“No need to thank me. You’ve earned it.”
She could only smile in answer, afraid if she spoke the floodgates would open and she’d cry. They fell into a more comfortable silence. The wind toyed with the lock of hair that chronically fell across his forehead. Annabella curled her fingers inward, so tempted was she to brush it from his eyes. It gave him the look of a poet… or maybe a pirate. He had looked rather dashing when she’d come upon him earlier, in his rumpled shirt, with a tear on one sleeve and stained with dust and perspiration. Not a bit like the nobleman. She’d come close to asking him not to put his coat back on — a shame she hadn’t spoken up, really, since he’d grown distant again as soon as he picked up the mantle of Lord Seabrook. She rather preferred the laborer. She suppressed a titter at the thought, but not quickly enough.
“Something amuses you, lady fair?”
She decided to honor him with the truth. “I was just considering how little like a nobleman you looked when I came upon you.”
A sarcastic smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “And of course, your appearance was so very ladylike when I first came across you at Wyndham Green.”
“Have a care, now,” she protested between giggles. “At least I looked something like a lady. You looked more like the Earl of Chaos than the Earl of Seabrook.”
“Well, you look a bit more than something like a lady now.” The honeyed tones washed over her. Sparks leapt in the depths of his dark eyes, rendering her breathless.
When she edged toward him, he didn’t move off. Try as she might, though, she couldn’t bring herself to be so bold as to take up his hand. At a rustling in the woods, Jon peered around her into the shadows.
“Rabbits,” he announced with a shrug, and started walking again.
The sun dimmed as it hid behind a low cloud, stealing the heat with it. But Annabella didn’t feel chilled. Her mind raced. So many things she wanted to ask, but shyness held back the words. Where had he been for the past several days? Had he been working on the cottage? Were there other cottages? Other tenants? Did he usually labor like that when he came home? Was Blackmoor even his home? If a mind could be breathless with questions, hers certainly would be. She knew so little of her husband but suddenly she wanted to know everything.
“Did you play in the woods when you were small?” Annabella sent him a sidelong glance. At his raised eyebrow, she added quickly, “Juliet and I used to play in the woods at Wyndham Green. Mother detested it, said it was quite unladylike.” She chuckled, recalling her mother’s often cherry-red face when she caught sight of ruined frocks and matted hair.
“My brother and I once knew every inch of these woods,” he answered quietly. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. “When my sisters started wanting to follow along with us, we had to sneak off before they got an idea of where we were going.”
The road suddenly dipped downward into a rut, and Annabella stumbled forward. With a cry, she reached for Jon’s arm to catch herself and missed.
With lightning speed, Jon jumped in front of her and caught her against him. Instinctively, her arms wound around his neck, and when he straightened, her feet left the ground. Out of breath, she could only cling. His arm around her waist tightened, and sudden awareness of stone-hard muscles hampered her ability to think. Then he spun around and released his hold, allowing her to slide along his body until her feet met the road. When she looked down, she was on the other side of the rut.
Giddiness bubbled like a country stream, and Annabella shrieked with delight as she pressed against him, loathe to let go. He settled one hand on her waist and raised his other hand to cup her chin.
The warmth in his eyes erupted into flames that seared wherever his gaze lingered. Annabella leaned into his touch, craving it, needing his heated embrace like she needed her heart to continue beating.
Jon lowered his mouth to graze her lips. He followed the touch with a brush of his thumb on her chin. Annabella moaned then stood on her toes, reaching for more of the sweet, hot connection. With a deep groan, Jon tugged her closer and crushed his lips against hers. He slipped his hand from her chin and threaded his fingers in her hair, pulling at it until it came free of the pins. Her heavy tresses cascaded down her back, and Annabella reveled in the freedom. She scooped his shock of hair from his forehead, fisted her hand in it, and held on as she returned his kiss, allowing the fires that had never quite lain dormant to spark.
