“Where is it?” she asked.
“I have it here, miss.” Josephine reached into her pocket, withdrew the letter and handed it over.
Unable to eat now that she was staring at a note from the Regent Street Gallery, Annabelle accepted it, then excused Josephine. As soon as the door closed behind the maid, she tore at the seal and unfolded the letter.
Surprisingly enough, it was a bank note—for the full sum he owed her—but there was more…
Dear Annabelle,
I know you plan to leave for the country today, but I could not bear to leave things as they were when we parted in front of your brother’s house yesterday.
I know you have not forgiven me for what happened between us years ago, and I concede that it is your right. But please believe me when I say that I have suffered every day of my life for how I wronged you.
I know it is far too much to ask, but please…a second chance?
If only you would stay in London one more day. Please, Annabelle? We enjoyed each other’s company yesterday, did we not? We could enjoy ourselves like that again.
I am in hell today, Annabelle, aching for you. I want you here with me where you are meant to be—in my arms, in my bed, in my life.
I will remain at my hotel all day if you should choose to see me. I sincerely hope you will.
Yours,
Magnus
By the time Annabelle finished reading the letter, her heart was pounding so fast she could barely breathe. She’d never read anything like it in her entire life. He was pleading with her. Pleading! And she, in turn, was desperate for him—desperate for his touch, his kiss, and so much more.
She had truly been swept away.
She set her uneaten breakfast tray aside and touched her bare toes to the cold floor. She slid off the bed and reached for her dressing gown, pulling it on as she strode to the window, which looked down onto the tiny, fenced-in garden out back.
She wondered, after all that had happened, if she could ever truly trust Magnus. There had been so much water under the bridge, and she would always worry that her desire for him had prevailed over her good sense.
She supposed the real problem was that she was torn between her unstoppable passion for one man and her deep devotion to another—the adoptive brother who had raised her. A man she had always trusted. And wasn’t trust at the heart of all this? Whitby was warning her to stay away from Magnus. He believed him unscrupulous.
Annabelle didn’t know what she believed, and that frightened her. She feared she was losing her mind.
Wanting suddenly to return to her home where she felt safe and secure and could think about this, free from Magnus’s dangerous temptations, Annabelle picked up her pen and withdrew a sheet of paper from her desk drawer.
Dear Magnus,
I’m sorry, but I must go home to my family today. Please do not wait for me. I can’t see you. I need time to think.
Annabelle
Glancing over at her egg on the breakfast tray and giving up all thoughts of eating, Annabelle sealed the letter and rang for her maid again. A moment later Josephine knocked and entered.
“Josephine, please send a footman to deliver this letter to the Grand Hotel,” Annabelle instructed.
“Yes, Miss Lawson. Would you like me to take the breakfast tray?”
Annabelle stood up. “Yes, I’m not hungry. And when you’re finished with that, go and pack your things. I want to go home, and I don’t want to miss the midday train.”
“Yes, Miss Lawson.”
Josephine took the tray and left the room, while Annabelle quickly went to retrieve her traveling case.
Passengers were already boarding the train by the time Annabelle and Josephine arrived at the station and purchased their tickets.
“I’ll be so glad to get home,” Annabelle said, leading the way along the platform, walking the length of the train to reach their proper carriage.
“But you enjoyed yourself at the gallery opening, didn’t you, Miss Lawson?” Josephine said, hurrying to keep up. “Everyone liked your paintings.”
Annabelle smiled over her shoulder at her maid. “Yes, I suppose I did. It was a very successful evening.”
They finally reached the carriage where they were to be seated, and Annabelle stopped to check her reticule for the tickets. But something caught her eye—or rather, someone. The station door flew open and a man came darting out, stopping abruptly on the platform.
The world seemed to disappear for a moment as Annabelle focused on him. For it was Magnus—here to say good-bye, or to stop her from leaving, or to plead with her one more time for another chance.
The fact that her maid was now looking at him, too, did nothing to wrench Annabelle out of her stupor, because heaven help her, she could not take her eyes off him.
He was so darkly handsome in his open black coat, the collar of his white shirt contrasting sharply with his thick, wavy black hair. Despite everything, he was the most captivating man she had ever known. In all her life, no one had even come close.
His eyes met Annabelle’s across the distance of the platform, and he merely stood there, seeming almost arrested himself.
Annabelle fought to understand the workings of her mind and body. She wanted to escape his power over her. She wanted to go home where she was safe with the family who loved her, but she couldn’t move. She could barely breathe, for that matter.
Josephine faced her again. “Miss Lawson? Are we still going home?”
The words took a moment to register in Annabelle’s mind. Somehow the young maid understood what was happening, though Annabelle had never confessed anything to her. She supposed it was rather obvious.
As the train blew steam not far from where they stood, Magnus continued to hold Annabelle in his gaze.
That was the moment she knew—there was no way on earth she could turn from him now and step on that train.
She would have liked to say she had thought it out and come to the conscious conclusion that she could trust Magnus, or that she had chosen her own happiness over her loyalty to her brother, or simply that she deserved some passion and pleasure in her life.
