well-laid plans of being married to a paragon of plainness within the month.”
“Don’t say such things. You have much to recommend you, Annabelle.” A trill of laughter from the other couple in their set caused Annabelle’s head to turn.
“Lord Graenfrae may say he has no use for beautiful women, but it would seem that he and Miss Caruthers are getting along splendidly.”
“I’m sure that if MacKay said beauty doesn’t interest him, then it doesn’t, eh what?”
Annabelle admired Ceddy’s loyalty and did not wish to test it any further. She knew that in times past, the dandy had similarly held up her cause. When the dance ended, Ian approached Annabelle to claim her for a turn around the room. She knew if she didn’t break away now, she might not have the chance later. Faking a tear to her hem, she pretended to make her way to the ladies’ retiring room.
William’s temper was beginning to fray when he saw Lady Annabelle leave the annoying Scotsman’s side. He could tell even from a distance that she was telling the big brute that she had a tear in her hem. William would follow her to the ladies’ retiring room and wait for her outside, where he would bump into her and start up a conversation. No doubt, after an evening spent predominantly in the barbarian’s company, she would welcome the opportunity to converse with an English peer of the realm.
As soon as she made it to the other floor, Annabelle scooted down a dimly lit hall. A hand reached out from the shadows.
Annabelle stifled a gasp. “There you are. I wasn’t sure I would get away to meet you.”
Vivian Graves nodded. “I wasn’t sure either. George didn’t make for the card room immediately like usual and I lived in fear that he would never go.” Annabelle understood her friend’s concern. George Graves, Vivian’s brother, had a tendency to play too deeply on occasion and then swear off cards for weeks at a time.
This of course seriously hindered Vivian’s freedom in working for their common cause, women’s rights. “Did you speak to our new recruit?” Vivian shook her head. “She was surrounded by admirers like usual. I’m not certain that she’s a good prospect, no matter what others may say.” Remembering the scene in the ballroom, Annabelle concurred. “You may be right.
Do you have the pamphlets for me?”
The other woman nodded. Pulling Annabelle by the sleeve, she slipped into a nearby room. Light filtered in through the partially cracked door and Annabelle could make out the shadowy shapes of a four-poster and wardrobe. Vivian bent and removed a thin stack of pamphlets from a pocket sewn into her petticoat. Annabelle took the papers from Vivian and stored them in her own petticoat. “I’ll see that these are passed on to our
contact in the House of Lords. He will see them distributed to the parliamentary members.”
“Will you be at the lecture in Cheapside?”
Annabelle grimaced. “I don’t know. There are new complications. It’s not just a matter of escaping Aunt Griselda for the day. I now have a rather persistent suitor as well.”
“A suitor?”
Annabelle smiled at the surprise in her friend’s voice. “Yes, a suitor. I’ll tell you all about him at the lecture.”
Vivian pulled on Annabelle’s arm. “Tell me now in case you don’t make it to the lecture.”
Annabelle sighed at the other woman’s curiosity. She went over the bare bones of her circumstances with Ian, mindful of the time she had been away from the ballroom.
Vivian made shocked noises as Annabelle described Ian’s requirements for a wife.
“That is unconscionable. I cannot believe his effrontery.”
“It’s not that bad. He truly is in a tight situation with his stepfather’s will.” Vivian gave her a searching glance in the dim light of the bedchamber. “You must find him more appealing than you admit to defend him.” Annabelle wished she could deny Vivian’s insightful words, but knew that she could not.
Ian stood at the bottom of the wide staircase and waited impatiently for Annabelle to reappear. He toyed with the idea of looking for her, but could not very well barge into the ladies’ retiring room. If that were indeed where she was to be found. His mind whirled with unwelcome thoughts. Had she gone to meet a lover? Pain at the memory of another night, another ball sliced through him.
It had been the ball to announce his betrothal to Jenna. His brother, Edward, had returned from school for the event. A young man, barely twenty, Edward had been overwhelmed with Jenna’s beauty. Ian could see that now. Then he had been fool enough to believe that loyalty between brothers would prevent Edward from forming an attachment to Jenna.
Ian could still remember the smell of heather and the unnaturally warm air in the garden that evening. He had lost sight of both Jenna and Edward. Assuming his betrothed had gone to attend to some feminine necessity, Ian had gone in search of his brother.
Although several years separated their ages, they had always been close. Until that night.
Ian had found Edward in the garden. He had also found Jenna. Together. Their lips touching lightly, Jenna clinging to Ian’s brother as if he were a lifeline.
“What will we do?” she had asked.
Ian had not been moved by the tears he heard in her voice, but the look of agony on his brother’s face had swayed him. His brother loved Jenna. Ian would never love a woman and risk the vulnerability of her betrayal. Nor would he ever be weakened by an emotion that could cause an honorable man like his brother to behave without integrity.