Jon drew back and dotted hot kisses along her jaw toward her ear. Then he dragged his lips down her neck, stopping just above her shoulder.
“Annie,” he said with a moan. “Oh, Annie, I’ve—”
Something cold and sharp bounced off her forehead. Before she could react, she was struck on her shoulder, then her arm.
“Oh! That hurt!” she cried, ducking her head as she took another strike just above her right eye.
She pulled back at the same time Jon did, both of them darting frantic glances at their surroundings. A dreadful clatter arose and suddenly they were being pelted from all sides. Tiny white pebbles of ice bounced on the road.
“Hail!” Jon snatched his hat from where it must have fallen to the ground and pushed it onto Annabella’s head. Then he took up her hand and tugged her toward the woods. “Hurry! I know a shorter way home.”
Laughing at the absurdity of their situation, Annabella allowed him to lead her onto an obscure path through the underbrush. Branches that might have beat and clawed at her were somehow miraculously moved out of her way, held back by her personal gallant rescuer. In moments, the hail was replaced by a deluge of icy rain. Hand in hand and laughing, they emerged from the woods near the back of Blackmoor Hall and raced across the archery range then up the path to the servants’ entrance.
Jon yanked open the door and together they stumbled out of the dreadful weather. A single sconce in the dingy recesses of the back entrance spilled weak light over them. Jon’s eyes glittered as, still grinning, he pushed Annabella against the wall and ran his hands upward from her waist to splay across her ribs. As he nuzzled her neck, she giggled and allowed herself to be swept away on crazy, giddy passion. The chill of the stone wall at her back, the heat of the man pressing against her combined and twisted through her body, raising exquisite awareness.
****
Annabella’s pale muslin gown had become almost sheer in the rain. It clung to her every luscious curve and created a hunger in Jon that he knew must be sated soon. He ran his hands over her, needing to possess every inch as his own.
With a soft cry, she dropped her head back against the wall, exposing her creamy throat. Her feverish hands never stilled their roaming over his neck and shoulders, the only places she could reach, he knew, because of how he’d pinned her.
A throat cleared behind him and Jon froze in his exploration of that silky skin.
“Beg pardon, my lord,” murmured Samuel with a discreet cough.
Shame washed over Jon, dragging the remnants of passion off in protest. What had he been thinking, nearly taking her against the wall where any servant could walk by? He turned, tucking Annabella behind him and hopefully out of sight. Her heavy gasps began to slow, but at least for once she had the good sense not to move.
“What is it?” he snapped.
Samuel averted his gaze down and to the right, but otherwise showed no reaction. “A gentleman has called for you. He declined to give his name. Robert has seen him to the drawing room.”
Jon looked down at his soiled and soaked clothing and frowned. “If he declined to give his name, I suppose he didn’t state his business either. Please see that the caller is offered refreshments while I make myself presentable.”
“Yes, my lord.” Samuel bowed his head and turned for the door.
Behind Jon, Annabella shivered.
“Samuel.”
The butler halted and turned back. “Yes, my lord?”
“After you see to my visitor, please see that a bath is arranged for Lady Seabrook and send her maid to her.”
“Of course, my lord.”
After Samuel disappeared, Jon turned back to Annabella. Crimson stained her face and her entire body shook fiercely — from the shock of their discovery or perhaps from the cold.
Then a giggle slipped past her lips, followed by another, and Jon realized she was neither trembling nor shivering, but laughing silently.
“Is he gone?” she whispered, bracing herself with both hands on Jon’s chest and peering around him. “Oh, gracious.” A laugh rocked her and she fisted her hands in his lapels as though unable to stand on her own. “I thought the poor man was going to be struck apoplectic.” She drew a few deep breaths in quick succession and loosened her grip. Then she tipped her head back and stared up at him.
The intensity in her gaze shot through him like an arrow. He mentally cursed the uninvited visitor. Maybe he could dispense with him in short order and return to his wife. Jon’s thoughts drifted down the delightful lane to the bath he’d just ordered.
