He winked and then motioned toward the refreshments. “Would you care for a drink?”
Annabella’s throat was dry. “Yes, please.”
Jon offered her his arm and they headed toward the festivities. Several people greeted them as they strolled through the crowd. Some of them smiled at her, others simply nodded. One man seemed to bore a hole through her, he stared so hard. She averted her gaze, but when she stole a glance back in his direction, he was still staring.
“Smile, my lady. Everyone here will adore you.” Jon stroked his thumb over her knuckles and ended with a reassuring squeeze.
Annabella looked at Jon, forgetting the strange man, and forced her lips into a tentative smile. These people had no knowledge of her true identity. They wouldn’t associate her with the Duke of Wyndham. To them she would simply be Lady Seabrook.
They stopped at a small tent with several barrels clustered about the entrance. A strong aroma that seemed to be both sweet and sour clung to the air. Annabella couldn’t recall ever smelling anything like it, but the scent did tantalize.
A curvy serving girl wearing a brown dress made of sturdy cloth stepped up to them and curtsied. “Good day, my lord. What can I be getting’ ye?”
“Two glasses of orgeat with a splash of Madeira, Fran,” Jon said.
“Right away, my lord.” The woman hurried inside the tent, and returned in moments with the drinks.
Annabella accepted one of the pewter cups. “Thank you.” She brought the tumbler to her nose and inhaled. Yes, that was the delicious scent. Eager to see if it tasted as good as it smelled, she took a drink. The flavor exploded on her palate, the syrupy sweet taste smooth as it slid down her throat, making her whole body tingle.
“Be sure to sip that, my lady. Don’t be drinkin’ it too fast,” Fran cautioned.
Jon took the other cup and dropped several coins in the woman’s hand.
Fran’s eyes widened. “Thank you, my lord.” She curtsied again and hurried back inside the tent.
“Shall we stroll the grounds while we drink, my lady?” Jon asked, offering her his free arm.
She smiled. “Yes, I’d like that.” Taking the serving girl’s advice, she sipped on her drink. Each taste was better than the last.
“The Madeira cuts the sweetness… and hopefully it helps you relax. Perhaps in a bit we can try some of Fran’s chocolate pudding.” He leaned closer and whispered, “Also flavored with Madeira.”
It sounded a wonderful idea to Annabella. “Do you think the dowager would forgive me if I missed the competition and just ate chocolate pudding and drank orgeat splashed with Madeira instead?”
Jon chuckled. “I highly doubt it. And she’d never forgive me either. It shall have to be your reward when you’ve finished.”
Annabella gazed at him. “I shall hold you to that, Lord Seabrook.”
“I pray that you do.” His eyes locked with hers, intense yet relaxed. Mesmerizing… seductive.
Unable to endure the powerful draw of his stare any longer, she looked away. A slash of dark cut across her vision and drew her eyes to the refreshment tent. The same man she’d seen earlier stood near the entrance. Annabella’s steps faltered. Was he following them? Abruptly he turned away, and she lost track of him in the crowd. Perhaps she’d been mistaken; it was her mind playing tricks on her. Still, she scanned the crowd as they walked, wanting to point the stranger out to Jon. Maybe he knew the man.
Her gaze landed on a crate arranged just outside the area where rows of targets had been set up. A large white goose’s head stuck out of the top. “Why is that goose over there?”
“In order to involve all the residents, the club holds a couple of competitions throughout the day for non-members. With this one, the person who shoots the goose in the head wins the bird. Would you care to watch?”
“How barbaric! No, thank you!” Annabella wrinkled her nose and turned away. How horrible to suffer the indignity of being caged and then— She shuddered.
“They call it food for their family,” Jon countered.
Embarrassment had her flushing. “My apologies. I didn’t mean… That is to say…” What could she say after jumping to such a conclusion? She gave him a sideways glance, hoping she hadn’t angered him.
But he was smiling as he gestured toward a man dressed in bright red with a brown, pointed hat. “The children seem to be enjoying the show. Shall we?”
