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

by Michelle Willingham

  Two weeks ago, she would have heard those words and believed Jack only wanted to marry her for the baby’s sake and as a form of atonement. Now she wondered if those reasons might only be convenient excuses to do something he feared, yet secretly desired.

  Annabelle understood that kind of fear, for it had frozen her tongue in the past when she’d yearned to confess her feelings for Jack. It had bound her hands when she might have betrayed her love with a caress, restrained her when she longed to offer him a kiss. Such fear might prevent her from showing her love, but it did not quench the feeling in her heart. Could the same be true of Jack?

  She lifted her gaze from the dance floor to meet his. “Let us not spoil this evening with talk of fears and regrets. I promise I will not let any of the gentlemen impose upon me. Nor will I let anyone lure me away from Sarah. After Frederick, you are the only man who could hope to interest me in marriage... or any other connection.”

  Was it only her wishful fancy or did the tightly-wound tension within him ease?

  “That is most encouraging to hear.” Jack’s lips spread into a smile that was not intentionally beguiling but all the more delightful for that.

  It made her wonder how his lips would feel upon hers... or other parts of her. Ever since the day she’d run away from Bruton Street and he had fetched her back, she had not been able to forget Jack’s claim that he knew how to bring a woman pleasure. She had tried to be a dutiful wife to Frederick in the privacy of their bedchamber, but it had felt awkward and almost shameful to give her body where she could not give her heart.

  “I make no promises for the future.” Caution forced her to reply. “Can we not simply enjoy this evening without dwelling on the past or anticipating what may come?”

  Jack mulled over her request then gave a decisive nod. “That is the way I have lived most of my life, so it should not be difficult to manage for one night. Shall we begin with a dance, or would you rather I introduce you around?”

  “I shall have to take a turn sooner or later, I suppose.” Annabelle could not deny being intimidated by the skill of the other dancers. “I would prefer it to be with you than a stranger. Let us get it over with. Once the other gentlemen see how unskilled I am, they may not bother me as much as you fear.”

  “I doubt they would care how badly you dance,” Jack muttered then seemed to realize how critical his remark must sound. “But you do very well considering how little instruction and practice you have had. With a bit more of both and the confidence they inspire, I am certain you could dance rings around me.”

  He started to offer her his arm then raised his forefinger instead. “Pray excuse me for one moment then we can rejoin the company below.”

  Annabelle nodded, puzzled. She watched as he approached the musicians seated at the other end of the gallery. He had a brief word with their leader, then returned to escort her back down to the ballroom floor.

  “What was that all about?” she asked as they descended the stairs.

  “You will know soon enough,” Jack replied with a lilt of amusement in his voice.

  He was right. Just as they emerged from the curtained alcove, the musicians began to play Childgrove. The beautiful, wistful melody was one to which Annabelle had most frequently practiced dancing.

  “You asked them to play this for us.” Overcome with gratitude, she gave his arm a squeeze.

  Jack nodded. “I thought you would feel better about dancing to a familiar tune.”

  “So I shall.” She pulled him into line beside a handsome couple who seemed to have eyes for no one but each other. This was precisely the sort of thoughtful, protective gesture she had learned to expect from Jack when they were younger. The sort of gesture that had won him a place in her heart, from whence nothing and no one had been able to expel him.

  Chapter Thirteen

  AFTER FREDERICK, HE was the only man Annabelle would consider marrying. Jack savored that reassurance as they took their places among the other dancers.

  His fierce defensiveness eased. Though he remained conscious of other gentlemen admiring Annabelle with their eyes, he no longer felt quite so threatened by them. It was the glances of the ladies that troubled him more. Clearly they condemned her for acting with compassion rather than strict propriety by coming to Bruton Street to care for little Sarah. They would find subtle ways to punish her for that transgression.

