“I love you, Bella,” Parsifal murmured, kissing the corner of her lips, her cheek, then descending to the soft spot just under her chin.
Annabella’s heart came open, as if it had been a door long shut. He said the words as though they had been pulled from him, his voice harsh and low in his throat, like a last rush of rain against the earth. She realized he had not said this before, that he loved her. Perhaps this was behind her hesitation, too ... and she knew it was, for none of her suitors had said this. They had admired her, they had said they desired her, wished to marry her. But none of them had said they loved her.
It almost hurt her, this joyful opening of her heart. But his kisses were ardent, his hands upon her waist and hips a soothing balm that at once healed and excited her. She could not help herself. She pressed herself against him, and he groaned, his knees bending.
They tumbled to the ground upon the moss at the foot of the oak. Annabella landed half on top of him, and she let out a slight laugh, soon smothered by his kisses, her breath taken away from her when he rolled her beneath him and kissed the sensitive skin at the edge of her bodice.
Parsifal moved upon her, his mouth drinking of her lips as if they were the sweetest wine. It made him dizzy with wanting her, and he could not help touching the soft skin of her breasts—soft like the petals of the rarest rose in his gardens. He touched his lips to them, and she rose against him, and it was like his daydream, but real now, for her flesh was firm against his mouth, and the sweet scent of her came to him as it never would in a dream.
Ah, how he wanted her! He ached with it, allowed himself one touch and another, waiting after each one to see if she would refuse him. But she did not, and only sighed and trembled beneath him, giving and taking kisses more fervently than before. Something urgent at the back of his mind pushed at him—but one more touch, one more caress—
He groaned and rolled away from her.
“What—is there something the matter, Parsifal?” Annabella sat up, her gaze bewildered and a little bereft. He looked away from her, for it made him wish to kiss her again, and more. He let out a breathless laugh.
“No, yes—” He sighed, then smiled at her. “You don’t know—I... want you.” He reached out and caressed her cheek, and watched as she closed her eyes briefly at his touch. It brought an ache to his heart and more heat to his loins, and he moved away, closing his hand tightly against the feeling that he must touch her again. “I suspect if we had done more, it would have ended in our doing what should properly be done on one’s wedding night.” He stood up and held out her hand to her.
“Oh!” She took his hand and rose to her feet, but her face grew pink. “I ... I suppose we should not, then.” She cast a hesitant glance at him. “How ... how much more?”
He grinned widely. “You need not worry.” He pulled her into his arms. “I am certain that one must go far beyond kisses, though.”
She looked up into his eyes. “I am glad,” she breathed, then blushed more pink than before.
Parsifal let out a laugh and kissed her lingeringly once more, then put her from him. “Enough. I can wait, but you make it difficult, Bella, my love.”
She looked at him, and it seemed as if her soul glowed from behind her eyes, looking more beautiful than ever. His heart ached within him, and he wished he were married to her now, so that he could show her how much he loved her, with his body and his words.
“I will tell the duke, Parsifal, I swear it! And then we shall be married, soon,” Annabella said, her words rushing from her.
“I imagine your parents will have something to say about that,” Parsifal replied. “They will not like it when you refuse the duke ... and I can understand their reasoning. They wish only the best for you.”
She looked at him solemnly, “Stratton does not love me. He has never said it, though he could have. I do not want to marry a man who does not love me, or whom I cannot love. Even my parents can understand that.”
“He is a fool, more so than I, it seems.” Parsifal took her hand and lifted it to his lips. He gazed at her, hesitating, then pulled the ring from his finger. “Here. This is my pledge to you. In my heart, at least, I am already married to you.” He smiled self-consciously. “A foolish thing.”
Annabella tiptoed and kissed him. “No, not foolish at all.”
A long sigh came from Parsifal, and his smile turned wry. “I suppose I can be patient and wait. No harm can come from that.”
