The Worldly Widow (6 page)

Every word that she heard was inflammatory. Every feminine instinct urged her to put some distance between them. But she ruled her temper and her natural inclination with a will of iron. In that softened, almost tender expression, Annabelle recognized weakness. And Annabelle was not above exploiting weakness in an adversary—not when that adversary had so ruthlessly brought her to a standstill. Bailey
'
s Press was her natural arena, not the boudoir, as the gentleman had so insultingly conjectured. Some lessons she had learned the hard way. Some skills she had mastered just to survive in the competitive world of commerce. Prevarication, she had discovered, was a very useful tool.

"Time,
"
she murmured. "I need more time. I scarcely know you. How can you expect me to put myself
…
"
she almost choked on the next words,"
…
under your protection when I
don
'
t know what manner of man you are? A little time to get to know you—surely that
'
s not too much to ask?
"
She was careful not to overdo it. She held his gaze steadily and frankly, knowing instinctively that to resort to overt feminine lures with this man would achieve the opposite of her purpose.

For a long interval, cool gray eyes assessed her expression. His eyes
warmed slightly, and he said, "
There was never any question of my forcing myself upon you. I
'
ll give you time. Just remember, I don
'
t have a limitless supply of patience where you are concerned.
"

A slow, secretive smile suffused her face. The man had handed her the victory, though he had no notion of having done so. Time was her friend. In twenty-four hours she would be well beyond Dalmar
'
s reach. Like bubbles in a bottle of champagne, her success mounted to her head. She felt suddenly lighthearted and quite in charity with her formidable adversary.

She became conscious that he
was holding her chair for her. "
The galleries?
"
she repeated.

"Just upstairs. Most of the shops are there. And I feel I owe you a new bonnet.
"

"Please. That
'
s not necessary. I already have more bonnets than I know what to do with.
"

"That would explain why you acquired another earlier today,
"
he intoned meaningfully, and his eyes touched briefly on the strings of the hatbox which Annabelle clutched tightly in her hand.

She shot him a quick look, but his attention had shifted to the
maî
tre
as he settled for their dinner.

Her arm was taken in a firm hold as he led her through the
allé
e
which gave onto the gardens. In the upstairs galleries, shopkeepers were already lighting their lanterns as dusk settled over the city. The gardens and galleries were crowded with pedestrians. Most of the "ladies,
"
thought Annabelle, for want of a better word, were obviously Parisians. She had previously remarked that the hems of their gowns were several inches shorter than her own. She made a mental note that when she returned to London, she would have Nancy shorten all her gowns by an inch or two, for nothing was more certain
than that the fashions prevailing in Paris would in time cross the English Channel.

Ten minutes browsing in the plethora of distinguished
maga
si
ns
and
boutiques
in the galleries of the Palais Royal worked a remarkable change in Annabelle. It was a change that Dalmar noted with some surprise and no little fascination. Shopping was obviously one of the lady
'
s pleasures, if not vices. She became entranced, and when Annabelle became entranced, she also became entrancing.

Gone was that mask of distancing aloofness. He might have dreamed the wariness in those eyes which had lightened to the unclouded clarity of midsummer sky. Her lips, so deceivingly soft and tremulous for a woman of her forceful disposition, were slightly parted, as if she were having trouble breathing. She flashed him a smile, and the mole on her left cheek suddenly seemed to be begging for his kisses.

"Annabelle,
"
he said, his voice low and unnaturally unsteady.

But she was already floating away from him. She might have been Aladdin in his cave, wandering as if under some compulsion from one treasure trove to the next. Dalmar followed in her wake, thoughtfully absorbing the lady
'
s profound involvement in a pastime she evidently enjoyed with a passion.

Within fifteen minutes, she had forgotten to be reserved with him. "David,
"
she breathed, "what do you think of this?
"
Did she know that she had given him his Christian name? He thought not. He examined the ornamental dagger she held out for his inspection.

"Interesting,
"
he replied cautiously. What did he know about weapons that were mere playthings?

"Look how the mother-of-pearl has been so intricately worked into it.
"

He looked. "Very clever,
"
he agreed, not very knowledgeably. "For whom do you intend it?
"

"For Richard,
"
she replied absently, taking it out of his hand and turning it over.

"And who is Richard, if I may be so bold?
"

Her eyes flew to his face. She noted the thinned lips. She
shook her head. "He
'
s only a boy, for heaven
'
s sake!
"
Another evasion, Annabelle thought with a prick of conscience, then grew impatient with herself. The less Mr. Dalmar knew about her, the less likelihood of his ever finding her again. She was not devious by nature. It was the man himself who forced her to such lengths.

"
They
'
re the worst sort,
"
he responded gravely.

