Edith Layton (19 page)

He drew her close. “Oh, Annabelle,” he breathed, as though she’d wounded him. “What am I to do?”

“What is it?” she asked again.

“Make love to me?” he asked, searching her eyes.

“Oh yes!”

He swept her up into his arms. “You’re still too light,” he whispered, “and far too cold.” He enclosed one icy little foot in his hand. “And it’s much too late.” But nevertheless, he opened the door and strode out, carrying her into the hall.

They didn’t speak as they went up the stair. She didn’t say a word as he laid her on the bed, only watching wide-eyed as he stripped off his clothes and joined her there.

“We don’t need this,” he said gruffly, drawing her night shift off.

She didn’t need anything but his arms around her and his lips and body on hers. She didn’t know how much she needed that until she
wrapped her arms around his wide shoulders and pressed against him. He joined her with him in one smooth movement, and she felt her entire body meld with his. Only then did she allow herself a long shuddering sigh of relief. He paused, looking down at her, his own breath stilled in his chest, though she could feel his pulse beating wildly.

“Don’t stop,” she said urgently.

He didn’t. He kept his mouth on hers as he coupled their bodies again, and drank in her sighs as they strained together, feeling the beginnings of an ecstatic, elusive joy they’d never really shared before. He’d never known her to show such fire; she’d never felt such bliss. They were together mind, body, and soul, for once not plagued by fears or personal doubts. He caressed her, he murmured to her, she held him tight. And then at last she shuddered and gasped in surprise. Her body arced against his; he felt his sex clasped hard as she pulsated around him.

Then he abruptly pulled away to reach his moment alone, convulsing by her side.

They lay silent for a while, slowly returning to the world again.

“Why?” she finally asked into the darkness.

He rose on one elbow and cupped her face in his hand. “I told you. Because you aren’t ready to have a child yet. You’re newly healed.”

She said nothing. He rose and went into the
dressing room. She heard him pouring water and washing. He came back in moments, his body cool from the night and smelling of soap.

He reached for her, and she settled her head on his chest. He stroked her hair, feeling the buoyant curls under his fingers. He thought she might be sleeping. He hoped so.

He didn’t know if he could sleep now, because neither his body nor his mind was sated; he was still filled with longing—not for sex, but for her. She’d returned to her world tonight as naturally as a fish slipping out of his hands would return to the native waters he’d taken it from. He’d stood in the shadows watching her transformation, or rather, her reclamation. The sparkling belle of the London
ton
had returned. Whether she was Lady Annabelle Wylde or Lady Pelham, only her hairstyle seemed to have changed from that first night he’d seen her holding court.

But she hadn’t betrayed their bargain. He’d never asked her for a marriage of passion, intellect, love between equals. But now that he had a taste of it, or rather had begun to believe in what love actually could be with her, he was devastated by the thought of the eternity of polite indifference that lay before him. Would he be forced to seek out women like Angelica? There were many like her: lovely, cool, expert, heartless partners of the body, never of the soul. Doubtless his wife wouldn’t care. She’d again be the fickle, charm
ing, insincere beauty she’d been. He’d thought her sickness had changed her, but that must have been only a momentary lull in her busy life. She’d been afraid and dependent.

Now she’d changed back again. He’d seen it for himself.

At least she still liked him. But for how long? She was famous for her fickle nature. Even though she obviously enjoyed their lovemaking, that would fade in time as she grew accustomed to it. How could it not? Her heart wasn’t involved. They’d never exchanged a word of love in all their lovemaking. He, out of pride. And she?

Because Lady Annabelle was who she was. The prize of the London
ton
. And he’d agreed to marry her only for that.

He heard her breathing slow and felt her relax, her body heavy with sleep. He held her close, filled with the bitter joy of a man who held what he most wanted but knew he could never really possess.

A
nnabelle woke to sunlight. She stretched and smiled with pleasure. Miles was gone from her side, but he’d be back tonight, and the next night, and the next. She was well and the world was right again, even more right than it had ever been before.

