The sudden, passionate assault of her lips clearly caught Jack by surprise. He gave a violent start and his mouth went slack. Annabelle took advantage of his momentary lapse to deepen their kiss, slipping her tongue between his parted lips. He tensed even further and raised his arms. For a moment Annabelle feared he might push her away. Instead his arms tightened around her with desperate strength and he kissed her back with hard, searing passion.
His response fuelled her volatile emotions. Loosening her grip around his neck, she raised one hand to his hair and dug her fingers in. Fierce hunger drove her kiss. Her lips ranged over his as if she meant to consume him. Her heart blazed with the deep satisfaction of giving vent to her long-suppressed yearning. It gloried in the sweet certainty that Jack desired and cared for her more than he could put into words. More, perhaps, than he could bring himself to admit.
How long they stood there, fused in incandescent desire, Annabelle could not tell. The pedantic clocks that ticked away minutes and hours in the outside world were powerless to measure the time of heart and soul. Emotions soared and flared like brilliant fireworks against the night sky. Annabelle gave herself to them and to Jack as she had never allowed herself to before.
If this was a physical expression of their truest feelings for one another, Annabelle had faith they could find a way to meet the challenge of their situation and prevail. At least she did until Jack quivered like a wishbone being pulled in opposite directions by powerful forces of nearly equal strength.
Then he snapped.
Wrenching his lips from hers, he thrust her back. “Don’t do this, I beg you! I owe Clarissa and our daughter better. My dishonorable behavior has cost them enough already.”
Annabelle’s passions had never been roused to such a high pitch only to be roughly rejected.
Much as she wanted to slink away, lick her wounds and pretend she had not been hurt, she stood her ground and gave Jack a rough push. “And you owe me nothing I suppose? You have often said how deeply you were in my debt for coming here to care for Sarah. Yet you sullied my reputation, toyed with my affections and finally seduced me. All for your own ends, with no thought for what it might cost me. How could you possibly have treated any woman worse?”
“You are right.” Jack backed away, his head hung in shame. “I have given you every reason to hate me and none at all to love me. Yet I fear you have loved me and gained nothing from it but heartache. The most honorable thing I could do for you is to let you despise me. But for my daughter’s sake, I must try to become the kind of man you once believed I could be—the kind of man you wanted me to be.”
“Damn you, Jack Warwick!” Part of her longed to despise him, as he wished she would. Perhaps then she could finally be cured of the madness that bound her heart to him. “After all these years, why must you pick the most inconvenient moment to grow up?”
He gave a self-deprecating shrug. “Sheer perversity?”
Though her heart shuddered with the pain of yet another rejection, stubborn habit made her lips curl upward for a moment at his rueful quip.
Not wanting him to think her brief smile meant she had relented, Annabelle demanded, “How can you be certain Madame Reynard truly is Sarah’s mother? And if she is, how do you know that you, out of all her patrons, are the father?”
All trace of remorse and wry levity fled Jack’s features, chased away by a fierce scowl. “I am Sarah’s father—I sensed it almost from the moment I laid eyes on her. Clarissa was one of the first women I suspected of bearing the child. Her account tallies perfectly with the situation.”
He recounted Madame Reynard’s story. Annabelle could understand why it had aroused his sympathy. He had a weakness for strays or anyone who was being ill-treated. That was what had first drawn him to her, after all. It was also clear he would never heed anyone who tried to persuade him Sarah might not be Clarissa’s daughter and therefore not his.
Was she equally stubborn in her thinking? Annabelle’s conscience demanded. Did her doubts about Madame Reynard’s truthfulness spring from reasonable skepticism? Or could she simply not accept any explanation, no matter how plausible, that threatened to deprive her of the child and the man to whom she had given her heart?
Somehow she must find proof enough to persuade herself beyond any doubt that Madame Reynard was little Sarah’s mother, or else to persuade Jack that she was not. Either way, the truth would devastate one of them.
“You want me to leave, is that it?” Annabelle asked a few days later in response to Jack’s halting attempt to raise that very delicate subject.
“Not this very day.” He shrank from the look on her face. No cruel, humiliating trick her cousins ever played on her had produced such a deep cast of pain in Annabelle’s eyes. The only thing that had come close was when he’d urged her to marry Frederick. Back then he had been blind to the reason for her sorrow. “But now that Clarissa has accepted my proposal, you must see it would not be proper to have you remain in my house, caring for our daughter.”
Clarissa seemed to sense there was more between him and his cousin’s beautiful widow than family ties or even old friendship. She approved of Polly but insisted she could not allow her daughter to remain in Jack’s house as long as Annabelle continued to reside there.
“I never had any intention of staying here after the way you treated me.” Annabelle insisted, rallying her composure. “I only wanted to spare Sarah the disruption of a sudden parting until she becomes more attached to Madame Reynard. She seems quite ill at ease with the lady. I wonder if infants remember more than we give them credit for. Perhaps she is still vexed over being abandoned.”