“Come along.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her to the back stairs.
She giggled. “Using the servants’ stairs, Seabrook? One might think you do this sort of sneaking about quite often.”
He grinned at her, his heart suddenly feeling lighter than it had for years. “One might be correct. After all, I’ve had Gran’s sharp eyes on me all my life.”
Their feet clomped on the wooden steps as they hurried to the second floor, murmuring and shushing one another.
“Whom do you suppose is visiting?” asked Annabella as they entered their private parlor.
“I’ve no notion, but he won’t be staying long.” Jon had other ideas for how he intended to spend a rainy afternoon. He shrugged out of his coat as he crossed the carpet.
Behind him, Annabella let out a cry.
Jon dropped the coat and whirled, ready to do battle. But nothing seemed amiss. Annabella stood near the fireplace holding her hands toward the heat. But she stood at an odd angle, leaning away from the logs stacked on the hearth.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Oh, it’s just a horrid spider crawling in the woodpile.” She shuddered. “I thought ‘twas a mouse. I’m sorry if I disturbed you.”
“A mouse, eh?” Jon began poking through the stack of logs. “Are you certain it wasn’t one?”
“Seabrook, I certainly know a mouse from a spider.” She leaned over his shoulder. “What are you doing?”
“Well, I’m going to dispatch the little beast.”
“You can’t!”
Her sharp tone gave him pause just as he saw a brown and gray spider — fair-sized with bits of gray fuzz poking off its legs — scurrying along the top of the next log.
He glanced up with a frown. “Whyever not?”
“You mustn’t kill a spider in the house!” She stepped in front of him, blocking his access to the woodpile. “You’ll bring on the rain.”
About to move her aside, Jon froze. Gran’s influence, without a doubt. He slid a glance between Annabella and the window, currently being pummeled by heavy raindrops, and his lips tugged into a smile. “In case you haven’t noticed, it’s a bit late to worry about that.”
Annabella parked her hands on her hips and tossed her head, sending her still-dripping hair behind her shoulder. “Well, do you want to risk worsening the storm?”
He chuckled as he settled his hands on her shoulders and moved her out of his way. “I believe I shall chance an extended rainy season. That was a mouse spider. It won’t kill you, but it does deliver a rather painful bite.” Using a bit more caution than he had previously, he crouched and began picking through the logs again. Finally, his sharp eyes caught the tiny movement on the bottom log. “Close your eyes then, if you cannot bear to see the carnage, Lady Seabrook.” Using a bit of kindling, he smashed the spider. Then, just to be safe, he tossed log and spider onto the fire.
At her gasp, he glanced over his shoulder. She stared at him with hard intensity. “That was positively barbaric! I had no notion you could be so fierce.”
Jon stood and faced her, a bit surprised at the surge of protectiveness that puffed out his chest. “When it comes to protecting you, nothing is too fierce,” he said quietly. Then, casting her a wry smile, he crossed the room and snatched his coat from the floor. Quickly, he slid another coat over the soiled shirt and wrapped a fresh cravat around his neck. His breeches had seen better days but would have to do.
“I shall return soon, Annie.” He scrambled over the threshold to their suite and closed the door before the temptation to stay with her had him sending the unexpected caller away.
****
Annabella sank deeper into the tub until the lavender-scented water lapped at her chin. Steam rose in little clouds in front of her. She’d sent the maid away, preferring peace and privacy for bathing. Not to mention, if Jon dispensed with his visitor, mayhap he would wander into her bedchamber and…
She sighed, closing her eyes and calling his delicious kisses to her memory. They almost made her wish she’d gone ahead and danced with him that first afternoon at Rose Cottage.
Of course, if she had, things might not have happened the same way, and she might not be Lady Seabrook.
“Lady Seabrook,” she whispered, testing the sound. A smile slid into place and she flicked her toe, sending droplets of water sailing through the air.
