Kay Springsteen (8 page)

****

Given his head, the spirited chestnut gelding bearing the unlikely name of Bertha walked at a brisk pace. He
’
d seemed grateful to leave the confines of his paddock. The watery sun that had kept them company into Haselmere had quickly become lost behind a heavy sky. The whisper of an errant breeze twisted and spun the meadow grasses lining the road. Rain would come later, but they still had some time to enjoy the countryside before it arrived.

The fresh air had begun to clear Jon
’
s head. It had always
been that way
. Give him a dilemma of any kind and an hour to take a solitary ride along a tranquil tree-lined lane, and
a solution would present itself
. London never had been his favorite place, and it certainly wasn
’
t a place to consider the rest of his life. Even if that was
where
he
’
d likely find his answers.

The road carried them beneath the wide canopy of a fat elm. A blue and orange bird, not much taller than the span of his fingers, clung to the
bark. As they drew abreast of the bird
,
it puffed up its feathers and released a shrill
scree-scree-screech
. Then, with a flip of her short tail, she edged around to the other side of the tree.

Unexpected — and largely unwarranted — merriment bubbled into laughter.
“
Madame Nuthatch, I believe your assessment of my current circumstance may be precisely correct.
”

After spending a near sleepless night with visions of Annabella tormenting his dreams when he did sleep, Jon had been ready to send a missive to Grey informing him that not only was his stepsister alive, but she was doing quite well and, for some reason known only to her, she and a maid had apparently changed places.

Then he
’
d stumbled across
sa proper petite beauté de sommeil
, his own little sleeping
beauty. Seeing her curled up like Gran
’
s tabby on the worn Grecian couch, vulnerable in sleep, he
’
d been lost. The old tale his grandmother had been fond of telling in the nursery had sprung to mind. Somehow, though, he doubted this particular beauty woul
d appreciate being awakened with a kiss.

Apparently having no blanket, she
’
d covered herself with a woolen pelisse — serviceable but subdued and plain, and not the type of outer garment he
’
d ever expect Lady Annabella Price to own. It hadn
’
t covered nearly enough of her. The bolster didn
’
t seem a fitting resting place for one so fair, but she
’
d cradled her head on the cylindrical cushion, one hand curled beneath her chin. Her face had been completely at peace, the tiniest of smiles lifting her lips. Golden curls had lain across her forehead, though she
’
d woven most of her hair into a thick plait that fell over one shoulder.

One… very bare shoulder… with pale ivory skin peeking from beneath the ill-fitting servant
’
s dress.

How long had he stood there watching her sleep? It had hardly been decent of him, almost as if he
’
d been assaulting her, though he hadn
’
t so much as brushed her hair from her face. Not that he hadn
’
t wanted to… it had taken herculean effort on his part to turn and walk away and leave her to her dreams.

And in that
single
life-defining moment, Jon had secured a horse and ridden into Haselmere, from where he
’
d sent a message off with the mail coach. Not the one he should have written, but one that would hopefully purchase a bit of time to get to know the enchanting Lady Annabella Price.

Grey
’
s sister.

Stepsister
, he corrected.

The horse began to step livelier as they drew near
to
Wyndham Green. Jon
took
in a long breath of sweet-smelling spring air. He could see why Grey loved the estate, but why the devil had he stayed away?

Well, Seabrook, you know a bit about staying away from places you love, don
’
t you?

A groom seemed to appear from thin air as Jon pulled Bertha up in the stable yard. He dismounted and gave the horse a pat on the shoulder before the young man led him off.

“
Beg pardon, m
’
lord.
”

Jon turned.
“
Yes?
”

A wizened man approached. Thick wrinkles shot out from the corners of his eyes almost all the way to his temples. He waited until he stopped in front of Jon before he spoke.

“
My apologies, m
’
lord, but we was puttin
’
up your coach and noticed the left rear wheel is out o
’
round. Might not be bad enough so
’
s you
’
d notice but I wouldn
’
t count on it making a trip of any great distance without causing you some difficulty.
”
He offered a
n apologetic
shrug.

A faulty wheel would certainly explain that jolting trip from Town. At the time, it had seemed likely the roads were suffering from the previous rainy winter. Jon stroked his jaw as he considered his next move.
“
I don
’
t suppose you
’
ve a wheelwright on the estate… er, I
’
m sorry, what was your name?
”

“
It
’
s Toby Johnson, m
’
lord.
”
The gnomish man gave a quick bob of his head as he answered.
“
I
‘
ave a man we use in Haselmere as can look at it. I can send a message off to him if you like.
”

“
Yes, Mr. Johnson, I should like that very much.
”

“
Straight away, m
’
lord.
”

“
Thank you.
”
With a nod of polite dismissal, Jon set off for the cottage. One of
the bawdy sea tunes his grandfather
had taught him long ago — much to his mother
’
s vexation — popped into his head and he began to whistle as he strode along the narrow lane toward the cottage where Annabella waited… And if she wasn
’
t waiting specifically for him, he could overlook that minor detail.

