The Worldly Widow (60 page)

Falconer went off whistling, and Dalmar poured himself another drink. He digested his brother
'
s words in growing resentment. Annabelle, commissioning Robert Loukes to bid
for her on a hack at Tattersall'
s? And Annabelle, quite the thing, and as if she was not terrified of horses, mounted on that same hack and joining a party of riders in an outing to Richmond? There was more. Annabelle was in the market for a dog, and though she had yet to settle on anything definite, Lady Diana had undertaken to present her with a puppy from her own dam
'
s litter when she next went home to the country. Dalmar was sure he did not know what the world was coming to. And then, a blinding shaft of comprehension pierced him.

He slammed his glass down, shattering it into a thousand pieces. He did not care. Swearing savagely, he lurched to his feet and began to pace furiously about the room.

Annabelle Jocelyn was involved with another man! Everything pointed to that conclusion. There was no other explanation for this recently acquired resolve to overcome her aversion to dogs and horses. And damn it all—he had promised himself once that
he
would be the one to help her subdue these absurd phobias. It was not to be borne!

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply for several minutes. This would not do. Annabelle was beyond his reach. He had not the right to meddle in her private life. With a wrenching pain, he dragged his thoughts from the possible suitors to her hand who sprang to mind.
Let it go,
he told himself resolutely.
What she does in her private life is no longer your concern.

No, but he was still her partner. And he would be damned if he would see her risk Bailey
'
s for the dubious privilege of publishing Harriette Wilson
'
s memoirs. By degrees, and all unconsciously, his outrage at the thought that another man had already replaced him in her affections subtly transferred itself to this more legitimate grievance. Bailey
'
s would buy Harriette Wilson
'
s memoirs when hell froze over, or his name
wasn
'
t David Falconer!

The following day was Sunday, and Dalmar was obliged to contain his patience until church services were over before presenting himself at Greek Street. He was kept kicking his heels in a downstairs anteroom for a full ten minutes only to be finally informed that Annabelle was not there. The intelligence was given to him by a gentleman who introduced himself as Annabelle
'
s father. The two men sized each other up in the space of one quick, comprehensive look.

"Where is she?
"
asked Dalmar, returning stare for stare with the stiff-backed, dragon-faced gentleman.

Jonathan Summers involuntarily flexed his muscles. Though he could give the younger man more than twenty years, he thought that he might still acquit himself with honor in a bout of fisticuffs, though to be sure, he had not attempted such a feat since his Oxford days.

Every muscle in Dalmar
'
s body tensed. Man of cloth or no as Annabelle
'
s father might be, to a man of action like himself there could be no mistaking that stiff challenging posture. He sensed the exact moment Jonathan Sommers began to relent, and relief swamped him. It was inconceivable that he should be forced to defend himself from an attack by Annabelle
'
s father. He might inadvertently hurt the old boy, and that would be one more thing for which Annabelle would never forgive him.

"Where is she?
"
he repeated.

"At Bailey
'
s. She
'
s gone to fetch
…
"

But Dalmar was already striding from the room.

The vicar quietly followed him out and stood pensively at the bottom of the stairs long after the front door had closed. Annabelle had called the man her guardian angel. To his way of thinking, the Earl had the look of an avenging fury.
Ah well,
he thought,
the Lord works in mysterious ways. And Annabelle, provoking chit, takes after her Maker.
He did not think the Lord would take offense at the small joke.

It took Dalmar only five minutes to reach his destination. The front doors to Bailey
'
s stood open. Outside, on the pavement, waited a burly footman whom Dalmar recognized as one of the men whom he had employed to protect Annabelle. He dismissed him from his post with a curt word, entered the
building, and barred the doors behind him. Annabelle Jocelyn, he determined, could scream bloody murder, but nothing would save her from his righteous wrath. He took the stairs two at a time and stormed into her office as if he were in the first wave of invaders scaling the battlements.

With a little cry, she spun to face him, and the stack of papers she had been clutching to her bosom went scattering in all directions.

For the longest time, she could do nothing but stare at him, mouthing choked, inarticulate gibberish. He was a fearsome sight, she thought. His dark hair was wild and windblown, his brows slashed in a fierce frow
n, and those gray eyes, oh God—
the storm in them could easily blow away a mountain. She drew herself up to her full height and tried not to be intimidated by the fourteen stone of powerful masculine sinew and muscle which dwarfed her. It was hard to remember that he was her guardian angel. In that moment, if he had yelled some bloodcurdling battle cry and come at her with mace and drawn broadsword, it would not have surprised her one jot.

She had to fight that first almost overpowering instinct to drop to her knees and scurry under the desk like some frightened little rabbit. Everything was working out just as she had engineered it, more or less, she consoled herself. Only, she had thought that the scene of this battle would be her drawing room in Greek Street with reinforcements, at hers to command, standing by. This vast, empty building did nothing to bolster her shaky confidence.

