Once Upon a Wager (21 page)

“What a prig you are, Alec. I have the upmost respect for Annabelle.”

“Are you pursuing her?” he asked, his voice tight because Marworth had used her given name, hinting at something between them. “Do you find her attractive?”

“That's an inherently silly question. She is a remarkably beautiful creature. But I'm not pursuing her.”

“You've been doing a fine imitation of it, then. You hardly left her side today.”

He could hear the jealousy in his own voice, and when Benjamin grinned widely, Alec wanted to smash his obnoxiously handsome face.

“You have it bad, don't you, Dorset?”

“Don't be absurd.” Had Annabelle told Marworth about that night at the opera? He'd not believe it.

“Well, you may rest easy. Annabelle Layton has no interest in me, despite my best efforts to charm her, and I'm far too lazy to expend energy in a pointless pursuit. Furthermore, it's obvious something is between you two.”

“You are imagining things. I'm only looking after her as Gareth would have.”

Benjamin didn't bother to respond. He merely quirked a brow in disbelief.

“You don't understand,” Alec said, suddenly tired of hiding his feelings. “You know Annabelle and I were once very close, but she doesn't trust me. She thinks I abandoned her after Gareth's death. She dismissed my vow to her mother as an excuse.”

“That's where you are wrong. Annabelle knows nothing about your vow.”

“You're not making any sense,” Alec said, shaking his head to clear it.

“Annabelle was told that you left Nuneaton to protect your family's reputation from the scandal of the race.”

The words had no bite at first. They were hazy and indistinct. Like that wound at Sabugal that he hadn't felt, until he saw all of the blood soaking through his uniform.

“Lady Layton made me swear I wouldn't contact Annabelle. I could hardly ignore the wishes of a grieving mother. Are you saying Annabelle was never told the truth?”

“You're forgetting that Lady Layton blamed you for the death of her son. Annabelle was told that you wanted nothing to do with her.”

God almighty.

“She didn't believe her mother at first. She sent several letters, begging you to return. To this day, she thinks you ignored them because the memories they prompted were too painful.”

“I never received any letters. Christ, I'd have crawled back from Spain if I'd known Annabelle needed me.” His hands fisted at his sides, but there was no one to rail against. No one alive, anyway.

“Lady Layton must have intercepted the correspondence. After all, how better to turn Annabelle against you than to let her believe those letters had been sent, but you never came?”

He had an almost overpowering urge to sit down, to simply let his legs fall beneath him. A similar feeling had come over him at Badajoz, in that instant when he realized that there was only one way up to the fortress breach, and that it was between the dead bodies of his fellow soldiers. Only later had he let the horror of that sink in. Neither was this a time for hesitation.

“I need one of the horses.”

“Your mother asked us to return them to the mews. A few of the footmen have stayed behind to help.”

“I'm sorry. I need to find Annabelle.” He ran to the closest mount, swung quickly into the saddle, and galloped off toward Grovesnor Square in the fading light of the day.

• • •

After a halfhearted burst of speed at the onset, the mews horse settled into such a lackadaisical trot that Alec could probably have outrun her. Indeed, the mare was so far removed in temperament and ability from Mars, she was surely a different species altogether. When at last, almost an hour and a half later, the horse finally stopped in front of Marchmain House, the sun had long since set in the sky. A wind was kicking up, and the windows of the grand houses around the square were twinkling with candlelight.

He dismounted, tossing a coin to a street lad with instructions to return the horse. He was covered with road dust—a creased and crumpled mess—but waiting any longer to speak with Annabelle was untenable. On the long ride from the Heath, he'd kept revisiting their reunion at The Bull's End, when Annabelle was so cold and distant. Was it any wonder, considering what she'd been told?

Grief made people do terrible, illogical things, but Lady Layton hadn't had the right to keep them apart. He could have been a comfort to Annabelle during her rehabilitation, all those long and painful months when she must have desperately needed a companion. Certainly, he wouldn't have let the woman keep him away with a flimsy excuse about contagions.

