Annabelle, The American

by Lavinia Kent

  And then, before he could think further he saw Aunt Teresa heading his way once again.

  Hurriedly, he held out his arm and led Annabelle from the room.

  Now he only had to hope he remembered the way.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Her emotions were in a twist. Was it possible to feel closer to somebody than ever and at the same time to wonder if you knew them at all?

  And this house didn’t help. She’d always understood that the duke was rich and powerful, but each turn seemed to reveal some new treasure, some piece of priceless art, some elaborate silver candelabra. And everything so old—her father had many treasures, but nothing like these. On the few occasions she’d been here before she’d assumed that the finest pieces were in the public rooms. Now she had to wonder.

  She actually stopped and stared after they turned a corner and found half the hallway blocked by a magnificent piece of sculpture. It stood half again as high as Thomas, cold white marble gleaming by candlelight.

  Thomas snorted. “I spent part of my childhood hoping I’d grow up and be like him. The sword and shield seemed like all a boy could want. My father brought him back from Rome after his grand tour. I’ve often tried to imagine why.”

  “Perhaps he liked the sword and the shield as well.”

  “I suppose it’s possible, but I find it hard to imagine.”

  Annabelle giggled.

  “What?” he asked.

  “I was just remembering that I thought that you looked like a Donatello David and here he is.”

  “I am sure that it’s not a Donatello and David wouldn’t have a sword, he’d have a slingshot.”

  “I do believe you are missing the humor. He does look a bit like you.”

  “Look closer.” He nodded toward the shield.

  What did he mean? Ahh. She leaned closer, peering behind the shield. “So, not quite like you.”

  “Most definitely not,” he snorted.

  She giggled again, enjoying the moment of levity. “Are you going to show me the nursery or not?”

  “Come this way.” He led her down the hall and then up two flights of stairs, the second dark and narrow.

  The first room they entered was the one he’d slept in as an infant, his cradle still stood by the fireplace. Annabelle walked toward it and gave it a gentle rock, and thought of her own hopes and dreams.

  It was time to get this conversation over with. Thomas wasn’t looking forward to it, but he knew life would be better when it was done. That would be the time to stare at cradles and wonder.

  “Here.” He crossed into the next room, the schoolroom. He’d spent many a year here, pouring over books and maps, learning his sums, practicing his French, studying with John. They were not bad memories.

  Annabelle followed behind. “Can you light some candles? I want to see.”

  He complied, and as he did, he turned and saw her, an angel in the gentle light and all his schoolboy fantasies came back to him. “I always wanted a governess like you, or perhaps even a tutor.”

  “A tutor?”

  “Yes, I do believe a tutor. I can only imagine what rewards you’d have given me when I answered correctly.” His eyes dropped to her bodice, to the breasts that still strained to be released.

  “Do you really think you’d learn anything while you stared at my breasts?”

  “I daresay I’d learn everything if the reward was just watching you breath.”

  She gave a little jiggle and he swallowed, feeling his body grow tight. Perhaps this conversation wouldn’t be so bad.

  Annabelle spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. “So, if I am the tutor, that means I get to ask the questions, does it not?”

  “Yes.”

  “I believe that should be ‘Yes, ma’am.’ ”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She nodded. “And if I am happy with your response, I may give you a reward. But if I am unhappy . . .” She walked across the room and picked up a cane he could not remember ever being used. She gave a good it a good thwack against the legs of the desk.

  He jumped. To his surprise his cock jumped also—and unlike the rest of him his cock stayed up. Annabelle let her eyes move over him, settling on what must be a visible bulge. She thwacked again, watched him jump again. Her eyes began to grow dark.

  “I think I’ll do my best to satisfy you.” His voice caught on the word satisfy.

  “See that you do.” She moved toward him, holding the cane in both hands. “How old were you when you married your first wife, Mary?”

  She was moving right to the thick of it. “Twenty-one.”

  “Of age, then?”

  “Yes.”

  Her eyes narrowed and he could see that she was figuring in her head. “But, you said that Margaret was almost eighteen now?”

  “Yes.”

  She slapped the cane against one palm. “That would mean . . .”

  “She was born almost four years before I wed her mother. I was only seventeen when she was born.”

  For a moment Annabelle seemed at a loss for words. “I can’t . . . I am not . . . Seventeen?”

  “Yes. Mary was nineteen.”

  Her lips moved, but she didn’t say anything.

  “I know it seems young.”

  “It does, although I am only a few years older. I was nineteen when we met. Twenty-one when we married. But a boy—seventeen, with a child.”

  “It was not unusual in the country, though perhaps not for boys of my station. I did love her, though. And I did not feel young at the time. Although, I must admit my judgment may not have been the best. It did not occur to me that I should be sure I could provide for my family before I let it expand.”

  “But you did marry her?”

  “As soon as I was able—as soon as I was sure my father could not have it undone.”

  Annabelle began to pace about the room. “I am still not sure I understand—why did Mary’s parents’ not demand . . .”

