****
Water beaded on the stretch of tanned skin in front of her. Though the morning was balmy, gooseflesh had risen on his arms, but his shoulders and back remained smooth and warm beneath her cheek. She lay flung over his shoulder like a sack of dry goods, head down, backside up. Below, only inches from her face, water sloshed and undulated around the top of Seabrook’s tight, flesh-colored drawers — also a meager few inches from Annabella’s face. Her heart began a heavy thud-thud, thud-thud in her chest. The beat quickly spread in tight ripples through her veins until she felt it in her neck, her ears, even down to her fingers.
His arms tightened around her.
Safe, whispered her heart. He caught you. You’re safe.
In his arms.
In Seabrook’s arms. Again.
“No!” she screeched, pushing against his back and kicking with her feet. The muscles heaved and surged beneath her hands as he staggered sideways. “Put me down, you insufferable lout!”
“Hold on and let me get you—”
“Unhand her this instant!” roared a man’s voice from the shore.
Beneath her, Seabrook’s body tensed and he spun around, dropping his arms. Annabella slid forward along his wet skin. The bubbling water reached for her. No! She kicked, scrabbling with her legs for purchase of any sort but to no avail. Splashes kissed her face. The water closed over her head, stinging her nose, rushing into her mouth. I’m going to drown!
Then a pair of hands grabbed her about the waist and hauled her upward. Outlined against the glare of the sun, Seabrook grinned and then dropped her onto her feet.
The hard landing forced the air from her lungs with a loud “umph.” Annabella glared at the infuriating lout in front of her and pulled a hand down her face, brushing off the pond water. I’ll kill him. I’ll twist his neck until his head pops off. She tried to lunge for him but found herself frozen in place. Soaked through, her dress clung to her body and twisted about her legs so she couldn’t even take one step.
“Oh, goodness! Lady Annabella! Let me help you out of there.”
Before she could right herself, Vicar Hamilton wrapped his pudgy fingers around her arms and hauled her up, out of the pool.
As her feet found solid purchase on the bank, Annabella instantly turned and sought Seabrook. His dark eyes bore into the vicar. Faint redness crept into his face. Annabella couldn’t help but relish in his discomfort and obvious embarrassment at being discovered soaking wet in just his unmentionables.
Without a word, he scooped his wet clothing from the pond and tossed it onto the bank. Then he retrieved the boot she’d thrown at him. Keeping his eyes locked on her, he tipped it over. Water streamed out and splashed into the pool. When the boot was empty, he tossed it onto the shore with his clothing.
His lips rose in a one-sided smile as he stepped dripping from the pool. His pantaloons clung to him, had become nearly transparent. Nothing was left to the imagination!
And he didn’t seem to care!
Annabella’s breath caught and she quickly looked away, her face heating. Fluttering her eyelashes, she peered up at her rescuer instead. “Thank heavens you happened along when you did, Vicar Hamilton, or who knows what that madman might have done to me.” Dropping her head in her hands, she let out as mournful a cry as she could muster without laughing.
She couldn’t resist stealing a peek through her fingers as Seabrook stepped into his trousers and jerked them up without a word. With a sneer of distaste, he snatched up his shirt and twisted, wringing enough water from it for a spring rain. Finally, he shook it out and drew it over his head. The wet fabric embraced his body, clinging to the muscles she’d admired earlier.
Her throat went dry.
He left his coat in its heap on the ground, turned to face them, and cast a wicked grin in her direction — one that said she’d pay, and pay well, for her actions. Then he cocked his head slightly to the left. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend… Lady Annabella?”
No! He’d heard Vicar Hamilton call her by name. She no longer had a glimmer of hope that he’d go away and leave her in peace. Annabella moaned again and swayed as though she might swoon.
The vicar clicked his tongue and shook his head. Then he placed one beefy arm around her in a half hug, gently patting her shoulder with the other. “There, there, Lady Annabella. You’re safe now. I won’t let him subject you to any more of his unwanted advances.”
She lifted her head and smiled at Seabrook, confident she had bested him.
He raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms over his chest, meeting the vicar’s stunned gaze. “Since the lady appears to have been stricken with shyness, allow me to introduce myself. Jonathan Durham, Earl of Seabrook, currently a guest of the Duke of Wyndham, at your service.”
Annabella stiffened. A knot lodged in her throat.
Vicar Hamilton loosened his hold and stepped back, eyebrows furrowed. “Lady Annabella, do you know this man?”
Heat worked its way across her face and down her chest, forcing her to take shallow breaths. “I… I… I…”
Seabrook stepped closer. “I’d say she knows me quite well… especially after—”
“Seaside!” Annabella blurted out before she could stop herself. She pressed her fingers to her lips as though she might somehow push the outburst back in.
Vicar Hamilton’s eyes widened and his gaze darted between Annabella and Seabrook, finally settling on her. “Is that true, Lady Annabella?”
Humiliation exploded inside her. Her tongue seemed to swell, doubling in size, making speech impossible. The first chance she got, Seabrook would be sor—
“Come now, my love, don’t be modest. We’ve been found out. Tell the good vicar how we’ve been living together in Rose Cottage, and how you shared my bed last ni—”
“You lie!” erupted Vicar Hamilton, crimson suffusing his face. He pushed himself between the two of them. “Lady Annabella would never— Why, if I weren’t a man of the cloth, I’d—”
“Indeed… she announced only last night that she was quite weary of her virginity,” said Seabrook with an exaggerated shrug. “What else is a gentleman to do?”
“Oh!” someone shrieked. It took Annabella a moment to realize it had been her.
“I — but — that is — I do not believe you, sir!”
Seabrook retreated a step, though not for one moment did Annabella believe he felt threatened by the vicar. “Don’t take my word for it. By all means, ask the lady.”
The vicar faced her. “Does this man speak the truth? Did you—” He swallowed hard and lowered his voice. “Did you share his bed last night, my lady?”
Shame washed over her and her throat tightened. Everything started spinning and her knees went weak. “I…”
Seabrook lifted one eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest. “The good vicar is waiting for your answer, Annabella.”
“Yes,” she hissed through gritted teeth. Squeezing his neck until his head popped off was too good for him. If she had her way, he’d die a slow death choking on syrupy lemonade.
“I… see.” Vicar Hamilton stumbled back a step and stared at her. His face had gone ashen. “And am I to take it that you regret your… er, unfortunate course, Lady Annabella?”
“Oh, I do, Vicar. I want only for — for Lord Seabrook to leave.” Why had Seaside confessed what had happened the night before? If the wretched man had kept his mouth shut, she could have convinced the vicar that what he’d witnessed had all been perfectly innocent.
“—honorable thing and marry you.” His hungry grey eyes slid over her body. Crimson seeped into his already ruddy cheeks, and he quickly averted his gaze. “Nothing would make me happier than to make you my bride and keep your good name from being tarnished.”
What? Oh, no! No, no, no! The vicar was suggesting she marry him? Frantic, Annabella glanced around, tensed for flight. Surely there had to be another option. This can’t possibly be happening.
Seabrook pus
hed past the vicar and settled his arm across her shoulders. Heat radiated off him and sent darts of awareness shooting through her. “I might have a strong objection to that, vicar, given the circumstances. You can’t think, after I shared a bed with Lady Annabella last night, that I’d allow her to marry anyone but me.”
Annabella jerked away, glaring at him. He couldn’t be serious. She wouldn’t marry him if he were the last man alive. His glittering eyes suggested he might be very serious indeed. Annabella struggled for breath against the grip of panic squeezing the air from her lungs.
The vicar’s chest heaved up and down and his nostrils flared. “I will not let you force Lady Annabella into a marriage she doesn’t want.”
Oh, heavens! She didn’t want either of them! Annabella stole a glance at the vicar’s carriage. Dared she hope if she ran off they would cease their arguing over which one of them she would marry and just leave her in peace? She shuddered at the recollection of her mother’s threat to accept Hamilton’s offer. Intolerable, the thought of being wed to him for the rest of her life.
