‘Really?’ She put all her doubt into that one word. Still, she would rather this conversation than his original one. She felt mildly safe discussing this. ‘I thought you drank and gambled the nights away. It has been my experience with my brothers, particularly my younger one, that when a man does such, he doesn’t get up early the next day.’
He reached the dainty desk she sat at. ‘I didn’t drink and gamble the night away.’ His voice deepened to a rasp. ‘Nor did I entertain anyone in my rooms.’
Instantly what safety she had felt evaporated. Leave it to him to turn any conversation in a dangerously erotic direction.
She had thought at her advanced age and previous marital status that she was beyond blushing at implied improprieties, but she was not. Her fingers froze in the act of shifting a paper.
‘You are very bold for so early in the day.’
‘True.’
He spoke as nonchalantly as he was dressed. He had no coat on and no cravat or belcher tie either. His shirt was open at the neck to reveal curling brown hairs, and his buff breeches were like a second skin. Even his less than perfectly polished Hessians called to her. Annabell suddenly found herself trying desperately to ignore a heightened awareness of him, which wasn’t helped by his cinnamon-and-musk scent. This was unacceptable.
‘What can I do for you?’ she asked with more asperity than he deserved. But she was battling for her sanity, and the sooner he left the sooner she would return to normal.
His eyelids drooped suggestively. ‘Now that you ask…’
His deep voice trailed off, and she found her irritation mounting with her growing arousal. ‘You are behaving beyond the pale. Stop it this instant or I shall leave.’
He shrugged and his voice returned to its normal melodic baritone. ‘You bring out the worst in me, I’m afraid.’
She looked at him in surprise. ‘I do? I thought you behaved like this as a matter of course.’
‘Not with every woman I meet.’ He gave her a rakish grin that told her was completely unrepentant.
He grabbed a nearby ladderback chair and pulled it close to the desk. He straddled it and crossed his arms over the back of the chair, much like her younger brother always did. She found herself softening toward him because he reminded her so much of Dominic.
‘You are so much like my brother.’
‘Should I be offended or flattered?’
‘It depends on whether you want to be known as a libertine or an upstanding man.’ She eyed him. ‘Which will it be?’
‘Libertine, I think.’
‘Then you should be flattered.’ Her tone was acerbic with disappointment.
Although they were teasing each other, there was a seriousness about his demeanour that told her he meant every word he spoke. The knowledge saddened her. Libertines were not the type of men she wished to become better acquainted with. Her brother was enough.
‘What are you studying?’ All trace of seduction had left his voice.
She blinked. ‘One minute we are talking about your unsavoury proclivities and the next you are quizzing me on my work. You are a conundrum.’
‘I try. It keeps the ladies on their mettle.’
She shook her head. ‘Now we are back to that. Well…’ She pushed the top sheet closer to him. ‘I am studying these drawings taken from the excavation and labelling them as I go.’
He studied the finely drawn pencil illustrations. ‘These are excellent.’ He looked up at her, his eyes alight with renewed interest. ‘Did you draw these?’
She laughed in an effort to chase away the thrill caused by his piqued interest and the following disappointment at realising the look would fade from his eyes when she told him the truth.
‘No. Susan did. She is a superb artist.’
His mouth opened as though he wanted to speak but was speechless. He looked back down at the drawing, then back up at her. ‘Surely you jest.’
She shook her head, a tiny spurt of irritation forming at his obvious disdain for her friend and companion. ‘She is good enough to illustrate for any antiquarian. Not many people have that talent.’
‘But she has not a coherent thought in her head,’ he muttered. ‘She speaks one inanity after another ad nauseum.’
‘Shame on you for thinking so uncharitably of her.’ She pulled back the picture as though by taking it from him she was protecting Susan from his criticism.
‘I’m only calling a spade a spade.’ His lip curled sardonically. ‘Just as I am doing when I call her artwork some of the best I have ever seen. The woman is a contradiction.’
‘Well…’ Annabell huffed in spite of her effort to let go the irritation his denigration had caused ‘…I believe artistic talent does not have to be accompanied by perfect sense. I always understand Susan perfectly.’
A small twinge of conscience caught her. She might always understand her companion, but that did not mean Susan’s sometimes empty chattering didn’t upset her or make her impatient with the other woman. But she was not about to admit that to Sir Hugo with his smug face.
‘I am sure you do.’ He stood. ‘But I’d also wager you sometimes wish she would stop chattering so that you can hear yourself think.’
She dropped her gaze from his penetrating study and gathered the sheets of paper and carefully straightened them into a single pile with all the edges lined up. She glanced up at him from the corner of her eye. He stood patiently waiting for her reply.
She let out a huff of air. ‘All right. You are correct.’ She hastened to add, ‘But not often.’
‘I thought so.’
She picked up the papers and stood abruptly. ‘If you will excuse me, I need to put these back in their portfolio and get out to the site.’
‘By all means.’ But he didn’t move to let her go around him.
She frowned. There was only one way to go. The other end of the desk abutted the wall. ‘Will you move?’
His mocking smile returned accompanied by a half-bow. ‘Of course.’