But none of those things entered her mind. She was aware only of her blood pounding through her veins and the noisy rush of lust that dashed like fire through her body, urging her to go to him, damn the consequences.
“No, we’re not going home,” she said. “Not today.”
Somehow, practical thoughts found their way to the fore, and she gave her maid clear instructions. “Take the bags and return our tickets. Then use those funds to obtain transportation back to the house.”
Then, without another word to Josephine, Annabelle started off across the platform toward Magnus.
Chapter 14
A nnabelle walked the length of the train, and Magnus began walking, too. They met face-to-face not far from a uniformed guard standing at the train steps, staring curiously at them.
“Is your coach waiting?” Annabelle asked.
Magnus made no reply. He simply held out his hand, and she took it.
Before she knew what she was about, she was scrambling to keep up with him, while he led her through the crowded station.
A moment later they were crossing the street and he was ushering her into the privacy of his coach. Magnus tapped the outside to signal the driver, then climbed in beside her, slammed the door, and drew the curtains.
It was instantly dim. He sat for a second or two, staring at the floor as if searching for his bearings, then turned to Annabelle and enfolded her in his arms in one smooth, sweeping motion. He buried his lips in the crook of her neck and held her for a long, shuddering moment, while her gloved fingers dug into the thick wool of his coat.
Then at last his lips found hers in a deep devouring kiss, and Annabelle could have wept with joy.
The coach lurched forward and they were knocked off balance, their mouths jerking apart. They both seized the opportunity to pause and look at each other, an
d it seemed impossible to believe what was happening.
What was she doing?
Then all at once his lips were upon hers again as the coach rattled down the street. The feel of his body beneath her roving hands forced Annabelle’s wild and careless desires beyond the lines of reason.
“Thank God, Annabelle…” he whispered, kissing her neck and stroking her everywhere as he eased her onto her back on the seat.
He said nothing else, but just the sound of her name on his lips was enough. He was her lover, her only lover, and she had missed this so much. How had she lived without it for so long? How had she survived?
Then he was on top of her, settling himself between her thighs in the tight, difficult confines of the coach. He slid his hands under her behind, shifting her, and they moved awkwardly, struggling to find a comfortable position on the seat. When his erection pressed against her womanhood, however, comfort seemed unimportant. Annabelle thrust her hips, and Magnus let out a husky growl.
She took his face in her hands and relished the pulsing heat of his mouth, while he tugged her skirts up and slid his hand inside her drawers.
Annabelle sucked in a breath at the thrill of his touch. Using his whole hand, he stroked the creamy heat that tingled and drove her mad with need, then he pulled back to look at her.
“You’re still a virgin,” he whispered.
“Yes,” she replied.
He closed his eyes and rested his forehead upon hers, his touch growing slower, gentler. Annabelle sighed as he stroked her, and soon her body was trembling and all her muscles were clenching tight with breathtaking madness. She grabbed hold of his coat, squeezing the fabric in her fists as pleasure throbbed and pulsed through her. All she wanted was more, despite the fact that her brain was screaming at her to think…
Then her body relaxed and went limp. Pulling off her gloves, she ran her own hand over his trousers and felt his erection. Yearning to touch him as she had never done before, she reached inside.
He closed his eyes and rolled slightly to the side to allow her better access, but movement was awkward on the narrow seat. If only they had more room.
A moment later, drowsy with desire, Magnus opened his eyes and wrapped his large hand around her slender wrist.
“You’d better stop. You’re going to make me lose control.”
“But I want you to,” she replied, kissing his neck, inhaling the musky scent of his skin, thinking this was the most wicked thing she’d ever done, and she wanted to do so much more. She felt no need to hold anything back, which gave her a moment’s pause.
This was Magnus, and she had vowed not to give in to him. She was so afraid of another heartbreak like the last time…
But when he kissed her, his tongue plunged into her mouth and she had to have this pleasure. At any price. She wanted sex. And why shouldn’t she have it? She was thirty-four. What could she possibly be saving herself for?
The carriage bounced over an unexpected bump, and Magnus dragged his lips from hers. He grimaced as if straining to regain control, then leaned toward the window.
Pulling the curtain aside with a finger, he looked out, then sat back. “We’re close to my hotel. Will you come in?”
Annabelle hesitated. Should she?
He kissed her again, and continued to kiss her until the coach slowed and rolled to a stop, at which time they both quickly sat up. Annabelle pushed her skirts down to cover her exposed legs, while Magnus buttoned his coat. He combed his fingers through his hair.
“Are you all right?” he asked, taking her hand in his and kissing it.
She couldn’t speak. She was shaking. All she could do was nod.
“Will you come in, Annabelle?” he asked a second time.
“Yes.”
Was she really going to do this?
He picked her gloves up off the floor and handed them to her. “Put these on.”
She did as he asked.
“When I open the door, step out and go inside, straight up to room twenty-one. Here’s the key. I’ll follow a minute later.”
