by Tarah Scott
James’ heart stilled when Lady Annabelle stepped from the narrow staircase into the foyer. She had exchanged the satin day dress for a white muslin gown that clung to her lithe frame most indecently. An ivory ruffle framed the gentle rise of her creamy breasts. She stopped at the bottom of the stairs and waited for Miss Duncan, who took the last two steps and halted beside her. Miss Duncan tilted her head toward her and murmured something he couldn’t hear. Lady Annabelle smiled and made a low reply.
He would give all he owned to have her smile at him like that. That smile made him want to take her in his arms and beg her to forget Northington and run away with him. His chest tightened. He whirled and strode to the large wood door, then pulled it open and waited.
“Where is Nick?” Annabelle asked.
Grayson emerged from the hallway to the left. “I am here,” he said. “Where is Lena?”
“She decided on a nap instead of a walk,” Lady Annabelle said.
“I suppose I should have specified that she should come with us,” he said.
Lady Annabelle started toward James. “I’m sure she would have heeded your command, Nick.”
“As well she should,” he said with a laugh.
Lady Hilary said, “We shall have fun without her,” and glanced at James.
James glimpsed the roll of Lady Annabelle’s eyes as she passed him and inhaled the scent of the rosewater she must have used to bathe. Desire tightened his groin and he shifted his gaze as Miss Duncan approached.
“You are a brave man,” she whispered as she passed. “I will pray for you.”
“Ye have a perverse sense of humor, my lady,” he replied under his breath.
She gave a low laugh, but said nothing more as Lord Grayson and Miss Fletcher approached.
James followed them out, pulling the door closed behind him. Lady Annabelle and Lady Hilary stepped down the three stairs to the ground. The sway of Annabelle’s hips snagged his attention. He yanked his gaze away. Good God, he’d been staring. Where the bloody hell was her husband-to-be? He should be here to protect her. If she belonged to James—she didn’t belong to him. He must remember that.
James reached the steps and too-late realized Lady Fletcher’s intention as she extended a hand. He grasped her fingers. Miss Fletcher lowered her eyes demurely and James assisted her down the three steps that Lady Annabelle hadn’t even bothered to lift her skirts to descend. He pitied the man charmed enough by Lady Fletcher’s dark hair and crystal blue eyes to marry her.
Her foot touched the walkway and she slipped her hand into the crook of his arm. They strolled behind the others. Lady Annabelle hadn’t waited for him or Grayson, but walked ahead with Miss Duncan. There would be no asking a man for help from her. Neither would there be hatred or manipulation. Intrusion, yes. Passion. Oh yes. He’d tasted of that passion, and couldn’t forget her unreserved response to his kiss.
James nodded in response to something Miss Fletcher said, but continued to covertly watch Lady Annabelle.
“I have been here only a month and sometimes I think I shall go mad if I hear another lamb bleating,” Miss Duncan said to Lady Annabelle.
Lady Annabelle laughed, and James realized he’d not heard her laugh before now. Her unabashed delight captivated him. Could he make her laugh like that?
“If you feel yourself slipping over the edge of sanity you may find comfort in the knowledge that tomorrow there will be even more sheep, for they are prolific,” she told Miss Duncan. Miss Duncan shuddered and Lady Annabelle linked arms with her. “Never fear,” she said in a mock whisper, “the cure for country life is a good party. We shall have to plan one soon.”
They reached the end of the drive.
“Turn left, Annabelle,” Grayson called. “Let’s have a look at The Three Sisters.”
She cut him a narrowed-eyed glance, but turned left and kept walking. The walkway widened and Lord Grayson and Lady Hilary fell in alongside them. James hung back. He preferred keeping Lady Annabelle in his sights. Only God knew what trouble she might cause and, he had to admit, he liked the way her dress hugged her backside.
“Have you seen The Three Sisters, Miss Duncan?” she asked.
Miss Duncan shook her head. “I have not. What is it?”
“Stones that form a rather unique falls,” Annabelle said. “Three tall rocks, thin, like a woman’s body. Water pours from the mouth of each into an inlet. It’s quite beautiful.”