Or would he have? He'd already allowed his father to drive a wedge between them.

Had he stayed, would things between them be different? Could they be different now? He rapped on the door, and within moments, Canby welcomed him into the wide marble hall.

“I apologize for interrupting what is most likely the dinner hour. It's urgent that I speak with Miss Layton.”

“I am afraid Lady Marchmain and her niece have left for Almack's. Their vouchers were delivered this morning.”

Alec withdrew his pocket watch to check the time. It was just after
8:00 P.M.
They might be there for hours. He briefly considered rushing home to change into formal attire so that he could meet them there, but they might also return at any time.

“I would like to wait here, if you are amenable.”

“Certainly, my lord. May I suggest the library? Lord Marchmain found it a most comfortable room. I will also have a tray sent up, along with some of the countess's favorite libations to keep you company.”

Minutes later, he was sitting on a deep-seated Grecian sofa in front of a warm fire. The library was blessedly free of floral tributes for Annabelle. A selection of breads and sliced meats had been placed beside him, and he had a glass of Gran Riserva in hand. What he did not have was patience. He had no way of knowing when she would return. And at the moment, he had little idea of what he would say when she did.

Hours later, Alec was still in Sophia Middleton's library. The fire in the grate was burning brightly—a footman had come in over the course of the evening to stoke it—but out in the square, all of the neighboring houses had gone dark. A steady rain had begun to fall, and the wind rattled the windows in their frames. He checked his pocket watch. It was past midnight. Voices suddenly sounded in the hall.

“Nasty weather, and it came on so quickly … A visitor, at this hour?” It was the countess who spoke. “Lord Dorset? How very curious.”

The voices moved closer.

“If you don't mind, Aunt Sophia, I will take myself off to bed. I've never danced so much. Thank you for talking my wrap, Canby.” Annabelle sounded breathless. Strained.

“If he's out at this hour and in this weather, my dear, Lord Dorset has important news. Let us see what this is about.”

“I'd rather not,” Annabelle replied, but their footsteps were already headed this way. He stood hastily, brushing at his creased clothing.

“Lord Dorset.” The countess swept into the parlor. “I hope nothing is amiss.”

“I apologize most sincerely, but it's rather urgent I speak with Miss Layton.”

Annabelle walked into the room with a stiffness in her gait he'd not seen before. As beautiful as she was, it was obvious, to him at least, that she was in pain.

“I can't think of anything so pressing, Lord Dorset, that it must be said this evening,” Annabelle replied. “You should return home before the weather gets worse. I bid you good night.” She turned to leave the room. Was she limping?

“Annabelle, please. I have waited here all evening for you.” She stopped at that, squaring her shoulders as if preparing for battle.

“Is that brandy?” Lady Marchmain asked. “How marvelous! Why don't I pour each of us a glass?”

“No, thank you, Aunt Sophia. I am sure this will not take long.”

Her aunt looked at Annabelle, and then at Alec, and then back at her niece again. “Come to think of it, I'm desperate for one of the petit fours we enjoyed after dinner. I asked Cook to hide them from me for just this very reason. They are the most delicious things. I must go and ask Canby if he knows what she's done with them.” Lady Marchmain swung about, moving toward the hall. “Leave the door open, Lord Dorset,” she called over her shoulder.

But as she left the room, she pulled the door shut.

“Annabelle, is your leg bothering you?” He couldn't hide his concern, although he made no move toward her.

“You persist in calling me that, when I would prefer you didn't. It intimates a closeness we obviously don't share.”

“Come and sit here by the fire.” He gestured toward the large Grecian couch, with its roll-curved ends and bolstered cushions. “It will relieve the pressure on your leg. Does it pain you often? You don't have to hide it from me.”

“My leg is none of your concern, but rest assured, it would feel better if I were upstairs, tucked into my bed. That way, neither of us would have to endure this conversation.” She made no move to sit down.

