Romancing the Rogue (120 page)

Faint morning light
spilled through the grimy windows in the kitchen, not quite reaching into the pantry. The clang of iron on iron echoed off the stone wall in the tiny room as Annabella nudged the pot with the fireplace poker. Nothing moved; not even so much as a nose poked from the dark reaches of the cooking receptacle. With any luck, the mouse had left in the night and wouldn’t return. She pushed the poker through the handle and lifted, but the iron wire slid off the end of the rod and the pot rolled away from her.

“Devil’s fire,” she muttered beneath her breath as she inched closer and nudged it with her foot. Nothing moved, so she stooped to pick it up.

Annabella brushed a cobblestone the size of a teacup out of the way then paused and drew her hand back with a frown. She’d seen no stones scattered about the floor the previous day. It must have come loose when the pot had struck the wall.

Goodness, the cottage appeared to be falling down around her. Annabella leaned forward and peered at the wall behind the barrel where she’d stored her food. Sure enough, the pot had scarred two of the stones and knocked one loose. A fourth stone hung on as though the least breath would cause it to tumble from its place. Should she move it? She reached out but halted. No. Best leave it alone. She could see the dark wood that formed the framework behind the stones, and it looked solid enough.

Except it had an odd shiny appearance… Whoever had built Rose Cottage wouldn’t have polished the beams, would they? Curiosity piqued, Annabella poked at the brownish cobblestone. Sure enough, she no sooner touched it with the end of her finger when it dropped from its place in the wall and rolled several inches across the dusty floor.

Annabella shifted her gaze to the space behind the stone. Why, the bit of wood wasn’t part of the frame at all. The dark roughhewn beam was easily visible now that another saucer-sized stone was removed.

And so was the shiny wooden case nestled in the small hole in the wall. It was rectangular and looked to be roughly the size of her large valise, perhaps as long as her forearm and two hands deep.

“Now, who would have left that here?” She pushed at another stone. Even though it had appeared well fixed in place, it dropped from the wall, bringing two of its mates crashing to the floor with it and revealing more of the wooden case. The familiar red and white shield bearing a lit torch flanked by a pair of crested doves made her heart stutter.

Annabella gasped. “The Duke of Wyndham’s coat of arms!”

She reached for the case, pausing only slightly at the thought of the mice, but her curiosity was too great. She had to look inside that wooden box.

Two more stones blocked the way, but when she removed them, it was obvious they had been jammed into place without mortar. Perhaps in order to afford access to the box? She lifted the case, surprised to find it on the heavy side. Something chinked inside as she set it on the floor before her.

“Why, it’s hardly dusty at all.” Annabella dragged a finger around the outline of the shield. What could possibly be inside?

She looked back at the gaping hole. Surely she should see through to the yard outside. But instead of sunlight spilling over the green lawn, gray and brown cobblestones held together with lavish amounts of mortar lay just inches inside the opening.

“It’s a false wall!”

A draft whispered through the hole she’d made, carrying with it the scent of impending rain. Was there another opening somewhere? Perhaps from the outside?

Is that how the mice are getting in?
She had to fill that hole. How had those stones been placed? She picked up the last one to have fallen and held it up to the wall. Obviously, it fit near the bottom. She picked up another stone then another. It was simple really, almost as easy as a child’s nursery puzzle. After a few moments, she’d patched the hole completely, though she could tell some of the stones were loose.

Except for the slashes where the pot had struck, the wall might never have been broken.
How interesting, as though it had been planned that way. But who would have hidden the case in there?

She picked up the wooden box and stood. Then she used her hip to nudge the barrel in front of the break in the wall. Smiling at her own cunning, she walked from the pantry, leaving the poker and the cooking pot on the floor.

A flash of gray through the kitchen window signaled Abby’s arrival. Annabella quickly slid the wooden case beneath the nearest worktable and pushed it against the wall.

Only a moment later, the back door opened, and the maid stepped across the threshold with a smile on her face, a straw basket looped over one arm, and a Prussian chocolate pot in her hand. “I had Cook lay out an extra scone,” she said as she set the china pot on the worktable. Painted-on pink roses decorated the front of the gold and white pot.

One of Mother’s favorites!
Annabella’s eyes stung at the reminder of her mother. They didn’t always agree, but she did miss her terribly of late.

“These are fresh — they’re still warm.” Abby lifted the basket and opened the linen napkins tucked into the top.

Annabella’s mouth watered, but she stiffened and caught her breath. “Did you tell her who it was for?”

“No, m’lady.” Abby shook her head. “You told me not to say anything.”

