The Official Essex Sisters Companion Guide

by Eloisa James

  It was hours later. They’d moved to the bed and fallen asleep curled together, but she woke to find that he’d lit candles all over the room.

  “What are you doing?” she asked sleepily.

  “Looking at you,” he said, and there was such a deep, languorous satisfaction in his voice that Annabel smiled. So much for all her plans to trade her body and her bankable kisses for a man of wealth and title. In the end, she knew with a bone-deep instinct that her body was always meant to be here, adored by Ewan, even—even worshipped.

  “I’m thirsty,” she whispered.

  He tried to hold a glass to her lips, as if she were a child with a fever, but water ran cool down her neck. He kissed the damp away, and then Annabel suddenly realized that she could have all the kisses she wanted from Ewan, for free, without asking questions. . . .

  “Kiss me,” she said.

  “Annabel—”

  She pulled his head to hers. “I didn’t marry you because you had a castle,” she said against his lips.

  Of course there was laughter in his voice. “Nay, I know all too well that you married me because you had to do so.”

  “I just want you to know that I had no idea you were so rich,” she said. “None!”

  “I know that,” he said. “It was obvious in your desperate eyes when you accepted my proposal. Plus, no one in London seemed to know a thing about me, except your sister’s husband, Felton. He knows everything about finances, it seems.”

  “Lucius knew you were rich?” Annabel said.

  “You can’t move stocks and such without encountering a few of the men interested in doing the same thing. We’d never met, naturally, as I’d send my secretary around to do such things as have to be done in person—”

  “Ewan,” Annabel interrupted. “Just how rich are you?”

  He smiled at her, and there wasn’t much of the simpleton about him now. “I expect I’m the richest man in Scotland, give or take a castle or two,” he said.

  Annabel let her head fall back. “I don’t believe it.”

  “It’s my belief that that’s why we found each other,” he said, looking at her, amused. “I have had little trouble increasing my possessions because I am willing to take risks. Father Armailhac always says that possessions bring with them responsibility. And sometimes I think that I try to shed responsibility by shedding possessions.”

  “But everything you make simply comes back to you tenfold,” she guessed.

  He nodded. “If you don’t wish for money, it comes to you easily. And if you don’t wish for responsibilities, they come in droves.”

  “I don’t believe you. How would you feel, would you really feel, if you were no longer the Earl of Ardmore? It’s such a part of you, almost as if you were a medieval feudal lord, with the crofters and cottagers, and all the people who live in the castle, and the way they depend on you.”

  He propped himself up on an elbow and thought about it. He always took her questions seriously, even when there was no question of kisses, and she loved that.

  “So I lose the earldom . . .”

  “Yes.”

  “And the castle . . .”

  “Yes.”

  “And all the trappings, all the possessions—”

  “More than that. You lose all the people who love and depend on you.”

  “Gregory and Rosy?”

  She nodded. “And the cottagers, your servants, Mac. All the people and things that make you formidable in the eyes of the world.”

  “Are Gregory and Rosy safe and well-cared for?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then . . . do I get to keep you?”

  There was a note in his deep voice that made her shiver, and she said, rather breathlessly, “I suppose so. I thought I was marrying a penniless earl.”

  “Then I don’t care.” He wasn’t even touching her and she felt as if she’d received the sweetest caress of her life. “If I had you, Annabel, I could start in a hovel and make us a home.”

  Annabel tried to smile, but it trembled on her lips. The magnificent bedchamber was hung with Gobelin tapestries woven in Paris. Their bed was laid with linen of finer weave than Rafe had ever owned. There was a small statue of a woman praying on Ewan’s bedstand, made by someone called Cellini. And even Annabel, who grew up in a falling-down house without a thing of value in it besides herself and her sisters . . . even Annabel could recognize great beauty when she saw it. “I’m glad we don’t have to live in a hovel,” she said finally.

  “Father Armailhac says that one should be able to give up the things of the world without a moment’s regret,” Ewan said, lazily turning over and nuzzling her shoulder.

  “Good for him,” Annabel said, a bit crossly. “I don’t believe that you could do it, for all you say so.”

