by Julia Quinn
Lambert blinked. “Ah, if you would care to wait in the morning room, I shall inquire.”
That meant someone was home. The question was whether they would want to speak with him or not. Anne’s explanation for his presence the other day had sounded innocent enough to him, but he wasn’t her parent, thank Lucifer.
“Lord Halfurst,” a quiet male voice said from the doorway. “This is a surprise, though not an unexpected one.”
Maximilian nodded. “Lord Daven. Thank you for seeing me. I know how busy you are.”
“No need for that. Am I to assume that Anne has come to her senses? I wasn’t certain I’d be seeing you again after she escaped to the theater without you.”
“I’m persistent.”
“So I’ve discovered.”
At the earl’s gesture Maximilian seated himself in one of the room’s comfortable chairs. “I wanted to ask you a question.”
The earl cleared his throat as a footman brought in a tea tray. “I’ll avoid all assumptions.”
“It’s not about her dowry.” Max leaned forward, rubbing his hands together. This was what he hated most about London—the artifice, the pretending, the veneer of politeness that meant no one would say what they really thought of you, except to your back. He preferred being direct, and it seemed important that Anne’s family know that. “Do you wish your daughter to marry me?”
A scowl lowered Daven’s brow. “Well, of course I do. An agreement between two families is—”
“No. Do you wish Anne to marry me?”
“Ah.” The earl took a sip of tea. “You mean with the widespread rumors that your father left you bankrupt.”
Apparently some residents of London could be direct. It was refreshing, in a way. “Yes.”
“Well, to be honest—and I assume you want honesty—if that was all I knew about you, then no, I wouldn’t want you marrying my daughter. Halfurst is an old and respectable title, but frankly that is no assurance of happiness.”
For a moment Max remained silent. “But you know the truth behind the rumors. When I wrote, I made the facts as clear as…my being a gentleman would allow.”
“Yes, I know that.” The earl set aside his tea. “Which leads me to a question: do you wish to marry my daughter?”
“I wish to, and I intend to do so, my lord. At the moment, however, I still seem to be making up for nineteen years of not corresponding with her.”
Daven chuckled. “Anne’s hardly spent time anywhere but in London. She’s convinced this is where the world begins and ends.”
“Yes, I’d gathered that,” Maximilian said dryly. “It’s not actually my letter writing she disapproves of; it’s my place of residence.”
“There are solutions to that, my boy.”
With a nod, Maximilian stood. “So there are.”
First, though, he wanted to know something. Stupid and meaningless though it might be, he wanted to know that she chose him above all the other sugar-tongued nobles pursuing her.
With Lord Howard in the middle, that was going to be supremely difficult, unless he wished to play by the same rules as the viscount. And he really preferred to avoid that, if at all possible. Where Anne was concerned, however, he was willing to do just about anything. If she would take one step toward him, he would walk a hundred miles for her.
“Why do you keep looking over your shoulder?” Desmond asked, his own gaze on the snow-covered street. “Do you expect Halfurst to pursue us to Covent Garden?”
“He might,” Anne answered, pushing her hands deeper into her muff.
Not even to herself would she admit that she missed Maximilian, that her body felt impatient for his kisses and craved his touch. She’d thought about asking Lord Howard to kiss her again, to prove to herself that this stupid feeling she had was just a general yearning for something her body had very much enjoyed. She knew, though, that it wasn’t true; she enjoyed Halfurst, and only Halfurst. Having someone else kiss her would only prove a point she didn’t wish to make.
“I should hand him a beating for making off with you at the skating party,” the viscount went on, obviously annoyed. “And for frightening you into colliding with Miss Ballister.”
“He didn’t frighten me into anything,” Anne retorted, flushing. “Please stop discussing it.”
“I don’t see why you should object. It’s only another sign of his quaint Yorkshire manners.” Desmond snorted. “No doubt his floors are covered with straw to accommodate the pigs with whom he shares his home.”
