Romancing the Rogue (123 page)

Annabella slumped, her mood deflated. She’d done it again. She might have at least allowed herself to enjoy a decent meal and fine wine before she ran off in a fit of pique.

Her mouth watered at the memory of those asparagus tips smothered in creamy sauce. Odd, how once she’d balked at eating them. With her father’s encouragement, she’d tried the green spears and discovered herself to be quite fond of them.

And now, Seabrook sat at the dining table —
her
dining table — eating the tender shoots. Even if he left any, they would be cold, the sauce congealed into an unappetizing lump. She kicked at the bare floor.

The pantry had the same dusty smell when she entered. Suppressing a sneeze, she walked directly to the barrel and pried open the lid. Wine… wine would go nicely with her cheese at least. She ran her fingers over the velvet bag shrouding the bottle she’d stashed with her pilfered food. Surely a taste would hurt nothing. If she didn’t like it, she would recork the bottle and place it back in the barrel.

Annabella gathered the cheese and bread, picked up the velvet bag with the wine, and hurried back to the kitchen. After she set her food on the worktable nearest the bank of windows, she crossed to the oak storage hutch that contained the chipped and battered dishes. With thoughts of mice on her mind, she slapped the outside of the wide drawer a few times, hoping to frighten off anything that might be lurking inside. She jerked on the drawer and jumped back, waiting to see what might pop out.

Nothing moved except the iron ladle that had been jostled with her motion. Annabella frowned. The ladle was the only thing in the drawer. She couldn’t very well open the bottle of wine with that. What did the kitchen staff use to open bottles of oil? She slammed the drawer shut and opened the top cabinet to grab her plate. Struggling against disheartened feelings, she shuffled over to the table.

The velvet pouch had sagged down, exposing the top of the dark green bottle. The thing mocked her as she loaded her plate with cheese and bread. To make matters worse, the aroma of Seaside’s lavish meal lingered in the air. She broke off a chunk of orange cheese and nibbled on the edge. Smoky sharpness tickled her tongue, and heat pervaded her face.

Idly, she scraped one fingernail along the wax coating the corked top of the bottle. A little of the burgundy sealant flaked off. Another nibble of cheese and a bit more scraping, and more wax peeled loose. Then she set the cheese down, stripped the velvet from the wine bottle, and began gouging at the wax. Some of it got beneath her fingernails but most ended up on the table. When she had bared the cork, she tried twisting it, but it had swollen into the mouth of the bottle and was stuck fast.

Annabella poked at it with her dinner fork, but it still wouldn’t budge. “Oh, what’s the use?” Frustrated, she shoved the bottle across the table. It teetered and rolled onto its side with a dull thud. “Well, that was silly!” Sighing, she picked up the bottle again. “You might have broken it, you ninny. And then you’d have nothing.”

In the middle of standing the bottle upright, she froze. That was it! She could break the top off. Of course, that meant she wouldn’t be able to re-cork it, but if Seaside finished off his wine, she could pinch one of his decanters and fill it with whatever she had left.

A giggle slipped out. The solution was so simple. She tripped over to the hutch and removed a goblet, then fairly danced back to her place at the table. It took three strikes of the bottle’s neck against the heavy wooden table before she heard the soft crack. After one final blow, the neck of the bottle popped off the body and flew across the room, where it struck the door and bounced to the floor. Reddish liquid sloshed from the opening and coated her fingers.

A sweet, fruity, cedar aroma wafted up to stroke Annabella’s awareness. Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply, inexplicably reminded of Papa’s cigar box. Oh, how she’d loved lifting the lid and smelling his fine cigars. She’d had to be careful to do it when her mother wouldn’t catch her at it.

“Annabella! Close that at once. Such things are not in the least ladylike,” announced Regina, wrinkling her nose in distaste.

“But, Mama, I like the smell!” Annabella stomped her foot and looked to Papa for help.

“Let her be, Reggie,” he said with a soft chuckle. He ruffled Annabella’s hair. “She’s only seven years old. Plenty of time to grow into being a lady yet.”