Chapter 14
The Duke of Stratton gazed at the note he had in his hand and admired his self-control. Any other man would have trembled in rage, would have thrown the letter into the fire as soon as he read it. But his gloved hands were steady as he carefully, meticulously, tore it into tiny pieces. The sound of tearing echoed in the large and silent dining room. He placed the pieces in the silver salver on which his butler had given it to him. He did not let any of the paper flutter to the floor, or even on the table.
Miss Annabella Smith wished to speak to him, and he was sure it was not to accept him as her husband, but to refuse him. A fire burned in him at the insult... but it was to be expected. She was not worthy of him. Had he not watched her carefully? And had he not seen her enter the Wentworth woods to seek out her lover—no better than a whore on the London streets?
He curled his lip. No, she was not worthy of him, though she had fooled him at first, luring him into thinking she was. He could understand if she had looked upon a man of more wealth or lineage than his own. But she had chosen a man without a title, a man with dirt under his fingernails, who was little better than the gardeners he worked beside.
The duke looked at the small pieces of paper on the silver plate and smiled suddenly. Miss Annabella Smith should not have deceived him, and so deserved to be punished. He would make sure she was punished quite thoroughly.
* * * *
Annabella stared out of the drawing-room window at the gardens beyond and twisted her handkerchief in her hands. She realized what she was doing and smoothed out the silken cloth upon her lap. The Duke of Stratton had sent her a short missive in reply, asking that they drive out together in his curricle so that they could discuss the matter of their betrothal without any chance of interruption. She had agreed—it was the least she could do. But she was anxious nevertheless, for she knew it would be an awkward interview. A knock at the door made her jump, and she turned.
“’Tis His Grace, the Duke of Stratton, miss,” the butler said.
“I shall be down shortly,” Annabella replied, twisting her handkerchief again. The butler left. She breathed deeply and closed her eyes for a moment, then rose and went downstairs. It will not be very bad, she told herself. She regretted causing the duke pain, but it could not be helped, after all.
The duke smiled at her and kissed her hand when she arrived, but she could only nod and give her best curtsey.
“Is there something the matter, Miss Smith?”
Annabella glanced at him—his face was smoothly polite. “I... no. Or rather—Oh, heavens! Perhaps we should proceed to the carriage.”
The duke merely nodded and took her arm, helping her up into the carriage before he ascended himself. He took the reins and the horses moved forward.
“It is a pleasant day,” the duke said.
“Yes it is,” Annabella replied, feeling that the sky should not be so obliging as to be bright and sunny. She wished it were dull and rainy, so that she could have stayed indoors. She glanced at the duke again, taking in his still, emotionless face as he concentrated on guiding the carriage around a bend in the road. An awkward silence fell between them—awkward for her, for it seemed that the duke was unmoved.
They talked of commonplaces for a long while—he easily, she clumsily, as if her tongue had become stiff and unresponsive to her thoughts. She shook her head slightly at herself. How boorish she must seem! Ah, she could not stand it!
“Your Grace—” Annabella hesitated, then rushed on. “Your Grace, I sent you the note—That i
s, I am sensible of the honor you have accorded me in asking for my hand in marriage, but I cannot—I know I agreed to give us time in which we might become more accustomed to each other, but I cannot marry you.”
There, she had said it. She should have been relieved, now that she had said her part, but she was not. Her shoulders tensed, and she felt as if every nerve was on edge. She glanced at him, and saw him smiling slightly, but was still not relieved. His smile was cold, and a queer sensation twisted her stomach.
“And why, may I ask, do you not wish to marry me?” the duke asked.
Annabella swallowed. “Please believe me when I say I am sensible of the pain my refusal must give you. You are known as a good man, and I could not wish to hurt you. But I know I would hurt you worse were I to marry you while I loved another. I believe love should exist between a husband and wife, or at least a true affection. But my love for another would always be between us, and I cannot think that you could wish for that.”
“How do you know that, Miss Smith?”
She gazed at him uncertainly. Did she hear a cold edge to his voice? Little wonder if there was! If he was angry, he had cause. It could not be pleasant at all to have one’s proposal of marriage refused.