The man was tossing apples into the air, barely catching one before launching it again. Suddenly, he tossed one of the fruits into the crowd. The children scrambled for the prize and the juggler’s assistant threw another apple into his crazy circle.
She allowed Jon to lead her closer into the small crowd assembled around the performer. “Apparently, I need to heed the advice you gave your grandmother and refrain from saying everything that comes to my mind. I might stumble on my tongue less if I did.”
He traced her forearm with one finger. Even through her dress sleeve, the warmth created an awareness that left her wanting more. “You’re splendid just as you are.”
Annabella took a sip of her orgeat, unsure how to answer him. After a moment, she cleared her throat. “You said there were several contests for the local residents.”
“Yes. We also give contestants a chance to shoot one arrow at a target. The five people who come closest to the center each receive five shillings.”
“A very kind gesture,” Annabella said.
Jon glanced around. “We make it clear to the club members they are to not fleece any of the merchants who are here to sell their wares or they will be removed as members and charged a fine.”
She recalled the coins he’d dropped in Fran’s hand. What a caring man the Earl of Seabrook was turning out to be. “Coventry is lucky to have you.”
Jon feigned shock by placing a hand over his chest. “Do my ears deceive me or is my lady finally finding me agreeable?”
Annabella slapped his arm. “Nothing but a momentary laxity in judgment, I assure you.”
He threw his head back and laughed; finding it contagious, she joined in. The next hour flew by as he introduced her to a number of the club members and Coventry residents. They also bought some of Fran’s pudding, which Annabella found heavenly. Jon made it a point to visit each merchant and make a purchase of some sort. He truly showed a deep compassion for the people.
The ground beneath her feet vibrated as the blaring sound of several bugles filled the countryside. She let out a gasp.
“It’s time for the men’s competition to start. Shall we watch?” Jon asked.
“Yes, so long as they won’t be shooting at geese.”
They strolled to the archery field. Annabella couldn’t remember the last time she’d had such fun. She even pushed the thought aside that once the men were finished, it would be her turn.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Pride washed over Jon, warming him through and through, as he watched his wife take her position. She reached into her quiver and froze. He smiled as she withdrew her fan and stared at it with incredulity. Then she shoved it back into the quiver but her eyes strayed to the crowd, seeking… seeking… landing on him. She smiled, telling him everything he needed to know. It had been the right thing, after all, slipping it in there early that morning. He hadn’t known for certain just how she’d react, whether she’d appreciate the good luck gesture.
Oh, how he wished he could have been standing near her when that smile lit her face. Of course, had he been, odds were she would have found herself far too busy to participate in the contest, so perhaps the current distance between them was for the best.
He’d told Gran Annabella was unbreakable, and he’d meant it. The girl was strong-willed to the extreme. But deep down, past the barriers she’d erected, she was fragile; had walled herself off to keep her heart from being broken. And he had no intention of tearing down her defenses, but instead wanted to coax his beautiful wife from behind them.
Of course, idiot that he was, she�
�d already opened the gate and he’d stood there like a fool, ignoring her invitation. Lady Godiva’s tactics, indeed.
He held his breath as Annabella raised her bow and took aim. Let her hit the target. What a blessing that the breeze was mild; accuracy would come easier.
If the contest were judged on looks, Annabella would have no competition. Standing tall, her pale, silky hair hanging down her back with wisps blowing in the breeze, she reminded him of a drawing he’d once seen by Adam Buck called Archers. The beautiful ladies depicted with their hair unbound and flowing freely were certainly titillating. Warmth pooled in his stomach and surged lower, as his body became acutely aware of the picture Annabella painted.
And no doubt every other male in attendance had also noticed.