“And plenty of time to grow into a hoyden if we let her,” snapped her mother, slamming the lid on Papa’s cigar box.

Scowling at the memory that had stolen her moment of happiness, Annabella raised the broken bottle and waved it beneath her nose, inhaling slowly. Almost giddy with her success, she brushed a shard of glass from the broken edge and tipped the bottle and poured a generous measure into her goblet. The garnet colored liquid sparkled as it caught a bit of light from the nearby candle flame. The bouquet rose to permeate the air as Annabella lifted the goblet and sipped.

Sweet blackberry and cedar splashed over her palate. She swished the wine a bit before swallowing. The mild burn in the back of her throat was instantly quieted by the silkiness of the flavorful blend. Annabella moaned softly. None of the wine served at Wyndham Green had ever been this smooth. She took another sip, swirled the glass and took another. Smiling, she broke off some of the crusty bread and bit. Then she sank her teeth into a piece of cheese, enjoying the bite of the cheddar against the yeasty taste of the bread. Another sip of wine soothed away the sharpness.

Seaside could have his fancy supper. She was quite enjoying her makeshift meal. She lifted the glass and drained it, then stared at the bottle. Such a lovely bottle, all green and shiny… and such pretty red wine that sparkled as it sloshed into her goblet. Right. Just one more glass then.

~~~~

Jon punched the
mattress into something resembling a comfortable bed and eased himself onto it. With a few wiggles of shoulders and hips, he found an arrangement he could live with.

Pity he’d gone to such trouble to arrange for Annabella to have a proper meal instead of pinching portions of his, only to have the little tib turn up her nose at his efforts. Oh, she’d wanted to eat with him, all right. He’d seen her casting those longing gazes with her mossy green eyes.

Why hadn’t she pilfered some of the banquet before she’d served it? Perhaps she would have had he not interrupted her. But he’d been too eager to invite her to hold his tongue. Had been so certain she’d accept. But she’d sooner scratch in the dirt like a chicken than eat with him.

A smile tugged at his lips as his eyes drifted closed. She’d certainly made
that
plain enough. He should be on his way, working at solving his own problems, and yet… and yet, something about her just—

“Rei…lly…Rei…lly…”

Jon’s eyes sprung open as he bolted upright. “What the devil?” Had that screeching been Annabella?

“Rei—” She broke off, cackling like a magpie. Something banged.

Jon pushed to his feet, wincing at the chill of the bare floor through his stockings. Not again.

“Oh!” More cackles, closer this time. She must be in the great room. “Rei— Reilly’s daughter…”

Jon gave his boots half a thought but another bang from downstairs drove him to the door. He followed Annabella’s singing — if one could call it that — down the steps.

“O-o-oh… ’Er hair was bla-a-ack… and her ey-ey-yes were bloooo.” She cackled again.

Was that supposed to be a laugh?
Merciful angels!
The cold stone steps stole his breath as he raced down them. He rounded the corner and stopped short.

Near the dining table, Annabella swayed back and forth, holding onto the back of one of the tall chairs. She almost appeared… If he didn’t know better, he’d say she was dancing with it.

With another obscene noise, this one closer to a giggle, she staggered backward and gave a shaky curtsey. “I beg ye’r pardon but I do… dooo… do not believe we are prop-proper-
er
ly ac-
quaint
-ed.”

Good Solomon! The chit was bloody foxed.

She stopped and stared at the bottle cradled in her hand. The top had been broken off, but it looked like it had once been one of the long-necked bottles the French used for storing wine. She lifted it and peered inside, one eye narrowed, then gave it a shake.

“Oh, rot! We’re out of drink.” The bottle landed on the table with a clatter then rolled onto the floor with a dull
thunk
. “No matter! We still have song!” She tossed back her head and began to screech in a hideously loud voice, “The colonel and the major… and the cap-captain sought her… But they never had a chance… with mean old Reilly’s daugh-ter…”

