Secrets of a Summer Night (27 page)

R
ailing at herself, Annabelle strode along the path that led back to the house. She couldn’t believe it. Right when everything she wanted had been within her grasp, she had thrown it all away. “Stupid,” she muttered to herself beneath her breath. “Stupid, stupid…” She couldn’t begin to imagine what she should tell her friends after they arrived at the clearing only to find it empty. Perhaps Lord Kendall would remain where she had left him, looking like a horse whose feed bag had been yanked from his jaws before he had the chance to eat.

Annabelle vowed that she would not ask the other wallflowers to help her find another potential husband — not when she had just thrown away the opportunity that had been handed to her. She deserved whatever happened to her now. Her pace increased to a near run as she headed to her room. She was so intent on her frantic retreat that she nearly plowed into a man who was walking slowly along the path behind the drystone wall. Stopping suddenly, she murmured “I beg your pardon,” and would have rushed around him. However, his distinctive height and the sight of the large, tanned hands withdrawing from his coat pockets immediately betrayed his identity. Stunned, she staggered backward as Simon Hunt looked at her.

They regarded each other with identical blank stares.

Having just run from Lord Kendall, Annabelle could hardly fail to note the differences between them. Hunt looked positively swarthy in the gathering dusk, big and potently masculine, with the eyes of a pirate and the casually ruthless air of a pagan king. He was no less arrogant than he had ever been… no tamer, no more refined… and yet somehow he had become the object of such all-consuming desire that Annabelle was certain she had lost her mind. The air around them felt charged, crackling with passion and conflict.

“What is it?” Hunt asked without preliminaries, his eyes narrowing at the sight of her tumult.

The task of distilling her emotions into a few coherent sentences was impossible. Nevertheless, Annabelle tried. “You left Stony Cross without a word to me.”

His gaze was as hard and cold as ebony. “You put away the chess game.”

“I…” She looked away from him, biting her lip. “I couldn’t afford distractions.”

“No one’s distracting you now. You want Kendall? — Have at him.”

“Oh, thank you,” she said sarcastically. “It’s so kind of you to step aside gracefully, now that you’ve ruined everything.”

He glanced at her alertly. “Why do you say that?”

Annabelle felt absurdly cold in the swaddling of summer-warm evening air. A fine trembling began in her bones and rose upward through her skin. “The ankle boots I received when I was ill,” she said recklessly, “the ones I’m wearing right now — they were from you, weren’t they?”

“Does it matter?”

“
Admit it
,” she insisted.

“Yes, they were from me,” he said curtly. “What of it?”

“I was with Lord Kendall just a minute or two ago, and everything was going according to plan, and he was just about to… but I
couldn’t
. I couldn’t let him kiss me while I was wearing these blasted boots. No doubt he thinks that I’m deranged, after the way I left him. But you were right after all… he’s far too nice for me. And it would have been a terrible match.” She paused to inhale raggedly as she saw the sudden blaze in Hunt’s eyes. His body was predatory in its alert stillness.

“So,” he said softly, “now that you’ve thrown Kendall aside, what are your plans? Going back to Hodgeham?”

Goaded by the jeering question, Annabelle scowled. “If I do, it’s no business of yours.” She spun on her heel and began to walk away from him.

Hunt reached her in two strides. He whirled her around to face him, his hands closing around her upper arms. Giving her a soft shake, he bent his mouth to her ear. “No more games,” he said. “Tell me what you want. Now, before I lose what’s left of my patience.”

The smell of him, soapy and fresh and wonderfully male, made Annabelle dizzy. She wanted to crawl inside his clothes… she wanted him to kiss her until she fainted. She wanted the despicable, arrogant, mesmerizing, devilishly handsome Simon Hunt. But oh, he would be merciless. Her threatened pride asserted itself, clotting in her throat until she could hardly speak. “I can’t,” she said gruffly.

Drawing his head back, Hunt gazed down at her, his eyes glinting with wicked amusement. “You can have whatever you want, Annabelle… but only if you can bring yourself to ask for it.”

“You’re determined to humble me completely, aren’t you? You won’t allow me to retain one particle of dignity—”

“I, humble
you?”
He raised one brow in a sardonic slant. “After two years of receiving cuts and slights every time I asked you to dance—”

“Oh, all right,” she said balefully, beginning to shake all over. “I’ll admit it — I want you. There, are you satisfied? I want
you.
”

“In what capacity? Lover, or husband?”

