She felt heat creep up her neck. The urge to evade his question was strong, but that was not what she really wanted. She had come in here to tell him how much she admired his earlier actions. She was not going to let her nerve fail her.
She licked her dry lips. ‘I… Yes, that is what it meant. What you did earlier was remarkable.’
‘And until then I was just a rake?’
There was an edge to his voice that told her he was not all that happy to hear the reason for her reversal of opinion about him. She tilted her head and studied him.
‘I suppose that was rather arrogant of me to assume you would be happy to know my opinion of you is improving.’ She paused before adding, ‘Or that it took such a painful action on your part to bring it about.’
He shifted as though his leg irritated him. ‘I had hoped you were interested in me before this afternoon. I am not any different than I was yesterday or the day before.’
‘No, you aren’t.’ He was not making this easy. It was almost as though he resented her thinking better of him because he had saved Rosalie. ‘But yesterday and the days before, I didn’t know this side of your personality.’
‘I believe we have had a similar discussion before,’ he said drily. ‘You seem to continually find it amazing that I am more than a drunken wastrel.’
She sighed, beginning to take affront at his belligerence. ‘Perhaps you are in great discomfort and that is why you are behaving like a boor.’
He snorted. ‘No more pain than earlier today. I am merely curious that you can change your opinion of me so readily.’
She stood. ‘Well, so am I. Still, I am willing to admit that I might have misjudged you. You could at least give me credit for that.’
His eyes softened. ‘You are right. I have not portrayed myself in the best light. Suffice that I wanted you to know the worst.’
‘Before…’
But she could not finish the sentence. She could barely finish the thought. Before we become lovers.
She shivered in the heated room. Just the thought of making love with him scared her at the same time that it excited her.
How had she come to this? Just because she had seen him put another before himself?
She stood abruptly. ‘I am tired, Hugo—Sir Hugo. I will see you in the morning.’
She fled the room before he could follow up on her unfinished statement. She was not ready to deal with the progression of their relationship. Not yet.
Hugo watched her escape the room and smiled. He knew what she had left unspoken, and he knew that soon they would be lovers. He only wished the idea did not cause the breath to catch painfully in his throat.
Annabell reached her bedroom, locked the door behind herself and wished she could as easily lock away her burgeoning feelings for Sir Hugo Fitzsimmon. She tossed the key on to a table in passing and paced to the end of the room before turning and retracing her steps.
Tension ate at her spine. She wanted to make love to the man. She was half in love with the man. She froze.
Surely not. Desire and love were not the same thing…only for her they seemed irrevocably intertwined.
What was she thinking? She was crazy, a Bedlamite to have even intimated they would become lovers—to even be considering it. Where was her vaunted freedom from involvement with the opposite sex? Where was her sense of self-preservation?
Gone up in the flames Hugo always ignited in her body. And her mind must have gone with it.
She threw herself on to a chair and stared at the wall.
Her emotions were raw and on the surface. Her need for what Hugo offered was to the point where she knew if she walked away from him, she would always wonder what she had let go. A silly, stupid idea, but there it was.
She wanted to make love with Hugo Fitzsimmon. She wanted to have the memory of him touching her, loving her. More than anything, she wanted him to erase the memory of Fenwick-Clyde, something she knew he could do.
She jumped to her feet, determined to seek him out before she changed her mind and lost her courage. It was now or never. Or wait until the next time he tried to seduce her. But she did not want to wait.
Annabell took a deep breath that did nothing to calm her trepidation. What if he sent her away? How mortifying. Even worse, it would mean he didn’t want her. Not only mortifying, but so painful that the possibility of his rejection did not bear thinking upon.
Funny, that a woman with her independent streak could contemplate giving her body to him even as she tried to keep her soul free. She was not sure she could give one without the other. Yet, she did not want to love Sir Hugo, to have him mean more to her than her freedom.
She only wanted to share his bed. Just once.