She lurched into a dizzy whirl but ended up clutching for the back of the chair. When she missed it and landed with her palms pressed against the tabletop, Jon stepped into the light. Time to put a stop to her ridiculous behavior before she injured herself.

Her eyes widened, and a foolish grin lifted her mouth. “Seaside!” She cackled again. “Were y-
you
waiting for Reilly’s dau-daughter tonight?”

“What?” He couldn’t stop staring at her hair, spun gold cascading in waves down her back. Thick as a curtain — did it feel like velvet? His thumbs brushed across the tips of his fingers as interesting images formed in his mind. He shifted his gaze to the floor. Bad choice. She had no shoes or socks on. Bare toes peeked from beneath her gown. His body, previously ready for sleep, was suddenly alert and very, very aware of the feminine beauty standing not five feet away.

“Reilly’s daughter is a…” Annabella tittered and lowered her voice. “She’s a
virgin
.”

Jon shook his head, unable to make sense of her jabbering. But then it didn’t matter, as she was off again, pitching away from the table and toward the sitting area. Heavens, if she’d consumed an entire bottle of French wine, it was a miracle she was still on her feet. Though it didn’t look like she’d be on them long. Jon followed her, praying she didn’t tip over before she got to the couch.

But she only began singing again as she wove her way back and forth across the room. “Maids when you’re young… Stay and have some fun… And never marry an old man.” She stumbled forward, bumping into him.

With automatic movements, he caught her about the shoulders.

She tilted her head so far back he wondered if she might break her neck. “Are you an old man, Seabrook? Is that why you’re alone? Are you old and dried up? Funny… you don’t look old.”

Jon sighed with impatience and aimed her for the couch. “Anna — Annie, why don’t you sit down?”
Where you’ll be much safer.

She looked at the couch and then pulled from his arms, turned, and stared at him wide-eyed. “She’d approve of you.”

Jon pulled a hand down his face to dislodge any notion he’d get to sleep anytime soon. “Who would approve of what?” He had no idea what she was talking about, but it didn’t sound too appealing.

Annabella attempted a twirl, but it turned into more of a lunge toward the sofa. Good. If he could just get her to sit. But she stared at the sofa as though it was about to eat her and took a step back. Then she began more of her outrageous caterwauling.

“Moth…
er
, I long to get mar…
ried
, I long to be a bri-i-ide,” she half sang and half shouted then lapsed into a fit of giggles, rocking back and forth from foot to foot. “I long to be with
that
young
man
, forever by his si-i-de.”

Confound it! Where had she acquired that wine?

“O’ how happy I should be. For I am young and merry and most weary of my vir-
gin
-ity.” With that, she flung herself into the chair to the left of the drum table.

Dash it all!

The crack filled the sudden silence in the room. Jon rushed forward just as the weakened leg split in two. The chair listed like a sinking ship. With a tiny cry, Annabella slid bonelessly to the floor, landing with a heavy thump.

Her eyes were dazed as she blinked up at him. “Oh. It was s’posed to be you what fell.”

Jon sighed. Yes. He was ruddy well aware of that. As tempting as it was to leave her on the floor rather than risk her winding herself up again, he couldn’t bring himself to do that. So he extended a hand. “Come along then. You can’t sit on the floor all night.”

She clasped his hand and struggled ineffectively. Finally, heaving an impatient sigh, Jon gripped her by the opposite elbow and used a scooping motion to drag her to her feet. The couch was a mere three steps away — the longest three steps of his life. But he finally managed to settle her on the blasted thing. She slumped against the bolster, only about half on the seat.

Jon eased out a breath. At least she was down and unlikely to do herself grave injury. He lowered himself beside her, making certain to keep an arm’s length between them.

“What’s-a-matter, Seaside? You don’ like sing… singing?” Her head fell forward, and her hair spilled about her face, hiding it.

