by Matilda Hart
“As do you, it seems. It is quite the fashion to have a portrait of oneself in the family home, but one of the resident lord sans clothing is not yet the London fashion, I imagine?”
“Is it the fashion in Liverpool?” he asked, moving in just some more.
“Nothing is the fashion in Liverpool,” Annabel breathed out.
“Miss Fletcher, there is a favor I need to ask of you. Right at this moment, I have the most pressing need to kiss you. Would you mind that very much?”
“No. I would not mind.”
“So let us see if this is a foretaste of the best I have to offer.”
Time seemed to stop, until she heard the doors behind her being flung open, and Lord Donovan withdrew himself from her just as Charles grabbed her wrist and pulled her away from the Duke of Reading’s embrace.
“Annabel!” he hissed. Then he turned to Lord Donovan. “Your Grace.”
Just like Charles, she thought, in the midst of anger he still remembered to be proper. Mother would be so proud.
“My lord,” laughed Lord Donovan. “You seem flushed – have you been spinning your charming wife around on the floor?”
Charles bit on his lip. Annabel could see that he was shaking, struggling to control his anger. “No, my lord, I was concerned about my sister, Annabel, who this afternoon took ill. The physician was looking for her – my own man, Doctor Wentworth – as he was fearing that with some of these feverish conditions the patient experiences a burst of energy, masking the frailty caused by the illness. He was afraid she may be under the impression that she is getting better, when in fact she needs bed rest.”
Lord Donovan nodded. “I can see by looking at her that the lady needs to be bedded down.” His face was impassive.
Charles shook his head slightly, and led Annabel to the door, keeping a firm grasp on her wrist, and indicating with his other hand his wife. “Elinor is waiting. She is mortified. You will now walk to her, and you will follow her up the stairs and to your rooms. Once you get there, you will not, and I mean not, leave those rooms until I come and get you tomorrow morning. Do you understand?”
She nodded.
“And now, rather than avoiding this rogue and his incriminating words, I will now go and sit with him and seek to recover the honor of the Fletcher family name, by convincing this charlatan that you were feverish and tired and not your proper self. If I can do that, then I would think that father and mother do not need to be informed of these events.” His last words hung like a threat.
Annabel stumbled out of the room, and into the arms of Elinor, who looked just as flushed as Charles. “Come, my dear,” she consoled, her voice rising as they moved past interested onlookers. “Let us go and get you settled into bed. This long journey from Liverpool has quite worn you out.” Elinor placed a hand on Annabel’s forehead. “Oh, you are positively burning up!”
They moved away from the ever curious crowd, mounted the stairs and walked through the halls back to Annabel’s rooms. On the way, she could not but help give the Adamson painting one more admiring look, and imagined what it would be like to be kissed by Lord Donovan.
Chapter Five
Annabel was distraught. By the time she and Elinor reached her rooms, she was shaking, and it was fortunate that Doctor Wentworth was awaiting her with Susan.
“The lady has had a fright,” he said, motioning for Elinor and Susan to sit Annabel down on the couch. Annabel did as they wished, and admired the style and color of the couch as she reclined in it. Even his choice in furniture was impeccable.
“Now, how do you feel, Miss Fletcher?” asked the grey whiskered doctor.
“I feel somewhat confused.”
His hand was on her forehead, and it was so dry and unwanted compared to Lord Donovan that she recoiled initially. The doctor persisted, noting aloud what seemed to him to be nerves. “Yes, you are a little warm. Even for a dance, you are a little warm. I take it that an incident occurred downstairs – something that you, as a new lady on the London scene, may not have been expecting?”
“My brother – he surprised me, that is all.”
Elinor could barely contain herself. “Your brother, my husband, cannot be faulted in his behavior. We had told Miss Fletcher that she was too unwell to dance, and yet did not heed our counsel. Charles rescued her from doing more harm to herself than she could know.”
“So, you were dancing?” Wentworth’s voice was quiet, inviting a response.
“Only a little.”
“And you began to feel ‘confused’ after the dance, and a little nervous, too, I imagine?”
Elinor again interrupted. “Annabel was dancing with the Duke of Reading.” Susan’s hand flew to her mouth in shock.
“Ah, our lavish host. I see. He is quite the dancer.”
A small smile played across Annabel’s face. “He dances very well, it is true.”
The doctor nodded to himself, and stood up, facing Elinor. “It has been a long journey for Miss Fletcher. I dare say that she caught a chill somewhere along the way, and combined with the excitement of the evening, she is presenting as feverish. Let us giver her a restful night and morning, and I will return in a day or two. Is that to your liking, Miss Fletcher?”
Elinor nodded.
“Then I think the best thing to do is to let Susan get Miss Fletcher ready for bed, and then leave her to sleep. You know were the bell is, don’t you Miss Fletcher, if you need Susan?”
“Yes, I have familiarized myself with it.”
“Then I bid you all good night.”
With that he left, and Elinor followed him, barely acknowledging Annabel as she returned to the dance.
Susan was tentative. “Miss, are you ready for bed? How about a nice cup of tea to calm your nerves?”