He stepped aside, but it was slow and infuriatingly provocative. She gathered the papers close to her chest as though they were a shield and edged by him, ignoring the slow grin he gave her as though he knew exactly what he was doing to her.
She scowled at him. ‘You are the most difficult man, Sir Hugo.’
His smiled widened. ‘I aim to please, Lady Fenwick-Clyde.’
Her heart skipped a beat, and she hugged the papers closer. In spite of the unease he created in her, she managed to keep her voice cool. ‘I imagine you do.’
He laughed outright. ‘I’ve been told I do.’
‘Insufferable,’ she muttered, making her escape to the door and into the hall.
He could be so irritating. He even used the same word to describe Susan’s incessant talking: chattering. She shook her head. He was beginning to have altogether too many similarities to her. It was uncomfortable for her peace of mind.
Chapter Seven
Annabell stood, hands on hips, and surveyed her handiwork. A large, nearly intact mosaic stood out. It was geometric, with all the colours of the surrounding rocks from which the small tiles had been made. But it was unprotected and a storm threatened. Hopefully the men from the nearby village would arrive with the poles and large awning she had commissioned last week.
She heard a horse’s hooves and turned, anxious to get the cover up. ‘Oh, it is you.’
Sir Hugo sat astride Molly just where the road passed by the clearing Annabell stood in. His hair was wind blown, accentuating its unfashionable length. It was suddenly difficult to breathe. And she had seen him only several hours before in the breakfast room.
Eyes narrowed, he said, ‘I’m sorry to disappoint you, Lady Fenwick-Clyde. You were expecting someone else?’
‘I was expecting the men from the village with the cover.’
‘Ah.’
He dismounted with only a small hitch in his fluidity to show that his healed wound pained him. Funny, she had not noticed him l
imp earlier today. Probably because, honest with herself for once where he was concerned, she had been more interested in the way his shirt had been open at the neck and his breeches had hugged his muscles. Ladies were not supposed to notice those things about a man, or, if they did, they simply said he had a fine figure.
She watched him from the corner of her eye. She did not trust him—or herself. Not any more. The more she learned about him, the more she liked him in spite of herself. With a start, she realised she had been looking at the lean musculature of his hips and thighs—again. She bit her lip and turned away. It was better not to watch him at all than to ogle him. This was so unlike her. But everything since he came into her life was so unlike the way she normally was.
‘Is something wrong?’ There was a glint in his eyes that told her he knew exactly what was wrong.
Her entire body flushed, making it nearly impossible for her to answer him with even a modicum of nonchalance. She tried anyway. ‘No. Nothing.’
‘Of course,’ he murmured.
He spoke in such a way that she knew he knew she was having difficulty continuing to resist him. She supposed a man of his experience sensed when women were near to succumbing. That was what would make him so successful a rake—and rumour said he was very successful indeed.
He moved past her with only a cursory glance that took in her flushed face and loose hair. His gaze slid down her body to her harem pants. ‘You look wicked and enticing in those. But I suppose you know that.’
She hadn’t thought it possible to feel more uncomfortable, but he had made her so. ‘I don’t choose my clothes to look any way. I wear what is practical for clambering over rocks and working in dirt.’
He gave her the smile she was becoming too familiar with. It said he believed her but it was time for her to learn about reality. She glared back at him.
He stopped just short of where the mosaic started. ‘You have the mosaic completely uncovered. Very impressive.’
She took a moment to digest the fact that he had changed the subject. Then she nodded, before realising he couldn’t see her with his back to her. ‘Yes.’
He looked over his shoulder. ‘You truly enjoy this.’
She felt like shaking her head. His habit of flitting from one subject to another was disconcerting.
‘Yes, yes, I do,’ she finally managed, her pleasure warming her voice. ‘I have always been intrigued by the ancients. This gives me a chance to see how they actually lived, perhaps even tells me a little about how they thought. Much more satisfying than reading about them.’
‘Tell me about it.’
She met his eyes with hers. ‘Do you really want to know?’
He laughed, his rich baritone sending shivers down her spine. ‘I believe you have asked me that before. The answer hasn’t changed. Yes, I am interested. I may be a debauched rake, but before travelling down this dissolute road, I studied antiquities at Oxford, as I told you last night. I just never pursued my interest as you have yours.’
She digested his words. ‘Still another side to you.’
He shrugged. ‘Most people have many facets.’
‘I suppose they do.’
She moved closer to him, still careful to leave a safe distance. Last night and the intimacy of shared experiences was too fresh. He was becoming more than a one-dimensional rake. He was becoming an interesting human being.
He laughed. ‘You say that as though you wish it weren’t so.’
One corner of her mouth inched up in a rueful smile. ‘Sometimes it is easier to deal with people on a more simplistic level.’
He sobered. ‘Are you talking about us?’
She nodded, wondering how he always seemed to know what she was thinking. It was unsettling and appealing and made resisting him all that much harder.
To change to a safer topic, she waved at the mosaic and adopted her most prosy voice. ‘What you are looking at was the floor of the triclinium or dining room. It was not heated, so probably was only used in warm weather. I imagine if there is more here, which I suspect there is, we will find other rooms where the floors were heated by lead pipes laid beneath through which hot water circulated. The Romans were very sophisticated.’
