by Olivia Drake
Ludlow gave a rusty chuckle. “’Tis that governess, eh?”
“What?” Realizing where the old man’s rheumy eyes were looking, Simon turned his back and snatched up his trousers. “Who the devil has been linking her name with mine?”
“Pray be assured there is no gossip belowstairs, my lord. ’Tis only that I am experienced in such matters. Over the years, I have assisted the gentlemen of this family in covering up many an indiscretion.”
Good God. Of all times for Ludlow to become verbose. “I’ll keep that in mind. Now hand me my shirt.”
Ludlow shuffled around for a bit and eventually gave over the garment. As Simon pulled it over his head and fastened the cuffs, the ancient retainer said, “Will you be wanting the blue or the brown coat?”
“Neither.” Simon’s voice halted Ludlow on his painstaking progress toward the wardrobe. “I’m going to my study now. Please have my tea brought there straightaway.”
“As you wish, my lord.”
With Ludlow’s sluggish steps, that ought to take nigh on an hour. Simon was hungry and out of sorts right now—though the feeling had less to do with food than with his unsatisfied sexual needs.
He strode out into his bedchamber and then into the deserted corridor. Maybe he ought to go upstairs to see Annabelle. There had to be some way to get back into her good graces. The trouble was, he didn’t dare send flowers or chocolates or, God forbid, jewels to the governess. That would only make her the subject of censorious gossip among the staff. No, he had to use more finesse than that.
But how? His nephew’s constant presence precluded any real chance at flirtation, let alone seduction.
Oh, hell. Why was he letting the woman twist his gut into knots? He had plenty of other problems to occupy him, such as finding whoever had fired that gun. Unlike Annabelle, he didn’t believe the villain had left the area. Simon had his suspicions, and he’d been keeping an eye on one person in particular. But until he found proof, he had to bide his time and do his best to protect Annabelle from harm.
So much for putting the woman out of his mind. He couldn’t string two thoughts together without coming back to her. Which was why, when he turned the corner and spied her walking into a guest bedchamber, he wondered at first if she was the creation of a fevered fantasy.
He had only a quick glimpse of a dark-haired woman in an elegant blue gown before she vanished from sight. She looked like Annabelle—and yet she didn’t. But who the devil else could she be?
Lengthening his strides, he made haste down the passageway. The carpet runner muffled his swift footsteps. There were no guests in the castle. So it had to be her.
What was she doing on this floor? The nursery was located in another wing of the castle.
Simon reached the room she had entered. The door was cracked open, and he gave it a slight push of his hand. Not seeing anyone, he slipped into the bedchamber and quietly shut the door behind him.
Empty.
The room was dim, the draperies drawn over the windows. There was only a canopied bed with green brocade hangings, a pair of chairs by the unlit fireplace, a dainty writing desk equipped with paper and quills. Had he mistaken the bedroom? No, it was this one, he was certain of it.
Maybe he had seen a ghost.
He irritably combed his fingers through his damp hair. More likely, this constant state of lust had thrust him over the edge into madness …
A sound came from the dressing room. The muted scrape of a footstep. His gaze riveted to the open doorway. Then he trod silently across the plush carpet.
He stopped there and stared.
Annabelle stood primping in front of a tall mirror in the dressing room. Her back to him, she wore a slim-fitting blue gown with a cream underskirt. She had discarded that ugly spinster’s cap in favor of an upsweep of loose curls. He could see the swanlike curve of her neck as she gazed down at her bosom.
She was making some adjustments to the low-cut bodice. Then she smoothed her palms down over her hips, grasped the folds of her skirt, and lifted the hem of her gown. Underneath, she wore dark red dancing slippers that sparkled with crystal beads. She turned to and fro as if to regard them from different angles. Then she tilted up her chin again to study herself critically in the mirror.
Simon knew the instant she spotted his reflection in the looking glass. Her eyes widened and one of her hands went to her bosom. She uttered a small, breathless gasp.
