She deliberately widened her eyes. “I was thinking of eating one of those lovely cakes my cousin set out for her guests.”
“Liar.”
The heat stealing up her cheeks could surely be blamed on the dance, couldn’t it? “I don’t know what you mean,” she managed.
With the smoothest of moves, he took her arm and swept her out through the French doors and onto the terrace.
“The dance hasn’t yet ended,” she protested as she looked about, uneasy at the thought of spending any amount of time with him alone.
“We have more important things to do than dance.” With a glance at the two other couples who also stood outside, he eased Annabelle toward one end of the terrace where the lanterns’ light dimmed.
He smelled nearly as good as he looked, a combination of bergamot and forest. The scent wound through her senses, muddling her thoughts.
Her heart hammered alarmingly, but it didn’t appear to be passion that motivated him based on the seriousness of his expression. She wasn’t certain whether to be relieved or disappointed as he drew her closer.
Chapter Five
Thomas watched the others on the terrace, but none of them paid Annabelle and him any mind. Perfect. He guided her further into the darkness, preferring not to be discovered by any guests who wandered outside.
A hint of violets teased his senses and it was all he could do not to lean closer to her to catch more of it. Did she rinse her hair in the fragrance, or was it perfume? He could too easily imagine her dabbing the scent at her delicate wrists and the slim column of her throat. Where else might she place it?
He gave himself a mental shake. That didn’t matter in the least. He needed to focus on the problem at hand now that they had a few brief moments of privacy.
“I spoke with the reporter who wrote the article on the murder,” he began, only to be interrupted by the soft light reflected in Annabelle’s dark eyes.
She looked beautiful this evening in her lilac gown. A white ribbon with tiny pearls was wound amidst her brown curls, softening her appearance. He was as fascinated by her feminine beauty as he was by her ability to write clever, gritty mysteries. The woman was a conundrum, and damn if he didn’t like puzzles. That was one of the reasons he’d enjoyed her book so much.
“And?” Her lips were parted ever so slightly as she listened to him, her head tilted to the side. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she was trying to entice him into kissing her.
Need coursed through him at the thought, eliminating all others. His hand lifted as if of its own accord to touch the softness of her cheek. Had the kiss they’d shared all those months ago been as titillating as he remembered? He had to know.
“And I would like to kiss you,” he whispered in the darkness, desperately hoping she’d agree. “May I?”
Her eyes widened as if surprised he’d asked. “Yes.”
Before he could remind himself why this was a bad idea, he kissed her. Her lips were firm beneath his, and she responded with cautious enthusiasm as if she, too, were curious to see if what they’d experienced before had been an anomaly.
He deepened the kiss, using his tongue to encourage her to allow him entrance. Her mouth tasted sweet and held a hint of champagne. Their tongues swirled while they explored what pleased the other. Passion quickly rose to blot out all else. He placed his hands on her waist and drew her against him, enjoying the feel of her curves and appreciating how well she fit against him.
Before he could decide whether he was delighted or dismayed to realize the kiss was everything he’d remembered and more, she eased back.
“Mr. Raybourne.” Her breathlessness nearly made him grin. He liked the idea that she was as unnerved by the kiss as he was.
“Thomas, please.” He dearly wanted to hear his given name on her lips. He realized just how attracted he was to her when she ran a finger along his cheek where he knew his dimple appeared.
“Thomas.” She said his name slowly as if becoming accustomed to it. That only made him want to kiss her again.
“Annabelle.” He’d thought her name so often that it came naturally to him, rolling off his tongue with ease. “I should very much like to kiss you again.”
She hesitated rather than immediately saying no, much to his delight, her gaze fixed on his cravat. “I wonder if that would be wise.”
He leaned close, his lips a breath away from hers, and her dark gaze darted up to meet his. The desire that rose inside him as he looked into those eyes took him aback. Yet not even the hounds of hell could’ve pulled him away. “I think it would.”
The small gasp that escaped her convinced him she felt it too—this elemental attraction that refused to be ignored. “Very well.”
More pleased at her response than he should’ve been, he took her mouth with his, nibbling when he wanted to devour, then exploring more deeply. Her gloved hands slipped up to his shoulders and teased the back of his neck. He didn’t think he’d ever felt something quite so delicious. The passion between them built layer upon layer, binding them tightly.
Thomas hadn’t wanted a woman like this in a very long time. Or had he ever? Charming women into bed normally came easy for him, but Annabelle brought complications with her.
She was a lady, for one.
An author with whom he had a contract.
A business relationship he couldn’t afford to risk.
This time, he was the one who drew back, more confused than he had been even a few minutes ago. Since when had kissing become so complicated and so lovely?
He sighed as he splayed a hand along her hip and trailed a finger over her cheek. “I don’t pretend to understand what lies between us.”
“Nor do I.”
Her admission to the attraction threatened his resolve to play the gentleman rather than the rake, a role to which he was unaccustomed.
“But we should treat it with care,” he forced himself to continue. “Rushing into anything could very well bring—”
“Disaster.” She finished the thought before he could.