She nodded and accepted the key from him. He opened the coach door and she got out, then he closed the door behind her, remaining inside.
Annabelle hurried through the lobby of the hotel and straight up the stairs, as if she were a guest and knew exactly where she was going and what she was doing, though she hadn’t a clue. She knew what room, of course, but the rest of it?
She found room twenty-one and glanced up and down the corridor before she inserted the key into the lock and turned it.
Pushing the door open, still worrying that she was making a terrible, terrible mistake, she entered the large, luxurious suite. A brass bed was dressed with a crimson and gold cover and enough pillows to drown in. The drapes were open, and a vase of fresh flowers was placed on a table in front of the window. Annabelle could smell their clean, summery scent.
She walked all the way in and touched Magnus’s shaving supplies on the washstand. She glanced toward the dressing room and imagined his clothes hanging inside. She wanted to touch and smell them—she could barely believe she was here in his room!—but before she had the chance, she heard a noise and turned.
There he was, standing in the open doorway, seeming out of breath, as if he had just run up the stairs.
He was so handsome, so achingly beautiful, he almost brought her to tears.
He gazed at her for a moment. “I was afraid you’d change your mind and leave before I got here.”
She shook her head. “No.”
His shoulders seemed to relax, and he came in and closed the door behind him, locked it, then walked to the window and pulled the drapes shut.
Sauntering toward her in the smoky light cutting through the crack between the curtains, he unbuttoned his overcoat and shrugged out of it, tossing it onto an armchair by the bed. He reached Annabelle and took her face in his hands.
“You can trust me,” he said. “We won’t do anything you don’t want to do.”
She knew what he was telling her. He was saying that she should not be afraid, because he would not take her virginity if she did not wish it.
Nonetheless, she was very afraid.
Struggling to overcome it—for she did not want to act a fool with him—she guided his hands away from her face and down over the top of her bodice to her breasts.
He gazed at her uncertainly for a moment. She was uncertain herself. She didn’t know what she was doing, only that she wanted him to touch her. The rest, she would deal with as it came.
He took her face in his hands again and pulled her close for another kiss. She let out a little moan, while he backed her up against the side of the bed, stopping only to quickly remove his jacket, waistcoat, and shirt.
While he unbuttoned her bodice, she gazed in awe at his chest, smooth and muscular, then slid her open hand across his shoulder and down to the coarse hair below his navel. She followed the line of hair down into his trousers again, and wrapped her whole hand around him, swirling her thumb over the silky soft tip.
Oh, she was beyond hope. She never imagined she would experience this with Magnus, the man she had loved and lost. She felt faint and dizzy with longing. She wanted all of him—urgently—so she pulled her hand out from inside his pants and stripped off the rest of her clothes.
She stood before him, naked, letting him look at her, which he did, for a prolonged moment.
Then Annabelle stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his neck, and the next thing she knew, he had swept her off her feet and was laying her upon the soft bed.
“Finally,” she whispered, her body burning as he came down heavy upon her. “Make love to me, Magnus.”
He held her close, his body pulsing with gentle swivels and thrusts. “I want to, Annabelle, you know I do, but I want to do this right. I don’t want you to regret anything.”
“I won’t.”
In truth, she was not certain she would be completely comfortable with it afterward, because she
was still so unsure of so many things, but she didn’t want to worry about that now. All she wanted was this pleasure.
“Show me what to do,” she said, completely unable to keep her passions at bay.
He rolled to the side and removed the rest of his clothing. The next thing she knew, he was easing himself between her thighs, nudging her legs apart.
“Bend your knees,” he whispered, as the tip of his erection came to rest exactly where it should.
They both went still, staring at one another.
Annabelle’s heart was pounding. She had no idea what to expect.
“You’re nervous,” he whispered.
“Just a little.”
“Maybe we should wait.”
Annabelle touched her finger to his lips. “No, I don’t want to wait.”
His chest heaved against hers as he contemplated what was happening. “If we do this,” he said, “I promise to do right by you.”
She knew what he was saying. He was telling her he would marry her.
Or if she wished it, he would leave her alone?
Annabelle closed her eyes. She didn’t know what she wanted outside of this moment.
“Just make love to me,” she pleaded, shaking those thoughts away, because she was ravenous for his body and would not be distracted.
He nodded and positioned himself.
Pressing his hips firmly between her thighs, he pushed into the throbbing heat of her flesh. Annabelle felt the pain of the invasion and squeezed her eyes shut.
He paused, then pushed again, and she barely noticed she was digging her fingernails into his back.
“Relax,” he said, kissing her on the cheek.
“Easier said than done.”
He kissed the tip of her nose, then down the side of her neck. “I’ll help you.”
Annabelle lay still, trying to calm her racing heart while he took a nipple into his mouth. He flicked his tongue, and she gasped with a strange, delicious agony. He teased each breast, bringing her to such heights of pleasure, she wondered what more there could be.
But then he took himself farther down, kissing her flat belly until she quivered beneath his touch, remembering what he had done to her once before…
Portrait of a Lover Page 17