The bugle blared, indicating an arrow had landed in the center of the target. Had it been Annabella? He searched the field. No, not Annabella. The air left his lungs. Lady Thornton a couple of places down had hit the center mark. It was hard to tell from this far away, but Annabella’s arrow seemed to have hit a few inches up and to the right of the center. Bad luck, that. Come on, lady fair, next time will do the trick. She’d hit the mark seven or eight shots in a row when she was practicing with Gran. He inched forward, vying for a better position in the crowd. More than anything, he wanted her to do well. Not because she was his wife, but because she deserved it. The passion she’d poured into practicing—
His wife! He’d considered her his wife from the moment they’d said their vows. And he’d introduced her as his wife all day; why had just thinking of her that way given him such a jolt?
Because it’s the first time I truly have thought of her that way. Somewhere in the past weeks, wife had stopped being just a word. My wife. A ring of warmth circled his heart, bathing it in contented heat. He loved her. Completely, utterly, without a doubt. How had that happened? When had that happened?
Annabella took aim with her second arrow and shot, then the third, hitting the target. She stood perfectly still, eyes locked straight ahead. He furrowed his brow and squinted against the brilliant sunlight. Had the last one struck the center? It had hit the target lower than the previous two. Jon glanced back at Annabella. She’d let the bow go limp in her hands, and her eyes seemed to have widened. He tensed. Something must be wrong.
Just as he started toward her, the bugle blared and the ladies around Annabella offered soft cheers, congratulating her for a direct hit. Pride and relief burst inside him as she lifted her hand to her chest, a smile lighting up her face. A smile he’d never seen before. One that, even from such a distance, he could see shining in her eyes. How he wished he were responsible for it.
But you did this all on your own, lady fair.
She had become his greatest treasure. One he found he would be loathe to ever part with. Perhaps it needn’t come to that.
Annabella seemed to scan the crowd, searching… until her gaze met his. Ever so subtly, she lifted her bow to her hat and touched the brim, almost as if saluting him. The gesture couldn’t have hit its mark any better had it been an arrow piercing his heart. She’d sought him out, acknowledged him publicly, had shared a very special moment with him. More than anything he wanted to run to her and sweep her up in his arms… The way he had when he’d first seen her dancing at the cottage.
He swallowed the lump of emotion that had welled in his throat and released a long, slow breath. I guess I have the answer to when I fell in love with her. And for that matter, the how.
The ladies all fitted their bows over their shoulders as Gran and Lord Anthony examined each target and tallied scores. Gran seemed to stand a little taller as she scratched down the total from Annabella’s shots.
“I say, Seabrook, your wife is quite a remarkable shot… And quite a lovely creature. Wherever did you find her?”
Jon bit down on his tongue to keep from cursing and glanced to his left. Franklin Gilford, the Baron of Cromley, raised his pewter mug toward the archery field in a toast. The bothersome fop sipped his drink and regarded Jon with piercing blue eyes over the rim of the mug.
Bile rose, tightening the back of Jon’s throat. He — along with most of Coventry — detested the man. As far as Jon was aware, Cromley hadn’t yet cured his nasty habit of taking other men’s wives as his mistresses. The breeze lifted pale blond curls worn unfashionably long over the collar of his black coat. A garish ruby ring on his middle finger glinted as Cromley raised a hand and brushed at his lacy shirtfront… the way one would brush a hand along a woman’s silky yellow tresses where they cascaded over her shoulders.
Anger and jealousy surged through Jon at the vision, along with an insane urge to mark his territory. If it was another married conquest Cromley was looking to add to his collection, he could ruddy well look in another direction.
He forced a cordial tone. “Indeed she is, Cromley. I daresay by autumn she’ll be shooting as well as the dowager herself.” In the meantime, Annabella was best kept as far away from the young baron as possible.
“She doesn’t by chance have a sister?” The lecherous nobleman was eyeing her as a cat would his prey. The expression he wore made his intent quite clear.
Jon stiffened, curled his hands into fists, his nails digging into his palms. “No. She does not,” he said through stiff lips. If he didn’t excuse himself and put some distance between him and Cromley, he’d be moved to violence. “My wife is… quite unlike any other. If you’ll excuse me, I promised my grandmother I’d ensure the preparations are underway for the banquet this evening.” He spun on his heel and strode to the opposite side of the field, hoping to make his way closer to Annabella.