She chortled. "At five years old? No, what I was wondering, David, is—do you think a five-year-old boy is too young for something like this? I mean, I don
'
t wish him to do himself an injury or anything of that sort.
"

He took the dagger from her and examined it carefully. "He can
'
t do much damage with this little toy. Besides, a boy should learn early how to handle weapons. D
'
you know what I think?
"

"What?
"

"I think this is a letter opener. If it
'
s a real dagger you want…"

"No! This will do fine.
"

"The boy may not think so!
"

She gave him a brilliant smile. "His mother will,
"
she said, and began to rummage in her reticule.

His hand closed over hers. "I
'
ll pay for it,
"
he said.

Wariness rekindled in the eyes that had a moment before been as transparent as crystal. "You promised me some time,
"
she reminded him.

He relented immediately, knowing that he would do almost anything to preserve the easiness which had developed between them. Her brow cleared, and with that he forced himself to be content.

Without a moment
'
s hesitation, she handed over the fifty franc
s the shopkeeper demanded. Once
outside on the gallery, Dalmar upbraided her.

"Annabelle,
"
he said laughingly, "we
'
re in France, not England. Haven
'
t you ever heard of haggling? The shopkeepers here inflate the prices of their goods outrageously. If I
'
d known you were such an innocent, I
'
d never have let you step through the door. Next time, my girl, I
'
ll show you how it
'
s done.
"

She had to be forcibly restrained from returning to the shop
and boxing the shopkeeper
'
s ears.

"Caveat emptor,
"
said Dalmar with a taunt in his voice, and he dragged her away from what might very easily have turned out to be the scene of a crime.

She was soon distracted from her murderous frame of mind. The objects which caught her interest were oddly revealing. She had an eye for the old and unusual.

"David,
"
she said again, on that strangely breathy note, and held out a pair of tortoiseshell-and-silver combs.

He wondered how his name would sound on her lips when he entered her with his body. There was a tremor in his hands as they closed over hers. He wondered if she noticed.

"They
'
re Spanish,
"
he said. This time he was knowledgeable. He
'
d spent five years on the Peninsula.

Some expression he could not name passed over her face.

"They
'
re beautiful,
"
he said.

She replaced the combs on the counter with somethin
g that might have been regret. "
They
'
re not Italian?
"

"No. Definitely Spanish.
"

The combs lost interest for her. His eyes trailed her small, straight-backed figure as she moved at random through the aisles, oblivious of the more aggressive and voluble shoppers, who were mostly native Parisians. There were facets to Annabelle Jocelyn, he decided, that he would never have guessed at. In that moment, he sensed a vulnerability in her that she would never admit to. An unfamiliar emotion, something soft and nebulous, caught him unawares. He savored it, tested it, and tried to give it a name.
Careful, Dalmar,
he warned himself.
This woman will never respect a show of weakness in the man who means to claim her.

He was examining a necklace of diamonds when she called his name again. Obedient to her summons, he returned the necklace to the jeweler, instructing him to wait on his decision.

The gold locket in her hands was old and ornate. On the front were engraved the initials A.D. He studied it closely. "French,
"
he said without hesitation. "Mid-eighteenth century.
"

She fingered it with near-reverence, and all he could think of were those soft hands and how he craved the touch of them on
his body.

"
This time,
I
'
ve
found something,
"
he told her, and drew her to the counter where the diamond necklace lay on its velvet cushion. In some obscure way he could not even explain to himself, he wanted to make up for the scene where Annabelle had witnessed him giving the French girl the bracelet.

She slanted him a look of amused tolerance. "Diamonds,
"
she said, and he detected the teasing derision in her tone. "Oh David! They
'
re so common,
"
and she linked her arm through his and laughingly dragged him back to her latest find.

"I wonder who it belonged to and what the initials stand for?
"
she mused thoughtfully, her fingers lazily tracing the pattern of the letters.

Without thinking, he said, "Annabelle and David?
"
He was instantly sorry he had spoken.

Her eyes registered her shock, then slid away from his.

His fingers closed around the locket. "I
'
ll get this,
"
he said, in a tone that brooked no argument. She started to protest. He cut her off without a qualm. "I owe you for the bonnet.
"

"
Only for the feathers,
"
she argued, running to keep up with his long strides as he made his way purposefully to the counter.

"
Where
did
you get those peacock feathers?
"
he demanded, angling a smile at her. He succeeded in distracting her.

"I got them for a song at Bartholomew Fair,
"
she explained, preening a little.

Without blinking an eyelash, he paid over the sum the shopkeeper had named.

She was too dumbfounded to speak as he turned her by the shoulders and secured the locket at her neck.

Once out of the shop, she rounded on him. "You didn
'
t haggle over the price!
"
She could not have been more scandalized if he
'
d walked away without paying for his purchase.