She had given Fenwick-Clyde her body because she had had no choice. They had been married and she had been under law to provide him whatever he wanted of her physically. Nothing in the world would have induced her to give her dead husband that which she contemplated giving Hugo… Her heart?
Her heart.
The enormity of what she was about to do swamped her. She stopped. She shook. Her pulse thundered in her ears.
How could she think she was giving Sir Hugo her heart? She was only giving him her body. She did not love him. Could not love him. Could she? Did she dare?
Her shaking increased. Her chest rose and fell in rapid, shallow breaths. Surely not.
Enough. He wanted her. She wanted him. That was all that mattered.
She went to her door, opened it and slipped outside. The hall was cold and dimly lit. Everyone must have gone to bed. She had spent more time pacing and agonising than she had realised. She moved forwards.
Minutes later, she stood motionless in front of his door where anyone passing by would see her. She smoothed her moist palms down the fine satin of her evening gown and told herself to stop overreacting. Everyone had gone to bed. She raised her clenched hand to knock and paused. What if someone heard? Did she dare enter without announcing herself? Did she dare risk someone else knowing what was happening? Neither choice was good.
And if he answered? Would that be any better? All her doubts and fears swept over her like a tidal wave crashing to shore. She swayed in indecision.
‘Hello?’ Hugo’s voice came from the other side of the thick oak door.
His words were like being doused with a jug of ice water. She heard the discomfort he now took no effort to hide. He was in no condition for what she contemplated, even if what she had come here for was something they should be doing. And he was not alone. And she was a fool.
As though awakening from a dream where she had seen paradise and then had it taken away, she turned away. She had been right earlier. She belonged in Bedlam, not Sir Hugo’s bed.
She was a widow and he was a rake. They had no future together. She had never engaged in a relationship just for the pleasure. She had never slept with any man but her husband.
This was too huge a step for her to take.
She retraced her footsteps. She locked her door once more, and this time she put the key to her room on the very top of the wardrobe. Perhaps if she had to make an effort to let herself out, she would stop and think more clearly. She could only hope.
But he was a great temptation, and she was learning just how weak she was.
Annabell woke with the sun the next day. She had barely slept, tossing and turning, until she dozed. Now she felt exhausted and had a headache that she knew would be with her all day. She dragged herself from bed. The maid would be here with hot chocolate soon. The way she felt, a tot of Sir Hugo’s ever-present brandy would be welcome.
She ran her fingers through the tangle of her hair, having forgotten to braid it the night before, and told herself that succumbing to Sir Hugo’s brandy was nearly as bad as succumbing to the man himself. The maid chose that moment to knock.
Thankful for the interruption to her disturbing thoughts, Annabell called, ‘Come in.’
The doorknob twisted, and only then did Annabe
ll remember she had locked herself in and put the key on top of the wardrobe. She pulled the chair to the piece of furniture, climbed on top of the cushions and found the key. Before letting the maid in, she put the chair back in its spot. No sense the entire household knowing where she had hidden the key. Coupled with her locking the door in the first place, that would precipitate more talk about her eccentricity than there already was.
Unlocking the door, Annabell said, ‘Thank you, Sally.’
The young maid bobbed a curtsy as she entered. She cast a look around. ‘Here, my lady. I’ll just pick up your gown, if you please.’
The gown was the mauve silk she had worn last night and left lying on the floor after coming back from Hugo’s room. She had never been neat except in her antiquities work. She sighed. ‘Thank you, Sally.’
The girl smiled. ‘Shall I help you dress, my lady?’ She flushed at her temerity. ‘I ain’t a fancy French lady’s maid, but—’
‘You will do just fine. I’ve never had any use for a lady’s maid to begin with. If you will just help hook the dress in the middle of my back where I have difficulty reaching, that will be more than enough.’
‘Yes, my lady.’ Sally bobbed another curtsy.
