A Most Peculiar Season Series Boxed Set: Five Full-length Connected Novels by Award-winning and Bestselling Authors

by Michelle Willingham

  “Who’s there?” she shouted, trying to sound bolder than she felt. “You must have come to the wrong place!”

  “Annabelle?” A familiar masculine voice called back, though she had never heard it sound so thoroughly rattled.

  “Jack, is that you?” She stepped closer to the door but did not open it. “What are you doing here at this hour? I thought I made it clear I do not want your help.”

  His charity—that was what she had spurned time and again since Frederick had been killed in an outpost skirmish, defending the Portuguese border. Was it because she had endured her fill of charity during her youth? Or could she not bear to take anything from the man she’d secretly loved more than her late husband?

  “Never mind about that!’” Jack snapped. “It is I who need your help. Please, just open the door!”

  Through all this, the baby continued to cry harder than ever. Did Jack have a child with him? And what sort of help could he want from her? Her only hope of getting answers to those questions would be to let him in. Besides, some of her unsavory neighbors might complain about the noise and she did not want any trouble with them.

  Annabelle dropped the fire poker then unfastened the bolts that gave her some illusion of safety. When she opened the door, Jack strode in without awaiting any further invitation. He carried a large basket from which the insistent cries emanated.

  “Is that a baby?” she demanded in a tone of disbelief as she shut the door behind him.

  She did not bother to bolt it. In spite of the bewildering nature of his visit, Jack’s presence still had the power to make her feel safe... in a physical sense at least.

  An observer might have thought otherwise, for Frederick’s cousin had a wild, distracted look about him. He wore no hat and his golden brown hair fell in disarray. Hazel eyes that so often sparkled with carefree spirits now darted restlessly. Jack’s ruggedly attractive features had a haunted, desperate look.

  Annabelle had never seen him in such a state. It alarmed her.

  “Of course it’s a baby!” He set the basket down. “What else could produce such a racket?”

  “Whose baby is it?” Annabelle dropped to her knees and lifted the squalling, squirming bundle of blankets from the basket. “How do you come to have it?”

  Had he rescued the child from danger or abuse? That would certainly be in keeping with his nature. Annabelle remembered how he had often protected her during their younger years. Her antagonism toward him softened.

  “She is mine.” The words spewed from Jack’s mouth, bitter as bile. “At least she might be. Someone left her on our doorstep with a note. She was crying when we found her but I got her back to sleep. Then she woke up and began to cry again. After that, nothing we did could make her stop. No one at my house knows the first thing about infants.”

  He spoke faster and faster, as Annabelle had heard the old King was apt to do when a fit of madness came upon him. Was Jack going mad or did this child truly belong to him? That last thought dealt Annabelle a sharp pang of dismay, but she had no time to dwell on it.

  The baby’s howling eased a little when she picked it up from the basket and began to rock it in her arms while making soothing sounds. But it did not stop crying altogether. That came as no surprise to Annabelle. Her nose wrinkled at the reek the poor little creature gave off. When she wiped a tear from the baby’s flushed cheek, its head turned and its tiny mouth rooted toward her finger.

  “Nothing you did could stop her crying?” she echoed Jack’s remark in a scathing tone. “Did it not occur to you to feed the poor child? Or change her linen?”

  “Not exactly.” Jack sounded defensive and rather lost.

  That was so unlike him, Annabelle could not stifle a flicker of sympathy—little as he deserved it.

  “She is such a tiny little mite.” He sounded as if that made the baby somehow more intimidating. “I was afraid I might drop her or... break her.”

  Annabelle rolled her eyes. “Babies are not as fragile as you think. Now I must clean her bottom before she gets a rash... if she doesn’t have one already.”

  She carried the child to the small table where she ate her meals. “Don’t just stand there, Jack, make yourself useful. Pour a bit of hot water from the kettle into the ewer to warm up what’s there. Test it with your finger to make certain it isn’t too hot.”