And Seabrook? Her heart stuttered.
“My good man, that isn’t for you to decide,” Seabrook said, his voice smooth but quite chilly. “Whether she realized it or not, you and I both know the lady made her choice when she shared my bed. And you are bound by that knowledge to do the honorable thing and marry us so her reputation isn’t tarnished.”
Annabella’s heart raced as she looked back and forth between the two men. Oh, sweet saints! Was she about to end up married to one of them? No! She couldn’t allow that to happen.
“You’re mad if you think I’ll be a party to binding Lady Annabella to you against her will,” Vicar Hamilton snapped.
“So you’d rather see her with child out of wedlock?”
Annabella gasped and pressed a hand to her middle. “Wait! Wait just a moment.” A baby? Could she be… had she? Her stomach slowly turned over and bile tickled the back of her throat. How soon would she know if— No! Please no! Fiery fingers clawed their way up from her neck.
“—quite certain you won’t change your mind and marry us, then I have no choice but to take the matter to Lady Annabella’s mother, the duchess, and her brother, the duke. I have no doubt they will find the marriage necessary and shall be none too happy that you delayed the matter,” Seabrook finished, a smug smile darkening his features.
She side-stepped, judging the distance to the carriage. As if reading her mind, Seabrook lowered an arm around her shoulders again and pulled her close.
Mother? Did he just say he would speak with my mother? And Markwythe? She couldn’t allow that, not when she was supposed to be in London with the duke. I should have just gone to London! Then she could have made Markwythe’s life miserable. Instead, she’d managed to become compromised by staying with a man unchaperoned, and now she was being called upon to marry him. As if Markwythe hadn’t done enough to ruin her life.
“If you’ll both excuse me, I must send word for his grace to come to Wyndham Green posthaste.” Seabrook stepped away, his sudden absence sending a shiver through her.
Annabella grabbed his arm. “No, please.” Her stomach churned, accepting the dire fate she’d managed to create for herself even as her mind rejected defeat. “I’ll… I’ll m-marry… you.” She almost choked on the last word.
Hamilton hovered as though uncertain still. “Er… I suppose we can start reading the banns—”
“My good vicar, might I have a word…” Seabrook moved close to the vicar and they turned toward the brook, presenting their backs to her. Then Seabrook began walking, leaving Hamilton little choice. He followed.
Annabella heard nothing but the rumble of their conversation, which grew fainter as they left her behind. What were they saying? Frowning, she stalked across the ground to catch up with them.
“Then it’s settled.” Seabrook turned back to her with an arrogant smile and dipped into an elaborate bow. “Wonderful news, my lady fair. The good vicar’s father is the Right Reverend Seymour Hamilton, the acting Bishop of Guildford. Vicar Hamilton has consented to work a bit of magic and pull some strings. He feels certain he can secure a license for which we won’t have to wait. We’re to be married immediately.” He bent and retrieved his coat then gave it a good shake. Water sprayed through the air.
Several drops of water splashed her in the face. Frowning, she wiped at them. Was that even possible? Without reading the banns? She glanced at Vicar Hamilton, who suddenly seemed quite excited by the idea. She supposed if he was agreeing to it, then it must be allowed.
“So quickly?” She forced the whisper over her tightening throat.
“It seemed…” Seabrook lowered his gaze to her abdomen and stepped closer. “…the prudent course.”
As if reacting to his look, a flutter stirred in her middle and sent a chill racing the length of her spine.
Without warning, Seabrook draped his sodden coat over her shoulders. The weight of it threatened to push her into the ground. “What on earth?” She twisted, trying to get away from the intimate gesture as much as the wet fabric.
“Darling, apparently you haven’t yet glanced down at yourself,” murmured Seabrook, obviously intending the words for her ears alone. “And while it pleases me no end that I am acquiring a wife who seems to be without vanity, this is one of those moments it would perhaps serve you to have a look.”
