by Meara Platt
“They love me, I know it.” Sensing her hesitation, Anabelle urged her to continue and she did. “Harry and Olivia share a special bond. I don’t wish to break it, but Harry supports her in everything. Those spectacles, for instance. I understand she needs them to see clearly, but they’re hideous. I bought her a more flattering pair, but she refuses to wear them.”
“Why, do you suppose?” She was reluctant to meddle in someone else’s private matters, but it had taken much for Caroline to swallow her pride and come to her. She couldn’t ignore her cry for help, though she wasn’t sure what guidance she could give when her own family matters were in shambles.
“I don’t know. Possibly because I bought them for her.”
Anabelle moved to her bed and sat on it. “Have you asked her the reason?”
“Well, no. I’m afraid of the answer I might receive.”
“Perhaps she’s afraid, too. Her father loves you, has made you the most important woman in his life. Imagine how she must feel, having to compete with one of the most beautiful women in England for his affection.”
Caroline shook her head and laughed. “I may have decent looks, but Olivia has that and more. She’s exceptionally intelligent and very witty.”
“She seems quite shy and uncertain of herself. Have you ever told her what you think of her?”
“Well, I don’t know. I think I’ve tried, but you don’t understand. It isn’t easy to talk to someone whose nose is always conveniently buried in a book whenever I’m about. She’s quite the scholar and always seems busy with something important. Why does she insist on ignoring me?”
“You’ve just given me the reason. She’s afraid, not of you, but of what you represent to her.”
“And what is that?”
“Competition for her father’s affection.”
“Competition,” Caroline repeated with a nod. “But I’ve never wanted to compete with her. That suggests one of us must lose in order for the other to win.” Caroline’s mouth gaped open. “Oh, I’ve been so stupid! She must think she has to best me in order to protect the bond between her and her father. I’d never undermine their attachment to each other. I fell in love with Harry because he is such a warm and caring person. I wouldn’t change a thing about him.”
Anabelle shook her head, suddenly feeling the older and wiser. “I think it’s time you told them so.”
“Long past time,” Caroline said with a groan. “Thank you, Anabelle. I came here to offer you guidance, but you’re the one who has helped me.”
“I appreciate the gesture, but I already know that no woman will ever conquer the duke’s heart. You’ve only confirmed the obvious. If he couldn’t love you, what chance is there for anyone else?”
“But that’s just it.” Caroline paused at the doorway, her hand gripped tightly on the knob. “He has fallen in love with you, Anabelle. Perhaps he can hide it from the others, but not from me. You’re the one who has claimed his heart. The question is, will he ever admit it?”
*
Anabelle now stood in Penelope’s sunny room, the yellow silk counterpane and floral wallpaper reflecting cheerfulness. She wasn’t certain what had possessed her to interrupt the older woman’s rest, except that the words spoken so earnestly by Caroline kept repeating in her head.
You’re the one who has claimed his heart.
Was it possible Saron loved her?
She could never leave him if that were so.
“Penelope, he’s told me everything.”
Penelope’s smile was beaming as she slipped on her purple silk robe that was a jarring contrast to the yellow of the room, and motioned for Anabelle to sit beside her on the overly cushioned settee. “I hoped he would. I urged him to, but he seemed so reluctant.”
“Lady Caroline believes he is in love with me.” Anabelle wished she were as confident of it. “I think he’ll never allow himself to fall in love. Not ever. He told me how Gideon was killed. He fears the same will happen to me.” She sighed raggedly. “Gideon’s loss left a gaping hole in his heart.”
Penelope’s eyes began to glisten with unshed tears, for she obviously felt the loss of the boy deeply as well. “He loved Gideon with all his breath and being.”
Anabelle patted her hand in comfort, glad she was able to confide in Saron’s aunt. She’d sorely missed the guidance of a mother, for hers had been sick for so long and unable to hold long conversations, often unable to do more than lift her head from the pillow to take her meals. “I don’t know if your nephew will ever come to love me so wholly and completely, if at all. But I don’t think it matters. He will blame himself if I were to die. He will rage and thirst for blood. In his rage, he might lose the last of his humanity.”