  Jack regained a little of her respect by hastening to do as she bid him. The baby’s fussing quieted further when Annabelle peeled off her wet, soiled linen and prattled to her in a soothing tone.

  As she washed the child’s bottom, she ordered Jack to fetch a pair of small towels. “Once she is dried off, I will wrap her in one of these for now. But she will need proper napkins very soon.”

  Jack nodded meekly then watched with an air of awe as Annabelle folded and tucked the cloth snuggly around the baby’s bottom. When she picked it up and began to walk back and forth, the exhausted child snuggled against her shoulder.

  “Bless you, Annabelle!” Jack sank onto the chair by the fire as if he’d just survived a harrowing ordeal. “I felt certain you would know what to do. I am in your debt.”

  His sincere gratitude was hard to resist. For her peace of mind, Annabelle knew she must resist it and everything else about Jack Warwick. He’d long since made it clear he cared for her only as a friend. Besides, she was still in mourning for his cousin... though her heart held more guilt than grief.

  “The poor little thing is quiet for the moment, but she won’t stay that way long if she is not fed.” How could the child’s mother have abandoned her to the mercy of Jack and his equally irresponsible friends? Annabelle could not decide whose behavior vexed her worse—the neglectful mother or the man who’d gotten her with child out of wedlock.

  “Can you not feed her?” Jack pleaded. “What does she need? Tell me and I will fetch it.”

  Annabelle shook her head. Were all gentlemen this ignorant of anything to do with child rearing? “She needs milk from her mother or a wet nurse. And before you ask—no, I cannot provide that service.”

  Striving to conceal her embarrassment, she explained how only a woman who had borne and recently suckled a child could nurse another infant. Jack shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable with the conversation. No doubt men like him believed the female bosom had been designed exclusively for their pleasure.

  “It is not easy to find a good wet nurse in the city at a moment’s notice,” Annabelle warned him. “You do not want one who drinks or is diseased. The best thing you can do is locate the child’s mother quickly, before her milk dries up.”

  When Jack cast her a bewildered look, Annabelle could not contain her annoyance. “The child looks to be three or four months old. Seek out the women you and your friends... bedded last winter. Surely it cannot be that many.”

  “Between the three of us, over several months?” Jack hung his head like a naughty schoolboy. “It could prove a challenge. How will we manage in the meantime?”

  “You could take her to the Foundling Hospital I suppose,” Annabelle suggested, though she had no intention of letting him do any such thing.

  “No!” Jack shot to his feet. “She has already been abandoned once. I will not do it to her again.”

  His answer went a great way to soothe Annabelle’s antagonism.

  “I don’t understand.” He began to pace the small sitting room, keeping as far from Annabelle and the baby as the limited space allowed. “Why did her mother not come to me or my friends as soon as she found herself with child? We would have assisted her.”

  “Clearly the poor woman thought otherwise.” Annabelle held the baby in a protective embrace.

  It was several years since she’d last cradled a sleeping infant, yet the action came as naturally to her as breathing. There had been a time when she professed herself heartily sick of caring for babies. Yet suddenly she felt as if something missing had been restored to her.

  But that was ridiculous. She did not miss walking the floor
all night to prevent a colicky baby from waking the whole house. Nor changing smelly, soiled linen. Nor having her clothes spit up on.

  Jack squared his shoulders and inhaled a deep breath. “First thing in the morning, we will begin looking for the mother. Until we locate her, can the baby stay here with you?”

  “Absolutely not!” Annabelle was tempted to thrust the child back into his arms, but feared it might waken. Besides, she found herself strangely reluctant to part with the warm, soft armful. “This is no fit place to keep a baby and I am not equipped to care for her.”

  Jack looked as if she had struck him a hard blow. Annabelle steeled herself to resist his pleading.