“Are there any sheep nearby?” she asked.
Lady Annabelle barked a laugh, then glanced at Lord Grayson, but he made no comment about her unladylike outburst.
“To my knowledge, there are no sheep in the vicinity,” she answered, and James heard the laughter fighting to break free of her control. “If you wish to see sheep, come with me tomorrow when I visit Mrs. MacBain.”
“Oh dear,” Miss Duncan said. “That is a muddle. If I refuse, then I am uncharitable. If I go, I may end up in Bedlam.”
Lady Annabelle and her group slowed, and James and Lady Fletcher caught up to Grayson and Lady Hilary, then fell into step with them.
“How are you liking Tain, my lord?” Lady Hilary asked.
“The ground is fertile and there is good grazing for cattle. Forgive me, Miss Duncan,” he added. “I should no’ speak of sheep.”
“As long as you do not bleat, my lord, you are in no danger of irritating me.”
Muffled laughter emanated from Lady Annabelle’s direction.
“Spoken like a man,” Miss Fletcher said with a laugh that sounded artificial compared to Annabelle’s. “All business.”
“What else but business should he speak of?” Annabelle said. Irritation had replaced her good humor. “It isn’t as if he came to plant roses.”
“Of course not,” Lady Hilary said. “Women plant roses.” She looked at James and gave a coy smile that curdled his stomach.
“You have never grown a rose in your life,” Lady Annabelle said.
“I am quite adept at nurturing roses,” Lady Hilary replied. “Plus many other flowers.”
“When have you grown so much as a weed?” Annabelle demanded.
“She does have you there,” Miss Fletcher said.
Lady Hilary shot Annabelle a frown, but Annabelle either didn’t notice or blithely ignored the lady.
“Pay them no mind, my lord,” Lady Hilary said. “One day you must come and see my garden at Blane Hall.”
That snapped James’s attention onto her. Grayson flicked an amused glance his way and James almost wondered whether the man had conspired to pair him with the lady.
The ladies chatted as they left the road and walked a path through a grove. They emerged from the trees and James caught sight of The Three Sisters beyond a hill. Even from this distance he could see that Lady Annabelle hadn’t exaggerated about the falls’ beauty. Water gushed from the three formations and joined into a single stream that disappeared from sight. He looked forward to seeing the inlet.
They reached the pool minutes later and James wished he’d come alone. No, not alone, with Lady Annabelle. The group stopped a few feet from the water, but Lady Annabelle stepped so near, wavelets lapped at the hem of her dress. James had the impression she wanted to remove her boots and wade into the pool. Even this late in March, the water would still be cold, but if she had been alone, he suspected she would have waded in anyway. He imagined her barefoot, skirts calf-high, sloshing through the shallow water and squealing. She would, however, need warming once he coaxed her from the water.
By God, such thoughts would drive him mad.
Ten minutes passed before Lady Fletcher finally released his arm. James had begun to wonder if she had any sense of propriety, but a third glance from Lady Hilary finally shamed her. Lady Hilary now stood beside Miss Fletcher, who, despite a frown from Miss Duncan, refused to wander more than two feet from him.
“What do you think of The Three Sisters?” Lady Hilary asked.
“The falls are extraordinary,” he said, and wonde
red how he would extricate himself from the two women for the walk back to the castle.
“This is a favorite spot of mine,” she said.
He thought he heard a feminine snort from the earl and Miss Duncan’s vicinity.
A tiny splash sounded and Lady Annabelle cried, “Look, Nick!”
James followed her gaze out over the water to a circular ripple.
“When was the last time you fished here?” Annabelle asked Lord Grayson.
“Probably the last time you waded in the pool and scared away our prey.”
She shrugged. “That’s what you got for not teaching me how to fish.”
“Your father would not have approved.”
“He wouldn’t have cared. You simply did not want to bother.”
“That is unfair, Annabelle,” he said, but James heard the humor in his voice.
“Stuart agreed to teach me, but you talked him out of it,” she replied with mock indignation.
“You had Stuart wrapped around your finger,” the earl said.