  “Believe it,” he said, but his voice was muffled by kisses. He was kissing his way down her throat, past her collarbone . . .

  “What if you didn’t have me either?” Annabel asked. “What then?”

  He didn’t even hesitate. “If I had no responsibilities and I had to live without you, I’d become a monk. Or a priest. Something of that sort.”

  His lips were drifting across her breast; Annabel was terribly glad that Ewan had been born with so many responsibilities and hadn’t disappeared into a monastery somewhere. “I have another question.”

  “Mmmm,” he said, not paying her close attention.

  “If you haven’t been with a woman for years . . . how on earth did you know about that kiss?”

  “Which kiss?” he asked, with maddening obliviousness. He was running his fingers over the curves of her breasts as if he would never get enough.

  “You know! That coney’s kiss,” she said.

  “Oh, that.”

  “How did you know how to do it? How did you know what it was?”

  He lay down, and began stroking the undercurve of her breast with his lips. “I made it up.”

  “You what?”

  “I made it up . . . well, part of it. Men are always telling jokes about coney-catchers, you see. Coney being a rabbit, but also—”

  “I know,” she said hastily.

  “So I was trying to think of a way to horrify your sister, and I made up a coney’s kiss. It worked, didn’t it? And as for how to do it . . .’twas instinct, darling. I trust my instinct a great deal.” His mouth closed around her nipple and she squeaked aloud. “My instinct tells me that you like that,” he said, smug as a cat by the hearth. “And I know I do.”

  She swatted him.

  “It’s a God-given gift I have, obviously.”

  He was laughing against her breast, and kissing her at the same time, and Annabel, for once, had to agree with him on a matter of theology. ’Twas, indeed, a God-given gift.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Annabel’s family arrived a few days later. She was sitting in the library, which was where the family tended to gather before dinner. Ewan was patiently teaching Rosy how to play spillikins.

  “I thought you said she knew how to play spillikins,” she had said to him quietly.

  “She did. But she always forgets.”

  Gregory was playing a lively game of vingt-et-un with Father Armailhac, Uncle Pearce, and Brother Dalmain. They were playing for beans, much to Uncle Pearce’s disgust, but since the monks kept no personal possessions, Pearce could hardly try to take pennies from them. Annabel had begged off the game and was sitting to the side, reading Ewan’s ledger for the household.

  “Mind you,” he had said, “you needn’t do it. Mac is perfectly capable of running this household and five others like it. In fact, he does just that.”

  “I should be happy to,” she said. And she was finding it was true. When every penny wasn’t squeezed to the limit, it was a pleasure to see numbers in orderly columns, bills paid on request if not before, expenses balanced by income.

  Ewan cocked his ear. “We have visitors,” he said, rising to his feet.

  Then Annabel
heard a distant horn blaring. “What on earth is that?”

  “I keep sentries on the hills,” he said, helping her to her feet. “I wouldn’t want you to think that the woods are full of marauding madmen, but it’s a sad truth that there are bands of desperate men roaming Scotland, and England too, I’m sure.”

  “Former soldiers, Father always said.”

  “And he was right. If we teach men to kill, and then send them into battle to have their souls scarred for life, we should at least provide sustenance for them once they return home. Otherwise, they turn to the only practice they know.” Ewan’s voice was uncharacteristically stern.

  “And that horn—”

  “Signaled visitors,” he said. “The men are there as a precaution only. I’ve actually never heard the sentries signal marauders, and I hope I never shall.”

  Tess and her husband, Lucius, emerged from the first carriage, followed by Rafe and—rather surprisingly—the Earl of Mayne. They all looked as tired as Annabel had felt a few days ago. Then came Rafe’s carriage, out of which tumbled Josie and her governess, Miss Flecknoe; Lady Griselda; and Imogen. Five sturdy carriages stuffed with servants and luggage followed.

  Tess was hugging Annabel as if they’d been separated for months rather than weeks, and then Imogen and Josie joined in.

  “How are you?” Annabel asked Imogen.

  Imogen’s eyes, it seemed to her, seemed less fierce. “I’m better,” she said simply. “Mayne is a great help.”