  “Then will you come back with me to Bruton Street?” He fixed her with an imploring gaze like the one he might have used to coax the baby’s mother into his bed. “Our guest room is very comfortable and I will make certain you have everything you need to care for her. Please, Annabelle. I do not ask for my sake but for the child’s. She needs you. If you’ll do this, I will give you anything you ask!”

  Tempted as she was by the prospect of a warm, comfortable bed and the toothsome bounty of Jack’s kitchen, Annabelle hesitated. She knew all too well the dangerous folly of becoming attached to a child... or anyone else. Jack’s promise to give her anything she wanted was no particular inducement. There was only one thing she had ever wanted from him, and it was the one thing he could not give.

  Chapter Two

  HE MUST PERSUADE Annabelle to come back with him to Bruton Street. Jack had never wanted anything so desperately.

  His cousin’s widow had demonstrated an uncanny ability to sense what the baby needed and supply it with a minimum of fuss. After his agitating experience trying to tend the fretful little creature, he considered Annabelle’s powers little short of miraculous. The prospect of caring for the child without her help alarmed him beyond description. He would rather try to halt a French cavalry charge single-handed and unarmed.

  “Please, Annabelle.” He pitched his voice soft and deep, looking at her in a way many women had assured him was impossible to resist.

  Would it work this time? If the depth of his desperation was any measure, then success ought to be assured. But he was not trying to sweet talk a willing woman into a dalliance for their mutual pleasure. A young life might depend on his ability to secure Annabelle’s cooperation—or at the very least, his sanity.

  Besides, she was not like the women with whom he’d amused himself in recent years, and sought to amuse in return. She would never be satisfied with a single night or even a dozen no matter how blissful. She’d wanted ‘til death us do part.’ Unfortunately, death had parted her from Frederick much too soon.

  “I suppose...” A reluctant frown tightened her soft, pretty features. “I could try to feed her by hand, just for tonight.”

  Her agreement, no matter how grudging, sent a powerful surge of elation through Jack.

  “Bless you!” A mad compulsion possessed him to seize Annabelle and kiss her. But that was entirely out of the question with the baby in her arms... and for many other reasons. “I shall be indebted to you forever.”

  It suddenly occurred to him that this situation might provide an opportunity to assist Annabelle as he knew her late husband would have wished. The earl had cut his only son off without a farthing after Frederick married against his wishes. He’d relented for a time after Frederick was killed in Portugal, but now Annabelle was living in this miserable place. On several occasions Jack had offered to assist her, but for reasons he could not fathom, Annabelle always refused. Surely she would have to accept his help if he could convince her he was only trying to discharge a debt.

  “You will owe me nothing,” she insisted in her distinctive voice, which was deeper than most women’s. It had a faint rasp that should not sound pleasant, yet somehow did. “I am not doing this for you, but for the baby. I dread to think what state the poor child will be in if I leave you and your disreputable friends to tend her through the night.”

  “Rory and Gabriel are not disreputable.” Jack rose to their defense instinctively. After a moment’s consideration, he changed his tune. “Well, perhaps they are. Perhaps I am too, come to that. But reputation is only what others think of us. We are not such bad fellows at heart.”

  They weren’t, were they? Privately, Jack tried to justify the life they led. They’d never meant anyone harm, which was more than he could say for a great many respectable people he knew. Yet, by sowing their wild oats without considering the consequences, might they have done as much harm out of thoughtlessness as others did out of malice?

  “No, you aren’t.” Annabelle seemed to regret her harsh judgment. “I’m sure you would try your best to take care of this little one but...”

  She swayed and rocked on her feet as she held the baby. Somehow it soothed Jack just to watch her. He could only imagine how it must calm the child. “But our best is not very good.” He sensed Annabelle might be wavering.

  But before he could latch onto that hope, she shook her head vigorously. “How can I come to stay in a houseful of men with your reputations? Mine would be ruined!”

  “Nonsense!” Jack protested. “Widows are not scrutinized by Society the way unmarried girls are. This obsession with their purity and reputation is all to ensure men of property that their heirs will be of their blood, not begotten by a woman’s previous lover.”