The sweet aroma wafting on the air made Annabella’s stomach rumble. It was all she could do not to grab one of the sweet breads and stuff the whole thing in her mouth. Instead, she kept her hands at her sides, fisting them in the heavy material of her dress. “Thank you. I don’t want to worry my mother, as she surely will grow concerned if word reaches her that I’d altered my plans. Did Cook seem curious?”

Abby’s sweet smile twinkled in her gray eyes. “Not at all, m’lady. I told her Lord Seabrook has a healthy… appetite.”

Annabella’s heart stumbled. Had the slight hesitation before the maid completed her sentence meant something? A subtle expression of disapproval perhaps? But as Abby arranged the scones on the plate, she certainly didn’t seem to be showing any disrespect.

“Would you like me to light a fire, m’lady? Good for makin’ tea later.” Abby pointed at the copper cooking kettle and silver tea ball she’d pulled from the basket and set on the table. Abby was a true jewel! She’d thought of everything.

“Oh…”
A proper cup of hot tea… how long has it been?
“Yes, please.”

As Abby set about laying the fire, she looked over her shoulder. “Were the gowns I brought from your wardrobe not suitable, m’lady?”

Annabella smoothed a hand over the dingy gray dress. “Oh, you did splendidly, thank you. I… merely have yet to find an opportunity to change into one.”

“Would you like some assistance, m’lady?”

I would adore some assistance!
But she could hardly wear her fine gowns with Seabrook in the cottage if she wanted him to believe she was a maid. So, the garments Abby had retrieved sat folded in the valise. Silently, she cursed the man who had invaded her hiding place, removed her from the only bed, and stolen her peace of mind with his presence. With an exasperated sigh, Annabella adjusted her bodice to ease the pinching. “Thank you, but I can manage.”

“Yes, m’lady.” Abby crossed her arms over her chest and surveyed the room, shaking her head and making a clicking sound with her tongue. “You can hardly go about eating amidst all this mess. You should have let me tidy up some yesterday like I was told.”

Annabella jerked backward at the maid’s censoring tone, but Abby was already at work putting the kitchen to rights. Deftly, she chose a cleaning cloth from a stack on the rack near the door and shook it open. Then she wiped it across the top of the worktable. Dust swirled in the watery sunlight that flooded the room, but it soon settled.

Abby frowned as she glanced around. “Hmm…” She stuck her head into the pantry.

Holding her breath, Annabella leaned forward, watching the younger girl explore the small room, apparently without a qualm as to what she might find. Her gaze swept the room without the slightest hesitation over the barrel and Annabella eased out her breath.

What was in that case? As lonely as she’d been, as grateful for the food Abby had brought, Annabella began to wish she’d hasten to leave.

“Ah-ha!” Abby stepped through the narrow pantry door, and when she returned she carried a tatty old broom. The bristles had long since passed their prime, but Abby seemed perfectly content with her discovery as she set the broom against the table.

After a moment of watching her, Annabella could contain herself no longer. “Er… was — was there anything — in there?”

Abby’s motion faltered, and she tilted her head to the side. Her forehead pinched into a dreadful frown. “What might I be looking for in there, m’lady?”

“A… um. A mouse, actually.”

Abby’s eyes widened. “You have mice? I never considered that. Horrid creatures. Those’ll have to go.”

“I’ll let you invite them to leave,” said Annabella in a wry tone, staring into the pantry. Nothing scurried, and she eased out a breath of relief. “They apparently don’t care to listen to me.”

Abby chuckled. “What you need’s a good cat or two. There might be an old tom to be found in the stable.” She took up the broom and began pulling it across the floor in quick, neat swipes.

“A cat!” Those horrid slitted eyes, their haughty manner. The way their tails twitched and snaked about. A shudder rippled through her, and Annabella violently shook her head. “Oh, no. No cats. What do you do at the main house? Surely Geoffrey doesn’t allow cats in the pantry.”

The maid’s sweeping motions slowed as she appeared to consider the question. “Oh, when we spots a mouse in the main kitchen, Geoffrey sends to the stable for Stephen — one of the grooms.” Her face colored up as she mentioned the name.

A warm feeling stole over Annabella.
She fancies him… this groom, Stephen. How sweet.

“You want I should ask if Stephen’ll come and see to them, m’lady? Sometimes Mr. Dawes ’as ’im running errands so likely ’e won’t be missed.”