She’d been a success in every way, and her husband was mad about her too. She no longer had to worry about whom she’d charmed the night before. She didn’t have to plot and plan and connive anymore. She had London’s acceptance and approval again. And she had Miles.

She was out of bed and washed before her maid came to her, and so greeted the surprised Meg with a grin and hurried into her prettiest morning gown. She was spontaneously twirling
before the mirror to admire it when there was a tap on her door. She sent Meg to open the door, expecting to see Camille eager to continue discussing her triumph.

Instead, Annabelle was surprised to see her mother-in-law. Alyce didn’t look triumphant. She was somber, standing with her hands clasped in front of her. She gazed at her daughter-in-law expectantly. Then Annabelle remembered. Her smile faded.

“You may go,” she told Meg. “Good morning,” she said after Meg left. “Wouldn’t you rather wait until we’ve breakfasted to have this talk?”

“I’d rather wait until next year, my dear. But I can’t afford to. Have you thought about my request?”

Annabelle tried not to smile. She’d had better things to do, so much better that she’d completely forgotten her mother-in-law’s uncomfortable situation. Still, she had her answer.

“I wish I could help you,” she said. “But I think it’s best that I don’t. You have a problem, one I can’t deal with. If I give you money today, you can’t promise me you won’t ask for the same tomorrow, can you?”

“No,” Alyce answered calmly.

“Well, then,” Annabelle said with a shrug. “What can I do?”

Alyce’s expression was strained, her eyes watery. “You must give me the money and not tell
Miles. You see, our lives depend on it. Ours, socially. His, in fact.”

“What are you talking about?” Annabelle demanded. She knew she should ask the older woman to sit down. But something in Alyce’s expression told Annabelle she wouldn’t want to hear what Alyce had to say.

“The fact is that I’m not a gambler. Not with cards, at any rate,” Alyce said. “I need the money for my second husband. He’s demanding it.”

Annabelle stared.

Alyce sighed. “He isn’t dead, you see.” She took a deep breath and went on, “I myself didn’t know that until recently. He approached me at the squire’s ball, just before we left for London. I received a message and thought it was some cruel joke. I met him in the back garden. It was dark, but light enough for me to see the truth. He lives. Years ago, we’d been informed that he’d perished in a misadventure on the high seas. It turns out he’d sent that word by false sources. He’s very much alive. And if I don’t pay him, he’ll tell that to the world.”

“Let him!” Annabelle said, taking a step back. “He’ll be clapped in jail the minute he shows his nose. Miles told me about him and the mess he left behind.”

“And the scandal of that?” Alyce asked. She watched as Annabelle thought about it. “We’d all be brushed by it. Camille especially. Bernard too.
Miles would say he doesn’t care about scandal, but of course he would, for your sake, if nothing else. And as for you, you’d be tainted by it for aligning yourself with us. They’d say you were so desperate to marry you chose a felon’s family.”

Annabelle straightened her spine, refusing to show how the words stung. “We can weather it. Lud!” she said on a shaky laugh, “I’ve survived worse!”

“Perhaps,” Alyce said, and added, with a bitter smile, “but not the rest. It’s worse, my dear. You see, he was never really married to me.” Annabelle’s eyes widened as Alyce nodded, “Yes. That will put paid to Camille’s hopes and our family name. Proctor is not so well known. But if word got out that it was Pelham’s mother who was involved, that would be remembered, and it would destroy the name. Which, I remind you, is yours now too.”

“But that’s criminal!” Annabelle cried. “No one would blame you. In fact, the world will forgive your being so vilely deceived.”

Alyce cocked her head to the side. “I think not,” she said sadly. “I have always known the truth of that, at least.”

Annabelle grew still.

Two spots of high color appeared on the older woman’s lean cheeks as she went on, “We were never married. Oh, I told everyone we were. I said we’d gone off and had a quiet wedding, just the
two of us, not wanting to cause a fuss. I thought no one would ever know. Well, who inspects marriage certificates or even asks to see one? He told me that, and he was right. But he also said his wife was mad, under lock and key at his remote country estate, dying by degree. And I believed him. He had a way with words, and I never doubted him. As it turns out he had not one but two wives, no more mad or dying than I was, but I couldn’t know that then. All he said was that I could either live with him without benefit of clergy, or tell the world we were married, because once his wife died we’d wed secretly and no one would be the wiser.”