  Far from reassuring Annabelle, his explanation seemed to vex her. Her warm brown eyes narrowed. “So I do not need to protect my reputation because no man will ever want to marry a shopworn widow?”

  “That’s not what I meant.” Jack raised his palms in a defensive gesture.

  She did not look shopworn at all. Instead, as she stood there, holding the peacefully sleeping baby, Annabelle seemed to mingle a naturally maternal manner with an air of sweet innocence. The way her chestnut hair fluffed softly around her face, catching the candlelight, reminded him of a Renaissance Madonna. The thought of any man making advances to her filled him with outrage.

  “You are a member of my family.” Was he trying to persuade her... or himself? “Practically a sister. No one will take it amiss if I offer you my protection.”

  “I do not want your protection!” she insisted in a fierce whisper. “And I do not want your assistance. I can manage on my own, as I have all my life.”

  “Of course you can.” Jack struggled to make that lie sound convincing. He refused to look around her shabby lodgings, lest it betray his doubt. “I am only trying to explain why there will be nothing wrong with you staying at my house. You may be capable of getting on without my help. But I am not too proud to admit I need yours.”

  It stuck in his craw to confess there was something he could not do. Especially to Annabelle, who had looked up to him ever since they were young neighbors in the Worcester countryside. In those days, she alone seemed to admire him more than his cousin, who’d been heir to an ancient peerage. Was that one of the reasons Frederick had been so determined to win her?

  Somehow his admission of weakness seemed to sway her as nothing else had, though Jack sensed she was still reluctant.

  “Oh, very well.” She heaved an impatient sigh. “If I don’t, you will stand here all night trying to coax me. I suppose if I am going to do this, we might as well not delay. But only for one night, to give you time to locate her mother or hire a wet nurse.”

  As she spoke, Annabelle approached him. Something like terror seized Jack when he realized she meant to hand the baby to him.

  He jumped back. “What are you doing? I came here to get you to tend her.”

  “Yes.” Annabelle continued her advance. “But I need to get dressed to go out and I must pack a few things to bring with me. I cannot do either while holding an infant in my arms.”

  “Why not put her back in the basket?” Jack suggested, despising his cowardly tone.

  Annabelle rolled her eyes. “Because that is more likely to wake her. Do you want to listen to
her scream all the while I get ready?”

  “Of course not!”

  “Very well, then,” said Annabelle with a hint of superior amusement, which Jack resented. “Since there is no one else to hold her, you will have to. Don’t fret. I will show you what to do.”

  “I’m not fretting.” The plunging sensation in the pit of his stomach suggested otherwise. “How difficult can it be, after all?”

  “See how I do it.” Annabelle backed him up against the wall, drawing so close that he could smell her hair. “Keep one hand under her bottom to support most of her weight. Place the other on her back to hold her against your shoulder.”

  Jack swallowed a massive lump that rose in his throat and raised his arms in a tentative manner.

  “Here we go.” Annabelle lifted the child and started to transfer her to Jack’s arms.

  But where was he supposed to put them? He adjusted their position several times but none seemed quite right. Then the baby began to fuss a little. No wonder she did not want to be removed from her comfortable resting place against Annabelle’s bosom.

  “Tell me what to pack for you,” he suggested. “And don’t worry about changing clothes. I can fetch a cloak to wrap around you. You can have my coat if you like.”

  He started to unbutton it.

  “Oh no, you don’t.” Annabelle turned and pressed her back against him. “I will slide the baby sideways. Now bring your left hand up under her bottom.”

  Jack did as he was told, but it was a wonder he was capable of any rational action. His terror of handling the baby was now coupled with most unwelcome sensations of arousal, as Annabelle’s softly rounded bottom brushed against his thigh. Those disturbing feelings were further compounded by shame that he should be plagued with such base desires in the presence of an innocent child. The only way to escape Annabelle’s bedeviling closeness was to marshal his composure and take the baby.