Annabelle stared at him in shock. “What?”

His arms slid around her, holding her quivering frame securely against his. He said nothing, only watched her intently as she tried to grasp the implications of the question.

“But you’re not the marrying kind,” she managed to say weakly.

He touched her ear, his fingertip tracing the fragile outer curve. “I’ve discovered that I am when it comes to you.”

The subtle caress set fire to her blood, making it difficult to think. “We would probably kill each other within the first month.”

“Probably,” Hunt conceded, his smiling mouth brushing over her temple. The warmth of his lips sent a rush of dizzying pleasure through her. “But marry me anyway, Annabelle. As I see things, it would solve most of your problems… and more than a few of mine.” His big hand slid gently down her spine, calming her tremors. “Let me spoil you,” he whispered. “Let me take care of you. You’ve never had anyone to lean on, have you? I’ve got strong shoulders, Annabelle.” A deep laugh rumbled in his chest. “And I may possibly be the only man of your acquaintance who’ll be able to afford you.”

She was too stunned to respond to the gibe. “But why?” she asked, as his hand traveled up to her unprotected nape. She gasped as his fingertip dipped softly into the shallow depression at the base of her skull. “Why offer to marry me when you might have me as your mistress?”

He nuzzled her throat gently. “Because I realized during the past few days that I can’t leave doubt in anyone’s mind about to whom you belong. Especially not yours.”

Annabelle closed her eyes, her senses flooded with euphoria as his mouth wandered slowly up to her dry, parted lips. His hands and arms compressed her willing flesh into his demanding hardness. If there was mastery in the way he held her, there was also reverence, his fingertips discovering the most sensitive places on her exposed skin and teasing in whisper-light strokes. She let him coax her lips open, and she moaned at the gentle probe of his tongue. He ravished her with tender kisses that assuaged her need, yet made her desperately aware of empty places that longed to be filled. As Hunt felt the urgent quiver of her flesh against his, he soothed her with a long caress of his mouth, while his arms supported her body. Cradling her blood-hot cheek in his hand, he drew his thumb across the satin veneer of her lips. “Give me your answer,” he whispered.

The warmth of his hand sent fine shivers across her skin, and she nestled her cheek deeper into his palm. “Yes,” she said breathlessly.

Hunt’s eyes gleamed with triumph. He tilted her head back and kissed her again, stealing deeper and deeper tastes. His palms clamped gently on either side of her head, altering the angle between them until their mouths fit together perfectly. The rhythm of her breath became capricious, and she was suddenly light-headed from the inrush of too much oxygen. Reaching for him, she clutched at the support of his hard-muscled body, her fingers digging into the broad-cloth of his coat. Without breaking the kiss, Hunt helped her to hold on to him, reaching for her hand to draw it around his neck. When he was satisfied that her balance had been secured, he moved his hand to her corseted waist and applied light pressure to bring her body closer to his. He kissed her with rising urgency, until the potent influence of his mouth had reduced her to sensual delirium.

Eventually he took his mouth away and hushed her as she moaned in protest, telling her in a low murmur that they had company. Sleepy-eyed and bewildered, Annabelle peered out from the circle of his arms. They were confronted by a group of witnesses who could hardly avoid the sight of a couple embracing in the middle of the path by the drystone wall. Lillian… Daisy… their mother… Lady Olivia and her handsome American fiancé, Mr. Shaw… and, finally, none other than Lord Westcliff. “Oh, God,” Annabelle said feelingly, and turned her face against Hunt’s shoulder, as if closing her eyes would make them all disappear.

Her ear tingled as Hunt bent to murmur to her, his voice threaded with amusement. “Checkmate.”

Lillian was the first to speak. “What in the world is going on, Annabelle?”

Cringing, Annabelle forced herself to meet her friend’s gaze. “I couldn’t go through with it,” she said sheepishly. “I’m so sorry — the plan was such a good one, and you did your part beautifully—”

“And it would have been a great success if you hadn’t been
kissing the wrong man,
” Lillian exclaimed. “What in God’s name happened? Why aren’t you in the pear orchard with Lord Kendall?”