  “Mary was a dairymaid and Catholic. She worked on the estate. I am sure my parents must have known about the child, but nothing was ever said—although she was not dismissed, which she normally would have been.”

  “A maid?” Annabelle sat on the edge of a desk, any remaining playfulness leaving her.

  “I was young—young and foolish and idealistic. I truly did not think it mattered.”

  She raised a brow.

  “Fine. I knew it mattered, but I thought my father would eventually accept it. I was not his heir. What should it matter?”

  “It mattered.”

  “Yes, it did. When Mary got pregnant for the second time, they sent me away, told me I was needed at one of the estates in Scotland. I did not wish to go, but I went. I never told them I had already wed her.”

  Annabelle shook her head, clearly trying to make sense of it all. “It all seems unbelievable.”

  He came and sat beside her, not touching. “I cannot deny that. And then I look at Margaret and Grace and I can’t imagine the world any different.” He took the cane from her hands and tapped it against his shoe. “I made so many wrong choices in my youth, but I am not sure I could have done differently. I did love Mary. It was not a mature love, but it was love. I just never thought realistically about my actions. Even when my father sent me away and I knew she was with child, I did nothing. I should have stood up to the duke, told him the truth, but I did not. I simply believed everything would work out in the end. And then she died. It was a wonder that Grace survived.”

  “She died in childbirth?”

  “There was not a midwife available—she’d been called away—and something went wrong. I wasn’t there. I don’t know exactly what happened. I arrived two days later to find my wife dead and my children crying. It was at this point, when it was all too late, that I confronted my father.”

  He paused, waiting for comment. Annabelle said nothing; she just stared down at her hands and waited.

  “The duke was more upset than I had ever expected
. He could not believe I had been foolish enough to marry the chit—his word. He screamed for close to an hour that no son of his would ever have behaved in such a manner. He threatened to have my girls sent to a workhouse. Grace was not a week old and he was ready to send her away.”

  “I cannot even imagine.”

  “He actually told me it was good that Mary had died, that perhaps my life was not ruined. Perhaps nobody would know I had married a Papist. He said I had another chance. He would find me a bride, a good woman. He actually had one already chosen. Mary was barely in her grave and he had a new wife for me.”

  “And?”

  “And I refused. We fought for another week. My poor mother kept trying to make peace, but with little success. I think I would have left forever if it had not been for the girls. My father was very quick to point out to me that I had nothing, knew nothing, and that without his help I could not support my children. Everything I owned from the buckles on my shoes to the horse that I rode belonged to him. I am surprised now that I did not just give in and marry Lady Judith—his choice.”

  “I am glad you did not.” Annabelle’s voice was very quiet.

  “For my own sake, I am too. The compromise we eventually reached was that he would pay to have the girls raised and educated if I went to America until I was ready to be an obedient son. And that nobody must ever know—he kept whispering that word, Papist. I think he thought I’d be back in a year.”

  “And instead you stayed away for fourteen.”

  “And would have stayed longer if circumstance had allowed.”

  “So why did you marry me?” she asked.

  Thomas pulled his brows together, thinking. He did not follow the chain of logic that had led to her question, but her face reflected no confusion. She knew why she had asked. Did he tell her he loved her? That would surely turn the conversation from this topic and it would please her—and she deserved to be pleased. It would not be honest, however. “I married you for your money. I have never said otherwise.”

  “But there is more?”

  He closed his eyes. “Two years ago I received a letter from Margaret. My father had found her a position as a governess, although she was still far, far too young. She worked for a viscount who’d married a second, much younger wife. The man’s oldest son was about Margaret’s age. You can imagine the rest.”

  “They fell in love.”

  “Or so they thought. The duke was not pleased. He had never admitted she was his granddaughter so it was another impossible arrangement—unless she had a dowry, a very large dowry.”

  “Part of my fortune.”

  He turned his head and stared hard at her. “Yes.”

  She drew in a deep breath, the sound echoing through the quiet room. “So you did marry me for my money.”

  “I have always been honest.”

  Annabelle reached over and took the cane from his hands. Standing, she walked over and peered out of the high window into the partial darkness. The lights from below reflected up through the window, highlighting her features. She tapped the cane against floor. “Do you know that I keep a list of reasons why I don’t love you? Your honesty is high on the list.”

  “You don’t love me because I am honest?” It made little sense, but he was more caught by the idea that she needed a list of reasons not to love him.

  “I actually say it’s because you do not lie. Sometimes a woman wants to hear lies, wants to hear that her fortune is very nice, but that there are other reasons you find her attractive.”

  “I lie. Of course, I lie. I say I am fine when I am anything but. I hide my feelings with a smile—that should count as a lie. And I have never said that I do not find you attractive. In fact, I would have imagined it was quite clear that I did—do.”

  “But you don’t say it. A woman wants to hear that she is beautiful.”

  “Are you sure? I say it in my mind a hundred times a day. You are so incredible in that dress that I wanted to rush you up the stairs to my bedroom before we even left the house.” His eyes roamed over her, taking in each delectable inch. He let his gaze settle on her breasts, and this time he did not force himself to look back to her eyes.