  “Mayne!” Annabel exclaimed. So that explained Mayne’s arrival. Her little sister was having an affaire.

  It was Lady Griselda who caught sight of Annabel’s ring and said the obvious. “She’s already married him! This was a wild-goose chase, and here I am at least five years older from the pure exhaustion of it.”

  Annabel hurriedly took her hands. “But I’m so happy to see you all; I can’t tell you. And there are”—she looked about—“so many of you!”

  “I’m sure it will be a very educational trip,” Josie said. “And Griselda,” she added, “I do believe that Lucius was correct. The Earl of Ardmore has more than enough room to put up all of us!”

  Griselda had only just noticed that the carriages were pulled up before a castle. “Goodness me!” she said, leaning backward so as to see all the way to the highest turret. “What a surprise.” She gave Annabel a look that indicated perhaps her marriage was no longer quite so surprising.

  Rafe wandered over to Ewan, who was standing at the side, looking amused. “I hope that you have a fountain of that Glen Garioch whiskey,” he said. “It’s been a brutal journey, given that Griselda has a weak stomach.”

  “I hope I never hear the word ‘carriage’ again!” Griselda said, catching his words. “It was fifty times worse for me, I assure you. Just look at me: I’m a shadow of my former self!” She looked down with horror at her figure. Sure enough, her luxuriant curves did seem slightly less generous.

  “Better than the Glen Garioch,” Ewan said to Rafe. “May I beg you all to enter my house?”

  “House?” said Tess, who was gazing up at the turrets in some amazement.

  “But how did it happen?” Imogen burst out. “We came to save you, Annabel. Why are you married? Didn’t you get Tess’s letter?”

  “There’s time for that later,” Tess said hurriedly.

  But Annabel saw her husband’s puzzled glance. “I did get your letter,” she said. She reached out and took Ewan’s hand. “But by then I knew I wanted to marry Ewan.” She met Tess’s eyes with a look of perfect understanding. Tess loved her husband; she would know precisely what Annabel felt for Ewan.

  Griselda harrumphed. “We should have sent a chaperone along with the two of you.”

  Ewan was grinning now. “I assure you that Annabel and I were a pattern of rectitude in the carriage, Lady Griselda.”

  But Griselda’s spirits were obviously dashed by the fact that they’d come so far to save a damsel from a horrible marriage—and that damsel had chosen to enter into it willy-nilly. “I’d be grateful for a chamber in which to lay my head,” she snapped. “These Scottish roads are deplorable.”

  Ewan took her arm and led her toward the house. “I completely agree with you, Lady Griselda . . .” Josie danced after them, followed by her weary governess.

  Annabel had greeted everyone but the Earl of Mayne. “This is a delightful surprise,” she said to him.

  “To myself as well,” he said, looking faintly annoyed. “I’m afraid that I’m in grave need of a tailor. I was kidnapped by your sister.”

  Annabel turned to Tess, who shook her head. “I’ve nothing to do with this,” she said, drawing her husband into the house.

  Imogen laughed. “Poor Mayne has been complaining about the state of his dress all the way from London. He’s had to wear Rafe’s clothing, and a sad comedown it’s been.”

  “You kidnapped him?” Annabel asked Imogen, with some fascination.

  She waved her hands airily. “Mayne is so dreadfully set in his ways, and truly, such an old-fashioned man. I knew he’d refuse to accompany us.”

  “Indeed,” Annabel said, noticing that Mayne was smiling, “why should he wish to make a fortnight’s journey into Scotland?”

  “In the middle of the racing season,” Mayne put in.

  “Because I asked him to,” Imogen said stoutly.

  “Except apparently you didn’t ask him—”

  “She did not,” Mayne said. “She called to pick me up in a coach, and naturally I jumped in, since I had not yet beat it into your sister’s head that it is thoroughly indecorous to halt her carriage outside my house where all and sundry might see us. Next thing I knew, I was on my way to Scotland.”

  “Goodness,” Annabel murmured.

  But Mayne read her face. “You needn’t worry about putting us in adjoining chambers,” he said briskly. “So far I’ve managed to keep my virtue.”