‘In many ways, more than we are today.’
‘True,’ she said.
In moments like this, her affinity with him was frightening. He could seduce her with his mind as easily as with his body. She shivered.
‘You are cold. Your harem pants are not as warm as skirts and petticoats.’
‘They are perfectly warm. I should have worn a pelisse.’
She had left Rosemont in a hurry, eager to be away before he accosted her again. And here she was with him in spite of her effort.
He shrugged out of his greatcoat, and before she could protest, threw it over her shoulders. Warmth and his scent engulfed her, a dizzying combination that made her sway. He was at her side immediately, his arm around her waist, his face inches from her own.
‘I am fine,’ she managed to say in spite of the dryness that made her tongue feel thick. ‘Nor do I need your coat.’
He did not release her. ‘You shall keep my coat and I shall keep my arm around you.’
She licked her lips. ‘Please, Sir Hugo—Hugo, don’t do this.’
‘Do what?’ His voice was a challenge. ‘Make you desire me?’
She turned away from the twin green flames that were his eyes. His musky scent combined with the fresh smell of a fine winter day permeated her senses. His arm around her was security and threat. A small breathy laugh escaped her.
‘What?’ His gloved fingers caught her chin and gently forced her face up. ‘What is funny?’
She took a deep gulp of air and turned her gaze back to him only to be caught by the passion in his face. His lips were curved, their well-defined outline begging to be traced by her finger…by her tongue.
‘Funny?’ he reminded her.
‘You. Me. The feelings you create in me.’ The words tumbled from her mouth, making no sense. ‘Both safe and yet scared.’
‘As though this is completely new?’
She nodded. Was he going to kiss her? Would he stop with just a kiss? Did she want him to? She no longer knew what she wanted.
‘I am going to kiss you, Annabell. If you don’t want that, then tell me now.’ His voice was low and urgent.
Her eyes fluttered shut. Fool that she was, she wanted his kiss, his touch. ‘Please.’
He scattered gossamer kisses across her cheeks. ‘How do you feel now?’
Her breath caught as his lips paused to caress the curve of her jaw. ‘Safe in your strength. Scared of my reaction to you.’
‘Scared?’ He lifted his face from hers and one thick brow quirked up.
She nodded. ‘You are so thoroughly comfortable with who you are and your appetites. It can be frightening.’
‘No more frightening than the need you create in me, Bell.’
He had used her family nickname last night too. Then, as now, it created a sense of homecoming in her. As though he had a right to use it, although she knew intellectually that he did not.
He lowered his face until his lips skimmed her cheek. He barely touched her, and she felt as though she would erupt into molten desire. Nothing in her life had prepared her for this response. Nothing.
She sucked in tiny gulps of air. ‘Don’t, Hugo.’ She turned her face away and closed her eyes as though doing so would close out his warmth and nearness. ‘I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want this.’
‘Liar.’ But he let her go.
She felt bereft, silly, weak creature that she was. The warmth that had engulfed her seconds before was gone as though it never existed. Suddenly she was more aware of the sharp wind and chill in the air than she had been all morning. She stuffed her hands into the pockets of her pants.
She wanted to continue lying to him and tell him he was wrong. She did not want to become his lover, but the same innate honesty that had always made her co
nfess to any infraction of the rules—even if it meant a night with no dinner while her brothers made faces at her and had their fill of every sweet—forbade her from compounding her untruths.
She faced him and spoke some of the most difficult words she had ever had to utter, simply because she did not want to want him. But she did.
‘You are right…I am a liar.’ Her hands clenched. ‘I do want you. I want you to kiss me… I want you to do more…but that would be the worst thing for me.’
He ran his finger along her jaw, but made no move to take her back into his arms. ‘Why? You are a grown woman, an independent woman who fully understands what we would be embarking upon.’
She caught his hand to stop the caress. ‘And I do not want any of it.’ She sighed and moved his hand from her face. ‘That is not true, and yet it is. I don’t want to be your lover because of all the complications and ramifications. Yet, at the same time, I want you to make love to me.’ Her brows knitted in frustration. ‘Can you understand that?’
He raised her hand for his kiss. She would swear she felt the soft firmness and heat of his mouth even through her glove.
‘Yes. Would you feel any better if I told you I feel the same?’
She laughed, a weak disbelieving sound. ‘You? You have done this more times than you can probably remember. I have never done this.’
His grip tightened painfully. ‘No matter how many times I have done this with other women, Bell, I have never made love to you.’
‘True.’
His hold loosened and he chuckled ruefully. ‘Until I tell you why you are different, you will think I am splitting hairs.’
She nodded. More than anything she wanted him to tell her she was special, different from the others. A vain wish, she knew, but still hope twisted her stomach. She did not want to be just the latest in a string of mistresses.
He sat on one of the nearby recently uncovered stones and pulled her down on to a second one so they were eye level. ‘You are different from the others.’
‘I’m sure,’ she said sarcastically, unable to help herself. She felt so vulnerable.
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