“That’s what Melford and I fear most.” Penelope pursed her lips in thought. “So you want to know if you should give up on his love?”
Anabelle glanced at her black gown and worn boots, at her reddened fingers. She glanced at her reflection in the large mirror beside the settee where they were seated. She noticed the little half moons of fatigue beneath her eyes. How could she be the one for Saron? He was a wealthy duke with outrageous good looks and she was no more than a reclusive country girl who enjoyed quiet conversation with local farmers more than she did with the refined gentlemen and ladies of Society. “I hold no illusions about his feelings for me. It is my feelings for him that I’m most concerned about. Will my love destroy him?”
“How can love destroy? It is so much stronger than hate.”
“But what if it isn’t? I have no wish to hurt him.”
Penelope released a long, pained sigh. “I wish I had the answers. No one can know what the future holds for any of us. Just be honest with him and with yourself. Trust in your heart and believe in what it tells you.”
Anabelle nibbled her lip in frustration. Her heart wasn’t telling her anything, nor was her brain, which was in a muddle, the questions whirling around madly and not a single answer evident among them.
Penelope sighed once more. “I know you love him and I’m glad you do. He’s had so little of it in his life, hasn’t he? That’s why I’m so happy he’s found you. Oh, I know you’re going to say you were foisted on him, but the fact remains that you were thrown together and it must mean something.”
“But what?”
“That’s for you and Saron to work out. Your future, your happiness, depends on the path you choose in these coming months. Do you love him enough to risk all?”
Anabelle emitted a long, deep breath. If she chose to risk all, there could be no half measures. She would have to open herself to him deeply, passionately, heart and soul, without restriction, without expectation of something in return.
What she felt had to be a forever love, completely and freely given. This sort of love went far beyond a night of pleasure in his arms, warmed by his kisses and the heat of his hard body. She put her hands to her cheeks to hide the hot, scarlet flush now spreading upward from her neck to her face, for she wanted that sort of love as well.
Penelope smiled softly and gave her hair a playful tug. “He’s devastatingly attractive, isn’t he?”
She nodded.
Her heart had yet to dislodge from her throat, the sight of his exquisitely naked body glistening in the sun as they stood beside the lake after he’d defeated Necros still vivid in her mind.
“I don’t wish to make light of the situation, for it is quite serious. I believe you will follow your heart, but my nephew needs to do the same. You mustn’t allow him to shut you out. He’s grown excellent at doing just that. You must shatter his control, for only then will you know what is hidden deep in his heart.”
“How am I to shatter his control?”
“Shed your black gowns and be the Anabelle you truly are. Hold nothing of yourself back. He’s already tempted by the package, it’s plain to all of us. You’ve aroused his dragon lust, now charge ahead and claim his heart.”
She found the notion so laughable, it almost made her
cry. No amount of newly acquired polish or sophistication, no new wardrobe—though she did have a few fashionable gowns tucked away in her armoire—no bat of her eyelashes, coquettish laughter, or feminine guile, would ever make a dent in the barrier surrounding Saron’s dragon heart.
*
“Och, stop dawdling and get yerself ready for dinner,” Dolly said, bursting into Anabelle’s room with only the briefest knock, and startling her out of her reverie. “Look at ye, moonin’ in the mirror, and everyone waitin’ downstairs, hungry as wolves in winter.”
Anabelle caught Dolly glancing at her bed and the black velvet gown set on it. “Yer not goin’ to wear that, are ye?”
“I–”
“’Cause if ye do, Lady Penelope will think yer afraid. My lamb’s no coward, I told her.”
“You’ve been speaking with her?” Giving her a piece of her mind, more likely, Anabelle realized with a groan, knowing she’d have to make quick apology to Saron’s aunt or risk losing her new-found ally.