Annabelle sank to a chair and gaped at Alyce. “How could you?” she breathed.

Now Alyce lifted her head. “Unlike you, my dear, I chose a man out of love, not for the sake of appearances. And unlike you too, I needed a man’s love. I had a good marriage with Miles’s father, but I was alone, growing older and sadder every year. Peter was a fine figure of a man: witty, charming, full of laughter and compliments. He made me feel young, useful, alive again. He told me if I didn’t agree to living together, either with a false marriage or without it, he would move on. He said his wife wasn’t long for this world. And so I thought, what’s a year or two? Without him, it would be forever, because I doubted I’d ever find another man like him. That,” she said with a harsh laugh, “was true enough.

“Would you rather I’d knowingly agreed to live with him in sin?” Alyce asked curiously. “Many women do, even in the highest society. Everyone knows about Lady Bessborough, Lady Melbourne, the Duchess of Oxford and her miscellany of bastards, the Countess of Clovelly and her ill-assorted brats from different fathers. You may accept them, as rackety members of society do. But decent people don’t; their very names are filthy jokes. I was also still able to have children then, although, fortunately, I did not. Yes, and think of what such an arrangement would have done not only to my first husband’s name, but to his children. At least I did think of that. And so I agreed that a little deception, soon ended, was better than outright scandal.”

“But Miles…”

“Miles was at school. He never knew, nor did anyone. Nor should anyone. All I have to do is pay.” She laughed. “Yes, pay the piper for our dance. He says this is the last payment. He says he has business on the other side of the world he must take care of. I can’t say if that’s true, but this I do know: if you tell Miles, he’ll challenge Peter to the death. Miles is younger and a fine sportsman, and he can fence and shoot better than Peter. But Peter’s a cheat, one of the best. I wouldn’t care to wager on the outcome of any duel between them. Would you?”

As Annabelle sought words, Alyce added bit
terly. “Perhaps you would. But remember, if you were widowed in such a duel, the scandal would also attach to you. Come, my dear, it’s simple enough. Give me the money and keep your silence, and so keep your husband and the elevated place in society that you’ve worked so hard to regain.”

Annabelle’s eyes were blind with shock. But she knew how to defend herself. She gathered her wits. “Whatever I do,” she said with quiet dignity, “I won’t decide it in a moment. I’ve discovered too much at once to take it all in: your sad history—and the fact that you have absolutely no affection for me.”

“The one I can’t change,” Alyce answered, standing equally rigid. “The other, though you may not believe it, is because I love my son very well. And I don’t think you do—or at least, I believe you do only so long as he worships you and provides you with what you want.”

Annabelle smiled thinly. “He doesn’t worship me. Nor would I want him to.”

Alyce inclined her head. “Whatever you say, my dear. But woe betide him if he denies you what you desire, which is your place in society.” She fixed Annabelle with a steady stare. “I warn you, my dear, if you don’t help me in this, that place will be snatched away from you again, and this time you won’t regain it. Peter wants the money by tomorrow night. I suggest you provide it. And if you’ve any affection for my son, I advise
you not to tell him any of this. Because if you think you can still reign here in London as a merry widow, that widowhood itself will be tainted by irreparable scandal if there is a duel. Even if there isn’t, our name will be ruined if Peter doesn’t get the money. He promises it. About that, I believe him. You should too.”

Then, in a swirl of her skirts, she was gone out the door.

Annabelle stood staring sightlessly after her. The morning had dawned so brightly, and now she was plunged into darkness.

When Annabelle finally summoned the courage to go to breakfast, Miles rose from the table to greet her.

“And how are you this morning, my dear?” he asked with a polite smile.

She was surprised by his coolness, especially after his ardor in the night. But his mother and sister were at the table, so she supposed he was being guarded because of them. She’d too much on her mind to think about it anyway, so she merely murmured something polite in response. Whatever it was, it satisfied him. He resumed his breakfast.

