by Kim Bowman
An old jagged scar stood out white where it ran the length of his right cheek and along his jaw, almost as though someone had tried to cut off his face. It certainly added a sinister air. Annabella shivered despite the warmth of the day.
“Thank you.” She shouldn’t be rude. Jon and Gran cared a great deal for the people at the event, and she didn’t want to raise a stir. But the man made her uneasy in many ways.
Gran warned Jon about a dark man…
“Have you been shooting long?”
Should she answer him? Ask for his name? He seemed to know who she was. Not surprising, since everyone knew Jon and Gran, and she’d recently competed. But she hadn’t been introduced to this man so shouldn’t he have given her his name?
She took a step back. “I’m sorry. I didn’t catch your name.”
He opened his mouth then slammed it shut as he glanced over her shoulder. Tipping his dark hat, he said, “Enjoy the rest of your evening,” before turning and walking toward the road with quick, determined strides.
“Here you are, my lady.”
Her worry eased as Jon slid up beside her, and she let out the breath she’d been holding. Keeping her gaze on the retreating stranger, she grasped the wineglass Jon handed her.
“Do you know that man?” she asked.
“What man?” Jon asked in a tight voice.
She glanced at her husband. His brow was furrowed, and his sharp eyes darted back and forth as he searched the grounds.
“He’s just walking toward the road over… there…” She pointed in the direction the man had headed, but with the sun just going below the tree line, it was impossible to make out much. “I can’t see him now. I spotted him a few times today. He seemed…” She frowned, struggling for the words. “Rather out of place.”
“Did he upset you? Should I send a footman after him?” Alarm laced Jon’s normally calm voice.
She touched his arm. “No, no. Nothing like that. He just congratulated me on a job well done today, and I was curious about his identity is all.”
Jon’s eyes pierced through her. “Are you certain?”
She hated seeing him so upset. After all, the stranger was gone. “I’m certain. Truly. I was merely curious.”
Jon’s jaw clenched and unclenched a couple more times then his face relaxed and the softness returned to his eyes. “In that case, would you care to dance?”
Annabella hadn’t attended a dance in years. “I-I’m not sure that’s a very good idea. I fear my archery skills are far better than my dancing ones.”
He took the glass from her and set both on the closest table. “How fortunate for you that I happen to be an excellent dancer.”
True to his word, his expertise on the dance floor put her at ease within minutes. The evening was magical. She danced and laughed more than she had in ages. More than once she caught her husband looking at her, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth, his eyes sparkling.
My husband… why, yes he is, and I want him to stay that way. She shivered as excitement momentarily overcame her during a simple country dance, and then she suffered a misstep.
Jon raised an eyebrow, but Annabella only smiled. “I may have had more port than I should have after all.”
All too soon, the dancing and merriment ended. Annabella let Jon drape his arm over her shoulder and lead her to the carriage. As he assisted her up the step, she paused in the door and took one last look around at the departing crowd, dragging their feet along the lane and into their carriages.
Then she turned her gaze on Jon. His coat was wrinkled, his hat askew. His hair fell in cheery disarray over his forehead, and Annabella wanted desperately to brush it away again. But his eyes were sharp and gleaming. He looked… happy.
“Thank you for bringing me.” She stroked his chin, giggling breathlessly at the scratch of his nighttime whispers against her fingers. “This was a lovely day.”
Jon turned his head and pressed a warm kiss to her palm, his eyes trapping hers in an intense shared stare. Then the moment passed, though the sparks of awareness remained. Annabella turned and made her way to the seat.
Once settled in the carriage, the evening only improved. Gran quickly fell asleep, snoring softly before they’d gone more than a few miles.
“She’ll be out for the rest of the ride,” murmured Jon with a soft laugh.
“Why don’t you compete?” Annabella whispered, curiosity besting her. “I know you shoot. Gran told me so.”
“I stopped competing at the archery contest years back. Gran trained me into quite the accomplished archer, and the older men seemed to resent losing to a teenager.” He chuckled. “And of course I was far too arrogant back then to diplomatically lose. Besides, I find it more enjoyable to see the excitement of other participants.”
“And are you still too arrogant to be diplomatic?” she teased.
Silent laughter rocked his body. “We usually call it too stubborn to lose these days.”
How she wished she could see his expression in the darkness.
He didn’t try to kiss her again. Oh, how marvelous that would have been, ending the day on one of his glorious kisses. But she quickly pushed the disappointment aside and soon she found herself telling him about her papa. It was comfortable, finally sharing the best of her past with him.
When they reached the estate, Jon assisted Gran to the front door and called for her maid.
Annabella covered a yawn.
“You’ve had a long day. I’m sure you’re ready to retire,” Jon said, dragging his fingers down along her forearm before he stepped away.
She tilted her head. “Are you not retiring?”
“I’ll be up shortly. I want to check on a few things in my study first.” He kissed her tenderly on the cheek. “You were amazing today. Sleep well.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Disappointment stung, and tears pricked the backs of her eyelids as Annabella looked out into the night. She’d read too much into his touches and kisses. Perhaps they could hold a frank conversation in the morning. She wandered to the bed, restless, not really tired at all. As she started to pull the blankets back, something shiny caught her eye and she paused. “What’s this?”
