Secrets of a Summer Night (37 page)

One side of Simon’s mouth curled in disgust. “It was a shoulder wound — a small one, at that. And most of what he said is better left unrepeated. After letting him rant for a few minutes, I told the doctor to wait in the next room while I had a private talk with Hodgeham. I told him that I was quite sorry to learn of his severe digestive upset — a comment that confused him until I explained that it would be in his best interest to describe his malady to friends and family as a stomach ailment rather than a stab wound.”

“And if he didn’t?” Annabelle asked with a faint smile.

“If he didn’t, then I made it clear that I would carve him up like a side of Yorkshire gammon. And if I ever learned of the slightest rumor that would tarnish your mother’s reputation, or that of the family, I would lay the blame at his door, after which there wouldn’t be enough of his remains left for a decent burial. By the time I finished with Hodgeham, he was too terrified to breathe. Believe me, he will never approach your mother again. As for the doctor, I compensated him for his visit and persuaded him to banish the episode from his mind. I would have left then, but I had to wait for the constable.”

“And what did you tell the constable?”

“I told him there had been a mistake, and he wasn’t needed after all. And for his trouble, I told him to go to the Brown Bear tavern after his shift and order as many rounds of ale as he wanted on my credit.”

“Thank God.” Relieved beyond measure, Annabelle snuggled next to him. She sighed against his shoulder. “What about Jeremy? What will we tell him?”

“It isn’t necessary for him to know the truth — it would only hurt and confuse him. As far as I’m concerned, Philippa overreacted to Hodgeham’s advances and forgot herself in the moment.” Simon caressed the edge of her jaw with the tip of his thumb. “I do have a suggestion, to which I would like you to lend some serious thought.”

Wondering if this “suggestion” was going to be a thinly veiled command, Annabelle looked at him suspiciously. “Oh?”

“I think it would be for the best if Philippa put some distance between herself and London — and Hodgeham — until the dust settles.”

“How much distance? And where would she go?”

“She can join my mother and sister on their tour of the Continent. They’re leaving in just a few days—”

“That is the worst idea I’ve ever heard,” Annabelle exclaimed. “I want her to stay right here, where Jeremy and I can look after her. Second, I can guarantee that
your
mother and sister would be none too pleased—”

“We’ll send Jeremy along. He has enough time before his next school term, and he’ll be an excellent escort for all three of them.”

“Poor Jeremy…” Annabelle tried to envision him escorting the trio of women across Europe. “I wouldn’t wish such a fate on my worst enemy.”

Simon grinned. “He’ll probably learn a great deal about women.”

“And none of it pleasant,” she retorted. “Why do you think it is necessary to whisk my mother away from London? Does Lord Hodgeham still pose some kind of danger?”

“No,” he murmured, gently angling her face upward. “I told you, he’ll never dare to approach Philippa again. However, if it turns out that there is any lingering trouble with Hodgeham, I’d prefer to handle it while she is away. Moreover, Jeremy said that she doesn’t seem quite herself. Understandable, given the circumstances. A few weeks of touring should make her feel better.”

As Annabelle considered the idea, she had to admit that there was some sense in it. It had been a long time since Philippa had gone on any kind of holiday. And if Jeremy went with her, perhaps even the company of the Hunts could be tolerated. As for what Philippa would want… she seemed too numb to make any decisions. It seemed likely that she would agree to any plans that Annabelle and Jeremy made. “Simon…” she asked slowly, “are you asking for my opinion, or telling me what you’ve already decided?”

Simon’s gaze swept her face in clever assessment. “Which would be more likely to induce you to agree?” He laughed softly as he read the answer in her expression. “Very well… I’m asking.”

Annabelle smiled wryly and snuggled back into the crook of his shoulder. “Then if Jeremy agrees… so will I.”

A
nnabelle had not asked Simon how Bertha and Meredith Hunt had received the news of their additional traveling companions, and she had certainly not been eager to hear the answer. All that mattered was that Philippa would be far away from London and all reminders of Lord Hodgeham. Annabelle hoped that when her mother returned, she would be refreshed and at ease, and ready to make a new beginning. The trip might even hold some enjoyment for Jeremy, who was looking forward to seeing some of the foreign places he had learned about at school.