  Their silent censure offended his sense of fairness and reminded him of his childhood at Oakfield. Though he’d refused to give his uncle the satisfaction of knowing his disapproval stung, it had. Annabelle had endured more than her share of contempt and criticism in the past. Jack longed to spare her any further distress of that kind. In spite of her earlier protestations to the contrary, he still believed the only way to restore her reputation was to make her his wife and a future countess. The higher in Society one climbed, the easier it became to flout propriety and get away with it.

  At that moment, the dance began. It was slower than most, with deliberate, graceful steps that were not too difficult to remember. Annabelle’s eyes sparkled with eagerness, but she caught her lower lip between her teeth in a way that suggested anxious concentration. Her glance darted this way and that, as she watched the other dancers for cues about when and how she should move.

  When Jack clasped her gloved hand to perform a turn, he gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. “You are doing very well. Try to relax and enjoy yourself.”

  “That is easy for you to advise.” Annabelle gave a rueful chuckle. “You are not in danger of turning the wrong way and bumping into someone or treading on their toes.”

  Though Jack grinned at her self-deprecating quip, he knew she was not entirely correct. True he was more familiar with the steps of this dance, but he found himself continually distracted whenever he looked at her. Now that he was less concerned about her beauty attracting other men, he could savor it for himself.

  There was a quality of softness and warmth in her appearance that appealed to him immensely. Her rich brown hair, with glimmers of chestnut, reminded him of the fertile earth that brought forth vibrant life in such abundance. Her lips, so red and ripe, tantalized him with images of other succulent delights her body might have to offer.

  Each time she passed near him, he greedily inhaled her scent. The briefest, chaste contact of their hands seemed to stroke him in the most sensitive places. By the time the music ended and the dancers made their parting bows, his whole body fairly throbbed with desire.

  Annabelle exhaled a deep sigh of relief. “Well, that could have been worse.”

  “Could it?” Jack struggle to keep his breath from racing. “I mean... of course it could. You did very well and will only improve with practice. Would you care for another cup of punch?”

  If he spilled the cold drink over himself, Jack fancied it might evaporate in a hissing cloud of steam.

  “Yes, please.” Annabelle opened her fan and fluttered it to cool her flushed cheeks. “Perhaps it will help me relax and not be so self-conscious.”

  No sooner had Jack fetched the drink for her than one of the foreign courtiers approached Annabelle with a deep bow. “His Majesty wishes me to inquire if the beautiful English lady would do him the honor of a dance.”

  “We were about to take some refreshment,” Jack snapped before Annabelle could reply. He cast both the courtier and his king a challenging look. Some intuition warned him they were dangerous men. Or did King Vlad’s interest in Annabelle prejudice him against them?

  Under cover of her skirts, Annabelle gave Jack a sharp little nudge in the shin, then she curtsied to the Moldavian courtier. “The honor would be mine, sir.”

  Seizing one of the punch cups from Jack, she drained it in an unladylike swig, then handed it back.

  “Thank you, Mr. Warwick.” She spoke in a dismissive tone as if to remind him of their previous conversation.

  She followed the courtier to where King Vlad stood waiting then sank into another flawless curtsey.


  As Jack watched her dance with the foreign monarch, he consumed his cup of punch, then drank another. The moment the music concluded, he swooped down on the pair and whisked Annabelle away.

  “Why did you have to do that?” she demanded. “King Vlad was perfectly charming.”

  Jack rolled his eyes. “I know what men are after when they deploy that sort of charm.”

  “I’m certain you do.” The faint rasp in Annabelle’s voice fairly crackled. “No doubt you have exercised your charm on many occasions like this. The question is, will you continue to even after you have taken a wife?”

  The question froze Jack in his tracks. Could that be one of the reasons Annabelle balked at the prospect of wedding him—because she feared he would persist in his womanizing ways? He wished he could be indignant at the very thought, but his conscience acknowledged that her doubts were not unjustified.