“I know you must be angry with me, but—but why are we here?” Annabella looked about her ... the duke had driven the carriage to the gates of his estate. The gatekeeper opened the gates, bowing deeply, and they went through.
“I thought perhaps we should talk inside my house,” the duke replied calmly.
“No! I cannot! I should not be here with you. I thought we would merely go for a short drive, or else I would have brought my maid!”
“I do not see why you should object, Miss Smith,” the duke said calmly. “You did not take your maid with you when you met Mr. Wentworth in the gardens, did you?”
Annabella’s face flushed hot with both embarrassment and anger. “You have been spying on me!”
“And why should I not? You were as good as betrothed to me. Should I not watch over my own interests? I do not let the fox enter my henhouse. I keep my affairs in order. Neither do I let what I consider mine go to any other.”
“I am not yours,” Annabella said firmly, though a chill fear shot through her and she began to feel ill. The duke’s expression never changed. It was still coolly polite, and he still smiled, as if contemplating something quite pleasant. Did he not understand what she had been saying? “I have just refused your proposal of marriage. Therefore, you have no claim on me.”
The Duke of Stratton gazed at her for one moment, and Annabella wet her suddenly dry lips. For that one moment it seemed utter hatred flashed in his eyes. But then it was gone—she had imagined it; surely, she had imagined it.
“You will come with me,” he said and brought the horses to a stop.
Annabella made herself stare into his eyes. “No, I will not. You will return me to Wentworth Abbey, to my mother. I am surprised that a man of your reputed virtue would try to force me into your house.”
“And I am surprised that a woman of your sluttish habits would quibble at such an insignificant thing.”
Her body jerked as if she had been slapped. Annabella stared at the Duke of Stratton, and anger rose hot within her. Perhaps she should not have allowed Parsifal to hold her hand so long in the garden—much less kiss her in the woods. But Parsifal was an honorable man; he had never forced her in anything, and would not, for he was fully conscious of his role as host. Perhaps she had not behaved as she ought, but as far as she knew, she had done nothing that should only be done after marriage.
“I do not know what you might have seen to say such a despicable thing, but I assure you, Mr. Wentworth is an honorable man and would not cause injury to my virtue,” she said disdainfully.
“Really?” the duke said, taking her wrist in a hard grip. He still smiled slightly, coldly. “I suppose I shall see, once you are inside.”
Fear shot through her, and she tried to pull away. “No! I will not go with you!” He seized her other arm, but she managed to struggle loose, and she pushed at him.
Clear anger now showed in the duke’s eyes, then pain flashed and her head snapped back as he hit her. Her sight dimmed, and she closed her eyes. She tasted blood on the inside of her cheek, then felt herself being pulled down from the carriage, her legs scarcely supporting her.
“Peters, do take the carriage to the stables.” She could hear the duke speak, his voice cordial, as if he were making a friendly call upon a neighbor.
There was a pause before the groom replied. “Yes ... yes, Your Grace.”
Annabella opened her eyes again and dared glance at the duke. He still smiled, and it was horrible to her. There seemed no emotion behind it; it was like the smile upon a waxwork, fixed in empty pleasantness. Had he smiled as he hit her? Perhaps.
He pushed her in front of him, and she stumbled. He seized her arm and held her up. “I did not think you were so clumsy, Miss Smith. I do not like clumsy women.”
She swallowed the lump in her throat. I will not be afraid, she said to herself, gritting her teeth against the pain on the side of her face. “Then it is a good thing I have refused to marry you,” she said.
His grip on her arm tightened painfully as they entered the house and went up the stairs. “No, Miss Smith. You will find it is not a good thing,” he said. “It is not a good thing at all. Although, I suppose it might be for me, if you are a virgin still. One should not waste an opportunity, after all.”
The nausea and dread that grew in her stomach made her knees weak, and she stumbled again. Oh, please, dear God, it is not what it sounds like, he would not, oh please, he would not.