God, he was an ass. Annabelle had every right to be angry at him, and not because her mother had spread lies. His misplaced sense of responsibility was the reason she stood before him, distant and aloof. “I'm sorry I haven't apologized before now.”

“It's not important,” she said, staring directly into his eyes. “None of this is or was.” Only when she looked away did he realize she wasn't as composed as she seemed.

“After the other night, I should have come straight here.”

“But you've been very busy, after all. At the picnic today, Jane told me how hard you have been working at Fitzsimmons House.”

“She was at home when I called on her father. He is a co-sponsor with me.”

“I'm glad to see she's feeling better,” Annabelle replied, her voice tight. “I'm also doing much better, too, if you are interested to know it. I suffered from an excess of emotion just days ago—a case of histrionics, if you will—but it has passed.”

She thought that he'd been toying with her. “Annabelle, if I can just get through the next week, there's a good chance my bill will meet with approval, and I can focus on other things. Important things,” he said. “You are very important to me. I am sorry I didn't send a note to explain why I was delayed.”

It was hard to find the right words to say. He looked down at the floor. The rain outside was pelting the windows now. “Annabelle, about what happened in the carriage—”

“Please,” she said, waving her hands dismissively. “I don't need another apology. It is unnecessary. I found the whole of it quite enlightening. Instructional, even.”

His head snapped up at that.

She lifted her chin defiantly and arched one shoulder back, as if to call attention to the swell of her breasts. Either that, or his own lecherous thoughts were running away with any shred of remaining good sense. “The kissing and those other things, the way you touched me. I felt the strangest sensations.”

Was she trying to torture him?

“That must be why poets spend so much time writing about what can happen between a man and a woman. I wonder if Lord Marworth would agree. He's very fond of poetry.”

He wasn't going to let Benjamin near her. “Annabelle, please listen.”

“Oh, but I have been listening,” she interrupted, her voice frigid. “It's just that you have so little to say. Really, I am quite tired. Your apology is accepted. I'd like you to leave now.”

She was staring at him, eyes cold, but he could see past them to the hurt that he'd caused. He wanted to honor her wishes and walk away, out into the night. But she deserved the truth. It should never have been kept from her. “My apology is overdue, but that's not the only reason I am here. There's something else you must know. There is no easy way to say it.”

“You're referring to your impending engagement to Miss Fitzsimmons. You have my congratulations.”

“I'm not … that's not what I must tell you. This has to do with what happened after Gareth's death. I'd always thought you knew it. I didn't abandon you, Annabelle.”

If possible, her eyes grew even colder. She was standing ramrod straight. “No? Do you have another word for it, then?”

“I had no choice, but it seems you were never told the reason.”

“Surely there were several reasons,” she said. “Let me see if I can name them for you. Guilt. Cowardice. Even arrogance will do.”

“Had anything in our friendship up to that point made you think that I'd leave you in such circumstances?”

“You had all but ignored me for two years,” she replied. “But no. I didn't think you'd leave me bloodied and delirious. How naive I was. You were already a world away before I understood what you'd done.”

There was no way to soften this. It would be like tearing the bandage from a wound, and splitting it back open. “After Gareth's death, your mother made me swear I would never speak with you again. And I honored that while she lived.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “You left after the race, You were afraid that the news of it would upset your father, and harm your reputation. You told my mother so.”

“You don't remember it, Annabelle. I stayed by your side at Astley Castle for several days, and cared for you because your mother could not. I only left when she demanded it.”

It was as if she had not heard him. She backed away, toward the door, the fading glow of the fire sparking her eyes with an unnatural light, as thunder sounded. “She couldn't have seen how much I missed you and not told me why you were gone.”

“It is the truth, Annabelle.” How he wished it was not.

“How convenient to blame my dead mother for your guilt, Alec,” she said, her voice tortured. “After all, she can hardly contradict you.” With that, she rushed from the room, slamming the door behind her. She would be heartbroken when she came to see the truth in what he'd said, and he fought the urge to run after her.