“She’ll wear the peach silk tonight, I told her. So I’m here to see that ye do. A fresh start is what ye need, I told her, and we agreed ’twas past time ye returned to the living, beggin’ yer pardon for speakin’ bluntly. I’ll freshen it right away.”
“Wait–”
“No time for that. Everyone’s assembled downstairs. What’s yer decision?”
As though she had a say once Dolly’s mind was set. “I haven’t worn the gown in over a year. What if it doesn’t fit?”
“We’ll squeeze ye into it, don’t ye worry,” she said with a look that meant business, pulling the gown from her armoire and working out the wrinkles.
Anabelle surrendered with a soft laugh. “The peach silk it is.”
She donned the gown and found it still fit, though the neckline exposed much of her bosom. Oh, not by London standards, but they weren’t in London now. For months, she’d covered herself up from neck to toe in those dark and unflattering black gowns and wasn’t used to the sudden change.
“It hugs yer curves, certain to cause a sensation. I’ll wager the duke’s eyes will pop from their sockets when he sees you.” Dolly tugged at the scooped neckline. “Show ’em off while they’re firm and round, ’cause in a few years they’ll be hangin’ down to yer knees and no man will want to look at ’em. Now, off with ye, lass. It’s time ye knocked the duke on his arse.”
She had never considered the dining room a battleground, but it would be tonight. Just as Saron wore armor surrounding his heart, she had donned her silken armor for this impending battle. What was she doing?
Did she know what she was doing?
Entering the dining room, she instantly sensed a difference, a palpable excitement in the air, her guests like Roman spectators at the Coliseum waiting for the emperor—Saron—to give thumbs up or down.
Dullingham, as always, stood staring at her with mouth agape. Sir John, who had been engaged in conversation with Dullingham, stopped in midsentence and smiled at her. “Lady Anabelle, you warm an old man’s heart.”
“Thank you.”
Robert was missing, but he’d eaten earlier and was now up to who knew what mischief in his room. Yes, better that he wreak havoc within the confines of his quarters and not among their well-heeled guests.
Penelope stood in the far corner, chatting amiably with all three Romneys. “Well done,” she murmured with a bob of the scarlet egret feather atop her silver hair.
“Very well done,” Caroline remarked, obviously approving of her attire. Olivia responded with similar enthusiasm.
Anabelle was pleased to see Caroline and Olivia together and speaking with an easy mirth, a good prospect for the beginnings of genuine affection.
“Caroline and I had a lovely chat, one long overdue,” Olivia said, taking her hand when she approached and giving it a little squeeze. “All will be well, thanks to you.”
“I merely provided the nudge you both needed.”
“Ah, Saron approaches,” Penelope whispered. “He’s been watching you long enough.”
Anabelle turned and cast him a tentative smile. He appeared more daunting than ever in his dark evening jacket that contrasted beautifully against his white lawn shirt. His gray silk cravat had an overlaying sheen of blue, the Draloch dragon’s blue.
“What do you think of your little duckling turned into a swan?” Penelope asked with pride.
He drew his fob out of his waistcoat pocket, checked the time and stuffed it back. “She’s late to dinner.”
Penelope frowned. “I never considered promptness a virtue. Besides, it’s just eight o’clock now. I’d hardly call that late. And do stop frowning or you’ll frighten the poor girl.”
“She hasn’t been intimidated by me yet.” He turned to Anabelle, his gaze one of amusement. “What made you change your mind?”
“About leaving the past and stepping into the present?” She glanced down at her peach silk gown. “As you said, it’s time for me to stop hiding from the world.”
He arched an eyebrow, casting her that dragon look, that dark, sensual look of suspicion, a dangerously intoxicating gleam that never failed to send shivers of excitement up her spine. “That’s all it took? A word from me?”
“Of course,” she said with a merry twinkle. “You ought to know by now, you have merely to suggest a thing and I’ll obey.”
His laughter was deep and mirthful.