With less than a week before their departure, Annabelle threw herself into the project of packing for her mother and brother, trying to anticipate their needs for a six-week journey. Openly amused by the quantity of supplies that Annabelle had purchased for them, Simon remarked that one would think her family was forging through regions of unexplored wilderness rather than lodging in a succession of inns and pensiones.

“Foreign travel can be uncomfortable at times,” Annabelle replied, busily stuffing tins of tea and biscuits into a leather satchel. A stack of boxes and parcels towered beside their bed, where she was sorting various articles into organized piles. Among other things, she had collected compounds from the apothecary shop, a pair of down pillows and extra linens, a box of reading material, and a collection of packaged edibles. Holding up a glass jar of preserves, she examined it critically. “The food is different on the Continent—”

“Yes,” Simon said gravely. “Unlike ours, it’s been known to have flavor.”

“And the climate can be unseasonable.”

“Blue sky and sunshine? Oh, they’ll want to avoid that at all cost.”

She responded to his mockery with an arch glance. “Surely you must have better things to do, other than to watch me open boxes.”

“Not when you’re doing it in the bedroom.”

Straightening, Annabelle folded her arms across her chest and regarded him with flirtatious challenge. “I’m afraid you’ll have to control your baser urges, Mr. Hunt. Perhaps you hadn’t noticed, but the honeymoon has ended.”

“The honeymoon doesn’t end until I say so,” Simon informed her, reaching out to snatch her before she could evade him. He crushed her lips with a dominating kiss and tossed her onto the bed. “Which means there’s no hope for you.”

Giggling, Annabelle flailed in the tangle of her skirts until she found herself pinned on the mattress with his body lying over hers. “I have more packing to do,” she protested, as he settled between her thighs. “Simon—”

“Did I ever happen to mention that I can unfasten buttons with my teeth?”

A breathless laugh escaped her, and she squirmed as his head lowered to the front of her bodice. “That’s not a very practical skill, is it?”

“It’s useful in certain situations. Let me show you…”

Very little packing was done for the rest of the day.

Eventually, however, Annabelle found herself standing at the door of her family’s town house, watching as her mother and brother left in a carriage bound for Dover, where they would meet with the Hunts and cross to Calais.

Simon stood with her, his hand resting comfortingly on her back as the carriage rounded the corner and headed along the main thoroughfare. She waved forlornly after them, wondering how they would manage without her.

Drawing her into the house, Simon closed the door. “This is for the best,” he assured her.

“For them or for us?”

“For all parties concerned.” Smiling slightly, he turned her to face him. “I predict the next few weeks will pass quickly. And in the meantime you’re going to be very busy, Mrs. Hunt. To start with, this morning we’re going to meet with an architect about the house plans, then you’ll have to decide between two lots that our agent has found in Mayfair.”

Annabelle dropped her head on his chest. “Thank God. I’ve begun to despair of ever leaving the Rutledge. Not that I haven’t enjoyed it, mind you, but every woman wants a home of her own, and…” She paused as she felt him playing with her pinned-up hair. “Simon,” she warned, “don’t pull out my pins. It’s too much trouble to put my hair back up, and…” She sighed and frowned at him as she felt her coiffure loosening and heard the
plink
of crimped wire pins hitting the floor.

“I can’t help it.” His fingers worked greedily in her unraveling braid. “You have such beautiful hair.” He brought a handful of the slippery silk to his face and rubbed his cheek against it. “It’s so soft. And it smells like flowers. How do you make it smell this good?”

“Soap,” Annabelle replied dryly, hiding a smile against his chest. “Bowman’s soap, actually. Daisy gave some to me — their father sends cases from New York.”

“Mmmn. No wonder he’s a millionaire. Every woman should smell like this.” He strained her hair through his fingers and bent to nuzzle her throat. “Where else do you use it?” he whispered.

“I would invite you to find out,” she said, “but we’re going to meet with the architect, remember?”

“He can wait.”