The wind picked up, its low moan pushing through the wooden eaves of the stone cottage, reinforcing the notion that the weather was about to change for the worse. Jon slowed his steps, his gaze drifting upward. D
id he d
are hope the roofing slate was intact enough to keep the weather at bay? He could think of nothing more dismal than a leaky stone house in a rain shower.

Another moan rose. Jon
’
s brow pinched into a frown. Odd… the wind had actually died down.

“
O-o-oh-h. U-u-um.
”

That was human!

Annabella! Had she somehow been injured? Jon barely felt his feet strike the uneven ground as he raced toward the rear of the cottage. He rounded the corner and pushed through the unbolted servants
’
entrance into the kitchen.

And stopped short.

Annabella sat on the three-legged stool, her eyes closed, head thrown back, revealing a pearly expanse of skin beneath the collar of her dull gray dress. Jon crept forward a few steps and leaned closer. She clutched a single bite of golden scone lathered with cream and jam in one hand. A bit of dark purple clung to her lower lip, the remains of blackberry jam, no doubt.

The tip of his tongue tingled with sudden longing to sweep that smear away. Awareness roared through him like a prowling lion.

Without opening her eyes, she popped the bite into her mouth. Another groan spilled from her lips as she chewed, her motions slow, savoring the morsel. Her body softened and she sagged back against the worktable. Pure ecstasy took over her features as she swallowed.

Jon shuffled backward and cleared his throat to announce his presence.

Annabella
’
s eyes sprung open and she gasped.
“
Seabrook!
”
She straightened her back but then pressed herself against the table.
“
I-I mean, my… lord. I thought you
’
d left.
”

Jon controlled his inclination to smile as he doffed his wide-brimmed hat and set it on the table next to a straw basket. When had that habitual hesitation before she addressed him formally become such a source of amusement?
“
I accomplished an errand… although I must say I thoroughly enjoyed my ride through the countryside.
”
He allowed the smile to bloom when his gaze fell on the golden scone peeking out of a linen napkin.
“
And now I find I
’
m quite ravenous.
”

Annabella shifted on the stool, brushing her arm
across the top of the table and grazing
the plate sitting there
.
With a gasp, she scrambled and grabbed for it, but the dish was already tumbling to the floor.

Jon lunged forward, stretching out his hand. The plate landed with a splendid crash, sending shards of fine white china skating across the floor in all directions.

“
Oh!
”
shrieked Annabella, leaping away from one flying sliver.
“
Just look at—
”

Her movement drove her into his palm and Jon instinctively curled his fingers around her right shoulder.

For a moment, her jaw slackened and her eyes grew as wide as saucers. With his forward momentum halted by Annabella
’
s sweet, soft body, Jon sighed with relief.
Her
fruity-floral scent
wound
around him, fi
lled him, provoking his senses until
his mind tormented him with wanton images.

“
How dare you!
”
Annabella twisted in his grasp. Delicate fingers curled into his cravat and she yanked. Hard. With her face inches from his, the scent of blackberry combined with lemons and roses.

Those luscious pink lips… they would taste of the berries… and of her. Had she ever been kissed the way he wanted to kiss her? Had she ever been overcome in the throes of passion and
—

Annabella twisted her fingers into the cravat, pulling him impossibly closer. His heart skipped a beat. Was
she
planning to kiss
him
?

Green eyes flashed.
“
Do not
ever
touch me again.
”

He couldn
’
t take his eye
s off those pretty pouty lips as she spoke.
Not much likelihood I
’
ll follow that directive.
His heart squeezed against his lungs as little darts of excitement raced through him to settle with fluttering heat in his middle. That smear of blackberry beckoned
. Jon touched the tip of his tongue to his upper lip.

“
You overbearing lout!
”
Grunting, she gave him a mighty shove.

Locking his knees, Jon stood his ground. Only the table behind her kept Annabella from tumbling backward with the force of her effort. She blinked with surprise as she caught herself, and Jon allowed himself a smile of victory.

Annabella drew in a long breath.
“
You inglorious, depraved buffoon!
”

Jon
’
s smile stretched into a grin.

The door slammed shut with a deafening bang. Both of them jumped and Jon spun around.

“
What — who was that? Who was there?
”
Her face had gone the color of ash. She pulled her elbows tightly against her waist as though trying to shrink inside of herself.

Jon stared at the door. Had someone been there? A movement – no more than a faint shadow – passed the window. Frowning, Jon stepped around Annabella, strode to the door with four brisk steps, and yanked it open.

The wind whipped at the leaves on the elm tree across the yard, causing them to spin on their stems. The shrubbery near the door rustled and the long grass near the stone fence bent over and touched the ground. A strong gust tugged at the door in his hand.