For one long eloquent moment they stared at each other in the mirror. His heart thudded in his chest, pumping blood straight to his groin. He found it difficult to breathe, let alone move.
She whirled around to face him. “Lord Simon! I never thought … I only needed to use the long mirror … I’ll leave now.”
A pale pink blush tinted her skin, and her discomfiture charmed him. She was such a fascinating blend of innocent ingénue and mature woman.
“Don’t leave,” he said huskily. “Don’t.”
In a few swift steps, he closed the distance between them and pulled her into his arms. She placed her hands on the front of his shirt, yet made no attempt to push him away. As she looked up at him, her lips parted and her lashes lowered slightly over those expressive blue eyes. Simon recognized an invitation when he saw one and he took full advantage of it.
He brought his mouth down on hers. Subduing his own urgency, he kept the contact gentle at first, cupping her face in his hands and brushing his lips over hers in a series of small kisses designed to beguile her senses. How incredible to taste her at last when he had wanted to do this from the moment he’d seen her for the first time, emerging like a wood nymph from the forest below the castle. She remained motionless within his embrace, allowing his actions yet not fully participating. He continued his persuasive assault, lightly stroking her hair and face and throat while running his tongue along the seam of her lips.
A little shiver coursed through her. On a soft moan, she dissolved against him, lifting herself up to slide her hands around his neck. That clear sign of surrender evoked in him a richness of emotion unlike anything he had ever known. Their kiss became deep and drowning as she awarded him full access to her mouth. Groaning with need, he sought out the feminine curves that had obsessed him for many weeks.
Her shapely body was a feast to his starving senses. Annabelle seemed just as eager to explore him, too, for she glided her fingers over his shoulders and chest as if to learn the texture of his skin and the shape of his muscles. When he moved his lips to her throat, she tilted her head back and closed her eyes. The swiftness of her breathing gave testament to her arousal.
God in heaven, she was perfection. Why had he waited in such torturous agony when she was so ready for his loving? Impatient to hone her desire, he cupped her bosom, his thumb rubbing over the tip of one breast. She rewarded him with another soft, needy moan. But the silken barrier of her gown only served to frustrate him. Desiring to caress warm, womanly flesh, he worked his hand inside the tightness of her bodice.
Something sharp jabbed into his finger.
Simon jerked his hand back. “What the devil—”
A spot of blood glistened on the tip of his little finger. He shook his hand to ease the sting.
Annabelle surveyed the tiny wound. “I see you found one of the pins in my gown.” Her mouth forming a prim line, she gave him the stern look of a governess. “And I daresay you deserved it, my lord.”
Frowning, she brought his finger to her mouth as if he were a child in need of a kiss to make it better. She must have realized the absurdity of her action because before her lips could touch him, she paused. They stared at each other, the air heavy with sexual awareness. Then she lowered her lashes. Instead of releasing his hand as he expected, she drew his finger into her mouth and gently sucked on it.
His knees threatened to buckle. God help him, where had she learned that suggestive move? It had to be an impulse born of her innate sensuality. Despite the passion fogging his brain, he knew she was not the sort of woman to
give herself lightly. He would be the first man—the only man—to seduce Miss Annabelle Quinn. And when he was through, she would belong to him, body and soul.
Yet she was far too precious for him to take in a frenzy, no matter how much he craved his own release. A woman like her deserved to be flattered, enticed, worshipped.
Leaning his back against the wall, Simon settled her firmly against him. When he feathered his lips over the silken softness of her cheek, she turned her mouth invitingly toward him, and for a long while they nuzzled and caressed with increasing ardor. Nothing in his life had ever felt more right than being with Annabelle like this. He wanted it to last forever. She would feel that way, too, once they lay naked together, their bodies joined. He could no longer curb his impatience to bring about that moment. While he distracted her with kisses, his fingers made short work of the buttons down her back.