“So can you,” Annabelle said severely, though a laugh was working upward in her throat. “Good Lord, Simon, it’s not as if you’ve been deprived. I’ve expended a great deal of effort to satisfy—”

He fitted his mouth to hers in a kiss so warm and coaxing that every rational thought vanished from her mind. Fisting his large hands in her hair, he urged her back against the wall of the entrance hall and entered her with his tongue, feasting leisurely until Annabelle was light-headed and dizzy, her fingers clutching the fabric of his coat sleeves. Gradually his mouth shifted away from hers, and he bit softly at the delicate silk of her throat. He murmured things that shocked her, expressing himself not in flowery phrases, but with the raw simplicity of a man whose lust for her knew no limits. “I have no self-control where you’re concerned. Every minute that I’m not with you, all I can think about is being inside you. I hate everything that keeps you separate from me.”

He reached behind her to pull hard at the back of her dress, and she gasped as she felt the plackets of buttons give way, bits of carved ivory scattering everywhere. Smothering the sound with his mouth, Simon tugged the dress from her arms and deliberately stepped on the hem of her gown. The much-abused garment ripped and dropped to the floor. He pulled her against his body, grasping her wrist and guiding it to his loins. Annabelle inhaled deeply as her fingers molded over the heavy breadth of his erection, and her eyes half closed. “I want to make you scream and claw and faint in my arms,” he whispered, his masculine bristle scraping against her skin. “I need to touch you everywhere, inside and outside, as far as I can reach—” He broke off and seized her lips with insistent pressure, suddenly reckless in his desire, as if the taste of her was an exotic stimulant that drove him to frenzy. She was vaguely aware of him fumbling in the pocket of his coat, and then something nicking at the knots of her corset… he had cut them with his knife, she realized, feeling the confining stays release their squeezing pressure around her ribs and waist.

Comprehending that she was about to be ravished in the entrance of her family home, Annabelle stumbled back from him, smiling and shivering. Even in his moments of highest arousal, Simon had always seemed to be governing himself, placing careful restraints on his passion. She had never feared that he would be less than gentle with her… until now. He looked almost savage, his face darkened with an unfamiliar flush. Her heart began to beat in painful thumps, and she moistened her dry lips. The nervous flick of her tongue drew his attention sharply, and he stared at her mouth with startling intensity.

“My bedroom…” she managed to say, turning toward the stairs. She began to ascend the flight with quivery legs. After the first few steps, she felt Simon come up behind her swiftly, catching and turning her in his muscular arms. Before she could make a sound, he lifted her and carried her up the rest of the stairs with almost frightening ease.

He took her to the bedroom, where the sight of his dark form was startling among the pale, timeworn ruffles and tattered lace and the framed needlework samplers that had been sewn by her own childish hands. Undressing her roughly, Simon laid her among the bed linens, which were smooth and slightly stale from having gone unused for so long. His clothes quickly joined her son the floor, then his body slid over hers. She countered his urgency with unequivocal willingness, her arms spreading to hold him, her legs parting easily at his slightest touch. He thrust into her, filling her with a low, thick slide, and she gasped and strained with the effort to accommodate him. Once he had joined her, he became gentler, his urgency transforming into ravaging intensity. It seemed that every part of him had been designed to pleasure her, the satin reaches of hard muscle, the thick fleece that rubbed gently over the tips of her breasts, the scent and taste that drugged her senses.

Overwhelmed by the devastating intimacy, Annabelle felt tears come to her eyes, and Simon comforted her with soft murmurs even as he pushed deeper, longer, taking more of her than she thought was possible to give. His mouth brushed over hers, absorbing her erratic breaths, as he moved in lush, gauging thrusts that caused all her muscles to tighten and strain. She sobbed against his lips, begging wordlessly for him to relieve her. Relenting at last, he quickened his pace and drove her to a piercing climax, their joining raw and exalted and astonishing in its potency.

Minutes later, as Annabelle lay bonelessly over his body, her cheek nestled on his shoulder, she tried to sort through the bewilderment of her senses. She had never been so satiated, every nerve glazed with pleasure. And yet she had perceived something new in their lovemaking… an unattained height that loomed even beyond what they had just experienced… some unrealized possibility that hovered just out of reach. A feeling… a wish… a tantalizing something that had no name. Closing her eyes, Annabelle basked in the closeness of their bodies, while the elusive promise haunted the air like some benevolent spirit.