The outer door to the suite slammed, soon followed by the bang of the door to Jon’s bedchamber. Had the caller delivered bad news? Stretching like one of Gran’s cats, Annabella wondered who it might have been, and found herself hoping the news didn’t mean they’d soon have to leave Blackmoor.
She swished a hand through the sweet-smelling water. It was still quite hot, and a replenishing kettle hung near the fire. Juliet had always used lavender for relaxation. Perhaps Jon would like to relax…
She pushed to her feet and stood still, allowing the water to roll off her before she stepped out and toweled herself dry. Driven by mischievous imps, she slid her arms into a satin dressing gown without a stitch underneath. The cool fabric caressed her skin in soft whispers of movement as she shuffled barefoot across the carpet to the door that connected her room to Jon’s.
She stood in front of the door, seeking the courage to knock.
Just do it, you chicken brain. You know he wants you. He’s made that quite plain. Of course, it did seem a bit scandalous to offer herself up like a platter of rabbit… and in the middle of the afternoon at that… But it couldn’t hurt to offer him the use of the bath. After all, he’d been laboring all morning and had, himself, been caught in the same bone-chilling rain.
It was the polite thing to do, offering him the bath. She raised her hand and rapped sharply, four times. The sound echoed through the room. She strained to hear. Was that rustling she heard? Or had he already left? Should she knock again? Or steal a peek inside and see if he was even in there?
She reached for the latch, paused, then jumped when the door was suddenly jerked open. Jon stood on the other side. He’d thrown on a brocade and velvet dressing gown and drawn it tight. The burgundy fabric darkened his coloring even more. Over his shoulder, she noted a ceramic pitcher and bowl on his dressing table. Obviously, he was already cleaning up.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she began, hating the warble in her voice. “My bath — that is, I’ve finished and I thought you might like…”
The look he settled on her was part heated interest and part murderous intent. “Thank you, Annabella, but I’ll just finish up in here. It likely won’t be long before supper. Gran tends to request an early meal when the weather is bad.”
At the edge of frost in his voice, Annabella gathered her dressing gown closer. Gracious! He must be cross about something. Something she’d done?
“Oh… very well.” She turned away from the door, willing away the sting behind her eyes.
“Annie…” he said softly. “Thank you for the offer. I’m sorry I’m in such a foul mood. The man who stopped by left withou
t waiting… or leaving his name. It’s an odd deal, really, and I was trying to figure out who he might be when you knocked.”
She stopped walking but remained facing away from him, certain he’d read far more on her face than she was comfortable with him knowing.
“It’s nothing to do with you, or your offer of… a bath.” He sighed and lowered his voice to a gentle whisper. “You understand that, don’t you?”
“I suppose.” Boldness took over, and she turned, meeting his gaze with a smile. “I was just wondering if it might take tactics like those of Lady Godiva to capture your interest.”
Jon frowned slightly and angled his head, clearly pondering her reference. Finally, he gave a shake of his head. “Make no mistake about it, Annie… you have my interest.” He stepped behind the threshold and closed the door with a soft click.
Annabella stared at the plank of oak that separated her from her husband and dashed away the tears that rolled over her cheeks. “It’s not just your interest I’m after,” she whispered, allowing the sadness to course over her.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Jon drained the tea from his cup and set it back on the saucer. He might have accomplished some preliminary work on his project had Mr. Webber called with the paperwork as promised. He sighed. Perhaps it was for the best. At least he was free to concentrate on the tournament.
“I need to speak with you, Jonathan.” His grandmother’s low urgent tone startled him. When had she joined him?
“Yes, Gran?” He glanced at her feet. Thankfully, she appeared to be without her blasted cats, though one never knew when a feline might suddenly appear as though conjured from the air. “Would you care for some tea? It’s a bit early for chocolate and pastry, I fear.”
She made a dismissive movement with one hand. “Jonathan, this is a matter of utmost importance. I’ve—” She drew a shaky breath then continued, her voice a bit stronger. “I’ve had a vision. A very dire vision involving your wife.”
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