by Lisa Torquay
The opera seemed like a good idea to amuse a fresh evening and dispel her state of mind. She might even meet her friends, whom she did not see in ages.
* * *
It had been several days and Romulus did not detect a trace of Annabel. He suspected she must be fuming with the news. The need to explain everything to her escalated. Paying her a visit would be the most sensible, he thought as the footman brought his brandy at the club. He sat at a corner on a plush armchair, seeking not to be noticed.
Impossible, with the news on the most important newspaper in London.
Several gentlemen had already come to pay their compliments. He accepted them politely, inwardly feeling it was just his obligation as an English born and bred to engage in such missions. His vanity did not blend in the process, never had. The fact that his mother was French had nothing to do with this. He recognised the continental influence in his education and taste in food, drink and clothing. But they did not lead to changeable loyalties, especially because his father imbibed him with the love for this country.
“Brother!” As he lifted his head, Didier was walking to him.
Standing, he greeted his younger brother. Didier always had a smile for everybody and he regaled his elder brother with one. “Didier.”
A glass of brandy came for him. “To the most appreciated English hero of the moment!” He raised his glass, light-heartedly.
“Spare me, please, Didier.” He replied, raising his glass anyway. “I have been listening to this since the damned article came out.”
“Pardon me, brooding soldier!” Didier jested. “I never thought we would have such a solemn member in the family.” He smiled again. For both of them.
With a lighter shade of brown hair and pale blue eyes, he had been chased by many a debutante in his day, before he married an Earl’s daughter, a child on the way.
“How is Emma?” It had been a long time since he had seen his sweet sister-in-law.
“She is fine.” His expression assumed a dreamy, in-love aspect. “A little tired with her advanced stage in carrying our child.”
Romulus nodded, wishing he could still be naïve enough to believe in such a whimsical thing as love.
They drank in silence for a while. “There is one thing I wanted to ask you.” Romulus started.
“Anything, Fabien.” Strange, that he still called him by his second name, as he had done during all their boyhood. Of the three brothers, he had been the one closest to Mother and her Gallic heritage.
“I recently learned there were rumours of my death after I left for war.” He took another swig of his drink.
Didier’s expression became reminiscing-like. “Yes, I remember, now you mentioned it.” His glass resting on the side table, he continued. “News circulated briefly about your sudden disappearance, some saying you died.’
“You never told me.” He interposed.
“Why ever for?” He shrugged in a very Latin way that reminded of Amandine. “I was worried for a while, but decided to wait for concrete news before I did anything.”
“What if there was no ‘concrete’ news?” Many died in combat and never received a decent burial, much less a letter sent to their loved ones.
“Time would tell, would it not?” He spread his hands. “Besides, I wanted to keep the hope of your eventual return.”
Romulus’ side-smile made an appearance. “Thank you, I suppose.”
“In a blink you were back anyway, and it died a swift death.”
“It sure did.” Between his military missions and the one he imposed on himself of finding his mother’s murderer, no wonder confusion arouse. And he reappeared when more than a year and a half had elapsed. He supposed Annabel would have buried him well and truly by then.
“Why this sudden curiosity, Fabien?” His brother’s inquisitive stance did not surprise Romulus. He used to be a little absent minded, but not naïve in the least.
“I did not hear of it then, having had a brief leave. I learned of it these past weeks though.” The memories of Annabel surfaced at that moment. He did not want to admit to himself he missed her. Admission or not, the fact was he did. A bloody lot!
“Unsurprising, as you became rather recluse after the war.” He retrieved his glass from the side table.
Recluse? Yes, perhaps he did. He did not mention her to anyone before departing to the continent and even less when she married. He went away to lick his wounds and get on with his life in any manner he could.
“I have got tickets for the Opera. Would you care to accompany me?” He finished his brandy in one big gulp.
Emma, his wife, already initiated confinement and would not be able to attend.
“Why not?” Romulus answered. He made no plans for the evening one way or the other.
* * *
Though Annabel did not have the liberty to use the Winchester family box, she did not mind sitting in the audience, together with the bourgeois. She would enjoy the evening all the same.
In a deep Boudreaux evening dress, jewels and midnight ringlets piled elaborately on the top of her head, she glided among the throngs, glad that she decided to come. She already met friends and acquaintances.
“This is incontestably a small world, Lady Winchester.” A bone-melting voice came from behind her.
She closed her eyes tight for a second in an attempt to placate the heat mixed with the sulphurous fury streaming in her veins. Her fan closing, she turned slowly. “Lord Blackthorne.” She curtsied with a dazzling–and false–smile. “What a surprise.” Sulphur seeped in her tone.
The blasted man took her gloved hand in his and bowed his tall frame, attention glued on her. That sulphur transformed in something too molten for comfort. Turning to a man with lighter shades of hair and eyes, “Please, allow me to present my brother, Didier Burroughs.”
An easy smile stretched the man’s lips. “Enchanted, my lady.” He also bowed over her hand.
