Jon sighed with impatience and aimed her for the couch. “Anna— Annie, why don’t you sit down?” Where you’ll be much safer.
She looked at the couch and then pulled from his arms, turned, and stared at him wide-eyed. “She’d approve of you.”
Jon pulled a hand down his face to dislodge any notion he’d get to sleep anytime soon. “Who would approve of what?” He had no idea what she was talking about, but it didn’t sound too appealing.
Annabella attempted a twirl but it turned into more of a lunge toward the sofa. Good. If he could just get her to sit. But she stared at the sofa as though it was about to eat her and took a step back. Then she began more of her outrageous caterwauling.
“Moth…er, I long to get mar…ried, I long to be a bri-i-ide,” she half sang and half shouted, and then lapsed into a fit of giggles, rocking back and forth from foot to foot. “I long to be with that young man, forever by his si-i-de.”
Confound it! Where had she acquired that wine?
“O’ how happy I should be. For I am young and merry and most weary of my vir-gin-ity.” With that, she flung herself into the chair to the left of the drum table.
Dash it all!
The crack filled the sudden silence in the room. Jon rushed forward just as the weakened leg split in two. The chair listed like a sinking ship. With a tiny cry, Annabella slid bonelessly to the floor, landing with a heavy thump.
Her eyes were dazed as she blinked up at him. “Oh. It was s’posed to be you what fell.”
Jon sighed. Yes. He was ruddy well aware of that. As tempting as it was to leave her on the floor rather than risk her winding herself up again, he couldn’t bring himself to do that. So he extended a hand. “Come along then. You can’t sit on the floor all night.”
She clasped his hand and struggled ineffectively. Finally, heaving an impatient sigh, Jon gripped her by the opposite elbow and used a scooping motion to drag her to her feet. The couch was a mere three steps away — the longest three steps of his life. But he finally managed to settle her on the blasted thing. She slumped against the bolster, only about half on the seat.
Jon eased out a breath. At least she was down and unlikely to do herself grave injury. He lowered himself beside her, making certain to keep an arm’s length between them.
“What’s-a-matter, Seaside? You don’ like sing… singing?” Her head fell forward and her hair spilled about her face, hiding it.
Jon raised an eyebrow and settled back in the seat. It promised to be a long night. He might as well make himself as comfortable as possible. “Can’t say one way or the other, since I’m not certain the noises you’ve been making qualify as singing. Sounds rather like a dying cow. Where’d you learn such colorful songs?”
Without raising her head, Annabella giggled. “Juliet… she taught them to me.”
“And who might Juliet be?” Jon asked, suppressing a yawn.
She shifted, rolled her head back against the couch, and stared up at him, eyes red-rimmed and not quite focusing. “She’s me.” A giggle slipped out as she swept her eyes around the room then returned her attention to him and pressed a finger to her lips. “Shhh.”
Astonishing. Her wailing had roused him from near sleep and now she was shushing him?
She began singing again, softer than before. “I gave her cakes and I gave her ale… And I gave her sack and sherry… I kissed her once and I kissed her twice… And we were wond’rous and… mer…ry.” She sighed, one of the saddest sounds Jon had ever heard. “Do you want to kiss me Seabrook?”
And with the asking, he found he very much wanted to. Just as sudden as that and with everything in him. But he sighed and offered her a half smile instead. “Get some rest, Annie.”
Another giggle slipped out and she pressed her fingers to her lips. Then, drawing herself up, she opened her mouth and began again. “Merry me hearts, merry me lads… merry me sprites.”
“Ah, more singing.” Longing for a glass of wine himself, for he wasn’t nearly nobbed enough for the kind of duty he’d just pulled, Jon winced as she screeched out a high crackly note.
More giggles erupted. “Mer…ry, merry, merry, merry, merry me…” Another giggle. “…me-me hey down derry! “ She clapped her hands together, winced and lowered her voice. “I kissed you once and I kissed you twice. And we were wond’rous and merry!”
