The door pushed open before she could decide. A handsome man cleared the threshold, pausing only for a fraction of a moment when he spotted Owen. His gaze swept over him as he continued forward in halting steps.
“You came,” he exclaimed, reaching Owen and pulling him into a hug. Clearly he was the brother, although the similarity was minimal. Lord Winningham possessed hair darker than her own. His olive complexion hinted at Mediterranean ancestry, a direct contrast to Owen, who looked like he descended from Vikings. Both possessed like height and build, however.
The brothers’ embrace seemed awkward—like they were unknown to each other and not kinsmen at all.
“I departed as soon as I received your letter,” Owen said, stepping free. “My apologizes for missing the christening.”
Lord Winningham scanned him from head to foot as if he could still not reconcile the sight of him in his drawing room. “Of course, I am simply happy you came to meet your nephew. Paget will be overcome. Best brace yourself.”
More people arrived then. Two men: one older and one young; and two young women chattering happily.
Annalise’s gaze fell unerringly on the woman with pale blond hair. She was small and lovely. With her fair hair and dark brown eyes, she possessed a haunting beauty. Her eyebrows and lashes were the same shade of brown as her eyes, and it was a striking contrast to her hair. She looked almost otherworldly.
Annalise knew at once that this was Paget. She would have known this even if she did not hold the small, swaddled infant in her arms. Lord Winningham arrived at her side in several long strides, taking the baby from her arms so that she might greet Owen.
There was no hesitation in her. None of the awkwardness that belonged to her husband as she tugged Owen down to her so that she could wrap her arms around his neck. She squeezed her eyes shut in a long blink as she embraced him, either indifferent to or unaware of his reticence.
“You came.” She breathed the words over his shoulder as though she were expelling a long-held breath. And Annalise knew. She understood. She was more than the girl who had married his half brother. They shared a past. A history. Perhaps Owen had loved her. Perhaps he still did.
A knot formed in her stomach at the notion, and she had the wild urge to rise and flee from the room. Jaw clenched, she forced herself to sit still, remembering she had suffered far worse than this discomfort in her life.
Unfortunately, at this moment, this reality was the only thing that signified—and nothing quite stung as the sight of Owen in close proximity to a woman he very well might still love. No matter that the lady was married to another and a new mother. If Owen loved her, he loved her. The heart possessed a will of its own.
Owen patted the countess’s back. “Of course. How could I miss meeting the future Earl of Winningham?”
She pulled back and beamed up at him. “He is beautiful, is he not? Hopefully, he’ll have many years tromping around the countryside first. As we once did.” She smoothed a hand over his chest with a familiarity that gave Annalise a pang in her stomach. Which was absurd. The lady was his brother’s wife. And even if she were not, she had no reason to feel possessive of Owen. His affections were not hers to keep. They were not hers at all.
“Do you not recall?” the countess continued. “We would leave home at dawn some days and not return until sundown.”
“Yes. Unless your father managed to find you first and haul you home.”
Chuckles followed this remark. “Oh. I never worried when she was with you,” the older gentleman murmured.
“Of course you didn’t, Papa. I was with Owen.”
Owen’s smile grew pained. There was a stillness, a quietness to him that reminded Annalise of when they first met. She realized she had grown accustomed to a certain degree of ease from him. But here, among his own family, he behaved almost as a stranger in their midst.
Paget reclaimed her baby, her voice softening into a croon. “I can only hope little Brand here is just as responsible and trustworthy. The girls in the village shall be lucky indeed to have such a champion in their midst.”
“You named him Brand?” Owen asked in a quieter voice, stepping forward to peer down at the tiny bundle of new life.
“There was no finer namesake,” Jamie spoke up.
“Your brother is watching down now with pride,” the countess’s father inserted.
Owen nodded, looking rather humbled as he stared down at his nephew.
“Here. Take him.” Lady Winningham thrust him into Owen’s arms even as he shook his head in protest, his expression suddenly alarmed.
“There now. Just watch his head,” she instructed.
Baby secured in Owen’s arms, Paget stood back, her dark eyes shining with pleasure. Her husband draped an arm around her shoulders. Together they watched Owen, obviously so thrilled to have him there. To have him holding their son, albeit awkwardly.
Annalise marveled that Owen claimed to feel like an outsider among his family. Right now that was how she felt. The fact that no one had yet to acknowledged her amid the little reunion did not help. If she could slip from the room unnoticed, she would have. At this point she only hoped to remain ignored, overlooked.
It wasn’t to be, of course. “Oh. Forgive me. How very rude.” Lady Winningham’s gaze swerved from Owen to Annalise and back again. “You brought a guest, Owen.”
The question hung in the woman’s voice. Who was she?
Owen looked up from his nephew. “Yes. This is Anna.”
Everyone in the room blinked and looked at each other, uncertain how to react to this less than verbose of introductions. Annalise hesitated, wondering if he would offer more explanation than that. He didn’t, returning his attention to the baby, catching one tiny fist with two of his fingers.