“Tell my father I have decided we will not suit.” Edward and Jenna had jumped apart at his voice. They turned, their faces confirming their guilt. Edward had demanded Ian let him explain. Unwilling to listen to lies on top of the betrayal, Ian had refused.
“I hope you will both be happy,” were the last words he had spoken to his brother.
He had left for Graenfrae that night. He had not even gone home for his stepfather’s funeral. He had mourned the earl’s passing alone, just as he had lived the two years since his brother’s betrayal. Alone.
Unable to stand the suspense and remembered pain any longer, Ian determined to go looking for Annabelle. He would know the truth, whatever the cost.
Ian waited for her at the bottom of the stairs. He looked prepared to come up, his expression thunderous. Her heart sank. So much for secrecy.
“Where have you been?” His question came out like an accusation.
Startled by his vehemence, she couldn’t think at first. She met his gaze. “I…I was in the ladies’ retiring room. Why?”
“You weren’t in the retiring room all this time.” He looked intently into her eyes. “I canna see you
meeting a lover either.” He sounded perplexed.
Offended, she glared at him. “Why not? Let me guess. I am too ordinary to attract a lover.”
His smile fueled her anger. Placing his hand on her back, he steered her toward the doors leading to the garden. “Dinna be ridiculous.”
She tugged at her arm. He could take some more appealing female into the garden.
Someone who could attract a lover. He refused to let her go, however.
They passed another couple and Ian nodded his head in greeting. Annabelle seethed silently until they were out of earshot. “Where are you taking me?”
“The garden.”
She had guessed that much. She renewed her efforts to get free. “I must return to my aunt.”
“You look breathless. Do you want Lady Beauford to wonder as I do what you have been up to?”
She gave him a mutinous frown, but stopped trying to get away. Explaining herself to Aunt Griselda did not appeal, nor did having others overhear her arguing with the stubborn Scotsman. For she had no doubt they were about to have another argument. A man could not accuse a lady of being too unappealing to attract a lover and get away with it.
Walking into the night air, the fragrance of spring blossoms assailed her. The perfect night for lovers. The thought did nothing to soothe her irritation. Ian led her to a stone bench and pulled her down to sit beside him. He forced her to meet his eyes. “What is it, lass?”
“Lady Annabelle.”
“Very well. What ails you, Lady Annabelle?” She didn’t speak for a moment, but toyed with her fan. Finally words came out in a rush. “You don’t believe I could have a lover. In the park you said you were interested in me, but now you make it clear that you think I’m as boring as a biscuit made without sugar.”
He tipped her chin up. “I didna say that.”
“You said I wouldn’t have been meeting with a lover. It’s the same thing.” He would not get out of apologizing for this insult by pretending not to have said it.
“Nay, ’tis not the same thing at all.”
Ha. “Yes, it is.”
“If you had met a lover, it would have been obvious.” Her attention was caught. “It would?”
“Yes. You would have returned to the ballroom mussed.”
She flipped her hand, dismissing his statement. “I could have straightened my appearance.”
“Your lips did not look kissed.”
What an interesting thought. “They didn’t?”
“Nay, they did not.” He sounded so certain.
“What do kissed lips look like?”
“Fuller, ripe.”
What did he mean? “Your lips become fuller when you kiss? This is most interesting.” She folded her hands in her lap, letting her fan dangle from her wrist. “Pray continue. What do you mean by ripe?”
He made a strangled sound, but answered her. “Like a peach that is ripe. Soft and juicy, ready to eat.” His eyes glittered with intensity as they fixed on her unkissed lips.
She sat silent for a moment, thinking about what he had said. It did not seem possible. Ready to eat? “Are you quite sure, my lord? I have never seen anyone’s lips look like ripe peaches before.”
He laughed softly. “’Tis no surprising if you have never been kissed.” She drew herself up, indignant that he could believe such a thing. “I am four and twenty. Of course I have been kissed.”
“No doubt your experience is broad.”
His sardonic tone annoyed her. “I am quite serious. However, I find it odd that I have never experienced the kind of kissing you speak of.”
“’Tis no surprise. ’Tis the kiss of a lover.” She expelled a tiny puff of air. “Oh.” She thought for a moment. “So you meant it when you said you would be able to tell if I had met a lover.” She was still uncertain, but perhaps he had not insulted her attributes again.
“Yes.”
She sighed. “I feel much better.”
He raised his brow in question.
“Yes. I do. I believe we can return inside. I’m sure my aunt will have no cause to cross-question me now.”
“Not yet.” He spoke quietly, barely above a whisper.
“Why not?”
“Because lessons are best learned through experience.” She would have asked what he meant, but his mouth covered hers. His lips caressed hers softly over and over again.
The few fumbling kisses she had received in the past paled in comparison to this gentle onslaught to her senses.