  “Oh.”

  “And we’ve already established that I am honest, at least mostly so—although perhaps given the last few days, we will both acknowledge that I am not as honest as I could be. I should have told you about Margaret long ago. I am sorry.”

  “Accepted.” She tapped the cane and turned to stare back at him.

  “And why else don’t you love me?”

  “You are too polite.”

  “I am.”

  She nodded and gave him a knowing look.

  “I am afraid I was raised by my mother. I do not know that I can change. What else?”

  “You don’t spend enough time at home.”

  “I didn’t know that you wanted me to. Most wives don’t seem to care.”

  Her chest filled with air, her breasts rising. He swallowed hard. His schoolboy fantasies were beginning to return. How many times had he imagined sneaking a naked girl in here? Although never had he imagined one as beautiful as his wife. Did he really not tell her he found her so?

  “I do want you home,” she replied. “I am happiest when you are there.”

  “Then I will be home more. Next.”

  “You don’t like my cat.”

  Ahh, she did have him there. He never understood the allure of felines, but he didn’t actually mind the creature. “It is very nice—for a cat.”

  A smile crooked the corner of her mouth. She tapped the cane again. “Perhaps I can accept that as an answer.”

  “And?”

  “You can’t sing.”

  “I am afraid I can’t fix that one. I can only promise not to try. I can play the flute.”

  “You can?” Her surprise shone in her eyes.

  “Yes, rather well, almost as well as Lucille—although I have not practiced for years.”

  “You snore.”

  “I would deny it, but it’s hard to know for sure.”

  “You do—at least sometimes.”

  He took another step forward, his body growing close to hers.

  The pulse in her neck grew faster. “Your kisses taste of whiskey.”

  “Is that bad? And I have not had a single taste of whiskey this evening.” He leaned forward and blew softly at her face.

  Wrinkling her nose, she considered. “Lemonade and perhaps champagne.”

  “More than perhaps. Is there more?”

  Her gaze dropped to her slippers. “You don’t cuddle me after we—we have sex.” Her cheeks turned a delightful shade of red.

  “I’d like to.”

  “You would?” Her gaze jumped back up and met his.

  “I would—and I don’t lie.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “So?”

  Her mouth opened but no words came out. She closed it again. Opened it. “You married me for my money.”

  “We already covered that—and it is not what you were going to say.”

  This was the moment. The words were on the tip of her tongue, but they would not come out. She turned from him, paced away, tapping the cane again. She thwacked at the desk as she passed it.

  Spun on her heels, paced back. “Sit.” She pointed at the desk.

  Thomas blinked—and then complied. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I am supposed to be asking the questions.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “There is more to tell me about Margaret and the baby, and Grace, too, I suppose?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Is there anything I need to know now?”

  His brows pressed together. “No.”

  “No?”

  “No, ma’am.” His gaze had fastened on her breasts again.

  She walked to the desk and laid the cane across it, bent forward. He just about buried his nose in her cleavage. “Do I need the cane? Or are you going to keep being a g
ood boy?”

  His glance moved to her face and then to the cane, back to her face. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I’ll be good. You won’t need the cane—today.”

  “And do you think you need a reward?” She bent even further, her nipples almost popping out, but only almost.

  His eyes did not seem to care. “What did you have in mind?”

  “I get to ask you three questions. If you answer correctly, I’ll let you choose. Fair?”

  “Fair.” His gaze had moved from her breasts to her mouth and she could see plans forming behind his eyes.

  Time to be brave. “Did you love me when you asked me to marry you?”

  His eyes swept up to hers, searching for what to say. “No, I did not.”

  “Correct. Name your reward.”

  Rather than speaking he reached out and slipped his hands into her bodice, pulling her breasts up and out, settling them atop the silver fabric of her dress. He did seem to like to do that. His thumbs rubbed across the stiff peaks and it was hard not to moan.

  He leaned forward and took one nipple in his mouth, his fingers still caressing the other. He drew it in deep, his tongue working magic.

  She pulled away, she had to. She still had questions. “Did you love Mary, truly love her?”

  Licking his lips, one hand still upon her breast, he did not look up. “I did. I should probably say no, but I did. It was the love of a boy, young, innocent, and unknowing. But I cannot pretend that I did not.”

  That hurt more than she had anticipated. She had known it. He had already said it, and yet it cut, cut deep. It was the right answer, but still she wanted to run from the room. She picked up the cane again, saw his eyes follow her move. She sensed his temptation, felt her own—and yet knew it was not right for them.

  The cane clattered to the floor.

  She looked about the room. There were shelves of books, a globe, a large chalkboard, two small desks, and a larger desk in the corner. She walked to it. “Is this your tutor’s desk? And that does not count as a question.”

  “Yes, it was.” He stood, and strode toward her. “Did I earn a reward?”

  Her gaze dropped. It was her turn to be honest. “Yes.”