After the girl was gone, Annabelle quickly twisted her silvery blonde hair into braids and secured them on her head before studying herself. Her dress was serviceable. Grey kerseymere cut loosely. She had not put on her harem pants because… She frowned at herself. Why had she not put them on? She had not made a conscious decision not to, she just hadn’t thought to. Was this another example of her indecision about Hugo, not being able to dress in her normal working attire?
She twisted away from her reflection. She was totally confused about what she wanted.
She stalked to the door and threw it open just in time to see her nemesis leaving his room. He turned to look at her, his gaze catching her attention and holding her captive.
‘What a fetching gown.’
His murmured voice seemed to caress her even though the upward curve of his sensual lips told her he did not think the dress was fetching at all. Yet his eyes told her he didn’t care what she wore.
She frowned, as irritated with him as she was with herself. ‘I dare say you tell all the women that, regardless of how they look.’
He shrugged. ‘Why not? Anything else only hurts their sensibilities.’
‘Honesty.’
He raised one dark brow. ‘Sometimes it is better to compliment than to denigrate.’
She moved toward him. ‘You are the one always harping about honesty.’
He watched her. ‘In emotions and intent. I never lie about what I plan to do or how I feel about something.’
She stopped near enough to him that she could see the fine lines of dissipation that radiated from his eyes and the slight tension around his mouth. Suddenly their bickering was not worth the energy and ill will.
‘Are you still in pain?’
He laughed. ‘Changing the subject?’
She shrugged, but returned his smile with a small one of her own. ‘I suppose I am. It just suddenly seemed so trivial to be arguing about a compliment when you are likely still in pain from yesterday.’
‘We are back to my heroism, I see.’
‘Is that so bad?’
‘No.’
He spoke so softly she only knew what he said by the movement of his lips, lips that could move so expertly over her own. Her eyes widened even as his narrowed.
‘Did you come to my door last night?’ His words were barely a whisper, meant only for her.
Shock erased her arousal of seconds before. ‘Of course not.’
‘No?’ That eyebrow rose again. ‘I thought I heard a sound outside my room. It was too late for a servant and Jamison was with me.’ He continued to watch her.
She felt a flush rise from her neck to her cheeks. ‘I am not so craven as to come that far and then retreat.’
‘Aren’t you?’
The collar of her gown was suddenly too tight, and she could no longer meet his eyes. ‘Oh, very well,’ she said ungraciously. ‘I did come to your door. I meant to see how you were doing.’
‘But you had seen that just hours before in the library.’
She studied him and wondered how long she could skirt his questions, or if she even wanted to. Just as she wondered how long she could continue to deny her own attraction to him. She was in uncharted territory and didn’t know what to do.
His eyes darkened. ‘You came to my room for a different reason, didn’t you?’
She continued to look at him, knowing she should say something, but not able to. This was all so much more complicated than she had ever imagined. She did not plan the words that tumbled from her mouth.
‘Yes. I wanted… I wanted…’ She twisted away so she would not have to see his face. ‘I don’t know what I wanted.’
His hands touched her shoulders, his fingers warm and firm through the kerseymere dress. He did not try to turn her, only spoke gently to her. ‘You want me to make love to you, Annabell. You want to know what it is like between a man and woman who desire each other and want to give each other pleasure.’
She took a deep shuddering breath, aware on a bone-deep level that she felt as though a great burden had been lifted. His words, so blunt and truthful, spoke directly to the core of who she was. He understood her.
She nodded, still unable to turn back to him. ‘Yes. More than I ever imagined possible.’
The sound of a heel on the carpet came from behind them. They jumped apart and Annabell whirled around. Desire still etched furrows in Sir Hugo’s cheeks. Annabell felt like a small child caught doing something unspeakable. Her breath wheezed through a painfully tight throat.
Juliet Fitzsimmon rounded the corner from the stairs and stopped. ‘Good morning, Annabell. Hugo.’ She looked searchingly at her stepson and then her guest. ‘It seems I came along at an inopportune time, but that will happen when private matters are discussed in public places.’