“Oh, Desmond, stop it. You know that’s not true.”
“Well, yes, but only because Halfurst is in sheep country.” This time he laughed. “Sheep are probably where he learned his lovemaking skills. You know—”
“Lord Howard! Stop this carriage at once! I will not be party to such crude—”
He pulled the team to a halt. “Anne, please calm down. I apologize for my very rude behavior. I got carried away.”
“Obviously.” Trying to hide the double attack of guilt and mortification that had hit her, Anne stuffed her hands deeper into her muff and glared straight ahead. If she looked at Desmond, she felt certain he would guess what she’d done—and how thoroughly she’d enjoyed Maximilian’s skills. Sheep, ha.
“Come, Anne, looking for a way to spare his feelings is admirable, but it’s been well over a week. You’ll be risking the accusation that you’re leading him on if you don’t have your parents announce the break with Halfurst soon.”
Taking a steadying breath, Anne faced him again. “We are friends, are we not?”
He clasped her elbow. “Of course we are. And we verge on becoming more to one another, I hope.”
Not that again. Still, she had no more wish to hurt his feelings than Maximilian’s. “All rumor, speculation, and innuendo aside, what do you know of Lord Halfurst?”
With a flick of his wrists, Desmond set the carriage moving again. “Not much, really. His father spent the entire year before young Viscount Trent arrived in town bragging to anyone who would listen about what a success he would be. It actually looked that way for a time, until old Halfurst expired at his own soirée and his widow went screaming through the ballroom proclaiming that they were all ruined.”
“Lud. My parents never mentioned that.”
“Well, they wouldn’t, considering you were betrothed to him. After that, tales of the family’s bankruptcy were everywhere. They even denied him membership at White’s, as I recall. And then, practically without a word, he bundled up his mother and what remained of the family’s belongings and fled to Yorkshire.”
Intent as Maximilian seemed to be about straightforward truth, she could see why he hadn’t made up some lie about his circumstances. She couldn’t imagine him running from anything, either, but he’d been only eighteen. A year younger than she was now.
“So, as I said before, you know why he’s here,” Desmond continued. “He feared you and your money would escape him, and he’s run to town to gather you both up and flee back to Yorkshire.”
Yorkshire. She’d never been there, and it was without a doubt the most hated word in her entire vocabulary. “I suppose so.”
The viscount glanced at her. “You ‘suppose so’? Don’t tell me he’s charmed you with that quaint directness of his.”
“It’s not that,” she hedged. “If he’s so desperate for money, and if everyone knows it, how is he able to supply himself with a new wardrobe, and rent a box for a sold-out performance at Drury Lane?”
“I would assume he’s lived like a pauper for the last seven years so he can make a good showing now. After all, if your parents reject him, he has no one else.”
“He hasn’t even met with my parents,” she muttered, quietly enough that Desmond wouldn’t hear. Obviously the viscount had forgotten his claim that any female would do for Maximilian. But she didn’t agree. She’d always had the distinct feeling that the Marquis of Halfurst could have any female he wanted, and that he preferred her. His passio
n had certainly been very effective, and very unmistakable.
“I’ve made you blush. Let’s speak of something else.”
“Yes, please,” she returned vehemently. Above all else she didn’t want Desmond to know it hadn’t been he making her blush; even thinking of Maximilian was enough to speed her pulse and leave her flushed with warmth and wanting.
“Annie!”
Starting, Anne looked up the street. Theresa and Pauline stood beside Pauline’s family coach, waving at her. Oh, thank goodness. Friendly faces. “Let’s stop, my lord,” she said, waving back and grinning with relief. Conversing with men had never been as troublesome and problematic before Halfurst’s arrival in London.
“But I wanted to spend some time alone with you,” the viscount protested.
“You’ve spent the entire drive here talking about Halfurst,” she retorted. “I really don’t wish to hear any more.”
