At Least Once More (4 page)

Guilt rolled through Annabelle when she noticed Minerva’s paler than normal skin. “Where’s William?”

Minerva waved a hand. “He’s around here somewhere, but we can take the carriage and send it back for him. Business will undoubtedly keep him out late.” She craned her head, but stilled as her complexion blanched even further. “I don’t suppose you see Lady Markham, so we can make our farewells?”

Without really looking for their hostess, Annabelle grasped Minerva’s elbow and led her to the door. “No, but I’m sure she’d understand.” And Annabelle didn’t quite feel up to facing Lady Markham at the moment, not given the strange encounter with Lord Markham and her own unsettled nerves over the kiss with Gareth. Besides, if Lord Markham were to be believed, she’d be seeing his wife soon enough.

****

The cool morning wind whipped at Annabelle’s skin and kissed it with dew. She laughed and encouraged Bella into a canter. She’d been annoyed when William had first brought the horse home and shared the mount’s name. It was a joke in poor taste, but then he hadn’t named the filly, and what a sweet one she’d turned out to be.

A small frown teased her brow. William—who was normally ensconced in the library by the time she and her sister-in-law left for their ride—had answered Annabelle’s knock on Minerva’s bedroom door with a worried look. He’d waved off her offers of assistance and sent her out for her morning ride.

She wouldn’t have left, but the promise of meeting Lady Markham had beckoned. Annabelle had been awake most of the night. Achy from the sensation of fullness in her breasts and hollowness in her sex, she’d been unable to get comfortable.

Sometime near dawn, her body had quieted, only to become once more agitated during her normally relaxing morning ride. Even with Bella’s smooth gait, Annabelle’s small breasts jiggled, her nipples rubbing against the soft linen of her shift, and each of her mount’s steps renewed the throbbing at the apex of her thighs. It was all so distracting she could hardly remember what questions she wanted answered.

A second set of hooves matched Bella’s cadence, then increased beyond it. Annabelle leaned forward over her mount’s neck. Whoever was behind obviously wanted a race, and who was she to deny them? She’d been too long denied herself.

No more. Why should she care about the strictures of English Society? She was American after all. She laughed as the mare kicked into a gallop. Each strike of Bella’s hooves reverberated through Annabelle, abraded her nipples to hard points and stoked the slow burn between her thighs to a raging inferno.

Last night’s brief image of Gareth and she racing, of her astride him, flashed to mind. Annabelle’s heartbeat thundered in time with the pounding of hooves echoing along the otherwise deserted Rotten Row. The early hour deterred only the most avid of riders, which is why she and Minerva normally rode at this time. If only her challenger were the duke, but in all likelihood it was Lady Markham, who was herself an avid rider.

The muzzle of a large mount, probably a gelding, eased into her peripheral view. She threw her weight farther forward, but the other horse had the advantage of muscle and longer legs. It slowly eased ahead. She tossed a glance at the owner.

Lord Markham.

Her heart stilled a moment before resuming its frantic pace. Was Lady Markham walking her mount at a more ladylike pace?

Most likely not. No horsewoman worth her salt would pass up an opportunity for a good run. Fear tinged with excitement tickled her insides. Had his offer last night only been a ruse to meet her this morning?

The excitement died. Certainly, he’d expected to see Minerva with her. It wasn’t as if he’d known her sister-in-law would be indisposed.

The fear gave way to nervousness. Maybe she shouldn’t have left the house without a groom? It was one thing to go looking for trouble, another thing entirely to have it thrust upon her unexpectedly.

And her alone with Markham was definitely trouble. The damn man was too attractive for his own good—though nowhere near as appealing as Gareth. Her insides fluttered as she recalled Gareth’s body pressed to hers. The hard planes of his chest flattening hers. The rigid length nestled low against her belly.

Liquid heat pooled between her legs. What a singular sensation. Was that normal? Yet another question to pose, though how did one ask if it was normal for moisture to weep from a lady’s core? Embarrassment crawled a slow path from her chest up her neck. While she might not be able to ask Markham that particular question, surely he could answer some of the others, and surely the memory of Gareth was enough to resist whatever temptation the earl would offer. She slowed Bella, and Markham followed suit.