“No, Susan, let me get ready for bed – you may brush my hair and then you can leave.”
“Of course, miss.”
By the time Susan had brushed her hair, and made her usual string of compliments, Annabel had relaxed somewhat. What she really wanted was to be left alone, to try and recapture the feelings that she had while dancing with Lord Donovan, and then sharing an intimate moment over sherry. She could have called down curses on Charles for his poor timing.
“Are you ready, now, miss?”
“Yes,” she sighed in obvious fashion. “I think I will sleep now.”
“Ring the bell if you need anything, miss, I am just downstairs.”
“I will. Thank you, Susan.”
“Good night, miss.”
Annabel retired to her bedroom, and lay down again on the comfortable bed. It seemed so large – even from the middle she could barely reach the edges with the tips of her fingers. She moved under the covers, and lay for a few moments before reviewing the events of the day, and then falling into a fitful sleep.
Annabel was dreaming of marbled gods when one of them began knocking at a door that had suddenly appeared in the rural setting. It was loud. Again, and again the knocking persisted, until she awoke, groggy and disorientated, only to realize that someone was knocking at her door.
“Oh Charles,” she whispered, “surely you don’t need to check on me now?”
She opened the door in her nightdress, only to find the impressive figure of Lord Donovan standing before her.
“Miss Fletcher,” he smiled. “I approved of your ball gown but I must say your evening wear exceeds even that.”
Annabel pulled her nightdress across her chest.
“Please do not be alarmed. I have come to have a few words with you, to put your mind at ease. Oh, and don’t worry, no one has seen me come here. Although the longer I am left to linger outside your door – “
“Come in,” Annabel whispered. “This is most unusual, however, visiting a woman alone in her rooms.”
He stepped inside, still resplendent in his tailored dress coat, and wiped an errant lock of hair from his eyebrow. “It is actually not that unusual. Well, in my experience. Can I sit down?”
/> “Please,” again, Annabel felt her blood rushing to her face. “Lord Donovan, what if my brother comes by?”
He flicked a speck of fluff from the couch. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about brother Charles. He is otherwise occupied. Sit with me.”
Annabel obeyed him. It was the tone of his voice – it left no room for disobedience, and yet not doing what he said never crossed her mind. “Oh. Very well. However, we are without a chaperone – “
“Again.” He smiled, and she noticed in the candlelight the sharpness of his chin. The prominent Adam’s apple in his throat. The way he smelt. “As a matter of interest, I have merely come by to continue the conversation that Charles interrupted. Believe me, I had words with my man about that – he is normally quite adept at fashioning enough excuses to allow me to finish intimate conversations. Still, even the best of servants have their moments where a brother’s concern can overpower their master’s desire.”
Annabel knew full well where their conversation had ended – it had ended with him dipping in to kiss her, to wantonly break almost every social protocol of the day, and to blacken her name. She let go of her nightdress. More than anything else, she wanted him to lean across and kiss her in the candlelight.
“Do I have to remind you about that conversation, Miss Fletcher?”
“Perhaps. Much has happened since then.” Her heart was pounding.
“Well, we were closer.” He shifted along and was sitting so close to her now that she could barely see past his immense frame. “And I asked if I could kiss you. Do you recall?”
“I do.”
“Do you recall your answer?” His hand had found its way on to her leg. “Do you need some more prodding to remember back past the other events of the evening?”
There it was again – that feeling, of her feelings overriding everything else, of taking what she was suspecting were their appropriate and proper role. The feelings of desire, of want, of heat were all pushing past the social protocols and repression she had long felt. This was her last opportunity to push them back, but instead she gave in to them.
“No, I recall. I wanted you to kiss me. I want you to kiss me now.”
So he did. He leaned in, and gently took her face in his hands, and kissed her full on the mouth. Annabel was on fire, and inwardly she relaxed completely, giving herself to the moment and to the man. He kept kissing her, and she responded, pushing back and wrapping her arms around him. He pulled away briefly.
Annabel smiled. “Is that is the best you have to offer?”
He put a long finger upon her lips, and stroked them. “No, the best is yet to come. You will see.”
And he kissed her again, but this time his hands slid inside her night gown and caressed her naked thigh. She moaned – no one had ever touched her there and, despite loving what he was doing with his hands, she wanted so much more from him. Her thighs were tingling under his touch, and unbidden, she eased herself down the couch on to her back. His hands moved up her thighs, gently playing with the inside of them, before his fingers found what she wanted him to find, what she could not ask. He had stopped kissing her once she had slid down the couch, and now he was pleasuring her with his fingers, opening her, allowing her to feel a wetness that she had never experienced before. She moaned deeply, and he took his cue and eased her legs further apart, and lay between them. He knew what he was doing.
Annabel could feel him through his clothes – hard, full, more than enough. He began to move on top of her, and she continued to give in to the pleasure. Then his hands slipped beneath her nightshirt and began to fondle her breasts, her nipples hardening as he did so. Then his lips were on her neck, her cleavage, each of her nipples, and then his hands had slipped down her body again, where she was awash with anticipation and eagerness.