Annabelle felt bewildered by the sensations shooting through her. She had never felt this desire to get closer to a gentleman. She wanted to press her body against his and curl her arms around his neck. The thought was so shocking that it broke the numbing effect his kiss had on her limbs. She pushed against him and pulled her mouth from his.
He would not let her go. She could not catch her breath. “You shouldn’t have done that.” She tried to sound firm, but knew she failed miserably.
“Nay, I should have done it sooner.” His first kiss had been gentle and probing, this one was full of passion. His lips demanded a response from her, but she did not know what. All thought of resistance had faded and she sought to experience more of the wonderful sensations brought on by his caress.
Putting his arms around her, he pulled her across his thighs, settling her on his lap.
He must have removed his gloves because she could feel the warmth of his fingers against the nape of her neck. She shivered with longing.
The fragrance of the garden mixed with his masculine scent, sending her further into the maelstrom of passion. His tongue roved over her lower lip. He wanted something, but she couldn’t tell what. Her mind felt fractured like light splintering off the crystal of a chandelier.
“Open your mouth for me,” he whispered against her lips.
It seemed natural to obey. He tenderly swept her mouth with his tongue. It felt so incredibly wonderful. It must be sinful. She linked her hands behind his neck and closed her eyes, melting against him.
Laughter broke through the passionate haze surrounding them. He groaned and pulled back slightly. “Belle, we must stop.” She did not react to his words, but remained melted against him with her face nuzzled against his shoulder. She could not get enough air and her mind was fuzzy. Gently disentangling her arms from him, he set her back on the bench. She slowly opened her eyes.
His were dark with desire. She thrilled at the knowledge his desire was for her. He smiled. The moonlight illuminated his expression. Satisfaction shimmered in his gaze.
“Now you look kissed, Belle.”
Chapter Five
William considered the practicality of ridding himself of the Scotsman’s presence…permanently. If he had the funds, he could hire it done, but he was unsure of soiling his own hands in that way. Perhaps it would be unnecessary.
He could not believe that even the uncouth man continued to pursue the unremarkable Lady Annabelle without knowing of her secret fortune. However, pursue her he did. The laird had waited for the chit to return from fixing her hem, just as William had done, forcing William to do so in the shadows.
And then, when she had not shown, the Scotsman had found her first. William had only spied her returning from a walk in the garden with the other man.
Looking quite flushed. If he did not know better, he would believe the couple had been engaging in a passionate tryst. But he could not believe that of a proper English lady, even a dowd like Annabelle.
Annabelle shivered and yawned as she made her way to Aunt Griselda’s room. She had slept very little the night before, restless with thoughts of Ian’s kisses. Those of a lover, he had said. Whatever the term, they had left her breathless and wanting more.
She fervently wished that Diana and Robert were already in Town. Her brother and his wife had promised to arrive sometime this week. She prayed it would be soon. She desperately needed to talk to someone about her relationship with Ian. Aunt Griselda would not do. She would likely fain
t if Annabelle admitted kissing Ian in Lady Markham’s garden. Either that or insist on posting the banns. Neither reaction appealed.
Ian stirred her passion, but passion was not love. He did not believe in love.
Annabelle was almost convinced that she was having her first encounter with the emotion. What a muddle!
Stopping at her aunt’s door, she peeked in.
“Don’t stand there peeping around the door like some child caught sneaking treats from the tea tray. Come in and tell me what had you woolgathering on the journey home last evening.”
Annabelle moved into the room. Lady Beauford sat up in bed, the heavy damask draperies pulled aside. A tray with chocolate and the remnants of breakfast reposed beside her on the ice blue coverlet. Beneath her attractive lace cap, the dowager’s face was wan.
“Aunt Griselda, are you feeling quite the thing? You look a bit peaked.” Taking an imperious inventory of Annabelle’s appearance, Lady Beauford harrumphed. “This from a gel who doesn’t know any better than to dress like a governess when she’s expecting gentleman callers?”
Annabelle quelled under her aunt’s scrutiny. Her choice of dress had made sense in her chilly room. Knowing that it was unlikely to be warmer anywhere else in the house because the dowager had a tiny idiosyncrasy about saving money on coal, Annabelle had opted to don a fawn-colored wool dress. Its only claim to fashion the suitably high waist and long sleeves puffed at the top. She lifted her shoulders in a shrug. This particular argument with her aunt was long standing.
“It is uncommonly cold this morning. Had you noticed?”
“It must be. You are wearing a perfect fright of a dress. You look like someone’s housekeeper.”
First a governess and now a housekeeper. It could only get worse. It would not do to give in too easily, though. “Never say so. This is a perfectly reasonable dress especially for a day like today with no fires lit.”
The argument had at least brought the color back to Lady Beauford’s cheeks. “In my day, gels were not so worried about comfort as looking their best when callers arrived.” Going forward to adjust the shawl around her aunt’s shoulders, Annabelle said,