She pivoted to find him smiling at her, eyes dancing. “No, of course not,” she said. “But we only have a few moments before he returns.”
“But what a person can do in a few minutes,” he drawled, but made no move to touch her. Still, his implication made her shiver despite herself and it took all her willpower to focus on what she needed to say.
“Why are you here?”
His smile faltered. “As I said, your brother invited me.”
“To supper?”
He shrugged. “That was not the initial reason for my visit, no. He called me here earlier.”
Her eyes went wide and she gripped her hands at her sides. “Does he know?”
Marcus arched a brow as he drawled, “About us?”
She nodded, tossing a glance over her shoulder to make sure Rafe hadn’t rushed in his retrieval of the wine. “Yes.”
He folded his arms. “Do you think your brother would invite me to supper if he knew I made you shake, quiver and scream out my name in bed?”
“Marcus!” she burst out, eyes wide at his description and body trembling and tingling despite the deep inappropriateness of this entire situation.
He gave her a slow smile, and her sex clenched as betraying wetness gathered there. Damn him for making her so weak.
“He has guessed nothing,” he reassured her. “As far as he knows, the last time we spoke was the first night you barged into my club.”
She let out a breath of relief, even though her body could find none. “Then why did he call you here?”
“Crispin,” he said with a shrug. “You are not the only one concerned about him.”
She leaned in. “Oh, Marcus, does that mean he will help our brother?”
He stared at her for a beat, his expression unreadable. “His feelings about your brother’s fall remain the same, Annabelle. He waits for Crispin to ask for help.”
She turned away, all desire crushed in that moment of utter disappointment. “How can he be so callous?”
Marcus’s fingers closed around her upper arm and he slowly turned her back toward him. “He isn’t being callous,” he reassured her. “Rafe is obviously deeply troubled about Crispin, he asked for a great many details about his activities. And he was pleased that I was watching out for him. He isn’t immune to Crispin’s difficulties, Annabelle. He simply has a different tactic in addressing them.”
The sleeve on her gown was short, and as he moved his thumb in a gentle stroke, he touched her bare skin. She shuddered, her eyes fluttering shut of their own accord. What he could do to her.
“Marcus,” she whispered, but before anything else could be said, Rafe walked back through the door, madeira in hand. Marcus released her instantly and Annabelle backed away, working to measure her breath.
“Did I give you enough time to batter Mr. Rivers with apologies and questions?” Rafe asked as he grabbed a glass and poured her the drink she hadn’t even truly wanted.
“Yes,” she murmured.
“Excellent, because I heard Mama and Serafina coming down the stairs as I came back to the parlor and I am famished. So drink up, sister, and let’s eat.”
Chapter Thirteen
Marcus leaned back in his chair, unable to stop himself from laughing at the very amusing story Lady Hartholm had been telling. To his surprise and despite all his misgivings, he had been having a smashing time all night. Mrs. Flynn was nothing but kind and welcoming, Rafe was his old self, Serafina was lovely…and then there was Annabelle.
Wonderful, fiery, magnificent Annabelle, who he wanted so much that it physically hurt him to look at her sometimes.
Mrs. Flynn wiped tears of mirth from her eyes and smiled at him. He could see Annabelle in her face, in her eyes, in the way she tilted her head. Perhaps that made him like the older woman even more than he normally would have. He couldn’t help but return her smile.
“So how is it that you and my son are acquainted, Mr. Rivers?” she asked.
Marcus felt his expression falter, and he slid his gaze toward Rafe. There was really no appropriate way to explain this, especially not to ladies. And he found he didn’t want Annabelle’s mother to think less of him, as she surely would if she knew the truth.
Hell, Annabelle might think less of him if she knew the truth.
Rafe leaned back in his chair, all calm and certainty as he flashed a big grin toward his mother. “Ah, Mama, I am not certain you want to know the answer to that question.”
She shook her head, but there seemed to be no upset on her face, nor even surprise. “And here I thought I had asked it.”