*
Saron knew he was in dragon heat and it was Anabelle’s doing. The hint of cleavage peeking out from her low-cut bodice and the light scent of wild roses caressing her skin as she brushed past him had his blood dangerously hot and throbbing.
He managed to laugh at her jest, managed to move on after a brief exchange and strike up a conversation with Melford, if one could call standing as stiff as a Druid stone while painfully trying to subdue the urge to roar, talking. His body was hardening, his loins tight, his skin on the verge of forming scales. Even his hands were shaking with ache to explore Anabelle’s luscious curves.
“Your Grace?”
He fought back the dragon urge to breath in her scent, to lick his tongue across her warm skin and know the taste of her. Saron groaned silently. “Forgive me, Melford. I’m a little distracted.”
Melford shot a glance at Anabelle, now engrossed in conversation with the Romney family. “So are we all. She looks quite fetching.”
The silk of her gown draped sensually over her breasts, hiding little from his view and, at the same time, unbearably too much from view.
He didn’t want to think of the foolish advice Penelope must have whispered in the trusting girl’s ear. He approached his aunt. “You haven’t encouraged her to seduce me, have you? Suggest she use her body to manipulate me?”
“Have her lose her estate and her virtue to you? I think not, though it would be quite something if she won your heart while losing her innocence. Hmm, that would quite set the Thames on fire, wouldn’t it? Something worth considering.”
“Just remember that I brought you here to protect the girl’s respectability, not to goad her into tossing it to the wind.”
Penelope cast him a wounded look. “I’d never purposely hurt Anabelle.”
“But you will if you convince her that soft words and steamy kisses will thaw my heart. I know you, Penelope. I know how desperately you wish to see me married. But your idea of happiness and mine are quite different.”
His aunt’s gaze turned soft and wistful. “Anabelle could be the source of your greatest joy, if only you’d allow her into your heart. Would it be so awful?”
“Yes, for her.”
“But not for you?”
He refused to respond, fearing his tongue would roll out of his mouth and leave him panting like a shaggy dog in summer heat. Panting over this adorable slip of a girl. An ignominious end for the once proud Dragon of Draloch.
Anabelle, this dream woman he yearned to take into his arms and hold close forever, would be his downfall. She was a heavenly spark
le of light, a shimmering crystal he longed to touch, to hold, to possess, but by its very nature the crystal was most beautiful when left free to shine. He understood that eventually his touch would destroy her. As her guardian, the man responsible for her safety and protection, he could never act upon his feelings for her. He couldn’t. Lord Bloodaxe would come after her. He’d already tried once. So had Necros.
But not to touch Anabelle would destroy him.
At this moment, he felt like a wounded boar.
He was trapped and afraid Anabelle’s choice would lead to her death.
More to the point, he was afraid she would choose him and then expect him to give her his heart.
His heart.
Until this very moment, he’d believed there was nothing but a gaping hole in his chest.
Anabelle was efficiently filling it with a warmth that no one but Gideon had ever filled before.
Now, Gideon was dead.
Lord Bloodaxe was to blame.
*
By the end of the evening, after the others had retired to their beds, Saron noticed Anabelle walking down the hall toward her bedchamber. He’d been in foul temper all evening, and neither good food nor pleasant company had done anything to improve his disposition.
She must have heard his footsteps and tried to escape into her bedchamber, but he reached her in two strides and pressed her against the door before she could open it. She turned to push him away, but he trapped her in his arms before she could slip inside. “About that gown you’re wearing.” His breath intimately caressed the wispy curls at her ear.
“What about it?” She looked everywhere but at him, for she understood what he meant to do and the quiver in her voice proved it. “Um, it’s one of my favorites.”
“Dullingham liked it, too.” He boldly raked his gaze over her bodice, lingering at the valley between her breasts. “A little too well.”
She started to put her hands over her chest to hide her endowments from his view, but stopped and let her hands fall to her sides. His brazen stare was designed to rattle her composure and she was not going to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d succeeded.