Annabelle was spared saying another word, even if she could have managed one, because Camille chattered about her grand night all through breakfast. Alyce sat listening quietly, then excused herself.

Annabelle kept stealing glances at Miles, trying to read his mood. He too was quiet. Why was he ignoring her? What had she done to offend him? She thought back on their lovemaking and could find nothing that could have displeased him. He’d been a tender, impassioned lover last night. But now she remembered that before they’d made love he’d been quiet at the ball and cool to her afterward. At that, she’d had to seek him out, and then even their lovemaking had seemed to be something he’d done against his will until passion had swept away his reserve. Now it was back. He smiled at some of Camille’s comments, then took refuge behind his newspaper, never so much as looking at his wife again.

His mother had just said he worshipped her. If Alyce’s sordid story was as true as that, Annabelle thought, then she’d been told a tissue of lies. It was as though her lover of last night had never been.

Annabelle looked at Miles and thought of all he’d been to her since they’d married. She remembered the thoughtful man who’d helped her through her sickness and encouraged her return to London. She remembered the witty fellow who’d cheered her when her spirits were at their lowest, as well as the blithe liar who’d told her how well she looked when she’d been at the brink of death. He was silent, but she recalled the charming conversationalist. Though he paid no
attention to her now, she couldn’t forget the understanding listener to whom she’d confided her fears and doubts. She saw him lifting a fragile coffee cup to his lips and thought about the tender, unselfish man who initiated her in the arts of love. She shivered, remembering the passionate lover she’d held in the night.

Annabelle was in a breakfast room watching her husband, but the flash of enlightenment she suddenly experienced was so profound, she felt as though she were in a cathedral.

“Are you all right, Belle?” Camille asked, seeing her sister-in-law blanch, then gasp.

Miles looked up, his silvery blue eyes fixed on his wife.

Annabelle waved a hand at them both. “A twinge, nothing more. I’m not used to such late nights. Go on, you were saying?”

Miles rattled his newspaper and went back to reading. Camille prattled on. Annabelle despaired.

Why was it that only when everything was about to be snatched away from her did she realize only one thing mattered? She could and had in her time survived the loss of her looks, her position in society, even her self-respect. She didn’t know how she could survive the loss of Miles, or forgive herself if she in any way contributed to danger for him.

But what could she do about his mother’s request? She couldn’t even ask to speak with him in
private to ask what was bothering him. She was afraid that if she did the hateful secret would spill out. She couldn’t risk that, not yet, not until she decided on a course of action.

She wasn’t a fool. Paying blackmail would only encourage more. And could she even trust that Alyce was telling the truth? She had a real enemy there. Annabelle realized she needed someone she could count on now, someone brave, wise, strong-minded, someone she could trust. She knew such a man. But she couldn’t confide in him if there was even the smallest chance he’d be hurt by her doing so. There must be someone else she could turn to. She’d have to find that someone, and quickly. Because she wasn’t a fool, and knew she needed help.

Annabelle sat staring down at her breakfast plate and reviewed her choices.

Her mama was her strongest defender. But Mama was too much her advocate. The first thing she’d do would be to try to tear Alyce’s hair out. Then everyone would know the secret.

No, Annabelle thought, she needed a person of discretion, not necessarily even someone who loved her, but someone who’d help her if she were in need. And she was. She had to have some time alone to choose that someone.

She rose from the table. “If you’ll forgive me? I have a few errands this morning.”

“I should hope not!” Camille said, laughing.

Annabelle looked at her curiously.

“You promised to help me again,” Camille explained. “Remember? Why do you think I’m all togged out like this?”

Annabelle stared. Camille was wearing a new and especially charming gown.

“You said they’d be arriving before noon,” Camille added, looking at Annabelle strangely.

Annabelle put her hand to her forehead. She’d forgotten. Before she could put any plan into action, or even think of one, she had to deal with the morning’s callers. Camille had been presented to society last night. This morning, society would be presenting itself to her.