  “I will do nothing of the kind.” He lowered his voice to a vehement whisper and glanced around to make certain no one was eavesdropping. “When I wed, I will promise my wife to be faithful. It is a promise I intend to take seriously. Whatever my other faults, I have always endeavored to keep my word.”

  Jack thought he glimpsed a flicker of relief in her eyes. Why should Annabelle care about his fidelity unless she cared something for him? The possibility elated him more than he had thought possible.

  “Anyway, you needn’t worry about King Vlad having improper intentions toward me.” Annabelle returned to their original subject. “He may have been charming but he was quite respectful. I did not want to stir up more gossip by refusing his kind invitation to dance.”

  “I suppose not,” Jack muttered. Though he understood her reason he still could not entirely approve.

  “Nor do I wish to provoke more gossip,” Annabelle continued, “by dancing too often with you.”

  Jack had a ready answer for that. “It would not provoke gossip if you agree to marry me. People would think it only natural for you to dance with your fiancé. But I do take your point.”

  Though he stifled his objections when several other gentlemen invited her to take the floor, Jack skulked about the perimeter of the Cheviot’s ballroom. He watched their every move closely, wishing that all Annabelle’s smiles and glances were reserved for him.

  At last the Duke of Cheviot appeared to claim the dance Annabelle had promised him earlier. She accepted, clearly honored by the attention of their host. Having danced a number of sets without mishap, she seemed less anxious about her performance. The Cheviots’ punch might have helped as well. The stuff was rather potent. Though Jack had a high tolerance for spirits, he could feel the familiar tipsy haze beginning to erode his self-control.

  For once, he listened to his inner voice of caution and decided to abstain for the rest of the night.

  His attention strayed from Annabelle and the duke momentarily when he glimpsed a familiar figure across the ballroom. Could that be Clarissa Reynard dancing with one of the Prince Regent’s brothers? If it was she, he must find out if she had been in the West Indies as reported... and when she had returned.

  The music drew to a close. The dancers dispersed or changed partners. Jack craned his neck to keep an eye on Clarissa, if indeed it was she. He started toward the woman for a closer look when suddenly Annabelle appeared before him. Two bright pink spots blazed in her cheeks and her eyes darted here and there.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, knowing something must be.

  “Please take me home, Jack.” She seized his hand and squeezed hard, as if it were a lifeline. “I’ll tell you on the way.”

  For an instant he thought she might collapse into his arms but she pulled back and repeated, “Please!”

  “Of course.” He drew her toward a side door used by the servants. “If that is what you wish.”

  There were still guests arriving. By the excited flurry of activity, Jack suspected the Prince Regent must be among them. Fortunately the Cheviots’ servants recognized him. He despatched a maid to fetch his hat and Annabelle’s wrap and a footman to summon their carriage.

  “What happened in there?” he asked Annabelle as they waited in a quiet service corridor. “Did you put a foot wrong during the dance after all? No one will have noticed I promise you.”

  She shook her head, blinking furiously. “You were right. I never should have come tonight!”

  “I did not say that.” Jack chided himself for taking his eyes off her. At the moment he could not recall what had distracted him.

  He longed to gather Annabelle into his arms to offer protection and sympathy. It was all he could do to restrain himself.

  Fortunately the maid returned with their garments, followed by the Cheviots’ footman telling them their carriage awaited. In the fuss surrounding the Regent’s arrival, none of the other guests seemed to notice them slip away with Annabelle clinging to Jack’s arm.

  He helped her into the carriage then climbed in beside her, even though the opposite seat was empty.

  Reaching over to clasp both her hands, he murmured, “Now will you tell me what made you want to leave the ball so suddenly? If I did not know better, I would think this coach was going to turn into a pumpkin at midnight.”

  Annabelle did not laugh at his feeble quip. It was too dark for him to see whether she even smiled.