It was hardly the sort of thing that one wanted to articulate in front of a crowd. Annabelle hesitated and looked up at Hunt, who was watching her with a mocking smile, seeming fascinated to hear what explanation she might offer.

In the lengthening silence, Lord Westcliff appeared to have put two and two together, and he looked from Annabelle to Lillian with obvious disgust. “So this is why you were so insistent upon a walk. You two made an arrangement to trap Kendall!”

“I was part of it, too,” Daisy asserted, determined to share in the blame.

Westcliff didn’t appear to hear the comment, his gaze locked on Lillian’s unrepentant face. “Good God — is there
nothing
you won’t stoop to?”

“If there is,” Lillian replied smartly, “I haven’t discovered it yet.”

Had her own circumstances not been quite so mortifying, Annabelle would have dissolved into laughter at the earl’s expression.

Frowning, Lillian returned her attention to Annabelle. “It may not be too late to salvage things,” she said. “We’ll make everyone here promise to hold their tongues about having seen you and Mr. Hunt together. Without any witnesses, it hasn’t happened.”

Lord Westcliff considered the words with a scowl. “Much as I despise the prospect of agreeing with Miss Bowman,” he said darkly, “I have to concur. The best thing for all concerned is for us to ignore this incident. Miss Peyton and Mr. Hunt have not been seen, and, therefore, no one has been compromised, which means that there will be no consequences to this unfortunate situation.”

“Oh, yes, she
has
been compromised,” Hunt said in sudden grim determination. “By me. And I don’t want to avoid the consequences, Westcliff. I—”

“Yes, you do,” the earl assured him authoritatively. “I’ll be damned if I’ll allow you to ruin your life over this creature, Hunt.”

“Ruin his life?”
Lillian repeated indignantly. “Mr. Hunt couldn’t do better than to marry a girl like Annabelle! How dare you insinuate that she isn’t good enough for him, when obviously he’s the one who—”

“No,” Annabelle interrupted anxiously. “Please, Lillian—”

“Excuse us,” Mr. Shaw murmured with impeccable politeness, doing a poor job of concealing a grin. He pulled Lady Olivia’s hand through the crook of his arm and executed a graceful bow in no particular direction. “I believe that my fiancée and I will excuse ourselves from the proceedings, being somewhat
de trop.
I think I can safely speak for the both of us when I say that we intend to be as deaf, dumb, and blind as a trio of Hong Tze monkeys.” His blue eyes sparkled with good-natured humor. “We’ll leave the rest of you to decide just what has been seen and heard tonight… or not. Come, darling.” Drawing Lady Olivia away with him, he escorted her back toward the manor.

The earl turned to the Bowmans’ mother, a tall woman with a narrow, fox-like face. She had worked her expression into one of righteous indignation, but had held her tongue out of a desire not to miss anything. As Daisy later explained ruefully, Mrs. Bowman never had her conniptions in the middle of an act, preferring to save them for intermission.

“Mrs. Bowman,” Westcliff asked, “may I prevail on you to maintain your silence regarding this matter?”

Had the earl, or any other titled man within reach, asked the ambitious Mrs. Bowman to jump headfirst into the flower bed for his amusement, she would have done so with a perfect somersault. “Oh, of course, my lord — I would
never
spread such distasteful gossip. My daughters are such sheltered innocents — it grieves me to see what their association with this… this unscrupulous girl has brought them to. I’m certain that a gentleman of your discernment can see that my two angels are completely blameless in this situation, having been led astray by the scheming young woman they sought to befriend.”

Casting a skeptical glance at the two “angels,” Westcliff replied coldly. “Quite.”

Hunt, who had retained a possessive arm around Annabelle’s waist, surveyed the lot of them coolly. “Do as you please. Miss Peyton is going to be compromised tonight, one way or another.” He began to pull her along the path with him. “Come.”

“Where are we going?” Annabelle asked, resisting his hold on her wrist.

“To the house. If they’re not willing to be witnesses, then it seems I’ll have to debauch you in front of someone else.”

“Wait!” Annabelle squeaked. “I’ve already agreed to marry you! Why must I be compromised again?”

Hunt ignored the combined protests of Westcliff and the Bowmans as he replied succinctly. “Insurance.”

Annabelle braced her heels, refusing to budge as he pulled at her arm. “You have no need of insurance! Do you think I would break my promise to you?”