To the cottage? Annabella swallowed. If she involved too many people in her subterfuge… “No… no I… Maybe if you see a… cat. Yes, that would probably be for the best.” She pushed back the chill and squared her shoulders. A cat she could tolerate. A cat wouldn’t tell her secrets. With any luck, Seabrook hated cats.

“Very well, I’ll try to catch one and bring it by later, m’lady.”

Abby made short work of lighting the fire and setting a copper kettle filled with water on to heat. When she turned from the task, she pulled a china plate from the basket and began to lay out the scones, three in all. She looked up, a silent apology etched into her features. “I didn’t know how to ask for an extra plate…”

Annabella pointed to an oak storage cabinet just outside the pantry. “I found some old chipped dishes in there. I washed some of them in the brook.”

Amusement flickered in Abby’s expression, but she glided across the floor to the cabinet and withdrew the plate without uttering a word. When she returned to the table, she transferred one of the scones to the old plate and slid the offering toward Annabella along with a pot of cream.

It only took a moment to break the scone in two and slather cream over each half. The first bite was so heavenly, Annabella closed her eyes and moaned.

“Shall I take his lordship’s meal to the dining room?”

Annabella jerked her head up at the reminder that they were not alone. How could she have forgotten Lord Seaside? Her lips twitched at her clever twisting of his name but her stomach wound itself into a knot. “As he apparently hasn’t risen yet, perhaps it’s best to leave the meal here. I’ll see that he gets it.”

“Oh, Lord Seabrook was out and about shortly after dawn, m’lady.” Her face colored again. “Had Stephen saddle a horse and left, ’e did, sayin’ ’e expected to return midmornin’.”