The song apparently finished, she laid her head back and lapsed into blessed silence. Jon sighed. Maybe she’d sleep it off now.
“I feel ill,” she mumbled, her voice slurred.
Jon snapped himself upright. “Ahh…”
Her light snores broke the sudden silence. Her body settled by inches, first her back, then her shoulders and arms. Finally, her head lolled sideways. Her face became softened in sleep. He should get some sleep himself, but he couldn’t tear himself away from her. Still, with one leg on the couch and the other dangling over the edge, her head lying just off the bolster, she didn’t look comfortable. Maybe — just for the night — he’d be a gentleman and give up his bed.
Mind made up, he stood and slid his arms beneath her still form. She never moved as he lifted her, but then she nestled more closely and slid one warm hand around his neck. She was hardly any burden at all as he carried her across the room, pausing only to snuff the candles on the dining table.
Walking up the steps, Jon struggled to push back feelings of protectiveness. Whatever her reasons for drinking the wine, he’d caught the lady in a vulnerable moment. Nothing more. At any other time, Annabella would have shown fierce independence. The last thing she needed was a keeper.
She stirred as he settled her in the bed and drew the blanket over her ripe and curvy figure. “Sleep soundly, lady fair. You’re safe here.”
“Please… don’t go away,” she mumbled. “I’m so alone.”
No. But Jon’s heart gave a little kick as he backed away from the bed. “Annie, you don’t know what you’re asking.”
“You’re quite wrong,” she whispered, her eyes filling with tears. “Mama’s… so cross… with m-me.”
Walk away now, Seabrook. His hands curled into fists at his sides and he forced his mind to the couch in the great room. That was where he belonged. He’d given up his bed willingly and now it was time to take his leave.
Annabella sighed and sat up, rubbing her eyes. In the dim moonlight that filtered through the window, she appeared smaller, less sure of herself, maybe a little… lost. She reminded him of one of the faerie folk Gran was always prattling on about.
A shudder wracked her body and she gulped back a hiccup. Or perhaps it was a soft sob. “Help m-me… get ou-out of this. I can’t s-sleep in it.” She began tugging on her dress.
The blood roared in Jon’s ears, and with a soft moan, he stepped forward to assist the lady. He was, after all, not a saint. Only a man.
Chapter Eight
The rhythmic pounding of a horse’s heavy hooves was close and drawing nearer. Annabella didn’t want to open her eyes, didn’t want to leave the warm cocoon that surrounded her. Juliet would be in soon enough to help her dress. If only that blasted racket would cease. It made her head hurt. She shifted, raised a hand to her forehead, and rubbed. The dratted pounding echoed more loudly until she realized it came from inside her head, hammering out a country dance rhythm that mimicked her beating heart.
“Oh,” she moaned. She must have developed an illness. She’d ask Juliet for some cool cloths.
No, no, no. That wasn’t right. Juliet wouldn’t be coming to help her. Juliet was in London. Annabella blinked open her eyes. Where am I?
Watery pre-dawn light filtered through the window and washed over the battered and scarred furniture. Right. Rose Cottage. How had she come to be in the bedroom.
I thought—
She forced her eyes open wider. A pair of Hessian boots stood like sentries next to the dressing table. Seabrook’s boots. Seabrook’s bedroom, though he’d unwittingly stolen it from her in the first place.
Se
abrook’s… bed.
Annabella’s heart stuttered and then took up a mad gallop. Blood roared in her ears and her stomach jumped and fluttered.
Behind her, someone released a long, contented sigh. Balmy breath tickled her bare shoulder. She eased a glance down the length of her body. The cocoon she’d been enjoying took on the form of a very large, very powerful male hand resting possessively on her waist. The heat of his touch seared her skin through the thin muslin shift. Utterly awake now, she eased away from the warmth that ran the length of her body. The hand tightened slightly as though in protest.
No! No, no, no!
Annabella scanned the room again. There! Her horrid gray dress had been flung over the bedside chair and hung upside down, spilling half onto the floor.