Heat crept over her face. “It’s a pleasure to meet you all,” she murmured, her gaze scanning everyone.
Owen’s brother and sister-in-law exchanged glances. The embarrassing heat in her face twisted to anger. Had he no plans to explain her presence? Heavens knew what conclusions they were drawing.
“Paget, we must take our leave,” the other young woman said. “What a truly splendid day.” She stepped forward to kiss the countess lightly on both cheeks. “John and I are so happy for you.” She faced Owen. “Good to see you again, Owen. And farewell to you, my little darling.” She stepped forward to stroke baby Brand’s cheek.
Paget’s father departed the room with them, leaving the four of them alone.
A moment passed before Owen stepped forward and returned the baby to Paget’s arms. She happily accepted her child, saying, “I do hope you will stay longer than last time, Owen.” Her gaze flicked to Annalise. “You and your guest . . . Anna.”
Annalise offered up a tentative smile.
“We can only stay for a short time, I fear.”
Paget frowned. A strained silence fell again. Jamie’s jaw clenched, as he looked from his wife to Owen, clearly disliking that Owen had not pleased her with a promise for a longer visit.
Annalise blew out a breath. She was sorely tempted to demand that they all cease with the silent stares and confess whatever it was they were thinking.
“If it would not be any trouble,” she said, “I should like to rest in my room for a spell.”
“Oh. Of course. How thoughtless of me,” Paget said. “You must be tired from your journey. Let me ring for Miss Spence to show you the way.”
“I can show her.” Owen moved to her side, helping her to her feet.
Paget nodded once, smiling tremulously. “Oh. Very well. Ms. Spence likely put her things in the rose room. You know the way. This is your home, too, after all.”
“It was my home,” Owen corrected.
Paget visibly swallowed. A faint pink tinged her cheeks, and Annalise felt sorry for her. Jamie’s lips thinned, clearly displeased with his brot
her’s terseness.
As if realizing that he had come across harshly, Owen added, “But I’m glad for the invitation and honored you both would want me here.”
Paget released an audible breath, her face brightening at his words.
Owen led her from the drawing room then, his fingers light on her elbow. He strode quickly. She practically had to skip to keep pace.
“I need a drink,” he muttered beside her. He stopped before a door on the second floor, pushing it open for her, his expression distracted, his gaze not even on her.
She spun to face him, not yet ready to move inside until she aired her grievances. “How could you bring me here?”
His gaze snapped to her face. “What do you mean?”
She waved a hand. “Are you intending to explain my presence? Ever? What must they think?”
“That you are my guest,” he replied curtly. “Just as I said.”
She snorted. “Goodness knows what conclusions they are drawing of me even now. They must think that I’m—that you and I—” She broke off, too mortified to put it into words. Shaking her head, she hissed, “I should have never come here.”
“Well, you’re here now.” He looked at her coolly, and his apathy only infuriated her further.
“How long must we stay?”
He cocked his head. “Need I remind you that you encouraged me to come here?”
“That was before.”
“Before what?”
“Before I realized you’re in love with your brother’s wife.”
The words spilled free. She had no idea they bubbled so close to the surface. She sucked in a shuddering breath, horrified, regretting the awful words and all they revealed of her feelings.
It was like a curtain dropped over his face. Typically stoic, his features were harder than ever, granite. “You are mistaken.”
She worked past the lump in her throat, swallowing deep. “Am I?”
He angled his head, a dangerous glint entering his dark blue eyes. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Anna.”
She rolled back her shoulders, composing herself, knowing this was not a conversation she wanted to have with him. “It’s none of my concern.”
He was silent for a moment, studying her, the blue of his eyes dark and stormy. “Then why say anything?” He stepped closer.
Because I felt like a fool sitting in that room.
“I don’t know,” she lied, lifting her chin a notch. “Forget I ever said anything.” Indeed, she wished she could forget the wretched words had ever escaped her.
She started to close the door on him, but he caught it with one hand and backed her inside the room, closing it and sealing them in.
“What are you doing? They already think me some strumpet you’ve dropped into their midst.” Her cheeks burned as she recalled their uncomfortable expressions when Owen introduced her simply as Anna. As though she wasn’t important enough to possess a surname. She shook her head. “Go! The servants are probably whispering already that you’re in here with me. What will your family think?” She stepped around him, intent on opening the door and expelling him from her room.
His hand fell on her shoulder, turning her and forcing her back against the shut door. He was close now. The broad wall of him all-encroaching heat.
“Let me be clear. I am not in love with Paget,” he murmured, so close his breath fanned her lips.
She shivered. “It’s not my—”
“Don’t say it’s not your concern when it so obviously is,” he bit out, his gaze crawling over her face slowly, thoroughly.
Her stomach clenched at that penetrating stare. She compressed her lips, holding silent. She resisted the urge to fidget, feeling very much like a cornered animal beneath his probing gaze, his words hanging between them. Words it was impossible to deny. Not when he consumed so much of her thoughts. Right or wrong, he filled her head, infected her blood, it seemed. Standing this close, she could not draw enough air to fill her lungs.