“Then stop asking questions about him, my dear. One would almost think you’ve become infatuated with the sheep farmer.”
How else was she supposed to get information, if not by asking questions? “Stop the carriage, Desmond. Daisy and I shall walk.”
“Anne, don’t be angry with me for enjoying your company,” he said in a placating voice. “We’ll discuss whatever you like.”
Despite his peace offering, now that she’d decided it, she wanted nothing more than to escape his company. In all fairness, though, she had agreed to join him for a shopping excursion to Covent Garden. “Perhaps you’d escort all of us,” she suggested. “I haven’t seen Theresa or Pauline for days.”
With a faint scowl he guided the phaeton to one side of the busy street. “As you wish, my dear.”
So now he thought she was being difficult, and he had to humor her. Everything had been so much easier when her male friends had accepted that she was betrothed, and the only thing she had to offer was her friendship. Lately, though, all Desmond seemed interested in was trying to kiss her, and telling her how poor Maximilian’s character was.
And that was the oddest part. She should have been happy to hear that rejecting the marquis would be the wise thing to do. Instead, though, for every blight the viscount offered, she seemed determined to come up with a reason to dismiss it. Why was she being so foolish? And why had she welcomed Halfurst’s embrace, and his touch, and his body?
“Anne,” Pauline said, grabbing her ankle as the carriage rolled to a stop in the snowy street, “I’m glad we found you.”
“I’m happy to see you again, as well,” she said, a bit surprised at the vehemence in her friend’s voice.
“No. We’ve been looking for you,” Theresa took up. “We went to your house this morning to see if you wanted to go shopping, and who do you think we saw there?”
She could guess. “Halfurst?”
“Yes! Did you know?”
“How could I? I accepted an invitation to go shopping with Lord Howard this morning.” For the viscount’s sake, she favored him with a smile as he came around and lifted her down to the street.
“Well, he’s in your morning room. Apparently he’s been there for over an hour. And your mother told us that she thinks he means to wait for you until you return!”
Anne closed her eyes for a moment, the familiar rush at the idea of his presence mingling with a distinct uneasiness. If he was at Bishop House and she wasn’t, then no doubt he’d finally spoken to her father. And with the earl’s cryptic comments about keeping an eye on Halfurst’s career, her father seemed to favor the match. Good heavens, she might as well be married!
Desmond beside her was doing a poor job of hiding his displeasure at this latest pronouncement; no doubt he realized what she would ask of him next. “Desmond, please—”
“Take you home?” he interrupted. “Give me one good reason why I should.”
She took an annoyed breath. “Lord Howard, if you would just remain pleasant for another few minutes, then we might remain friends, as well.”
“And what does that get me?” he retorted. “A letter from Yorkshire every six months, describing how miserable you are and how much you wish you’d listened to your ‘friend’?”
“This doesn’t sound like friendship,” she said crisply, taking Theresa’s hand and hoping if her friend felt her fingers shaking she would think it was from the cold. “It sounds like jealousy. I have never made it anything but clear that I am betrothed, and whether I plan on marrying Lord Halfurst or not, that fact does not change.”
“Only when it’s convenient for you, that is,” he sneered.
“Annie, Pauline and I will see you home,” Theresa said in a tense voice, tugging her in the direction of Pauline’s carriage.
“Yes, you do that,” Howard snapped. “I’ll be available when you return to your senses and decide you’ve had enough of your sheep farmer.”
Before she could conjure a suitable retort, he climbed into his phaeton and lurched back into traffic.
“My goodness,” Pauline whispered, taking Anne’s other hand. “I’ve never seen him like that.”
“Neither have I,” she returned, her voice shaking to match her hands. “Will you please take me home?”
“Of course, Annie. Come on.”
As she took her seat in Pauline’s carriage, she was surprised to realize that she wasn’t thinking so much of Desmond’s jealous fit as she was of seeing her sheep farmer again. Four days seemed a lifetime, when all she could think of was how very good it had felt to be with him.