Rafe shrugged. “You know our wicked ways, Mama.”
Now Mrs. Flynn’s smile vanished and Marcus flinched as he waited for her to turn a judgmental gaze on him. Instead, she merely ran her finger along the tablecloth reflexively.
“I suppose by our that you mean he is a friend of yours and Crispin’s?”
It was amazing to Marcus to watch the mood of the table shift with the mere mention of Crispin’s name. Serafina reached out to take her husband’s hand, Mrs. Flynn’s shoulders slumped and Annabelle went stiff as a board as she stared at her plate like it was the most interesting thing in the world.
He cleared his throat. “I do know your younger son, Mrs. Flynn,” he admitted. “He is as fine a man as your oldest.”
She lifted her gaze, snagging his. He saw her pain, her struggle, and it nearly took his breath away. He had been raised most of his life without anyone to love him, to give a damn whether he lived or died. That had changed thanks to…well, thanks to the sons and husband of this very woman.
His painful past meant he appreciated love even more. This family cared for its own. Annabelle was not alone in that.
“Thank you, Mr. Rivers,” Mrs. Flynn said softly.
With a screech of her chair, Annabelle leapt to her feet. The entire table turned toward her, eyes wide, including his own.
“Mr. Rivers, would you like a tour of the gardens?” she asked, hands opening and shutting at her sides.
He blinked, taken aback by this strange request.
“In the dark?” Rafe asked, tilting his head to look more closely at his sister.
Marcus held back a groan. If Annabelle kept requesting, no demanding, time alone with him, the true nature of their arrangement was going to become crystal clear. And yet, the idea that she wanted to be with him was almost irresistible.
“There is a moon,” Annabelle insisted through clenched teeth.
“Annabelle, we were about to retire to the parlor for port and wine,” Serafina said, watching her sister-in-law just as closely as the duke was currently doing.
“We would only take but a moment.”
“If you did not stray too far, I couldn’t see the harm,” Mrs. Flynn surprised him by saying. “You have been a bit high strung tonight, Annabelle—perhaps the night air will do you good.”
With her mother’s blessing, Marcus rose to his feet and offered Annabelle his arm. She took it, sending a brief glance over her shoulder before she motioned toward an adjoining door to a parlor with an exit to the terrace. He felt three pairs of eyes on them with every step that took them away from the party.
But when he left the house and closed the veranda door behind them, he knew they were once more alone. And the things he wanted to do to this woman were wildly inappropriate.
She didn’t seem to sense his desire, but pulled from his arm and paced away to the edge of the terrace.
“Marcus,” she began.
“If you are going to scold me for speaking so openly to your mother or for being here, then please don’t.” He shrugged. “This is not a night that will likely be repeated.”
She looked at him, surprise on her face. “I was not going to scold you at all,” she said, her tone suddenly gentle. “Your presence here has actually been good for my mother. Mama is obviously very hurt by Crispin’s actions of late and tonight is the first time I’ve seen her smile so brightly and engage with anot
her person so completely.”
He drew back. “If that is true, then I am pleased for any part I have to play in her happiness. I truly like your mother.” He couldn’t help it. He edged closer. “But is she the only one who enjoyed my company tonight?”
Annabelle sucked in a harsh breath, and he saw the answer on her face before she whispered, “You know she is not. You know that I have been unable to focus on anything other than you since the moment I walked in the door and found you with my brother and his wife.”
“I like that answer,” he murmured, cupping her chin and tilting it up. He leaned in, loving that the shadows of the trees just along the terrace provided them with protection from those inside.
He took the opportunity and pressed his lips to hers. Immediately she let out a desperate little moan and opened to him. He took what she offered, delving his tongue deep inside her mouth, sucking and tasting and teasing her until her hands came up to grip his forearms and her breath was short and heavy.
He wanted to back her into the corner and lift her skirts. He wanted to violate their agreement and claim her until she arched against him and moaned his name. He wanted to do wicked things to her, the fact that her family was feet away be damned.