Jon raised an eyebrow and settled back in the seat. It promised to be a long night. He might as well make himself as comfortable as possible. “Can’t say one way or the other, since I’m not certain the noises you’ve been making qualify as singing. Sounds rather like a dying cow. Where’d you learn such colorful songs?”

Without raising her head, Annabella giggled. “Juliet… she taught them to me.”

“And who might Juliet be?” Jon asked, suppressing a yawn.

She shifted, rolled her head back against the couch, and stared up at him, eyes red-rimmed and not quite focusing. “She’s me.” A giggle slipped out as she swept her eyes around the room then returned her attention to him and pressed a finger to her lips. “Shhh.”

Astonishing. Her wailing had roused him from near sleep, and now she was shushing him?

She began singing again, softer than before. “I gave her cakes and I gave her ale… And I gave her sack and sherry… I kissed her once and I kissed her twice… And we were wond’rous and… mer…ry.” She sighed, one of the saddest sounds Jon had ever heard. “Do you want to kiss me, Seabrook?”

And with the asking, he found he very much wanted to. Just as sudden as that and with everything in him. But he sighed and offered her a half smile instead. “Get some rest, Annie.”

Another giggle slipped out, and she pressed her fingers to her lips. Then, drawing herself up, she opened her mouth and began again. “Merry me hearts, merry me lads… merry me sprites.”

“Ah, more singing.” Longing for a glass of wine himself, for he wasn’t nearly nobbed enough for the kind of duty he’d just pulled, Jon winced as she screeched out a high crackly note.

More giggles erupted. “Mer…ry, merry, merry, merry, merry me…” Another giggle. “…me-
me
hey down
der
ry! “ She clapped her hands together, winced, and lowered her voice. “I kissed
you
once and I kissed
you
twice. And
we
were wond’rous and
mer
ry!”

The song apparently finished, she laid her head back and lapsed into blessed silence. Jon sighed. Maybe she’d sleep it off now.

“I feel ill,” she mumbled, her voice slurred.

Jon snapped himself upright. “Ahh…”

Her light snores broke the sudden silence. Her body settled by inches, first her back, then her shoulders and arms. Finally, her head lolled sideways. Her face became softened in sleep. He should get some sleep himself, but he couldn’t tear himself away from her. Still, with one leg on the couch and the other dangling over the edge, her head lying just off the bolster, she didn’t look comfortable. Maybe — just for the night — he’d be a gentleman and give up his bed.

Mind made up, he stood and slid his arms beneath her still form. She never moved as he lifted her, but then she nestled more closely and slid one warm hand around his neck. She was hardly any burden at all as he carried her across the room, pausing only to snuff the candles on the dining table.

Walking up the steps, Jon struggled to push back feelings of protectiveness. Whatever her reasons for drinking the wine, he’d caught the lady in a vulnerable moment. Nothing more. At any other time, Annabella would have shown fierce independence. The last thing she needed was a keeper.

She stirred as he settled her in the bed and drew the blanket over her ripe and curvy figure. “Sleep soundly, lady fair. You’re safe here.”

“Please… don’t go away,” she mumbled. “I’m so alone.”

No.
But Jon’s heart gave a little kick as he backed away from the bed. “Annie, you don’t know what you’re asking.”

“You’re quite wrong,” she whispered, her eyes filling with tears. “Mama’s… so cross… with m-me.”

Walk away now, Seabrook.
His hands curled into fists at his sides, and he forced his mind to the couch in the great room. That was where he belonged. He’d given up his bed willingly, and now it was time to take his leave.

Annabella sighed and sat up, rubbing her eyes. In the dim moonlight that filtered through the window, she appeared smaller, less sure of herself, maybe a little… lost. She reminded him of one of the faerie folk Gran was always prattling on about.

A shudder wracked her body and she gulped back a hiccup. Or perhaps it was a soft sob. “Help m-me… get ou-out of this. I can’t s-sleep in it.” She began tugging on her dress.

The blood roared in Jon’s ears, and with a soft moan, he stepped forward to assist the lady. He was, after all, not a saint. Only a man.