Seabrook had left? He must have crept past her while she slept. Her heart fell to her stomach and took up a mad sort of dance. Had he seen her sleeping on the settee in the great room? Had he stood over her and watched? She struggled for the required sense of indignation, but the only thing that stirred was an odd, tingly fascination.

~~~~

Given his head,
the spirited chestnut gelding bearing the unlikely name of Bertha walked at a brisk pace. He’d seemed grateful to leave the confines of his paddock. The watery sun that had kept them company into Haselmere had quickly become lost behind a heavy sky. The whisper of an errant breeze twisted and spun the meadow grasses lining the road. Rain would come later, but they still had some time to enjoy the countryside before it arrived.

The fresh air had begun to clear Jon’s head. It had always been that way. Give him a dilemma of any kind and an hour to take a solitary ride along a tranquil tree-lined lane, and a solution would present itself. London never had been his favorite place, and it certainly wasn’t a place to consider the rest of his life. Even if that was where he’d likely find his answers.

The road carried them beneath the wide canopy of a fat elm. A blue and orange bird, not much taller than the span of his fingers, clung to the bark. As they drew abreast of the bird, it puffed up its feathers and released a shrill
scree-scree-screech
. Then, with a flip of her short tail, she edged around to the other side of the tree.

Unexpected — and largely unwarranted — merriment bubbled into laughter. “Madame Nuthatch, I believe your assessment of my current circumstance may be precisely correct.”

After spending a near sleepless night with visions of Annabella tormenting his dreams when he did sleep, Jon had been ready to send a missive to Grey informing him that not only was his stepsister alive, but she was doing quite well and, for some reason known only to her, she and a maid had apparently changed places.

Then he’d stumbled across
sa proper petite beauté de sommeil
, his own little sleeping beauty. Seeing her curled up like Gran’s tabby on the worn Grecian couch, vulnerable in sleep, he’d been lost. The old tale his grandmother had been fond of telling in the nursery had sprung to mind. Somehow, though, he doubted this particular beauty would appreciate being awakened with a kiss.

Apparently having no blanket, she’d covered herself with a woolen pelisse — serviceable but subdued and plain, and not the type of outer garment he’d ever expect Lady Annabella Price to own. It hadn’t covered nearly enough of her. The bolster didn’t seem a fitting resting place for one so fair, but she’d cradled her head on the cylindrical cushion, one hand curled beneath her chin. Her face had been completely at peace, the tiniest of smiles lifting her lips. Golden curls had lain across her forehead, though she’d woven most of her hair into a thick plait that fell over one shoulder.

One… very bare shoulder… with pale ivory skin peeking from beneath the ill-fitting servant’s dress.

How long had he stood there watching her sleep? It had hardly been decent of him, almost as if he’d been assaulting her, though he hadn’t so much as brushed her hair from her face. Not that he hadn’t wanted to… it had taken herculean effort on his part to turn and walk away and leave her to her dreams.

And in that single life-defining moment, Jon had secured a horse and ridden into Haselmere, from where he’d sent a message off with the mail coach. Not the one he should have written, but one that would hopefully purchase a bit of time to get to know the enchanting Lady Annabella Price.

Grey’s sister.

Stepsister
, he corrected.

The horse began to step livelier as they drew near to Wyndham Green. Jon took in a long breath of sweet-smelling spring air. He could see why Grey loved the estate, but why the devil had he stayed away?

Well, Seabrook, you know a bit about staying away from places you love, don’t you?

A groom seemed to appear from thin air as Jon pulled Bertha up in the stable yard. He dismounted and gave the horse a pat on the shoulder before the young man led him off.

“Beg pardon, m’lord.”

Jon turned. “Yes?”

A wizened man approached. Thick wrinkles shot out from the corners of his eyes almost all the way to his temples. He waited until he stopped in front of Jon before he spoke.

“My apologies, m’lord, but we was puttin’ up your coach and noticed the left rear wheel is out o’ round. Might not be bad enough so’s you’d notice, but I wouldn’t count on it making a trip of any great distance without causing you some difficulty.” He offered an apologetic shrug.

A faulty wheel would certainly explain that jolting trip from Town. At the time, it had seemed likely the roads were suffering from the previous rainy winter. Jon stroked his jaw as he considered his next move. “I don’t suppose you’ve a wheelwright on the estate… er, I’m sorry, what was your name?”

“It’s Toby Johnson, m’lord.” The gnomish man gave a quick bob of his head as he answered. “I ‘ave a man we use in Haselmere as can look at it. I can send a message off to him if you like.”

“Yes, Mr. Johnson, I should like that very much.”

“Straight away, m’lord.”

“Thank you.” With a nod of polite dismissal, Jon set off for the cottage. One of the bawdy sea tunes his grandfather had taught him long ago — much to his mother’s vexation — popped into his head, and he began to whistle as he strode along the narrow lane toward the cottage where Annabella waited… And if she wasn’t waiting specifically for him, he could overlook that minor detail.

The wind picked up, its low moan pushing through the wooden eaves of the stone cottage, reinforcing the notion that the weather was about to change for the worse. Jon slowed his steps, his gaze drifting upward. Did he dare hope the roofing slate was intact enough to keep the weather at bay? He could think of nothing more dismal than a leaky stone house in a rain shower.

Another moan rose. Jon’s brow pinched into a frown. Odd… the wind had actually died down.

“O-o-oh-h. U-u-um.”

That was human!

Annabella! Had she somehow been injured? Jon barely felt his feet strike the uneven ground as he raced toward the rear of the cottage. He rounded the corner and pushed through the unbolted servants’ entrance into the kitchen.

And stopped short.

Annabella sat on the three-legged stool, her eyes closed, head thrown back, revealing a pearly expanse of skin beneath the collar of her dull gray dress. Jon crept forward a few steps and leaned closer. She clutched a single bite of golden scone lathered with cream and jam in one hand. A bit of dark purple clung to her lower lip, the remains of blackberry jam, no doubt.

The tip of his tongue tingled with sudden longing to sweep that smear away. Awareness roared through him like a prowling lion.