But instead, he gently set her aside and paced away, hoping the raging length of his erection would subside if he could no longer smell the tempting waft of jasmine, taste her breath, feel her soft body mold to his.
When he dared to look at her, she had also put her back to him. Her hand was gripped against the top of the wall, her shoulders lifting and falling with every harsh breath.
“What are we doing, Marcus?” she whispered. “Why can’t I control myself whenever I see you?”
He reached out, but forced himself to lower his hand and not touch her. “Whatever it is, we both suffer the same affliction,” he said.
She turned, her beautiful face pale and luminous in the moonlight. It was like she was made of porcelain, impossibly fine but breakable. He didn’t want to be the one to shatter her and her dreams.
And yet he still took a step toward her and whispered, “Will you come back to the club?”
Her gaze darted to his and held there. “Tuesday,” she affirmed, her voice trembling.
“Good,” he said, hoping his immense relief wasn’t reflected in his voice. Her coming meant more to him than it should. He cleared his throat. “Now take me back inside and I’ll excuse myself.”
She sucked in a breath. “Marcus?”
He shrugged. “Being near you is too difficult, and your brother is no fool. He’ll see a connection if we allow him to observe us for too long.”
She bit her lip gently and nodded. “I suppose you’re correct.”
“And I should go back anyway. As you know from examining my books, there is always work to be done at the masquerade.”
She smiled. “Always. Come with me, then.”
She turned and began to make her way back to the parlor door, but before she could open it and bring them back to propriety and reality, he took a step toward her.
“Annabelle.”
She stopped and faced him. “Yes?”
“I like your family.”
Her face brightened at the comment, magnifying her beauty until it was almost too much to look at. “I’m glad, Marcus.”
“But I don’t believe, even in my wildest fantasies, that I belong here. Or that I belong with you.” He pursed his lips “It’s important we both realize that as we move forward in our…our arrangement.”
Her smile faded at those blunt words, and for a moment Marcus was certain he saw a flash of disappointment cross her face. But then it was gone and he must have imagined it, because Annabelle had plans and they didn’t include him. What he’d said to her was as much for himself as for her.
“Come,” she said, opening the door.
He followed her inside, but deep in the pit of his stomach, he had a keen sense that he had lost something. Even though it was something he’d never truly had.
Annabelle stared at her reflection in the mirror, focusing on her hollow expression, her empty eyes. She shook her head.
“Miss?”
She jumped at Deirdre’s voice and looked over to find her maid waiting for her to unclench her hands so that she could remove the gown she had been unbuttoning while Annabelle lost herself in thought.
“I’m sorry,” she said, opening her hands and helping Deirdre remove the dress.
Her servant shook out the fabric and carefully folded it, placing it on a chair where it would be taken to be washed.
“You are very quiet,” her maid observed without looking at Annabelle.
Annabelle squeezed her eyes shut. Was she so obvious? She’d been trying so hard to remain unmoved since Marcus left her brother’s house hours ago. Trying to remain normal, as if it were an everyday occurrence for her secret lover to come to call.
“I’m sorry, I seem to be woolgathering, Deirdre,” she murmured.
Deirdre motioned to Annabelle’s chemise and she tugged it over her head, then bent to roll her stockings away. Deirdre handed over her nightgown before she took the clothing Annabelle had removed and folded them to be added to the laundry.
“I know Mr. Rivers was at the gathering at your brother’s home tonight,” her maid offered after enough time had passed that Annabelle was already beginning to return to her reverie.
Annabelle jolted at the accusation and carefully smoothed her nightgown with both hands before she replied. “Oh do you? Who told you that?”
“My sister is your sister-in-law’s maid,” Deirdre said with a slight smile. “And we talk below stairs. You know that.”
“What was said about Mr. Rivers?”
Deirdre shrugged. “That he was an unforeseen guest at the dinner table. Some of the servants teased a little about Lord Hartholm’s past, but Lathem always shuts that down, no matter how good natured the words are.”