I’m in Seabrook’s bed wearing nothing but my shift. In. Seabrook’s. Bed.
With a cry of dismay, Annabella leapt to her feet, dragging the blanket with her and wrapping it around her scantily clad body as the chill morning air struck her bare skin.
Tears pricked her eyelids as she scrabbled to grab the ugly gray dress.
“Annie?” Seabrook mumbled, his voice still laden with sleep.
She refused to turn around. Without a doubt he’d be in the same state of undress as she. Dress in hand, she raced for the door, and on reaching it, fumbled with the latch until it lifted with a heavy clank.
“Annie, stop!” demanded Seabrook, his voice sharper.
“I-I’m sorry. I must go,” she called as she closed the door. The steps were freezing to the point of numbing her bare feet. Where were her shoes and stockings? What have I done? What have I done?
Her whole body hurt and tingled all at once. No time to dwell on the sensations. She had to get dressed. Even the ugly gray garment she carried was better than her current state.
Praying Abby wouldn’t be in the kitchen, Annabella hurried past the dining room table. It had already been cleared, so Florrie had already been there.
Had she seen anything? No. No, she’d have no reason to check the bedroom. She’d been tasked with clearing the meal. Annabella pushed into the kitchen and raced straight into the pantry, where she dropped the blanket. Her hands shook as she quickly pulled the dress over her head.
“Oh, you chicken brain!” She rolled the blanket into a ball and shoved it onto the shelf above the false wall. Then she struggled with the fastenings on her dress. “You silly, childish, chicken-brained fool!”
The tears spilled over, but she dashed them with the backs of her hands. Blinking back more, she worked at righting her dress with hands that shook. A door opened and then closed. Sounds of movement filtered from the kitchen. Abby! She’d come by early as well. And Annabella had yet to figure out where her shoes and stockings had gone. Her gaze shifted to the broom in the corner. Abby would come for it. She’d taken to sweeping the floors.
Footsteps echoed on the hardwood floor. Annabella smoothed her hand over her wrinkled dress, hoping Abby wouldn’t notice anything amiss.
But the hulking shadow in the doorway wasn’t the maid.
“Annie…” Seabrook’s voice was gentle, persuasive. Had he used that tone on her the night before?
She gulped. “What is this? Come for more, have you? Are you so insatiable you must accost me in the daylight hours as well?”
Seabrook made an impatient movement with his hand and stared at her. Hard. She trembled. Under his scrutiny she might as well be naked all over again. He looked at her like he knew her. Searing flames engulfed her face, stifling her breath.
Well, he has known you, you foolish chit. Her skin tingled where his eyes raked her. Could things get any worse?
Yes, yes they could. Because she simply could not stop returning his regard. His hair shot out at all angles — he hadn’t taken even a moment to tame it. In fact, it seemed he hadn’t even taken a moment to do more than pull on his boots. Clad in a pair of black trousers, his long white shirt fell to his knees, billowing like a — like a nightshirt.
A wave of heat washed over her, warming places he’d touched the night before — her cheek, her hand… and more. Her body hummed all over. His fingers had been hot through her shift as he’d helped her unfasten her gown. And then he’d—
She frowned. He’d what? Why couldn’t she remember more?
He stepped into the pantry. Too close. Far too close!
“What do you thi—”
“Get out!” she shrieked, placing her hands on his chest and giving him a good shove. When he stumbled against the doorjamb, she squeezed past and fled into the kitchen. It didn’t take him long to recover. He was on her heels in seconds. But she placed herself on the far side of the worktable and held her hands in front of her. “Stop!”
He quit moving. Understanding seemed to dawn and he rocked back on his heels, pressing his palm against his chest. “M’lady, once again you wound me. All those beautiful words that crossed your lips last night, tempting me like you were a siren on a rocky shore. Do they mean nothing to you in the light of day?”
Annabella’s mouth fell open as a wild quivering sensation began in her middle. “W-words?”
Seabrook scratched his chin. “Let’s see if I might recall a few specifics. I remember talk of your desire to be a bride at one point.”