  Imogen glared at him, but he winked at her. And while Annabel watched, fascinated, he took Imogen’s arm and led her into the house.

  “I thought I was going to have to slay the man in cold blood,” Rafe said laconically. He was the only one of her guests still outside. “But luckily Mayne has his head on straight, for all that London thinks they’re in the midst of a torrid affaire. She’s managed to ruin her reputation. His was already in tatters, so that’s no trouble.”

  “Oh, Rafe,” Annabel said, “it was so very kind of you to come save me from marriage, and I am sorry that I’ve put you to such trouble for nothing.”

  “I owed it to your father,” he said brusquely. “Wouldn’t have wanted you to be unhappy.”

  “My father would never have put himself to the trouble,” Annabel said. “It was your kindness that brought you here, Rafe.”

  “It was really Lucius who took care of it all, finding that Miss Ellerby and so on,” he said, looking even more embarrassed. “You are happy, aren’t you?”

  She smiled at him. “Ewan is the most wonderful man in the world.”

  To her surprise, he shuddered. “For a moment, you looked like Imogen back when she used to rattle on about Draven Maitland from dawn till dusk. The most wonderful this and the most wonderful that.”

  “Ewan is going to live a great deal longer than Draven Maitland!” Annabel said sharply.

  “I didn’t mean to suggest that he wouldn’t,” Rafe said. “Merely that—” He broke off and flapped his hands. “What am I doing? As if I’m the one to hand out marital advice.”

  Annabel squeezed his arm. “There’s a very pretty girl whose father’s land runs next to Ewan’s . . . her name is Mary. Perhaps she will change your bachelor instincts.”

  Rafe picked up his pace. “Ewan should have had enough time to decant something drinkable.”

  It was midnight by the time Annabel got everyone set in a comfortable room, with a steaming bath and fresh nightclothes to change into. And she was exhausted.

  Imogen demanded a room next to Mayne, and he insisted on a
different floor. Josie didn’t want to be in the schoolroom, but Miss Flecknoe said that they’d missed enough lessons in deportment, and she wouldn’t be responsible if Josie acted like a wild crocodile during her debut. “Which, Lady Ardmore, will presumably happen next year,” she said with a sniff. Miss Flecknoe clearly found it difficult to believe that her charge would join the ranks of polite young ladies. Tess and Lucius were perfectly happy with their chambers, but Lady Griselda disliked an east-facing room due to the possibility of morning sunlight.

  Yet finally . . . finally, everyone seemed to be suitably accommodated.

  Annabel had just entered the bedchamber she shared with Ewan and was thinking gratefully of her own hot bath when she heard an awful shrilling noise. For a moment she didn’t even recognize it as a scream, it was so high and so piercing.

  Then she started running blindly in its direction, chilled to the heart by the pure terror of it. The screaming went on and on as Annabel flew down the corridor, down the stairs. Doors were opening up and down the hallway, people’s voices were calling out, and still she ran. It was the library, she thought.

  And it was. She threw open the door, Ewan appearing at her shoulder. He was wet, hair dripping, coming back from a late swim in the river.

  Rosy was screaming. She was standing in the middle of the floor, shrilling. She looked up at them and Annabel was shocked. The sweet, docile little Rosy whom she’d come to know was gone, replaced by a grown woman with a white, enraged face, eyes snapping with fury. She wasn’t screaming in terror; she was screaming with rage. Ugly, vicious rage.

  And leaning against the wall, looking utterly limp, was Rafe.

  Ewan rushed across the room and shook Rosy. She kept screaming. He shook her again, not roughly, but firmly. “Stop it, Rosy. Stop.”

  Mac appeared at the door and said, “I’ll fetch Father Armailhac,” and rushed away.

  Finally Rosy’s voice faltered and stopped.

  “God damn,” Rafe said into the silence that followed.

  The hallway was full of people now, spilling in the door. Ewan turned about. “No men in here!” he shouted.

  He turned to Rafe, still leaning damply against the wall. “Your Grace, if you wouldn’t mind—” He nodded toward the door.