He pushed the sleeves down her shoulders, stroking her bare skin along the way. On a sharp intake of breath, she caught his hands. “You mustn’t…”
“I need to touch you.” He looked deeply into her eyes. “We belong together, my love. Surely you feel it, too?”
Her gaze softened. She sank her teeth into her lower lip and nodded, and this time allowed him to tug the dress down to her waist. By some miracle, she had not worn a corset, and the fullness of her bosom strained against the plain bleached cotton of her shift.
Once she agreed to be his mistress, he intended to garb her in the finest lace lingerie for his pleasure. Yet oddly he found this simple garment to be every bit as arousing.
His hand trembling, Simon brushed aside the loose shift to expose her to his view. He cradled her breast so that it lay warm and heavy in his palm, a perfect fit. “You are so very beautiful,” he murmured, then bent to lave the tip with his tongue. The heady taste of her stoked the fire inside him. When she uttered a small sound of yearning, emotion crowded his throat, tenderness and desire and a fierce determination to brand her as his own.
Shuddering, she clung to his shoulders and looked at him almost in despair. “I shouldn’t crave you so much.”
He caught her face in his hands, using his thumbs to stroke her cheeks. “Yes, you should,” he said. “You were made for my loving, Annabelle. We were made for each other.”
Simon couldn’t allow her to think any longer for fear she might succumb to maidenly doubts. Better he should keep her so enraptured that she would forget everything but him and the mutual ecstasy that lay in store for them.
He subjected her to another deep kiss while he worked the shift down to her hips so he could explore the satiny curves of her upper body. She was remarkably responsive, trembling and sighing as he ran his hand down the supple length of her back. Her fervent reaction drove him to the brink of madness. No longer able to resist, he pushed off her garments, letting them fall in a puddle on the floor. Then he touched the lush dampness between her legs.
Annabelle stiffened and clutched at his arms. He kissed her thoroughly, continuing to lightly caress her as he whispered of her beauty and how very much he wanted to make her happy. Every word poured straight from his heart. Simon could not remember any other woman he’d ever wanted to please so much.
She melted against him, and he looped his arm around her waist to hold her upright. If not for the wall behind him, he wouldn’t have been able to stand up himself. She tucked her face into the crook of his neck while her hips moved in rhythm with his stroking. Her sweet mewling sounds of delight made his heart pound and his loins tighten to the point of agony.
Damn it, he wanted her beneath him in bed. Right now. He wanted to be inside Annabelle, to ride the tide of pleasure along with her, to join her in plunging over the edge. But before he could act on the impulse, she cried out, her body quivering with the force of her release.
A fierce triumph filled him even though he had not experienced the rapture with her. There would be ample time to seek his own pleasure. She was his now, forever and always.
Simon swept her up into his arms and bore her into the adjoining bedchamber. As he gently placed her on the bed, Annabelle offered no resistance, for she was limp and sated. Exactly as he himself intended to be in a moment.
He tore off his shirt, then worked at the buttons of his trousers. Like a goddess in repose, Annabelle lay on her side, naked save for the garters that held up her silk stockings. Her garnet shoes had fallen off while he’d carried her in here, and he found himself adoring even the shape of her feet.
His hungry stare traveled up the length of her legs and hips, to the lush feast of her breasts, and then to her face. A few curls had come loose, falling to her shoulders and giving her the look of a well-satisfied woman. Her gaze slumberous, she watched him as he opened the last button and freed himself.
Her eyes widened on his jutting arousal. With a gasp, she sat up abruptly, her hands clasped to her bare bosom in a vain attempt to cover herself. “No!”
Simon cursed himself for not anticipating her virginal reaction. Without pausing to shuck off his trousers, he sprang to the bed and pulled her into his arms, rubbing his hands soothingly over her back. “Shh, darling, don’t be alarmed. You’ll find even greater pleasure in this, I promise you.”
She shook her head in a panic. “We can’t … I can’t.”
“Listen, my love.” He gently tilted her face to look at him. “This isn’t merely an afternoon’s romp. You mean far too much to me. I want you with me always.”