“Yes. I respect you, Annabelle, and I don’t want any harm to befall you.”
“And here I thought you nothing more than a rogue.” She shifted her head to the side as she studied him, eyes narrowed. “Could there be more?”
“Unlikely.” He chuckled even as he shifted, uncomfortable with her close regard. The idea of her seeing him as more was unsettling. “Please don’t expect any heroics from me or you’ll be sorely disappointed.”
“Hmm.” The unclear response suggested she didn’t believe him.
But he knew all too well he’d eventually disappoint her. It was past time to return the conversation to business. That was the only part of their relationship that mattered. “In any event, I don’t want anything to put the publishing of your next book with our company at risk.”
She stepped back as if stung by his words. Good. He needed her to keep her distance since he didn’t seem able to do so.
“Excellent reminder,” she said with a single nod. “We’re of the same mind. Business first. What more did you discover about the murder?”
“The report from the Thames Police matches the murder in your book in disturbing details, including a red button in the man’s suit coat pocket.”
She stilled at the news. “One has to doubt this is all a coincidence.”
“Unfortunately, they don’t yet have any suspects.”
“I don’t understand why anyone would do this.” The news clearly upset her.
“Nor do I. I cannot think of what anyone would gain by doing so.”
“Did they release the name of the victim?”
“Yes. Joseph Smead.” Saying his name, a man he knew, made this all too real.
“You knew him?” Something in his tone must’ve given him away.
“Not well, but yes.”
“I’m so sorry.” Her gloved hands clenched into fists as if the news pained her. “What are we going to do?”
&nbs
p; “You have no reason to apologize.” He took her hands in his, rubbing them gently despite his intent to keep his distance. “I’m certain the police will find whoever did it soon.”
“And if they don’t?”
He gave a one-shouldered shrug, unable to tell her what she obviously wanted to hear. He had no experience investigating crimes. “They will.”
He hoped it was true because he certainly wasn’t capable of solving a murder. As he’d already told her, he was no hero. Only a rogue with few skills to his credit. The police were their best—and only—hope.
~*~
Annabelle smiled with satisfaction as she wrote ‘The End’ on the fair copy of the manuscript. A Murder Most Foul was complete. It was her best work to date. She felt it in her bones.
Now she need only deliver it to Artemis Press.
Two days had passed since that kiss on the terrace at Louisa’s ball. In those two days, she’d done her best to distance her thoughts from Thomas, but the task had proven impossible.
Nor could she get the murder out of her mind. Each day she checked for an update on the crime in the broadsheet but had yet to see anything.
Hoping the police were making progress, she’d concentrated on finalizing the story, only to catch herself wondering what Thomas would think of certain passages and plot twists. That was an ineffective way for an author to work. She needed a clear mind to focus on the details as well as the story in its entirety. That was the very reason she intended to avoid marriage and love and men in general. If she weren’t careful, she might lose the drive to write completely. Then who would she be?
The question made her shudder. Writing consumed the majority of her waking hours. If she wasn’t writing, she was thinking about writing. Without that... She couldn’t bear to finish the thought.
It was nearly time for luncheon she realized as she glanced at the clock on her desk. Afterward, she’d take the manuscript to the publishing office and hope Thomas had news on the murder. Then she needn’t see him for several weeks until he determined what edits were needed.
Distance from the man would do her good. She’d already written notes on her next story and she’d focus on expanding them. She wouldn’t allow Thomas—or his dimples—to cross her mind.
Her previous notion that seeing him more often would reduce her reaction to him now seemed ridiculous. Especially after that kiss. The memory of it caused her mouth to go dry while liquid heat filled her entire being. How could a simple meeting of lips cause her to feel so much?
It was terribly inconvenient to be this attracted to the publisher of her book. Why Thomas of all people? His looks certainly played a part in it. Those dimples, of course. But there was a depth to him she’d noticed from the start. A shadow in those green eyes that spoke of wariness and something more. That shadow made her wonder if he were truly a rogue or merely doing what others expected of him. It always came back to motive.
If he knew her thoughts, he’d be appalled.
Her questions about who he was didn’t matter because she had no intention of becoming further involved with Thomas. She’d bring him the manuscript and avoid contact for a time. The only way she could reach her goals was by keeping her life free from further entanglements. She had enough to worry about with her family.
Annabelle set aside her pen and closed her inkwell then exited her bedchamber, her stomach growling with hunger as she descended the stairs to the dining room for the mid-day meal. Her mother and father were taking their seats, and she turned to see Margaret behind her.
“Good day.” She kissed her mother’s offered cheek.
“And to you, dear.” Her mother patted the hand Annabelle placed on her shoulder. “How does the day find you?”
“Excellent. I finished the final copy of my book.”
She kissed her father’s cheek as well, though he seemed unaware of her presence. His gaze was fixed in the distance, and he didn’t return her greeting.