Annabel took an immediate liking to the younger man. They exchanged pleasantries and in less than five minutes, he had her smothering a laugh at one of his carefree jokes.
Romulus looked none too happy with their immediate friendliness.
“Where did you meet this delightful lady, Fabien?”
“Her carriage had an unfortunate… disrepair near Blackthorne Castle.”
One that unfolded in heated days and nights. Which she did not want to remember. At all.
She cast him a sword-sharp glance in the hopes to puncture that sardonic stance of his.
But it became less sharp when she took in his broad frame on impeccable black suit and white shirt made of layers ready to be peeled. The unbidden thought irritated her even more.
“You do not say!” Didier continued heedless of their tension. “Did you not run from that old frigid pile of rocks?”
She smiled saccharine. “It took a couple of tries, I daresay.” Romulus’ lopsided smirk died suddenly. “But I succeeded at last.”
“Smart girl.” He offered her his arm. “Do you have a box, my lady?”
“I will sit in the audience.” She took his arm, not so taut as his brother’s.
“Then you must come sit in our box.” He demanded.
That was a tight one. Refusal would sound inconceivably impolite. Acceptance would have her fuming and steaming for the whole night.
“Thank you but-“
“My brother is right.” The darned man interrupted with that raspy voice. “There is plenty of room for the three of us.”
Blast him!
She ogled him in such a calcining way, it was surprising she did not transform the man in ashes on the spot. In return, his murky stare strolled over her, making the combustion tumble entirely over her. Crimson tinted her skin with a blistering mixture of vexation and other things she did not want to name.
“This will be one fine evening.” Oblivious Didier came again. “Fabien, escort her, will you? I will fetch Champaign.”
Alone with him in the crowd, t
here was little else to do but place her hand on his muscled arm. And let him lead her wherever he wanted, because she completely lost her sense of direction.
“Why won’t you leave me be?” She sibilated hotly between her teeth.
That infuriatingly tempting lopsided smiled designed on his sensuous lips. “Because you do not need to spend lonely evenings, when I am right here.”
The arrogant rogue!
“I can enjoy them with whomever I choose.” She countered, only to witness his other hand come over hers tightening, his stance stonier than his castle.
“But you have not. I have not.” His tone caressed her ears. “And here we are again, going in circles.”
The worst being, he was right. If he expected her to admit it out loud, he would be waiting forever. “You are a shameless liar!” She threw at him, smiling to the people around them.
“We will talk about this later.” He commanded in his usual military way.
They reached the box, and he opened the door for her. Dimly lit, the interior displayed the maximum comfort a night at the theatre could offer in dark panels and red velvet.
Showing her the seat nearest to the balcony to her right, he sat beside her, on her left. The enclosed space suggested enough intimacy for her to feel trapped, needy, her head at war with her complacent body.
Didier returned with a footman carrying a tray with Champaign and sat on the other side of Romulus. They sipped the bubbling wine and chatted up to the time the opera began and the lights diminished. She rested her glass on a low table nearby to enjoy it.
The music and the drama on stage held the power to relax her a little. A hand sneaked over hers and took it in the dark. Her breath hitched, arrested. Red-hot lightning coursed through her and left her without reaction to push Romulus away. His long strong fingers wrapped around her gloved ones, seeping heat through the delicate fabric. She did not even try to pull it when he took it and brought to his side, thumb caressing the whole surface, rhythmic and hypnotic. Her body leaned back on her chair, pliable, hungry for more. Her only thought to get rid of that cloth barrier between their skins to feel him, embark on a skin-to-skin trip of hands holding hands. Unaccounted for, her thumb went to caress his bare fingers. They closed over one another, eager, insufficient.
Surreptitiously, his hand left her, so his fingers strolled up her gloved arm, feather light, trailing fire in its wake. To reach the top of it, where her skin bared under the dress sleeve. Utter ruination! His hot skin made hers burst in high temperature, one finger stealing inside the edge of the glove, almost pulling it down her upper arm. Her breath became fast. An impulse to pounce on him and ravish him there and then, so unbearable, that her right hand must grab the seat border to keep her still.
Her other one squeezed his thigh in a futile attempt to make him stop, to make him continue, whatever put an end to this despairing deprivation. But he did not stop. His hand came back to hers to stanch her caress on his thigh, he, too, ablaze, if his wired, short-breathed frame was anything to go by. Their hands clutched each other, fingers entwining, seeking, stroking; and thus, they remained until the end.
* * *
Romulus sat on a corner of the carriage and waited. He did not have to wait for long as it stopped in front of the theatre entrance. When the footman opened the door, Annabel came in with those lithe movements of hers. The fact that the carriage belonged to her was a mere detail.
On the seat opposite him, she had not seen him yet. As she arranged her skirts, and lifted her head, she saw him, expression going instantly incensed.
She looked outrageously beautiful in her attire that made it impossible to ignore her round breasts, flaring hips and shapely legs.
“What are you doing here?” Her perfect brows pleating and her tempting mouth curling in contrariety. The enclosed space made him too aware of her scent of flowers and woman.