Scarcely able to contain his relief that she was not going to make this parting any harder on them both, Jack took out a large sheaf of banknotes and tried to hand them to her. “This should allow you to set up in comfortable lodgings at a more respectable address. It is only a token payment against the vast debt I owe you. Before it is gone, I shall provide you with as much again—more if I can persuade you to take it.”
She glared at the money in his hand but refused to touch it. “Nothing you can say would persuade me to take that, under the circumstances. It would make me no better than your bride-to-be. And I refuse to help you soothe your conscience.”
Somehow being reminded by her that he was going to marry another woman provoked Jack. Though he knew it was his own decision and sensed how much she might be hurt by it, he did not know what else he could have done. In order to become the kind of man Annabelle wanted him to be—the kind of man who might deserve the respect and love of a woman like her—he must do the honorable thing, no matter what the consequences.
“That remark is unworthy of you,” he snapped, referring to her slur against Clarissa. “It must have been hard for you growing up in your aunt’s house, dependent on the charity of her family. But at least you had someone willing to provide you with a roof over your head, food to eat and protection from far worse abuse than you received at the hands of your cousins.”
When Annabelle flinched at his words, every instinct urged Jack to say no more and beg her pardon for what he had said already. But perhaps the kindest thing he could do for her was offend her so deeply that she would cease to care for him. Bad enough one of them might yearn in vain for the other through the years to come. He did not want it to be her.
“Without your aunt’s care,” he continued before Annabelle could sputter an indignant reply, “you too might have been forced to barter your only asset in order to live.”
“Then I would rather have died!” The potent rage of a lightning storm flashed in her dark eyes.
Jack had no doubt she meant it. He also suspected she would have found some way to support herself without yielding her self-respect. That did not change his determination to alienate her—for her own good. “That is easy enough to say when you are not faced with the choice. I have done enough things I am not proud of that I consider myself in no position to cast stones at others.”
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br /> She inhaled a sharp little gasp as if he had driven his clenched fist into her belly. For an instant he feared she might burst into tears, leaving him no choice but to take her in his arms, comfort her and beg her forgiveness. But Annabelle was no longer the harassed girl he had felt compelled to protect from every peril... except that of loving him. She was made of sterner stuff now.
“You are in no position to cast stones at me.” She pulled herself erect and tilted her chin in proud defiance. “Goodbye, Jack. I hope you will find a marriage with no expectation of love as comfortable as you believe it will be.”
She turned and marched away with her head high. Though Jack suspected the right word from him might summon her back at once, he clamped his lips shut until Annabelle was well out of earshot.
When he let his mouth fall open again, he tasted blood.
“Have you found out anything useful?” Annabelle asked Gabriel, as she poured him a cup of weak tea in her miserable little rooms.
For the past fortnight, with help from him and Rory, she had been trying to confirm or refute Madame Reynard’s claim that she was Sarah’s mother. They had uncovered hints that she might not be but no definitive proof.
In response to her question, Gabriel’s shoulders slumped and he gave a dispirited shake of his head.
Annabelle stifled a sigh. “How is Sarah managing without me?”
“Not well at all.” Gabriel took a sip of his tea. “Whenever someone enters the room she is in, she looks up expectantly then begins to fuss. Madame blames her distress on teething and Jack believes her... or pretends to. Polly cannot abide the woman but does her best to act agreeable for the baby’s sake. Rory and I make ourselves as scarce as possible when Madame is around. I suspect it is only a matter of time until she persuades Jack to send us packing as well.”
Fierce heat blazed in Annabelle’s face as she listened. She wanted to despise Jack for trusting such a woman, but she knew she would have despised him more if he’d refused to do the honorable thing. Being away from him this past fortnight seemed to have lifted a veil of old hurt and self-doubt from her eyes, allowing her to perceive his motives more clearly. How could she blame him for wanting to provide his daughter with a family when he knew how it felt to grow up without one? How could she blame him for being so blindly eager to believe Madame Reynard’s story when it meant he must be Sarah’s father?
Jack could not bring himself to suspect duplicity from his future wife, let alone do what was necessary to ferret it out. Annabelle had taken it upon herself to protect him as he had once protected her. Even if he might not thank her for it. Even if it might make him hate her.
That had once been her greatest fear—the fear that had prevented her from making her feelings for him plain long ago. Being able to risk it now for his sake gave Annabelle a welcome surge of strength. But with each passing day time was running out to rescue Jack and little Sarah.
The second banns would be read this coming Sunday at St. George’s Hanover Square. Within a fortnight after that, Clarissa Reynard would become the future Countess of Knightlow.
“Thank you for keeping me informed and for all your inquiries.” She extended her hand for Gabriel to clasp, which he did. “I am very grateful for your assistance.”
“I owe you a great deal more.” Jack’s friend gave a rueful grin. “It was you who insisted I must help out with the baby when I would rather have avoided thinking about my responsibilities, let alone trying to meet them. I have matured more since that dear child came into our lives than in the dozen years before. I only hope my inquiries will meet with greater success.... for all our sakes.”