Annabelle didn’t know what was worse, seeing that blank look or the terrible confusion that suggested he didn’t know where he was. She missed the previous version of her father when he’d been engaged and interested in his daughters. But they continued to do what they could to involve him. Margaret walked with him most mornings, always careful to take the same path every day. She thought keeping to a routine aided him. Annabelle read to him often, sometimes from her own work.
But wishing wouldn’t bring him back. All they could do was make the best of what life had given them. That didn’t stop her heart from hurting as she squeezed his shoulder before taking her seat at the table.
It was still odd to have their father join them for luncheon, a light fare usually comprised of bread, meat, cheese, and fruit. In the past, his midday meal—often a bird and a bottle or a pasty—had been eaten at a tavern or coffee-house near the shipyard.
“That’s wonderful.” Her mother studied her husband for a moment before returning her attention to Annabelle. “You said the same publisher is going to print this one?”
“Yes.” She didn’t explain that while some publishers had their own printing presses, Artemis hired a printer for the work. The disadvantage was that they had to wait until the printer had room in their schedule to print the book. “The editor is quite excited about it.” She deliberately avoided mentioning who that editor was. Her mother would not be pleased.
“Didn’t the Earl of Carlington own the publishing company?” Margaret asked as she took her seat.
“Yes.” Annabelle cast her sister a pointed look, hoping she’d drop the subject and refrain from asking further questions.
Lady Gold frowned. “But he passed away several months ago, didn’t he?” As the question left her lips, she realized her mistake and watched her husband with worry.
“Carlington died?” Sir Reginald studied each of them in turn.
They collectively held their breath. They never knew what might upset him. The fact that he’d acknowledged news of the death was concerning. Often they spoke around him as he rarely joined the conversation even if directly spoken to.
“Yes. He died in his sleep.” Her mother continued to watch him for a reaction.
“He was a nice enough man. Had three sons while I have three daughters. We used to laugh over that.”
Annabelle shared a relieved look with her mother.
“The youngest one was a bounder,” her father continued. “Caused his father one problem after another. What was his name?”
“Thomas,” Annabelle supplied. She didn’t wish to discuss him though the urge to defend him had her biting her lip. A bounder? In her mind, he was nothing of the sort.
To her relief, Barclay, their elderly butler, entered the dining room with a tray and took her father’s attention. Barclay had served the family for as long as Annabelle could remember. His loyalty had been proven time and again during the last few years. He’d refused his wages for a time when money was especially tight and done more than his share of duties, as had the rest of the few servants they employed.
Thankfully, the worst of their financial woes were behind them with Caroline’s marriage to Aberland though they still lived modestly. Which was all the more reason it was important for her next book to be a success.
Annabelle filled her plate, hoping the conversation would shift to something else.
“Who has taken over the publishing business with the earl’s passing?” Margaret asked.
Annabelle would’ve kicked her under the table if she’d sat closer. Instead, she gave her sister another glare.
Margaret frowned in confusion, obviously not understanding Annabelle’s wish to change the subject.
“Yes, who is in charge now?” their mother asked.
“I believe Thomas is involved,” she said at last, unwilling to lie.
“He’s the bounder.” Her father straightened in his chair. “I don’t want you to have anything to do with him, Annabelle.”
“Father—” she began, only to be interru
pted.
“Do as your father says.” Her mother sent her a stern look.
“Yes, Mother.” She lowered her gaze to her plate, hating the fact that she wasn’t going to keep her word. Yet what choice did she have? She’d already signed the contract.
Thomas might have the reputation of a rogue, but there was more to him than that. She wondered at the cause of his troubled childhood and poor relationship with his father. The earl had seemed a gruff man the few times she’d met him, so different from her own father. Or rather, the man he used to be.
Suddenly, she wasn’t hungry anymore. The joy and satisfaction she’d felt at having finished her story faded. First, the murder that so closely matched her book and now this. How had the situation become so complicated? Should she discuss it with Caroline to gain her insight?
The meal soon ended, and Annabelle escaped to her room to pace the floor, wondering what to do. In reality, she didn’t think she had any choice. She needed to deliver the manuscript to fulfill the terms of the contract. She donned her shawl and picked up the bound pages.
“Where are you going?” Margaret asked from the doorway.
“Out.” She was still annoyed with her sister for not reading her thoughts at luncheon. Never mind that was impossible.
“What has you in such a ruffle?” Margaret folded her arms across her chest and shifted to block the open door as if determined to make her answer.
“You know I prefer not to discuss publishing in front of Mother,” she said with a scowl.
“Then you shouldn’t have mentioned that you finished the book.”
“You’re right. Forgive me. I just wish Mother better understood my writing.”
Margaret unfolded her arms as she stepped into the room. “I think it’s difficult for her to imagine that you want something so different than she did at your age. Marriage and a family are the extent of most young ladies’ goals. Their one and only purpose in life.”
“That’s not what I want. Not now at any rate,” she added to soften the words. “Is it your purpose? What you want?” Though Annabelle knew how much Margaret enjoyed designing gowns, that didn’t mean she wanted to spend the rest of her life doing so.
A Rogue No More (The Rogue Chronicles Book 3) Page 6