He opened the door, thrust her past it, and closed the door behind him. Annabella glanced about her and almost laughed hysterically. The chamber should have been grey and stark, without any decoration or color. But the walls were painted a clear yellow, and white curtains framed the window. The sun streamed in, making the room bright and mocking her fear. She gazed at the duke, who stared at her with emotionless eyes and that persistent smile. He pulled off his coat, folding it and carefully setting it on a chair. She backed away from him and swallowed hard.
“Don’t come near me.”
“I would not, except that I must teach you a lesson—you must be punished. You see that, don’t you?” Stratton said in a reasonable voice.
“No. No, I do not,” Annabella said. She watched his expression carefully and certain he was mad. She felt increasingly ill from both anger and fear and pressed her lips together to suppress the rising nausea. She must be calm or else she would not be able to think of a way to escape this place.
The duke frowned briefly. “But you must see it. You are not worthy of me. You deceived me into thinking you a pure woman, but you are not.”
“I may have misbehaved, but I hardly think anyone can accuse me of being impure!” Annabella said hotly. “Why, all I have done is kiss Mr. Wentworth—that is all! I would never, never give up my virtue in that... that manner!”
Stratton looked at her sharply. “And in what manner is that?”
Annabella felt her face grow warm. “In ... in that way. You should not even be speaking of it to me.”
“And you should not even know of it if you were truly as pure as I require a wife to be.” He removed his waistcoat.
“If you must know, my mother told me of it, so that I would not fall into error out of ignorance.” She held out her hands pleadingly. “Please, let me go. I promise you I shall not tell anyone of this, if you only let me go. I am sure you will find another young lady more worthy of your attentions. And if I am so unworthy, you cannot even wish to be with me; surely, you must see that.”
He paused in his undressing and seemed to consider her words. “You have a point,” he said. “And I am always open to reasonable argument, as you see. However, you did deceive me, you know. If you preferred another man, you should have said so from the beginning. But you did not. I do not like
to be deceived, no, not at all.”
“But I wasn’t in love with anyone when you proposed. It was only afterward.”
“Then you should have told me straightaway.”
Annabella wanted to scream in her frustration, but kept her voice low. “I did tell you—just today!”
He shook his head. “Not early enough. I saw you together in the gardens; he held your hand much longer than necessary. And then there were those quite heated kisses in the woods. I saw you there, too, you know.” He untied the neckcloth at his throat, and Annabella moved another step away from him. “It was quite wanton of you, and you should be punished for your sins.”
“Don’t, please don’t,” she said, hating the way her voice wavered. “I swear I shall scream.”
“No one will hear you, for my servants are conveniently deaf when I wish them to be.” He walked swiftly toward her, and she moved away, but found herself against one post of the bed. He caught her and pressed his body against hers, and put his hand to her breast, pulling down her bodice. She struggled, pushing against him. The nausea in the pit of her belly rose again, and she pressed her hand over her mouth.
“Please leave! I—I am afraid I am going to be ill.”
“I think you are lying.”
She gritted her teeth against the sour taste in her mouth. “No, I assure you, Your Grace, if you do not leave, I will most definitely give up my luncheon.”
“Why should I believe you? You are only trying to escape me, I know.”
Her stomach heaved, and she gave a moan, just barely holding back. The duke released her and moved hastily away, but gazed at her suspiciously.
“You had better not be pretending, or I shall make sure you suffer for it.”
Annabella pressed her hand to her mouth for a moment, then looked at him angrily. “Believe me, Your Grace, I would much rather not have cause to feel so ill as I do now.”
For one moment the duke looked indecisive, then moved to the clothes he had taken off so far and picked them up. “I will wait until you are not feeling so ill. But remember, Miss Smith, I will not wait long. You will not escape your punishment, I assure you. I advise you to calm yourself, and quickly.” He left and shut the door, and she could hear him lock it.
Karen Harbaugh Page 20