‘So true.’ Hugo’s voice was dry, his gaze on Annabell.
Mortified at how close they had come to being discovered, Annabell spoke hastily. ‘I must be on my way.’ She paused. ‘I am sorry for having put you in the position of having to find us this way.’
Juliet looked at her. ‘Sometimes the heart is stronger than our sense of caution, Annabell. I am glad I was the one to come around the corner.’
‘You are a true friend,’ Annabell murmured as she left.
Hugo watched Annabell walk away before turning to Juliet. ‘It seems we are becoming indiscreet. My apologies.’
Juliet put her slender white fingers on Hugo’s arm. ‘Do not break her heart, Hugo. She does not deserve it.’
He scowled down at his stepmother. ‘I have no intentions of doing so.’
‘Then your intentions are honourable?’
His scowl deepened. ‘Lady Fenwick-Clyde is a widow and knows what she is about, Juliet. Just as you are.’
His stepmother’s pale complexion pinkened. ‘You always know exactly what to say, Hugo, to stop someone from prying when it is none of their business to begin with. I hope you know what you are about this time.’ She walked away without waiting for his reply.
Hugo watched Juliet disappear down the hall that suddenly seemed to lead to everyone’s bedchamber. Much as he did not like to agree with what she had said, Juliet had spoken truly. He just was not going to let her words influence him. This was between him and Annabell and to hell with everyone else.
Annabell reached the front hall, feeling as though she had just escaped from mortal danger. Emotional danger. Her mouth twisted. She had never considered herself fanciful, but the things Hugo made her feel were frightening to someone who never wanted to be controlled by another person.
‘My lady,’ Butterfield intoned. ‘A letter.’
Annabell jumped, not having seen him approach because she was too engrossed in her worries. ‘Oh, thank you.’
&
nbsp; She managed to smile and take the letter, thankful Hugo had not witnessed the incident. He would know her preoccupation was because of what had just occurred between them. She glanced down at the letter, the delicate writing and franking telling her it was from her new sister-in-law, Felicia, Viscountess Chillings.
Eager for news about her family, Annabell moved instinctively to the library where she could read in comfort and privacy. Sitting in her favourite chintz chair, she peeled off the wax seal and unfolded the single sheet of thick vellum.
Dearest Bell,
I would not write this, but I need to share my thoughts with someone and I do not think Guy could easily deal with my worries. He was too afraid of losing me and the babe from the beginning.
The breath caught in Annabell’s throat. Something horrible must have happened for the normally calm Felicia to write this. And the next words were blurred by what had been tears.
Adam is sick. The physician says it is merely croup, but my baby coughs day and night and is not eating well. I know I am being silly, but seeing him this way makes me worry that something will happen to him. Absolutely silly. Absolutely. But…
The rest of the letter was about other family matters, the disreputable Damien and what a wonderful husband Guy was. Annabell smiled. Felicia understood so much about the two brothers. Her sister-in-law ended with love and a request for a reply.
Annabell set the paper down and gazed at nothing. Croup was not unusual in babies, and the physician they called would be the best. Probably Prinny’s own, and what was good enough for the Prince of Wales should be good enough for the future Viscount Chillings. And Felicia and Guy would give their son all the love and attention a baby needed. Likely, Adam was perfectly fine by now since Felicia had written the letter two days ago.
Still, Felicia’s worry made Annabell’s heart hurt. Felicia had lost her two children from her first marriage because of an ice skating accident several years ago. Although Felicia had had amnesia when she first came into their lives and had not remembered who she was or the children she had lost, she had been consciously aware of a deep hurt. Annabell understood how something, anything might make Felicia worry about this child. And she had been right in saying Guy would have difficulty if his wife openly worried because it had been constant torture for Guy during the delivery, having lost his first wife and heir in childbirth. Life was so fragile, and sometimes too short.
An Unconventional Widow Page 12