Suddenly, as though he could no longer control himself, Lord Donovan lifted her up in his arms and carried her through to the bedroom. He placed her on the bed, and slipped her nightdress off. Annabel, for the first time in her adult life, was naked and vulnerable before an experienced man. She looked up, and the look on his face was of unbridled approval. “Someone should paint you - just like this. You are a beautiful woman, Annabel.”
She blushed. “The painting can wait for later, perhaps.”
He began to undress. His arms and chest rippled with each movement, just as she thought they might do based on the painting she had seen. She had no idea what to expect though, when he slipped off his drawers and stood before her, as naked as she was. He was erect and, to her eyes, large.
Lord Donovan lay next to her and began to kiss her neck and continued to explore her body with his hands. She ran her hands down his back, feeling the muscles there move and contract. She felt his buttocks, firm and muscular, storehouses of power and strength. While he was still pleasuring her, she slipped her hand under him and stroked his smooth shaft – and it was his turn to groan.
“Now,” was all he said to her, and she nodded.
He lay on top of her, his hands opening her, preparing her, and then he eased himself in, gently, filling her with warmth. This is what she had wanted from the moment he had kissed her – every subsequent touch had been building to this moment of him penetrating her. He moved inside her, and there was a moment of pain, but it passed. He began to move with measured strokes, his eyes locked on hers. Annabel’s breathing grew deeper, more hurried, until she was aware that she was panting. Words started to form but she struggled to articulate the feelings that were building like a crescendo inside her – and he continued to move, to a slightly faster beat now, completely in control, knowing full well that she was about to climax. Annabel stifled a cry, and he responded to her.
“Don’t hold back, Annabel. Just let it out.”
He moved again, harder now, pushing deeper and deeper inside her until she let out a cry, panting her pleasure for him to hear. He redoubled his efforts and suddenly convulsed, a moan emanating from him that indicated he had found her to be fully satisfactory.
They collapsed in on each other, breathless.
“That,” Annabel breathed out, “was a vast improvement on the sherry.”
“It is the best I have to give – just like I promised.” Lord Donovan rolled over, a sheen of sweat visible on his brow. Annabel nestled into him and he held her in his arms. They murmured what began as meaningless conversation to pass the time, but soon Lord Donovan opened up to her about his feelings for her. How he had followed her down the halls, mesmerized by her, being drawn to speak to her even as she hid from the party. Annabel was pleased, and even more so when he nuzzled her neck. Then he lifted himself up over her, and grinned. “I think I might like to go around again, if you are not too tired.”
“I think I can keep pace with you, Donovan.”
He kissed her again, inflamed by her use of his name, and the feelings of desire were alive within her once more.
Chapter Six
Despite the advice of Doctor Wentworth, Annabel did not have a restful night’s sleep. Yet she awoke feeling invigorated, fresh, and it wasn’t until she noticed the brightness of the room that she realized how late it was. She gently disentangled herself from the sleeping Lord Donovan – while again gazing on his handsome and impressive body – then found her nightdress and gown, dressed herself, and went to sit down for breakfast. Confused by the apparent lateness of the morning, yet seeing no sign of Susan or breakfast, she walked back into the bedroom, where Lord Donovan had awoken.
He turned to her, and smiled, and beckoned her to join him.
“No, Donovan, I do not think I can. Susan will be up here shortly with breakfast. You must go.”
He looked puzzled. “Did you not enjoy last night?”
“Immensely – but this is daylight now. People will be awake. And Charles – Charles!” Suddenly she remembered. Susan was not her great danger – servants could be bought and coerced, and she was sure that Lord Donovan could manage either. But Charles – Charles was coming by in the morning to che
ck on her. They were scant minutes from exposure. If he was angry about an aborted kiss, what would he do if he found Lord Donovan naked in her bed? She was frantic. Yet Lord Donovan simply rolled under the sheets on to his back, and placed his hands behind his head. He yawned.
“Why are you not moving?” she demanded.
“Because I am cleverer at this than you. First, calm yourself about Charles. He is going nowhere this morning.”
“What have you done to him?”
“I have pickled him. He and I had a talk last night – he apologized for your behavior, blamed it on a fever and hoped that I would not take it to heart. I told him to put his fears aside – I was the party that behaved badly, and that you had been above reproach, if a little overawed at attending your first London ball.”
Annabel was not following. She was busy collecting the Duke’s clothes and putting them within reach. “And he believed you? Well and good – but when he walks in here, you will not be able to persuade him that I have acted above reproach.”
He reached out and grabbed her hand, and pulled her on to the bed next to him. “Annabel,” he intoned firmly, “I meant what I said. Charles is not going anywhere.”
“How do you know?”
“Well, I ensured that we toasted the unfortunate misunderstanding. You see, your brother has a weakness. He enjoys red wine. So we then toasted the success of the ball, his recent marriage, the health of his parents, the peace, the Regent…and all the while I was on the same glass. Charles is not going anywhere today. He’ll take up the larger portion of the good doctor’s time today.”
Annabel sighed in relief. “And Susan? Where is Susan?”