“Good old Lathem.” Annabelle smiled. “But no one judged Marcus…Mr. Rivers?”
Deirdre’s eyebrows lifted. “You mean was his reputation discussed?”
Annabelle nodded.
“No. Eluded to, but never discussed. However, everyone knows what he is, Miss. Who he is. I’m a little afraid for you, for your reputation.”
“Were they talking about me?” Annabelle burst out, taking a step toward Deirdre.
“No, no of course not! No one knows what you’re doing or where you’re going,” her maid reassured her.
Annabelle almost sagged in relief, reaching out to support herself on her bed. “Thank God.”
“But you still risk yourself by going to that club. You wear a mask, yes, but what if your carriage were recognized? Or a gown was familiar? Or your voice?”
Annabelle covered her eyes with her hand for a moment. “I know. These are all things I have considered, Deirdre, but what am I to do? My brother needs someone looking out for him.”
“Is that—is that all you’re doing? Because I wonder if—” Deirdre blushed and then turned away suddenly, cutting off her words.
“What?” Annabelle asked.
Her maid shook her head, fiddling with the clothing stacked on the chair. “I shouldn’t.”
“Please,” Annabelle said, trying to keep her tone calm. “Please tell me what is on your mind.”
Deirdre turned to look at her. Her face was pale and her voice trembled as she said, “It isn’t my place, I know, but I see things and I hear things and I know you, Miss, after all these years. I wonder if you might like Mr. Rivers too much.”
Annabelle tensed. Her maid was out of line to bring this up and she would have been in her rights to reprimand her. It would certainly close the subject if she did. However, over the years Deirdre had become much more than a mere servant to her. She was a friend. One who had seen her through many a difficulty with kindness.
Deirdre was also the only person in her life who knew even a fraction of the truth about her current activities. She had
no other confidante and no other person who would listen to her without judging. Certainly she couldn’t tell Georgina, of all people, about her obsession with Marcus.
And if she said something to her mother or Serafina? Well, that was like directly reporting to Rafe, himself. Her brother wouldn’t understand. He would likely be enraged at both her and Marcus.
“Have I gone too far?” Deirdre asked, voice trembling.
Annabelle reached out to cover her maid’s hand gently. “No, of course not. I’m only pondering your accusation. And I must admit that you are…right. I may like Mr. Rivers too much, it is true.”
Deirdre’s eyes went wide at the admission, and heat flooded Annabelle’s face.
“You needn’t look so shocked,” she said with a forced laugh. “He is handsome as can be, but also very intelligent and…interesting.”
“But he isn’t the kind of man you have claimed you wish to affiliate yourself with. Marry.” Her maid shook her head. “Unless you’ve changed your mind.”
Annabelle swallowed. Since her night with Marcus, she’d had an increasingly difficult time focusing on her goals. And yet she couldn’t change them. She’d come so far.
“No, I haven’t changed my mind,” she said softly. “I know the risks when it comes to spending time with Mr. Rivers. And I know the lines I cannot cross. And I will not cross them. Not when I’m finally so close to respectability.”
Deirdre’s face suddenly grew sad. “But Miss Annabelle, you are respectable. No one could look at you and think otherwise.”
Annabelle barked out a laugh. “But they do. They do and I’m certain you know it thanks to the very talk below stairs we discussed earlier.”
“There is a difference between a few snotty maids who need to be put in their place and Society at large,” Deirdre huffed.
“Oh, you dear. If you put someone in their place, then I adore you for it.” Annabelle let out a long, heavy sigh. “But there is no difference. What is said below stairs is fed from above. Because of my family and their antics, my chances at a staid, respectable future have been materially damaged.”
She shifted. That was what she’d told herself for so long: that it was Crispin and Rafe and even her father who had altered her future with their ways. As much as she loved them all, she sometimes felt resentment for their lack of thought.
The Scoundrel's Lover (The Notorious Flynns Book 2) Page 12