"I
…
I came by to pick up some policy papers,
"
she said for something to say, and gestured weakly to the mess of papers scattered around the floor. "I like to read them once in a while just to refresh my memory.
"
Her tone was not nearly as confident as she had hoped it would be. If only he would stop staring at her as if he were a starving lion and she a plump chicken who had wandered into his line of vision. "You
'
ll be happy to know I
'
m taking your advice. I mean to abr
idge them, you see, so that…
"

She jumped when his fist slammed against the closed door.

"You never learn, do you?
"
he said, baring his teeth. "Have you forgot what happened in this very office the last time you
tried to thwart me?
"
His voice rose to a roar. "I
'
m not letting you publish Harriette Wilson
'
s memoirs, and that
'
s final.
"

She didn
'
t feel very angry. In fact, she was quite shaken. But she knew exactly what s
h
e had to do. She loved him too much not to take the gamble. And when it was all over, they would either live happily ever after, or one or both of them would hang for murder. What had she to lose? she asked herself philosophically.

Baring her own teeth in a reasonable counterfeit of his snarl, she yelled back, "If I want to publish Harriette Wilson
'
s memoirs, there
'
s not a damn thing you can do to stop me. Go on Dalmar, go on! Run and fetch your Bow Street constables. Where
'
s the gag? Where are the manacles?
"
And she held out her arms in a derisory, taunting gesture. "Put me in prison and throw away the key! See if I care!
"
And for good measure, she added, not quite truthfully, "You don
'
t frighten me, David Falconer.
"

There was nothing counterfeit about the Earl
'
s next move. He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her till she was sure her teeth had loosened. "I won
'
t allow you to put yourself at risk!
"
he yelled at her.

"Liar!
"
she stormed back. "You don
'
t give a fig about me! It
'
s yourself you
'
re thinking of. You don
'
t want the world to know what a libertine you are.
"

At last Annabelle had hit upon the one thing which had the power to fan the tiny flame of her resentment until it burst into a genuine conflagration—Dalmar and his redheads!

She pushed out of his arms and glared doggedly into his set face. "You
'
ve hurt me far more than
Temple ever did! My God! I didn
'
t deserve that! In front of all my friends and in my own drawing-room, of all places!
"

"Annabelle,
"
he groaned, stretching out a hand to conciliate her. She slapped it away, and he let his arm drop to his side.

"So your pride was hurt. I
'
m sorry for it, Annabelle,
"
he said, very stiff and proper. "But our engagement was broken. You can
'
t fault me for turning to other women.
"

Like a furious spitting kitten, she paced before him. "Sir Spider!
"
she hissed, and sliced him a look of pure venom. "I never saw the birthmark which gave Monique Dupres the idea
for that epithet! Where exactly is this intimate spot on your body which she mentions in her diaries?
"

Dalmar said nothing, but his ears burned scarlet. Annabelle emitted a derisory snort and continued her pacing. "You are mistaken, Lord Dalmar, if you think I fault you for turning to other women. It was the public display which earned my disgust.
"
She halted and slowly brought her head up. Her eyes dared him to touch her. "I had expected some consideration, some semblance of dignity. I
'
m sure no one could name a single one of
my
lovers. No, because I conduct my
affaires
with a modicum of discretion.
"

"This has nothing to say to anything,
"
said Dalmar stonily. "And we have wandered far from
—what
did you say?
"

With a nonchalance she was far from feeling, Annabelle brazenly repeated her observation.

She didn
'
t like the way his eyes closed. She didn
'
t like the way his hands fisted at his sides. She didn
'
t like the way his muscles bunched along the powerful arms and shoulders. And she most particularly did not like the way the smooth line of his jaw had hardened into granite.

"His name?
"
said Dalmar through set teeth.

Attempting to inject a little levity into a very tense moment, Annabelle archly exaggerated, "Would I stick at one, Dalmar? None of them was very memorable. I
'
m sure I
'
ve forgotten half their names already.
"
He must know that she was joking.

The silence vibrated with leashed violence. Not even when she had been in that room in the Palais Royal with
Lord
Temple had Annabelle experienced such a frightening sense of her peril. She quickly ranged herself on the other side of the desk. How could she have been such a fool, she chided herself belatedly, as to deliberately provoke the full force of his anger against herself?

Placatingly, she offered, "What odds? I didn
'
t do anything you yourself weren
'
t doing.
"

He opened his eyes and pinned her with such a look that Annabelle was sure she must be nailed to the floor.

Hastening to make amends, she rashly interjected, "Don
'
t forget, you said so yourself, the engagement was broken. That means we were both free agents. I promise not to cast your
women in your teeth if you promise
…
aahh!
"
She screamed as he lunged for her.

He stalked her like a h
ound on the scent of the fox. W
ith commendable presence of mind, Annabelle kept the width of the desk between them. She cast one anguished look at the closed door and wondered if she should bolt for it.

"First,
"
said Dalmar, gnashing his teeth furiously, "I
'
m going to tear you limb from limb and grind your bones into dust. And then you
'
re going to tell me the name
s of your lovers. And then…
"