He tipped his hat. “Well met, Miss Abbott.”

She inclined her head. “Morning, my lord.” With a slight smile, she swept her gaze along the riding lane. It was empty save for them. She canted her head to the side. “Is all well with Lady Markham this morn?”

His brows drew together as he frowned. “She’s feeling a bit under the weather and bade me come in her stead.”

Annabelle twisted the ends of the reins. Had her behavior the previous night been so worrisome that a married lady would have sent her husband to speak to a young miss, alone? She nibbled on her lower lip. Or was it really a feint? Through narrowed eyes, she studied the park. Had he intended to somehow separate her from Minerva?

“No worries, Miss Abbott. I promise my intentions are mostly honorable.”

She couldn’t prevent a bark of laughter. “Mostly, my lord?”

He smiled—and her worries disappeared. Mostly. “Shall we walk?”

Now that was a horrible idea. At least mounted, there were horses between them. However, each step reminded her of the ache between her legs. It also made it almost impossible to face each other, and she had a feeling whatever he had to say was best addressed head on.

“With pleasure, my lord.” Many a miss had probably said those same words before ruin found them. She reined in and dismounted.

Whatever would her sister-in-law say about her behavior? Hadn’t she promised she’d let Minerva help her find a suitable husband? Hadn’t she promised to not get into any more scrapes?

A pair of green eyes flashed to mind. She hadn’t expected her plan to find a man who would actually prove he was attracted to her to come to fruition. But now that Gareth had, she craved more of his kisses and more of his touch. She craved for him to fill the empty, weeping aching void of her sex with the hard length she’d felt pressed against her last evening. She might be a virgin, but she wasn’t naive to the ways of mating. The mechanics were probably similar no matter the species involved.

She slanted a glance at Markham. Yet another suspicion he could verify.

They fell into step with the horses trailing behind on their leads. For long seconds, silence filled the air between them until she vibrated with tension. “It is uncommonly foggy this morning, my lord.”

Lord Markham’s deep laugh echoed along the tree-lined side path they’d chosen. “Well, that will certainly teach me to temper my thoughts.”

She hadn’t intended to make him laugh. She had merely been trying to break the uncomfortable silence pressing on her. Pleasure tingled along her skin and emboldened her words. “And what thoughts are you trying to temper, my lord?”

The uncomfortable silence returned. His jaw clenched tight. A muscle ticked in his cheek. She gripped the reins in her hands tighter. This anticipation was worse than anything she’d experienced before, even the latest dressing down she’d received from William after the Thornton debacle. “Markham, please.”

His lordship groaned and mumbled something that resembled, “Not our best idea, my dear.”

“Pardon?” It hadn’t sounded like the words were meant for her. Besides, meeting him hadn’t been her idea anyway, so who was he thinking of?

He shook his head and clasped his hands behind his back. “Nothing of import, Miss Abbott.” He shot her a sidelong glance, but didn’t hold her gaze, rather returning his to the path ahead. “You do realize your behavior last night was outside the bounds of propriety?”

Annabelle bristled. Had he really built up her curiosity, just to draw her out for a lecture on propriety? She could have stayed at home and listened to William—that was if he wasn’t tending a sick wife, and someone was stupid enough to inform him of her indiscretions.

And if Lady Markham was indisposed, why wasn’t Lord Markham at home tending his wife? So much for the saying that reformed rakes made the best husbands.

But then, wasn’t she the reason Markham was out instead of with his wife? Guilt chased away her irritation. She truly did like Lady Markham. “Sir, do not feel it your duty to lecture me. William and Minerva serve in that stead admirably. You can return to Lady Markham and tell her I’ve been duly chastised.”

Lord Markham snorted before dropping his horse’s reins and spinning toward her. She stepped back as he neared, but he kept coming. Her heartbeat, which had slowed to normal, raced once more. Her chest rose and fell with each rapid breath. “My…my lord?”

“Miss Abbott, I doubt you’ve ever been suitably chastised in your life.” His gaze skated along her form, leaving her feeling stripped and excited. “Indeed, I believe it is a desire for a proper chastising that has driven you to such reckless and ill-thought behavior.”