Annabella gasped. Surely she hadn’t confessed her mother’s plans to him.
A grin spread across his face. “And kissing. You had a peculiar obsession with kissing.” He cocked his head to the side and winked his right eye. “Even asked if I should like to kiss you.” With a nod, he sauntered toward the door to the great room, but he paused just before crossing the threshold. “I expect that’s where the evening truly got its start.” He ducked through the opening and disappeared just as Annabella threw the first thing she laid her hands on.
One fine stocking fluffed out and floated through the air, only to land a few feet away.
Annabella sank onto the work stool and leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table and cradling her aching head against her palms. It wasn’t supposed to go like this.
****
Jon didn’t bother trying to remove the grin from his face as he returned to the bedroom to make himself decent. The silly chit had no idea what had gone on. Or in their case, not gone on. It wasn’t supposed to go like that. How had their conversation gone so far awry?
He righted his shirt and tucked it into his breeches, still chuckling as he recalled the look of rage in her eyes. Better that than the stark horror he’d seen in the mirror across from the bed when she’d first awakened and recognized her surroundings.
He frowned, leaning forward to peer into that mirror while he tied his cravat. The situation should have irritated him at the very least. Being accused of taking advantage of a woman who’d been in an inebriated state was far from flattering to his character. His grin widened. But he’d enjoyed the lady’s discomfort too much to defend himself. Still, he had to tell her the truth. With that course in mind, he exited the bedroom, ready to make amends with Annabella. The last thing he needed or wanted was to find himself shackled to such a harpy.
Although… Jon found his steps faltering at the bottom of the stone staircase. His predicament loomed. Perhaps… Something crashed in the kitchen followed by muted words he could only assume were dreadful curses — likely directed at him in absentia.
The path to Annabella — and telling the truth — lay in front of him, but his eyes strayed to the door that led outside. Another crash came from the kitchen, then more curses, audible ones this time, accompanied by some explicit descriptions of the many ways she would torture him. The back of Jon’s neck began to tingle as chills spiraled down his spine.
Without a second glance toward the kitchen, he strode to the front door, his boots making precise clicks on the oak floor. Sometimes the wiser strategy was to retreat and regroup.
The balmy breeze that tickled his face made up for the gray spring sky. Streaks of red clawed their way upward from the horizon. No dark c
louds or heavy gale-like winds. Still, something undefined hung in the air. A mood perhaps, a feeling. Jon shook it off and directed his steps toward the stables. A ride on Bertha would keep him out of the house — and out of Annabella’s way — and would have the added benefit of clearing his head.
Birds kept up a steady chirping in the bushes lining the path. Finches of some sort, from the sound of it. Gran would know the name. She could pretty nearly identify every hapless creature one of her feline pets preyed upon — living or dead, though by the time she saw them it was usually the latter.
Contemplation of Gran led to a reminder of his current family difficulties. What drove people to think they knew what was best for another?
Dwelling on it won’t change anything. He should just put the troublesome matter of his inheritance from his mind the way he’d been doing for the past five years. He still had a handful of months before his lack of an appropriate wife would nullify his own plans for the future.
Tiny white flowers fluttered as the birds darted in and out of the bushes. Blackberries, without a doubt. His mouth watered as he recalled picking berries with his brother and sisters on the estate in Coventry. Mayhap it was time to make the journey home. With or without the requisite wife.
Wife… warmth radiated through him. He’d not intended on keeping Annabella company the whole night through. He didn’t even recall anything beyond taking her into his embrace when she’d begun her inconsolable sobbing. Her words had made no sense — most had been incoherent. He’d been surprised at first light when he’d awakened to discover a winsome, curvy female in his arms. Then realization had struck, but he’d been powerless to leave the bed — leave her — as he should have.
Why had that been? Certainly, she was lovely, but with that sharp tongue and tendency toward being disagreeable… A sudden frisson shook him, and he suffered a misstep, stumbling forward. Best keep your mind out of that territory, Seabrook.
Something Like a Lady Page 9