Uncertainty softened her expression. “Always?”
“Yes. I’ll be true to you for as long as you desire. You have my word on that.”
“For as long as I…?” She paused, her gaze searching his. “What exactly are you saying, my lord?”
“Simon,” he corrected huskily, running his fingertip over her lips. “I won’t have you addressing me so formally now that we’ll be sharing a bed.”
Talking was a waste of time when his heart’s desire sat so tantalizingly close. Wanting to drown himself in her taste and scent, he leaned forward to kiss her, but Annabelle turned her head to the side so that his mouth grazed her ear.
She scooted backward, her arms still covering her breasts. “I want the truth, Simon. Are you suggesting I become … your mistress?”
Her big blue eyes were stark with accusation, and Simon realized through his lusty haze that she didn’t appear exactly pleased by the prospect. Despite her lack of family, Annabelle had been raised to be a proper lady, and now that she could think clearly, she must be appalled by the notion of physical intimacy with a man who was not her husband.
He silently cursed his lack of finesse in allowing the question to arise. But now that it had, there was no sidestepping the answer.
“Yes, I do want you to be my mistress, Annabelle,” he said in his most persuasive tone. “I promise to take care of you, to give you a fine house of your own, so you can lead the life of leisure that you deserve.”
“And just when were you intending to ask me?” she said in a taut voice. “Apparently after you’d ruined me.”
He clenched his jaw. Damn it, he couldn’t deny that. Nor could he tell her a glib lie. “You know perfectly well I didn’t plan to meet you like this today. It simply … happened. I was carried away by my feelings just as you were.” In a desperate effort to renew her desires, he feathered his fingers over her bare breasts. “Please, my love, don’t deny me.”
She jerked herself away and scrambled off the mattress. “No. Never again. I must have been mad to let you touch me at all.”
Gorgeously naked, she stormed into the dressing room.
Simon found himself alone on the canopied bed. Never again? She couldn’t mean that. Not when he sat here in a state of rampant frustration. Then he realized he was in grave danger of losing more than just an afternoon of bliss with the woman who had tied him into knots. He might lose Annabelle forever.
The harsh reality of that clutched at his chest.
He sprang to his feet, intending to rush after her, bu
t his trousers were sagging and he had to stop to button them. By the time he made it into the dressing room, Annabelle already had her shift on. She stepped into her gown and slipped her arms into the short sleeves.
He couldn’t let her go. There had to be some way to get back into her good graces. Struggling to think, he raked his fingers through his hair. “Annabelle, I’m sorry. I’ve handled this badly—”
“Yes, you have. Did you ever stop to consider that you might get me with child?” She flashed a glower at him. “I know what it’s like to be born a bastard. How could you expect me to inflict that pain on my own son or daughter?”
Her revelation startled him. “I only knew you were an orphan.”
“Whatever the case, you regard me as beneath you.” While reaching behind to fasten the gown, she gave him a look of stern reproach. “I don’t know how you ever thought I’d agree to such a scheme. What a cozy arrangement you had planned, with me as your mistress and Lady Louisa as your wife.”
“I’m not marrying Louisa. Where the devil did you come by such a notion?”
“It’s plain to see. You’re always flirting with her, visiting her, taking her for carriage rides.”
Was Annabelle jealous? God, he hoped so. At least that would prove she felt possessive of him. But he couldn’t let her falsely believe he wanted to be involved with two women at once. Nothing could be more abhorrent to him.
Seeing her struggle with the buttons, Simon stepped behind her to lend his assistance. “Sweetheart, I’ve no interest in Louisa, I swear it. She’s been chasing me. I can hardly be rude to her since her parents are old family friends. In fact, the day I saw you in the village, Lady Danville had talked me into taking Louisa out in the carriage.”
Annabelle uttered a huff of disbelief. “That isn’t the worst part. I’d like to know just what you were intending to tell Nicholas.”
“Nicholas? What does he have to do with anything?”