A gleaming gold arrow like the ones the men had been awarded at the tournament lay tucked in her bedclothes. She lifted it, surprised at the weightiness of the cool metal. A sheaf of paper fluttered to the floor, and she picked it up then crossed to the candle to better see it.
My dearest Annabella,
This is the very first arrow I won when I was twelve. Believe me when I tell you how proud I am of you and how splendid I know you’ll be today.
Jon
Annabella’s hand shook. “He believed in me,” she told the arrow. “He called me splendid.” Her gaze slid to their connecting door, and she touched her fingers to her lips, her mind replaying the passionate kiss from earlier. She’d heard him enter as Marie was leaving. Was he still awake? She wanted so badly to thank him. Suddenly, it didn’t seem right to wait until morning.
~~~~
Dark clouds bubbled and roiled across the sky, mirroring Jon’s churning emotions to perfection. His body was weary to the bone after the eventful day. But his mind — and his heart — had taken a more stubborn turn, refusing to leave him in peace.
What if he was reading her wrong? What if she only wanted gentle affection? She’d certainly had little enough of that in her life from what he could tell.
The black clouds thinned, and a quarter moon thrust through like a fist, reclaiming some of the shadows with her shimmering white glow.
“Jon,” came a soft whisper from behind him.
He stiffened, curling his fingers into the fabric of his nightshirt. Had he really heard her? Or merely conjured her from the darkest depths of his desire? Fearing the latter, he closed his eyes and held his breath.
“Jon,” she said again, a bit louder.
He eased a breath out and turned, slowly, lest he ruin an illusio
n. At the sight of her standing in the silver moonbeam, his breath left him in a rush. If he never drew another, seeing the beauty before him would have been worth it.
Her nightdress was simple white muslin that clung to her shoulders and breasts then floated cloudlike around her as it fell to the floor. At once it revealed less and yet more than the courtesan’s fantasy of lace and silk with which she had tormented him after he’d removed the door between their bedchambers. He’d ached for her that night, had castigated himself for not taking what she’d offered.
What he hadn’t realized then was that the brazen woman in silk hadn’t even been close to the real Annabella. The uncertain goddess who hovered in the entrance now, brave enough to have opened the door and called his name, but too terrified to step over the threshold…
It took every ounce of his willpower not to rush across the distance between them and take her where she stood.
“Jon? I…”
He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile rather than a lascivious leer. “What is it, Annabella? Do you need something?” Say it; say you need me…
She held the arrow he’d left on her bed. “I thought — I thought maybe you’d like…”
Jon suppressed a groan. “Have mercy, Annabella. Please,” he said, struggling to temper the need in his voice. “I’ve even less patience just now than David had with Bathsheba.”
She stiffened and pushed her chin out. “I’m your wife, not some harlot bathing on a rooftop,” she snapped. Then, with head held high, she spun about, ready to leave.
It was in that awkward moment that he understood she was as afraid of his rejection as he was of hers.
“Wait! Please.” The pleading in his voice surprised him but not as much as the realization that he couldn’t bear for her to walk away.
She turned, her eyes searching, and took a step into the room. Then another, walking toward him with slow deliberation, but no more hesitation. She stopped within a few feet. Jon stepped closer. She didn’t retreat.
“I hope you didn’t come to return the arrow.”
Annabella glanced down. “You shouldn’t have.”
“Yes, I should have. You were amazing today.” He skimmed his fingers along her cheek, and she turned into his touch, pressing her warm lips against his palm, flicking her tongue and tickling the sensitive skin there. Slow and easy, he reminded himself sternly as his body flared to exquisite awareness.
Jon hovered on the edge, battling between desire and decency. “I want you.”
“I’m your wife,” she repeated softly. Locking her gaze with his, she tossed the arrow onto his bedside table. Her green eyes mesmerized him as she untied the lace at her throat and parted her nightgown. Then she dipped her hand into the opening. Excitement jolted through him like lightning. She drew out a satin ribbon and held it up.
The firelight glinted off the gold signet ring he’d given her. He’d seen the ribbon around her neck before but hadn’t known it held her wedding ring.
“See? Your wife.” She tucked ring and ribbon back inside her nightdress and smiled up at him.
The words touched him in his core, erupted, and spread molten fire to every fiber of his being. Jon pushed his hand into her hair, tangled the silken tresses around his fist. He slid his other hand around her waist and splayed his fingers in the small of her back, settling her more intimately against his body.
She trembled, giving him pause, but then she twined her arms around his neck and draped herself over him, arching her neck in sweet surrender. He could feel the staccato beat of her heart throbbing against his chest, and when he trailed kisses along her neck, its echo pulsed against his lips. But by then, his heart marched in time with hers.
“Annabella,” he murmured against her skin. “Please, my lady, be very certain. What will be done is not something that can be undone.”
That part of him which operated on instinct berated him for asking, but he held himself very still awaiting her reply.
~~~~
The words lingered, filling the breathless space between them, threatening to take on a life of their own.