The rough bark of a tree arrested her backward progress. Her horse, its reins dropped sometime during her retreat, grazed out of reach.

Not that Annabelle necessarily wanted to escape. What was the meaning behind Markham’s emphasis on chastising? The truth tantalized with its proximity just as the earl halted but inches from her.

“It isn’t really your place to chastise me, my lord.” The breathiness of her voice countered the admonition. It dared him to…what?

His jaw clenched and unclenched as he raised a gloved hand to hover beside her head. Trapped. She was trapped between his hard, unrelenting body and the immovable tree, but her limbs were impossibly heavy and heat pooled low in her belly. She really was incorrigible. What of Lady Markham? Gareth? But neither were here to answer her unspoken questions and fulfill the desire pounding through her veins.

She moistened dry lips. “My lord—”

“What the bloody hell is going on here?”

Gareth? Annabelle whipped her head in the direction his voice had come from, blinked, and swallowed hard.

Despite no hat, hair mussed—and not by the artful skills of a valet—and a simple but askew cravat, the duke was an even more imposing figure in the morning light. A serviceable but unbuttoned coat revealed a simple brown waistcoat. Buckskin breeches molded to large thighs. Worn but well-cared for riding boots completed the picture.

But it was the scowl on his face that had her squeezing her thighs together, even as the material of her shift caught between her thighs dampened. Had her thoughts conjured him? She shifted her gaze to Markham, who had yet to step away.

A small smile—of regret?—teased his features before being replaced with his usual sardonic mien. He half-faced Gareth. “There you are, old man. I was beginning to wonder if you’d arrive in time.”

Gareth’s fists clenched and unclenched. “In time for what?”

Annabelle’s hand went to her throat. Indeed, in time for what? Expectation, not fear, of the unknown tightened her skin until she could feel every hair on her arms and every drop of dew on her face.

“I was just explaining to Miss Abbott how inappropriate her behavior—” he inclined his head toward Garrett “—and yours was last night.”

Annabelle sidled sideways as Lord Markham settled his hand on the tree beside her head and crowded her body. Gareth appeared ready to pummel one of them, but her knees couldn’t support her weight on their own, so she couldn’t walk away, even if she had wanted to.

Gareth took a step closer and her breath caught. Now she was trapped between two men. And the promise of something delicious shimmered in the air between their three tense forms.

“And when did you become such a paragon of virtue that you feel it’s your place to lecture others on morality?” The sneer on Gareth’s face didn’t detract from his good looks. Indeed the sinister cast drew a shiver of anticipation from her.

Lord Markham chuckled. “I’d hardly say I was lecturing. Would you, my dear?”

Annabelle swallowed hard and squeaked, “No.” She cleared her throat. “No. Not lecture.”

Gareth narrowed his eyes and swung his gaze from Annabelle to Markham. “Then what? Are you trying to incite my jealousy and encourage me to bended knee so I can join you and William in happy matrimony?”

Marriage? Annabelle’s heart stilled. Isn’t that what she wanted? Hadn’t he proven last night he desired her body? She flattened her palms against the tree. But yet, why did she want more?

Lord Markham’s lips pursed. “Don’t worry, my dear—”

In less than a blink, his green eyes almost black with anger, Gareth grabbed Markham by the coat collar, choking off the earl’s words. “Stop my dear-ing her before I punch you and mar those looks that have kept you in such good stead all these years.”

Real fear chased away all other emotions and left Annabelle cold and trembling. She placed a hand on Gareth’s wrist. “Gareth, please.”

****

Worry filled Annabelle’s eyes. With a huff, Gareth shoved Markham away. Hadn’t it always been this way? Markham, more polished, more refined, solicited women’s sympathies and edged himself into their affections. Gareth had always been an amused bystander, up until now.

He rolled his shoulders, trying to ease the tension, but to no avail. Why did he care if this young miss threw her virtue away on a married man? What did it matter if she chose Markham over himself? He’d only met her last night, after all.

Though he’d been unable to sleep last night for the desire for her humming through his veins, she was just another woman. Albeit one whose image he’d kept in mind this morning while masturbating, pumping himself over and over while imagining her warm, moist mouth wrapped around his cock. The same mouth whose lower lip was now swollen and full from being captured between her teeth.