Without opening her eyes, she popped the bite into her mouth. Another groan spilled from her lips as she chewed, her motions slow, savoring the morsel. Her body softened, and she sagged back against the worktable. Pure ecstasy took over her features as she swallowed.

Jon shuffled backward and cleared his throat to announce his presence.

Annabella’s eyes sprung open, and she gasped. “Seabrook!” She straightened her back but then pressed herself against the table. “I-I mean, my… lord. I thought you’d left.”

Jon controlled his inclination to smile as he doffed his wide-brimmed hat and set it on the table next to a straw basket. When had that habitual hesitation before she addressed him formally become such a source of amusement? “I accomplished an errand… although I must say I thoroughly enjoyed my ride through the countryside.” He allowed the smile to bloom when his gaze fell on the golden scone peeking out of a linen napkin. “And now I find I’m quite ravenous.”

Annabella shifted on the stool, brushing her arm across the top of the table and grazing the plate sitting there. With a gasp, she scrambled and grabbed for it, but the dish was already tumbling to the floor.

Jon lunged forward, stretching out his hand. The plate landed with a splendid crash, sending shards of fine white china skating across the floor in all directions.

“Oh!” shrieked Annabella, leaping away from one flying sliver. “Just look at—”

Her movement drove her into his palm, and Jon instinctively curled his fingers around her right shoulder.

For a moment, her jaw slackened, and her eyes grew as wide as saucers. With his forward momentum halted by Annabella’s sweet, soft body, Jon sighed with relief. Her fruity-floral scent wound around him, filled him, provoking his senses until his mind tormented him with wanton images.

“How dare you!” Annabella twisted in his grasp. Delicate fingers curled into his cravat, and she yanked. Hard. With her face inches from his, the scent of blackberry combined with lemons and roses.

Those luscious pink lips… they would taste of the berries… and of her. Had she ever been kissed the way he wanted to kiss her? Had she ever been overcome in the throes of passion and
—

Annabella twisted her fingers into the cravat, pulling him impossibly closer. His heart skipped a beat. Was
she
planning to kiss
him
?

Green eyes flashed. “Do not
ever
touch me again.”

He couldn’t take his eyes off those pretty pouty lips as she spoke.
Not much likelihood I’ll follow that directive.
His heart squeezed against his lungs as little darts of excitement raced through him to settle with fluttering heat in his middle. That smear of blackberry beckoned. Jon touched the tip of his tongue to his upper lip.

“You overbearing lout!” Grunting, she gave him a mighty shove.

Locking his knees, Jon stood his ground. Only the table behind her kept Annabella from tumbling backward with the force of her effort. She blinked with surprise as she caught herself, and Jon allowed himself a smile of victory.

Annabella drew in a long breath. “You inglorious, depraved buffoon!”

Jon’s smile stretched into a grin.

The door slammed shut with a deafening bang. Both of them jumped, and Jon spun around.

“What — who was that? Who was there?” Her face had gone the color of ash. She pulled her elbows tightly against her waist as though trying to shrink inside of herself.

Jon stared at the door. Had someone been there? A movement — no more than a faint shadow — passed the window. Frowning, Jon stepped around Annabella, strode to the door with four brisk steps, and yanked it open.

The wind whipped at the leaves on the elm tree across the yard, causing them to spin on their stems. The shrubbery near the door rustled and the long grass near the stone fence bent over and touched the ground. A strong gust tugged at the door in his hand.

No movement, no one in the yard, nothing amiss.

“Well?” Panic lent an edge to Annabella’s voice. “Is someone out there?”

Jon stepped back into the shelter of the cottage and shut the door, taking care to secure the latch before he turned around. “It’s the wind. Quite a storm blowing up.”

But nothing he’d seen in the yard might have chased a shadow across the window.

Annabella seemed to relax by inches, letting out a slow breath, then dropping her arms to her sides and allowing her shoulders to sag.

Was the girl in some sort of trouble? She seemed oblivious to him as he watched her. And her hand trembled when she lifted it to brush her hair from her face. She stared at it for a moment then shook her head and laced her fingers together. Her eyes slid to the side, definitely looking at something.

His gaze followed hers. A flat wooden box stood beneath one of the worktables across the room, shoved tightly against the wall. The coat of arms emblazoned across the top might have been Wyndham’s, but it was hard to discern. In any case, it had been some time since Jon had seen Grey’s family crest. He barely remembered his own family’s coat of arms.

What was in the box? Was she absconding with the family silver, perhaps? The thought of Annabella sneaking around and pilfering bits and pieces of a fortune she couldn’t possibly have need of was just ludicrous enough that it lifted Jon’s mood.

The wind howled against the eaves outside, and the glass in the window rattled.

Giving a little jerk, Annabella glared at the panes and straightened her shoulders. But the spirited hoyden had disappeared. Quite suddenly, he missed her.

She turned from the window. “Kindly stop staring at me!” Her forehead pulled together into a frown. “And why must your face always be contorted in that insufferable grin?”

Ah, there she was. With deliberate intent, he met her eyes and widened his grin. “Why must
you
always wear that dark scowl? It rather makes you look like a troll. Perhaps you should consider hiding under a bridge, waiting for some poor unwary chap to happen by.”

Deep rose rushed into her cheeks, and she narrowed her eyes to near slits. “Have you need of something from the kitchen?”

“Not anymore.” Jon retrieved his hat then reached into the basket and snagged the single scone with a wink. As he sauntered from the cooking area, another tune sprung to mind.

Pretty maid with the golden hair,

Come take my hand and climb the stair…

He pursed his lips and began to whistle as he stepped into the hallway.

Something struck the door just as he closed it behind him, the basket from the sound of it. At least her temper had chased that dreadful pallor away. But as he entered the sitting room and sank onto the Grecian couch, her reaction to the slamming outer door troubled him. Of all the reasons Annabella hadn’t gone on to London with her aunts, he had never once considered that she might be in hiding for reasons other than to cause mischief for his friend.