She shook her head. “You confuse me with Josephine.”
“Both of you knew he would do anything you asked.”
“He is our cousin. He is supposed to do what we ask. If he were here now, he would teach me.” The wistful note in her voice surprised James, as did the jealousy that rose.
“I can teach you,” Miss Duncan said.
Lady Annabelle’s face lit. “You know how to fish? Did a cousin or brother-in-law teach you?” She shot Grayson a smirk.
“Oh no,” Miss Duncan said. “As an only child, I have no brothers-in-law, nor have I any cousins. I watched the young men employed by my father fish in the cow pasture pond. Unlike proper gentlemen such as Lord Grayson,” she flashed him a smile, “they had no compunction about teaching me to fish.” She nodded toward the water. “I wager the fellow who made that splash was a perch. Small, but fine eating.”
“I imagine you’re right,” Grayson said. “You and Annabelle have much in common. She, too, has an inquisitive nature.”
James shuddered. One hoyden was bad enough. Two were sure to get into trouble—as Lady Annabelle and Miss Summerfield demonstrated. How much of Annabelle’s snooping ways was her fiancé aware of? All of it, probably, and he would still marry her.
“I simply cannot imagine fishing,” Lady Hilary said.
Miss Fletcher shuddered. “All those worms.”
Lady Annabelle picked up a rock, took aim, and skipped it across the water. To his surprise, it made five skips before dropping from sight.
“Not as messy and unladylike as baking mud pies,” she said.
Miss Fletcher’s cheeks reddened. “I was eight, Annabelle.”
She picked up another rock and aimed. “Once a mud pie baker—” she flicked the rock, “—always a mud pie baker.” The rock skimmed four times then sank.
James tamped down laughter. So, Lady Annabelle did pay heed to feminine sparring.
Lady Fletcher lifted her chin. “I stopped making mud pies ages ago. You, on the other hand, are still skipping rocks and muddying your hem.”
“Leslie,” Lady Hilary said. “She is jesting with you.”
Miss Fletcher’s eyes flickered in surprise. “Well, yes, of course, she is.”
Her attention shifted to James. He took three quick paces to the water, dropped to a crouch, and searched for a flat rock. A nice sized rock lay half buried in an inch of water. He pried the rock free and stood. Miss Fletcher took an uneasy step backwards and James realized she was worried about getting her dress wet. He should have dug for rocks twenty minutes ago. He fitted the rock to his hand, took aim, and flicked it across the water. It skipped three time, slowed for a fourth skip, then dropped into the water.
“You need practice, my lord,” Lady Annabelle said. She threw another rock, which skipped five times, then sank.
“Nicely done,” he said. “I used to get nine or ten skips easily.”
“It is easy to brag, my lord.”
He canted his head. “As usual, you are right, my lady.”
James scanned the ground and found another flat rock. He turned it in his palm, feeling the weight, the size, the small groove on one side, then turned it, smooth side down, and flicked it. The rock skipped four, five times, then slowed, a sixth time and disappeared into the water. He was surprised he’d done that well. He’d been a boy the last time he’d skipped rocks.
Lady Annabelle fished a rock from the water’s edge and James laughed when a section of her hem floated in the water. She glanced at him, brows drawn, then narrowed her eyes and rose, rock in hand. Like him, she took a moment and he imagined her assessing the rock’s size and weight. The woman had intellect and grit. He would never be bored with her during the long winter nights here in the northern Highlands. She turned to the side and flicked the rock. To his chagrin, it skipped seven times before dropping.
“Well done,” Miss Duncan said. “I wager Lord Ruthven will have a difficult time beating seven skips.”
She wasn’t wrong.
“Wager?” Lady Annabelle repeated.
“Annabelle,” Grayson said in a warning voice.
“No scolding, Nick,” she said.
“Ladies do not make wagers,” he said.
“It’s all in fun. All right,” she quickly added. “I will not wager money. It’s not really a bet if it isn’t money. I will wager—”
“No wagers,” Grayson cut in.
“I must agree,” James said. “I am happy to beat ye, Lady Annabelle, but I will not wager.”