“What?” Annabella dropped her gaze. The gray muslin stuck to her like the skin she’d been born with, leaving her body every bit as exposed as Seabrook’s had been.
Devil’s fire!
Chapter Ten
Vicar Hamilton drove his ancient and battered Tilbury as though the devil’s hounds were at their heels. Considering the cracking and splintering sounds the old carriage made every time they jounced into a rut, it was a wonder the thing rolled in a straight line. Jon kept a wary eye on the wheezing, bony, old gelding — would it count as a miracle if he got them to the church without dropping over dead? The vicar took up fully half the seat, which left Jon and Annabella splitting what remained. Surely the size of the load alone was more than the poor horse had drawn for years.
As they rounded a bend, the wheel beneath Jon lifted from the road. Visions of the three of them flying through the air to meet a bad end had him reflexively grabbing for the side of the carriage box. It was bad enough with the three of them being crammed onto the narrow seat as it was. One of Annabella’s soft thighs pressed tightly against his. The intimacy of the touch might have been welcomed had he not been aware that her other thigh was squeezed just as tightly against the vicar’s.
She’d managed to pluck the saturated fabric of her dress away from her body enough to present a bit more decency, but she’d ended up keeping his coat — fine with him, given the way Hamilton had kept ogling her. For a man of the cloth, he didn’t seem particularly “clothlike.”
They bounced into another rut. Annabella flailed with one arm and managed to land it on his knee. His blood heated another notch. What are you doing, Seabrook?
He wished he knew. Whatever had possessed him to torment Annabella? He could easily have sent a message to Grey informing him of the chit’s whereabouts and then let his friend deal with finding out what his stepsister was up to.
From the corner of his eye, he studied Annabella. Her lovely green eyes usually reminded him of the finest emeralds. He’d been fighting a basic physical attraction for a beautiful woman since he’d first laid eyes on her. But the night before, everything had changed. And he wasn’t exactly certain when. In her foxed state, she’d not made much sense with her babbling, but something about her vulnerability had tugged at his soul. Now she stared at him, unseeing, with blankness in her eyes that chilled Jon to the marrow. Those deep pools of green stood out starkly against her face, which presently resembled a bucket of ashes. Was he so abhorrent to her? It hadn’t seemed so when she’d cried herself to sleep in his arms.
Annabella blinked and turned her face to the roa
d ahead. He could put an end to the sham instantly by an admission of the truth. She’d hate him — then again, she likely already did hate him. That alone would start their marriage on a hardship. And yet… Jon opened his mouth but the words escaped him.
Then Hamilton pulled the horses to a stop in the churchyard and the moment was lost.
The sun had disappeared behind an overcast sky, but the church, constructed of golden-hued stone, gave the illusion of glowing. Nestled between two separate wings of the church, the stone bell tower rose well above the slate roof to preside over the yard. Colorful stained glass windows had been placed along the two sides of the building Jon could see, boasting of a fairly flush parish.
Little wonder, if the vicar was in the habit of issuing unconventional marriage licenses that bypassed the law for the immoderate price Jon had agreed to pay him.
“We shall have to hurry if we’re to have the deed finished before noon as the law requires,” said Hamilton, scrambling from the carriage. Breathing heavily, he hurried up the path to the heavy wooden door.
Right. Jon supposed he’d have to take some of the law into consideration… Where exactly did the man draw the line between risk of prison and benefit of profit? A shudder gripped Jon at the recollection of the man’s offer of marriage. He apparently had a high opinion of himself. All things considered, Annabella was still the stepdaughter of a duke.
He eased from the seat, turned and held out a hand. “My lady,” he murmured, keeping his voice gentle.
Her delicate hand trembled as she slipped it into his, but she allowed him to assist her without argument. When she stood on the ground in front of him, she lifted her face and regarded him with pleading eyes. She was a creature trapped, unable to fight, unable to flee.
He couldn’t do it, couldn’t force her into a marriage that so obviously distressed her. His sport had gone on long enough — too long, really. He drew a breath.
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