Undone? She was coming undone with the tiny circles he was drawing with his finger on her neck, with his nearness, his warmth. With her need to be his.
“Please, darling…” He lifted his mouth from her neck and cradled her against his chest, pressing tender kisses to the top of her head. “I need to know this is what you want. That you won’t regret—”
Annabella turned slightly, allowing the moonbeam shining through the window to spill over Jon’s face. His eyes seemed to glow, twin pools of molten obsidian. But underneath the edge of arousal, she saw honest caring, even — dared she hope? — love.
“I’ve never been more certain of anything… of anyone,” she whispered, tracing the dimple in his chin with her thumb. Pushing up onto her toes, she leaned in again and laid her lips against his.
The scent of fresh air with a hint of Madeira clung to his skin and rose to tease her nostrils. Annabella pulled in a deep breath, savoring the fragrances of their day together. With a feral moan, Jon wrapped her in his strong embrace and deepened the kiss. When he touched his tongue to her lips she opened to him.
Sensations she’d never experienced pummeled her as his hands roamed freely over her body, tugging at the ties on her nightdress until the garment loosened. He stopped his kisses long enough to lift her and carry her to the narrow bed on which he’d been sleeping for the past months. When he laid her down, he followed, fitting against her with such perfection, she became the lock, and he the key.
He murmured things, beautiful words, naughty words… words filled with passion and longing as he showed her with every touch, every kiss, each sigh-filled moment what it meant to be loved by Jonathan Durham.
As the fire in the hearth burned low, the fires of Annabella’s love for her husband rose. Whatever her future might hold, from that instant on, she would always have those first moments of tenderness intertwined with passion. Breathless, her heart pounding so hard surely it would leave her chest, Annabella lay locked in Jon’s arms listening to his ragged breathing deepen and slow.
For once, he’s falling asleep on me instead of the other way around. She groped for the bed covers and drew them up. Jon stirred and murmured but then sighed, and his sonorous breathing resumed as he sank back into slumber, one arm thrown possessively across her middle.
I didn’t know it was like this… I had no idea… Sudden tears stung her eyes, and she let them fall, recognizing they weren’t tears of sadness but of deep emotion. She nuzzled into Jon’s neck and closed her eyes, feeling truly safe for the first time in her life.
This is home…
~~~~
Annabella rolled over and stretched. Predawn light crept over the intricately carved ceiling and delved into the shadows. Jon’s arms tightened around her when she moved, and he began to press kisses to her jaw, sought and found her mouth with a growing display of urgency.
Happiness exploded in her soul, and she kissed him back, fast and hard. “Good morning, Lord Seabrook.” She lightly dragged her fingernails along the skin from his shoulder to his chest, raising fine bumps in their wake. Fascinating… how her every touch seemed to elicit a response in her husband.
“Mmm, good morning, Lady Seabrook.” Jon grazed her ribs with one hand as he propped himself on his other and gazed into her eyes. “Did you sleep well?”
“When my husband allowed sleep, yes, I slept very well.” She wound her arms around his neck and clung.
“And in between sleeping?” he asked with a chuckle.
The mild heat of embarrassment invaded her face, but she didn’t look away. “Seabrook, really, are you asking me to rate your prowess as a lover?”
“Not at all,” he answered, dropping a kiss to the tip of her nose. “It’s just that you moaned and cried out so loud and so often I felt the need to make certain my lady has not taken ill.”
The heat blossomed into a raging inferno. “
I most certainly did no such thing.”
His lips twitched into a smile, and he began raining insistent kisses over her face and neck. “No? Well, perhaps this time you should pay closer attention…”
The brilliant light of midmorning splashed into the room the next time Annabella awakened.
And she was alone in the narrow bed.
Hushed voices and faint rustlings of fabric drifted through the partially open door to the parlor. Annabella moved to draw the coverlet up but found it had already been carefully tucked around her shoulders like a cocoon.
The voices continued their rise and fall, and Annabella strained to hear. They were both male as far as she could tell. Was that Jon’s honeyed bass?
“I’ll get straight on it, my lord.” That was Jon’s valet… Carson. Oh, dear heavens! She was lying in Jon’s bed. Marie would doubtless be looking for her soon — if she hadn’t been already — so she could dress for the archery range with Gran. She struggled to sit without dropping the protective covers.
With the thud of the outer door closing, silence fell in the parlor. Annabella held her breath and listened. Had they all left or merely gone quiet? Should she rise and race to her own bedchamber? Where had her nightdress fallen?
The parlor door pushed open, and Jon’s face swam into her vision.
“You’re awake,” he said, smiling.
“As are you,” she responded in a weak voice, tugging the cover closer. In the harsh midmorning light, it seemed positively wanton to be lying abed in her particular state of undress.
Jon gazed at her as he entered the room, seeming to be struggling against a smile. Easy for him, since he had the benefit of being clothed in his burgundy dressing gown. The smile won when he reached midway from the door to the bed, and she saw that he was holding out her blue silk dressing robe.
The one that would cover everything and hide nothing at all. His normal grin slipped into place as he reached the bed, bent, and plucked her muslin nightdress from the floor. “Looking for this, Lady Seabrook?”