  “You were right about those other men. They weren’t admiring me—they were leering.” The pitch of her voice rose almost to a wail. “At the end of the dance, the duke asked me to name my terms to become his mistress. He did not even bother to lower his voice. All the other guests around us must have heard. I have never been so m-mortified.”

  “Blast that miserable old goat!” Jack gathered her into his arms. “I wish you’d told me straight away. I would have thrashed him for insulting you like that.”

  She gave a sniffle. “Just the way you once threatened to do to my cousins?”

  “Exactly.” He nodded, relishing the silken whisper of her hair against his cheek. “If you like, I should take pleasure in calling Lord Cheviot out.”

  “A duel? No, you mustn’t!” Annabelle burrowed deeper into his embrace. “I would not want you taken by the constables or obliged to go into exile abroad. What would become of Sarah then? The duke is not worth that risk. Nor am I. Besides, you have spent too long serving as my protector. It is time I learned to stand up for myself.”

  For some reason that thought troubled Jack. What need would she have for him then? He held her close, kindling all the desire that had grown in him throughout the evening. “Lord Cheviot may not be worth the trouble it would take to thrash him, but you are worth whatever it cost me to defend your honor.”

  “To think I felt sorry for him,” Annabelle murmured, “after what his wife did.”

  “What did the duchess do?” Whatever it was, Jack wondered how Annabelle had come to know of it. Was that what she and Gabriel had been discussing when he’d interrupted them with his jealous accusations?

  “Nothing!” She insisted a trifle too vigorously for him to believe. “I drank too much punch this evening. I hardly know what I am saying.”

  One of her gloved hands that had rested against the breast of his coat now slid inside to caress his chest through this shirt. A jolt of hot energy seemed to arc between them. It made Jack start and spurred his heart to a wild gallop.

  “Forgive me!” She pulled her hand away. “I did not mean to do that.”

  “I wish you had.” He gave a deep, rumbling growl of thwarted desire. “I wish you meant to do it and a great deal more besides.”

  “You do?” Her breath quickened, making the delicious rustle of her voice all the more provocative. It seemed to graze over his ears the way her hand had grazed over his chest.

  “Mm,” Jack replied, as both a positive answer to her question and an expression of pleasure. “I can far more easily forgive you for doing it than I could forgive you for stopping.”

  Annabelle gave a breathless chuckle then whispered almost too qu
ietly for him to hear. “I believe I could say the same.”

  It sounded like a secret she had not meant to divulge, but he was pleased she had.

  “Indeed?” As if freed from restraint, one of his hands slid over her back. He raised the other to caress her cheek and tilt her face upward to meet his lips which tingled with anticipation.

  He had kissed many women over the years—all attractive, in their various ways, all eager. Yet in that shadowy, quivering moment, Jack sensed he had been waiting all his life for this particular woman and this particular kiss.

  It proved well worth the wait.

  Her lips seemed to melt into his, fusing them to one another. She tasted like the Cheviots’ punch, only sweeter, with an exhilarating tang and vastly more intoxicating. He could imbibe her kisses for days on end and never sate his thirst for their exquisite flavor.

  His tongue darted between her parted lips, the better to savor her honeyed depths. There he encountered further delights to beguile his senses. The warm, moist chasm of her mouth invited him to explore and gently ravish. The ragged hiss of her breath and her soft, deep purr of pleasure made the most enchanting music he had heard that night. They invited him to a dance of varied, intimate movement—one they would create for themselves in that moment and never repeat quite the same way again. How his body ached with yearning to savor each step from approach to wondrous fulfillment!

  When the carriage came to a halt and he heard the footman scramble down to open the door, Jack feared he would explode with frustration! That was not all he feared. Might Annabelle be repelled by the ardor of his kiss? Might she see him as no different from the duke or those other men, with nothing but seduction on his mind? And if she did, would she be so far wrong?

  He wanted her as a lover and as an ideal mother for his children. Did it matter that he might not be capable of the kind of devotion she’d received from his cousin?