A self-derisive smirk came to his face. “It is a question I asked myself just now.” In an impulse, rare of him, he sent his vehicle home and entered hers discretely while it parked further down the lane.
After their desperate touch in his box, he became so turned on, he found himself unable to go home to a cold bed.
“Leave immediately!” She demanded. “Before someone sees us.”
He snorted. “Nobody saw me; and if I go down now, they will definitely witness it.”
Annoyed breath left her tragically appetising lips. “You are insufferable.”
She signalled for the coachman to leave, reluctantly accepting him inside here. A victory, if he had to confess it. To her, never.
Her attention ran away to the darkened night through the curtain slit. Her stance tight, buttoned up, contained. He much preferred her explosive, challenging, passionate person.
Suddenly, she turned her head to him, a firm glint in those liquid eyes. “You made a fool of me.”
He crossed his arms and met her stare fully. “No, I did not.”
“Yes, you did.” She countered assuredly. “Not only me, the government, too.”
“Our secret group came from the military. People I met while at war.” He explained unmoved. “It has nothing to do with those soppy bureaucrats you associate with in the government.”
Anger flushed her flawless skin. “Soppy? With all the trouble you gave us?” She scoffed. “That is rich!”
Her voice affected him even though it came coated in disagreement. He was finding it straining to keep his hands where they rested on his legs.
“If you say so.” He made sure his stance remained cold, because she had the power to push him to a tangle of irrational reactions.
“You lied unscrupulously the whole time.” The accusation stung. He would never boast that stain to anyone.
“It was unfortunate, but it had to be like this.” He did not doubt it for a millisecond.
His muscles bunched under his too warm clothes, trying to refrain from wanting her. His guts felt very much as if they were catching fire.
“Treating me as a brainless idiot, you mean.” Now she crossed her arms, her breasts gathering in between, in a defiant posture that did nothing for his cool head. Well, not so cool, he must own up after all.
“I hid it for your protection.” He defended, having difficulty not to stare–and remember–the paradise those mounds promised. He hardened instantly with the view.
“How abnegate!” Her chin lifted higher, eyes squinted mistrustful. She was all fury and passion.
“Anyone who knew of our plans would be in danger.” His torso came forward, his stare piercing her. “Spies swarm everywhere in times of war and even after it.”
“You did not need to do it.” She became angrier. “I can take care of myself.”
“You can handle one man. What if there were several?” He questioned, though he knew his doubt about her abilities would get her fuming.
The way she incinerated him with her ire confirmed his forecast. “I do not need your protection!” She emitted hotly. “My work is outstanding on its own.”
The incineration had a nefarious effect on his lower abdomen.
“This is the point, is it not?” He pushed further. “That I doubted your capabilities.”
“Do not dare patronise me!” Her expression crumpled more, her torso came forward, brazen. They sat inches apart, combatant. Fiery.
His blood’s temperature sweltered with the view of her like this, but he managed to keep his head. “I will not apologise for prioritising your safety.” He would not give her an inch of this.
“I do not want it, you hear me?” Her fists flew to her narrow waist, the movement spread her perfume through the air to tantalise him.
It had been too long without her.
To deal with their discussion and resist his caveman impulses proved an arduous task because now his blood abandoned his head for another destination entirely.
His stance remained apparently nonchalant. “It matters not to me.” He delivered in that threatening silk tone his reg
iment learned to fear.
Not her, of course. If possible her posture became more challenging, slipping him further into chaos. “What matters to you is none of my business.”
The hellion’s temerity!
He lost control.
His long fingered hand lined her soft nape and pulled her to him in a demanding kiss. A sound came to her throat of resistance, surprise and then, oh, pleasure. She faltered, and he invaded those infernal lips with all he had, chasing her, finding her, savouring her. Going insane.
She gave as good as she got and kissed him back, throwing them in candent derangement. He readjusted the angle to ravish her lips to his enormous satisfaction and felt her opening wider to him, transforming him in pure rapacity for the whole of her.
He wanted her dress out. He wanted his clothes ripped. He wanted to pound in her as if there was no tomorrow.
They kissed so fully, they were devouring each other, heedless of anything else. In a swift movement, he pulled her to his lap. Seemingly unaware, she only snaked her arms around his shoulders, her fingers in his hair, pleading for more.
If he did not take care, he would shame himself in less than a minute.
The carriage lurched to a stop. Everything settled to a standstill.
He took her shoulders and put some distance between them. A whimper of protest came from her.
“Invite me in, Annabel.” The hoarse command, his sole resource.
Annabel fought the haze that had taken her over like an avalanche. Pliant, boiling and hungry, she could merely nod.
What else might she do? What else did she desire?
She would never be able to tell how, hatless, hair unpinned, he tumbled with her on her bed. Her riotous ringlets all over her pillows, they kissed more ravenously by the minute. His strong arms around the waist, her feminine parts melted hot and keen on completion.
Vehemence and arousal had embroiled her during the ride home. When he took her nape, she had been in the last shreds of resistance.