Thank God, Anne’s mother had finally believed him when Maximilian had told her that she didn’t need to keep him company, and that he would be quite content to read a book and wait for his betrothed. Her apologetic hovering set his teeth on edge, and Lady Daven’s depictions of her daughter were woefully inaccurate and inadequate. Anne Bishop defied description, by anyone’s definition.
For one thing, she was practically the only Londoner he’d encountered who didn’t bother with affectations; she was who she was, and seemed quite content with that. And far from being shy and retiring, as her mother insisted she was, Anne was curious and forthright and utterly imperfect.
He’d meant to give her a sampling of what married life with him would offer her, and he’d meant to use his skills at lovemaking to convince her to give up her arguments about staying in London. While he thought he might have succeeded at the former, her continued insistence on parading about town with Lord Howard was proof enough that she hadn’t succumbed to the latter. Nor was she likely to, if she was able to keep avoiding him.
She had to return home eventually, and then this nonsense would stop. He would convince her to marry him, and only when he’d run out of resolve and time would he surrender to London. After being inside her, his resolve had become boundless. And for the first time since he’d inherited Halfurst, he didn’t care if it fell into ruin while he waited for her. He wasn’t leaving London without Anne Bishop.
That didn’t mean, however, that he intended to play by her rules. She was used to men throwing themselves at her feet, after her beauty or her money or her favor. He heard her enter the house, sooner than he expected, but he remained seated, reading the book he’d selected from the Bishop House library, when she stepped into the morning room.
“Lord Halfurst?”
He looked up. “Anne.” Heat coiled through him at the sight of her, and he had to fight to keep seated, and to keep other parts of his body from becoming immediately erect, as well.
“What are you doing here? Didn’t Lambert tell you I’d gone out?”
Her voice sounded unsteady, and the thought that his presence might be the reason for that made his relaxed slouch even more difficult to maintain. “He did. I decided to wait.”
Slowly she came further into the room, and it took all his self-control to refrain from leaping to his feet and smothering her body with kisses. Her maid started to enter the room behind her, but at a feminine command outside, Daisy vanished behind the closing door. Lady Daven had
some sense, anyway.
She tilted her head, glancing at the book in his hands. “A Midsummer Night’s Dream? I didn’t know you read Shakespeare.”
Anne was nervous, and that was good. “You didn’t? What did you think I read? Or you didn’t think I could read at all, perhaps.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I just couldn’t…imagine you taking the time to read Shakespeare, is all. You seem so consumed by Yorkshire.”
Did he? More likely, she was obsessed with it. His obsessions had lately taken a more feminine shape, with long, curling brunette hair. “I could quote something for you, if you like,” he said, setting the book aside and standing, “but that wouldn’t prove anything but my ability to borrow someone else’s pretty words.”
Anne took a small step backward as he rose. “You…didn’t answer my question. What are you doing here?”
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
“No, I haven’t,” she shot back, giving a nervous laugh. “I hope you don’t think I just sit at home waiting for you to come calling. I have friends, and activities. This is my home, you know.”
“I know.” His gaze on her soft mouth, he slowly stepped toward her. “Nevertheless, I owe you a good morning kiss. Four of them, actually.”
“I—”
If he let her argue, he’d never be able to touch her today. Maximilian closed the distance between them with one quick stride. Taking her shoulders in his hands, he leaned down and covered her mouth with his. She responded instantly, leaning up against his chest and curling her hands into the front of his jacket. He went hard, and felt her heat as she pressed herself closer against him.
As he drew his arms down the length of her and around her waist, she gave a stifled groan and pushed away. “Stop it!”
“Why?” he murmured, against her lips. “You want me again, and you know that I want you, don’t you?”
Her hips moved against him, and he clenched his jaw, fighting for control. “Yes.”
“Then don’t ask me to stop.”