His eyes moved from her eyes to her lips and back again. She felt his gaze like a touch, an actual caress. She couldn’t fathom her reaction if he actually did touch her . . . kiss her. She might just go up in flames.
“I grew up with Paget. We were children together. We were close, but then life happened.” His lips curled in a grimace. “War happened. Brand died. Jamie came home. I stayed in India. They fell in love.”
She moistened her lips. “And you’re sorry for that?”
He dipped his head, bringing those pale night blue eyes so close she could see the dark ring around the irises. “There isn’t one fraction of me that longs to be with her, that longs to . . .” His words faded.
Annalise’s body leaned forward of its own accord, as if seeking the rest of those words, craving them like a touch. “Yes? What?”
His eyes roamed her face, searching. She squirmed, struggling to maintain eye contact. A battle when those eyes looked so deeply into her own. A battle she finally lost, her gaze ducking away.
His hand slid along her face, capturing her cheek. With a single, powerful tug he forced her gaze back. “I don’t long for this with her, with anyone else.”
He didn’t leave her to wonder what this was. He showed her.
His lips brushed her lips, softly, teasingly at first. She lifted her face closer, like a moth to the light, hungering for more no matter the imminent danger.
Warmth spread through her as he increased the pressure of his mouth, sliding his arm around her and pulling her closer until she was plastered against him.
She melted against him, her body softening and yielding.
Her thoughts reeled. I don’t long for this with anyone else. Implying he only longed for her, then? Had that been his meaning? It was a heady, marvelous thought and only heightened the desire thrumming through her. It only made her want to crawl inside of him until they were fused together.
He slanted his mouth and kissed her deeper, his tongue licking at the seam of her lips. She sighed and his tongue delved inside, stroking her tongue.
His hand skimmed her spine, drifting up. She felt his fingers dancing over each vertebrae even through the fabric of her gown, grazing her bones as though savoring and memorizing the feel of them.
She sighed into his mouth, drinking in his kiss, his tongue, as she ran her hand up his neck. She lost her fingers in the thick strands of his hair, reveling in the silky tendrils filling her palms.
He came up slightly for air and breathed her name into her mouth in a hot little gust. It drove her wild. Especially with the echo of his words in her head. He longed for only her.
Need pumped through her blood for him. She brought one hand to his cheek, loving the scratching rasp there. He was everywhere and not nearly close enough. She moaned and pulled his head closer, mashing her lips until they were a tangle of lips, teeth, and tongues.
Suddenly he broke away. Air sawed from his lips as he panted down at her, studying her with eyes far too bright with emotion. Gone was her cold-eyed rescuer. In his place stood a man gripped by desire. For her. It was wholly satisfying. She smoothed her hands over his shoulders, eager, prepared for more than another kiss from him. She wanted what came next. She wanted it all.
Then he suddenly opened the door behind her.
She gaped for a moment, snapping her mouth shut when he stepped out in the corridor and turned back to look at her.
“I shall explain your presence here to my brother and his wife. I apologize if I made you uncomfortable earlier.”
Annalise stared, hardly hearing his proper and correct speech. She realized she should feel appeased, but she felt only acute disappointment at the abrupt loss of him from her arms. He had kissed her and the earth moved beneath her feet. Had he not felt that, too?
She forced herself to nod and reply with something similarly polite and c
orrect. “Thank you. That is of much relief.”
“I would not have you embarrassed ever again by my thoughtlessness. Or hurt.”
She angled her head, wondering if he was referring to more than her earlier mortification with his family. But then he turned and strolled down the corridor with swift steps, leaving her looking after him and wondering at that remark.
Chapter Eighteen
They were ready for Owen as soon as he entered the drawing room.
“Who is she?” Jamie asked baldly, his expression disapproving in a way that reminded Owen of his youth, when his brother had frowned on his wild ways.
“Jamie,” Paget murmured, her voice chiding as she rocked the baby in her arms.
He longed to reply that Anna was none of Jamie’s concern, but he had promised her that he would set matters to rights. He had brought her here without thinking through how he would explain her presence. Humiliating her was not his wish.
“I found her.”
“You found here?” Jamie looked incredulous. “Like a lost penny?”
He winced. “It’s not like that. When I left here I found her near the river. She was injured. Unconscious.”
Paget smiled with that tenderness that was so like the girl he remembered. “You rescued her.”
Jamie processed this for a bit, his eyes failing to go all soft and dreamy in the manner of Paget’s. “Has she no family? Is there no one you can return her to?”
“It’s complicated. She can’t remember,” he offered, even though he didn’t entirely believe that to be true. He had no intention of filling in all the details for his brother.
Paget looked knowingly to her husband. “Remember when Owen rescued that injured falcon?”
And that was so very Paget—seeing only the best in him.
“Only she’s not a pet, Paget.” Jamie looked him over. He knew him better than that. “She was at your house when I visited? How is it you never mentioned her to me then?”
How to Lose a Bride in One Night Page 15