Annabelle did not want Gabriel and Rory to reproach themselves if they failed. “We must face the possibility that there may be no evidence to find or none so convincing that Jack would be forced to believe it.”
“I say!” Gabriel started as if a bolt of lightning had struck him. “Perhaps we have been going about this the wrong way.”
In reply to her puzzled look he continued. “To prove that Madame is not Sarah’s mother, we simply need to present a stronger claimant—one with more than her word and a convincing story to bolster her claim.”
Much as Annabelle hated to quash his hopes, she could not pin hers on anything so unlikely. “Is that not what you have been trying to do all this time, without success? What makes you think you can accomplish at the eleventh hour what you could not in three months?”
Her warning did not appear to dampen Lord Gabriel’s enthusiasm for his plan. “I admit, I have not done all I could. At first I feared I might have to face the consequences of actions I deeply regret. Now I am resolved to act in a way I shall not have cause to regret in the future.”
“That is an admirable aim, but...”
Gabriel shot to his feet. “I will not wait any longer for Miss Brennan to return from the Channel Isles. I shall set out this very night to track her down and demand the truth.”
Hard as Annabelle tried to resist the tempting lure of his eagerness, she could not entirely. “Even if this is the answer, can you go and return in time?”
“I will.” Lord Gabriel’s angelic face had never looked so grimly determined. “Besides, Jack has asked me to witness the ceremony. If I am not yet returned by the day of the ceremony, it might delay the wedding.”
Would Jack permit his friend’s absence to postpone the wedding? Annabelle tried not to be seduced by the possibility. Or would he simply choose another witness and press ahead with the benighted nuptials?
“What do you think, dearest?” Clarissa’s question jolted Jack from the seductive depths of his reverie.
With a stab of chagrin, he realized he had fallen so deep into thoughts about Annabelle, he’d lost track of his surroundings and forgotten the mother of his child. He owed Clarissa better than that, especially while they were shopping for her wedding finery.
“Think?” he repeated, bewildered. “About what?”
“About this muslin, of course.” His fiancée spoke in a tone of fond exasperation as she held up a piece of white cloth. “Will it do for my wedding dress or should we investigate their selection of silks?”
“If you expect a useful opinion about ladies’ fashions, I fear you have appealed to the wrong man, my dear.” Jack did his best to seem interested and to infuse his reply with an unspoken apology. “As far as I am concerned, you would look beautiful in sackcloth. Whichever pleases you, muslin or silk will have my approval.”
“You are too kind, my sweet.” Clarissa seemed satisfied with his answer. “I believe I will take a peek at the silks.”
When the mercer’s back was turned, Clarissa held Jack’s gaze. Her lush lips twisted in a flirtatious smile. More than once since becoming engaged, she had suggested they ought to resume their former relationship. Jack feared he must sound like a tiresome prude with the excuses he employed to put her off. She was a desirable woman, he reminded himself, skilled in the arts of pleasure. Besides, they would soon be wed and the best way to protect their daughter’s future was to sire a son capable of inheriting his fortune and future titles. To accomplish that, he would need to consummate the marriage he was about to contract. Why did the prospect make his stomach seethe with guilt as if he were contemplating infidelity?
Clarissa leaned toward him and murmured, “Have you spoken to Lord Gabriel and Mr. Fitzwalter, as I asked you?”
Jack shook his head. “Gabriel has still not returned from his mysterious travels. But I will as soon as he gets back. I realize we cannot begin our married life with a pair of my bachelor friends as permanent houseguests.”
“I should hope not.” Clarissa gave a chuckle of tolerant exasperation. “Besides, it is not as though they have nowhere else to go. Lord Gabriel’s parents have that enormous empty house just around the corner. And I could name several ladies who would be happy to offer Rory Fitzwalter shelter. If I were you, I would not wait on Lord Gabriel’s return, but ask Mr. Fitzwalter to find new quarters at once.”
Jack feared Clarissa might take offense at his near-mention of Annabelle. But her attention was diverted when the shop owner returned with two bolts of silk for her inspection. “Polly assures me the child is only fussy because she is cutting teeth. I doubt our daughter would notice the absence of anyone else now that she has both her mama and papa to dote on her.”
“Perhaps not.” He watched as Clarissa tried to choose between the two silks. The mercer claimed one was cream-colored and the other ivory. Both looked white to him.
He found himself picturing how Annabelle might look with a length of white silk wrapped around her naked body, her rich dark hair cascading over one shoulder. When he imagined himself unwinding the cloth to expose the treasure beneath, he flushed with carnal heat, much to his shame.
“Buy them both,” he growled, anxious to make amends for secretly thinking of another woman at such a time. “Use one for your bridal outfit and the other on a christening gown for the baby.”
Clarissa’s blue eyes glowed with gratitude... or was it avarice? “Are you quite certain, my love? I vow you are too good to me. I never expected to receive such kindness from a man after my experience with that vile Sir Randolph.”
A Most Peculiar Season Series Boxed Set: Five Full-length Connected Novels by Award-winning and Bestselling Authors Page 40