“You are afraid of losing,” she said.
“I will not take anything from ye,” he corrected.
“Lord Ruthven is right not to take any winnings from you,” Lady Hillary said.
“What if I win?” Annabelle demanded.
“A lady does not accept anything from a gentlemen who isn’t a family member or her husband,” Lady Hilary replied.
“You are right,” Lady Annabelle said, to his surprise, then slanted her gaze onto him. “Are you a gentleman who can take a trouncing from a lady?”
“I would like to think so,” he said. “As that has never happened…” James shrugged.
She rolled her eyes. “One more toss, then?”
He gave a slight bow. “As ye wish, my lady.”
“If we were betting, I would wager on you, Lady Annabelle,” Miss Duncan said.
Annabelle laughed heartily and James grinned. The worry lines in her forehead had disappeared. Her cousin may have been right in suggesting she needed some sun. She might even sleep better after the fresh air. He hoped she spent more time outdoors where she would think less of what had happened and…what, more of him? No, her walks would be with the Marquess Northington.
“Shall we throw at the same time?” she said.
“You cannot hope to win,” Miss Fletcher said.
“Don’t be silly,” Annabelle said with an impatient shake of her head. “Skipping stones isn’t a contest of strength. I can easily beat him.”
“I would no’ say ‘easily,’” James said.
“Oh,” she said, a lovely blush tingeing her cheeks. “Of course not.”
He looked at the group. “Would someone like to count?”
“Wait,” Annabelle said. “Along with whoever has the most skips, we should add whoever’s rock goes the farthest.”
“Good thinking,” Miss Duncan said. “If you tie with skips, the winner is the person whose rock went the farthest.”
“I am certain Lord Ruthven will win,” Lady Hilary said.
“Yes,” Lady Fletcher said. “You are sure to win, Lord Ruthven.”
James stepped even with Annabelle.
“Count for us, Nick,” she said.
“All right,” he agreed. “On three.”
James turned the stone over in his palm.
“One,” Grayson said.
James fitted the stone to his fingers.
“Two.”
From the corner of his
eye, he saw Lady Annabelle position her hand in readiness to flick the stone.
“Three.”
They both flicked. The rocks skipped across the water, five, six, seven skips. James’s stone sank on the eighth and Annabelle’s skipped two more times before disappearing into the water.
She whirled on him. “You cheated.”
James blinked.
“You won, Annabelle,” Grayson said.
“I did not. He cheated.”
“As I lost, I canno’ see how I cheated,” James said.
“You let me win.”
James looked at Grayson. “Forgive me for saying so, Grayson, but your sister-in-law is a contrary woman.”
“It runs in the family.”
“Oh no you don’t.” She stalked closer to James. “I demand a fair game.”
The scent of rosewater filled his nostrils. He was torn between wanting to kiss her and wanting to toss her into the water. Tossing her into the water would be a safer choice.
“I do not need you to let me win,” she said.
“Would ye feel better if I won?” he asked.
“At least I would know you hadn’t thrown the game.”
“You’re being unreasonable,” Miss Fletcher said. “You should accept graciously.”
“Accept what graciously?”
James turned as Annabelle whirled to face her fiancé.
Chapter Fourteen
For an instant, Annabelle couldn’t believe Calum stood ten feet away from her.
“Am I intruding?” he asked.
“Of course not,” she said in unison with the other ladies. But shame caused her to blush over the realization that he was intruding. She’d enjoyed Lord Ruthven’s company, and Calum—along with marriage—had been far from her thoughts.
“If we’d known you were coming we would have delayed our walk,” Nick said.
“I mentioned to Montagu that I planned to come,” he said, “but I gave no specific time.”
“He should have told me,” Annabelle said. “I would have stayed home to greet you.”
She started toward him, then realized she still held a stone. She tossed it behind her, then clasped her muddy hands behind her back. Embarrassment brought another wave of shame. Miss Fletcher was correct. She was unladylike. She’d been acting like the little girl who had pestered Nicholas and Stuart. She had no choice now but to own up to the truth.