Jon drew a deep breath and released it. Not quite the dark man Gran had predicted with that fair hair. Still, he had been wearing a black frockcoat.
A large group of onlookers pressed in, and Jon felt himself pushed along, no longer completely in control of his direction. He collided with a gentleman in his path with a jolt that knocked the man forward.
“My apologies,” said Jon, looking for a way through the growing crowd.
“Think nothing of it,” mumbled the stranger, looking away. He resettled his battered tweed hat low over his eyes and hurried off.
The bugles blared, indicating it was time for the contest to resume. Pushing thoughts of Cromley and the odd stranger out of his mind, Jon found a spot to watch his lovely wife charm the crowd.
Annabella didn’t disappoint. Shoulders back, hair flowing, she dominated the field with her beauty and charisma. Her first arrow sailed through the air like a falcon in flight. It arched high above the others, coming down and hitting the target hard enough to shake it. Murmurs of “ohhh” and “ahhh” echoed through the crowd as the bugle signaled a direct hit. Pride swelled.
Annabella glanced at the opposite end of the field. Was she seeking him out as she had earlier? She angled her head and pushed onto her toes. She was looking for him. Blast it, why had he not stayed put? Why had he let Cromley rile him? Her shoulders dropped, and she retrieved another arrow, preparing to shoot. He wanted to call out to her. But he couldn’t without disrupting the contest. If only she’d look his way, then he could wave, let her know he was—
A dash of black at the other end of the field caught his attention. The stranger he’d bumped into earlier melted into the crowd. Uneasiness fell, raising an itchy sort of awareness along the back of his neck.
Gran’s words from earlier echoed in his mind. “Beware of the dark man.”
Jon scanned the crowd seeking that dark splash amid the more colorful garb worn by the other spectators. But he’d disappeared. Jon’s unease heightened until he felt it like a dagger between his shoulder blades.
The crowd murmured as the horn blared again. Jon frowned, irritated that he’d allowed Gran’s warning to worry at him. He was missing his wife’s performance.
Annabella took her final shot, her movements fluid and controlled, the arrow sailing toward the target in a perfect arc. Cupid has nothing on her. She’s
pierced my heart without even trying. And without even knowing.
****
“My lady, how does it feel to be the victor?” Jon took her hand and kissed her fingers.
Annabella tilted her head, confused. “But I didn’t win.”
“I beg to differ. You are the day’s unchallenged winner, because you have won the hearts and respect of everyone here… including mine.”
Her own heart skipped a beat, stealing her breath for the briefest second. Had he just… Did he mean…
Annabella searched his face. The light shining in the depths of his eyes caressed her, bathed her in warmth that pooled in her middle. Her already high spirits soared, setting her ablaze. People milled about, bumped into them, stepped around them, but she barely noticed. She didn’t want to break the spell, didn’t want the moment to end.
He stepped closer, brushed an errant strand of hair behind her ear. “Annabella, I—”
“Jonathan! There you are!” Gran waved as she approached. “We should make our way to the marquee for the banquet.”
“We’re coming, Gran.” Jon gave Annabella a wry smile, tucked her hand in the crook of his arm, squeezing her fingers gently before releasing them, and led her toward the banquet hall.
“Thank you for putting my fan in the quiver. It meant a great deal.” Her voice shook as she spoke. The way everyone had accepted her, the way Jon and Gran had made sure the day was special for her… She hadn’t felt so included and… loved since before Papa’s death. It was like she had found… home. Tears blurred her vision.
“It was — Annabella, what’s wrong?” Jon stopped and took her by the shoulders, forcing her to meet his gaze, his face twisted in alarm. “Why are you crying?” He tenderly wiped the tears away.
“It’s just… I’ve never…” Her throat constricted, making further speech impossible. She swallowed hard. “I’m happy,” she whispered.
Releasing a soft groan, he pulled her into his arms. The rhythmic beating of his heart as she rested against his chest both soothed and excited.
Kay Springsteen Page 28