Romancing the Rogue (124 page)

The rhythmic pounding
of a horse’s heavy hooves was close and drawing nearer. Annabella didn’t want to open her eyes, didn’t want to leave the warm cocoon that surrounded her. Juliet would be in soon enough to help her dress. If only that blasted racket would cease. It made her head hurt. She shifted, raised a hand to her forehead, and rubbed. The dratted pounding echoed more loudly until she realized it came from inside her head, hammering out a country dance rhythm that mimicked her beating heart.

“Oh,” she moaned. She must have developed an illness. She’d ask Juliet for some cool cloths.

No, no, no. That wasn’t right. Juliet wouldn’t be coming to help her. Juliet was in London. Annabella blinked open her eyes.
Where
am
I?

Watery pre-dawn light filtered through the window and washed over the battered and scarred furniture. Right. Rose Cottage. How had she come to be in the bedroom?

I thought—

She forced her eyes open wider. A pair of Hessian boots stood like sentries next to the dressing table. Seabrook’s boots. Seabrook’s bedroom, though he’d unwittingly stolen it from her in the first place.

Seabrook’s… bed.

Annabella’s heart stuttered then took up a mad gallop. Blood roared in her ears, and her stomach jumped and fluttered.

Behind her, someone released a long, contented sigh. Balmy breath tickled her bare shoulder. She eased a glance down the length of her body. The cocoon she’d been enjoying took on the form of a very large, very powerful male hand resting possessively on her waist. The heat of his touch seared her skin through the thin muslin shift. Utterly awake now, she eased away from the warmth that ran the length of her body. The hand tightened slightly as though in protest.

No! No no no!

Annabella scanned the room again. There! Her horrid gray dress had been flung over the bedside chair and hung upside down, spilling half onto the floor.

I’m in Seabrook’s bed wearing nothing but my shift. In. Seabrook’s. Bed.

With a cry of dismay, Annabella leapt to her feet, dragging the blanket with her and wrapping it around her scantily clad body as the chill morning air struck her bare skin.

Tears pricked her eyelids as she scrabbled to grab the ugly gray dress.

“Annie?” Seabrook mumbled, his voice still laden with sleep.

She refused to turn around. Without a doubt he’d be in the same state of undress as she. Dress in hand, she raced for the door, and on reaching it, fumbled with the latch until it lifted with a heavy clank.

“Annie, stop!” demanded Seabrook, his voice sharper.

“I-I’m sorry. I must go,” she called as she closed the door. The steps were freezing to the point of numbing her bare feet. Where were her shoes and stockings?
What have I done? What have I done?

Her whole body hurt and tingled all at once. No time to dwell on the sensations. She had to get dressed. Even the ugly gray garment she carried was better than her current state.

Praying Abby wouldn’t be in the kitchen, Annabella hurried past the dining room table. It had already been cleared, so Florrie had already been there.

Had she seen anything? No. No, she’d have no reason to check the bedroom. She’d been tasked with clearing the meal. Annabella pushed into the kitchen and raced straight into the pantry, where she dropped the blanket. Her hands shook as she quickly pulled the dress over her head.

“Oh, you chicken brain!” She rolled the blanket into a ball and shoved it onto the shelf above the false wall. Then she struggled with the fastenings on her dress. “You silly, childish, chicken-brained
fool
!”

The tears spilled over, but she dashed them with the backs of her hands. Blinking back more, she worked at righting her dress with hands that shook. A door opened then closed. Sounds of movement filtered from the kitchen. Abby! She’d come by early as well. And Annabella had yet to figure out where her shoes and stockings had gone. Her gaze shifted to the broom in the corner. Abby would come for it. She’d taken to sweeping the floors.

Footsteps echoed on the hardwood floor. Annabella smoothed her hand over her wrinkled dress, hoping Abby wouldn’t notice anything amiss.

But the hulking shadow in the doorway wasn’t the maid.

“Annie…” Seabrook’s voice was gentle, persuasive. Had he used that tone on her the night before?

She gulped. “What is this? Come for more, have you? Are you so insatiable you must accost me in the daylight hours as well?”

Seabrook made an impatient movement with his hand and stared at her. Hard. She trembled. Under his scrutiny she might as well be naked all over again. He looked at her like he knew her. Searing flames engulfed her face, stifling her breath.

Well, he
has
known you, you foolish chit.
Her skin tingled where his eyes raked her. Could things get any worse?

Yes, yes they could. Because she simply could not stop returning his regard. His hair shot out at all angles — he hadn’t taken even a moment to tame it. In fact, it seemed he hadn’t even taken a moment to do more than pull on his boots. Clad in a pair of black trousers, he stood before her without shame, his long white shirt falling to his knees, billowing like a — like a nightshirt.

A wave of heat washed over her, warming places he’d touched the night before — her cheek, her hand… and more. Her body hummed all over. His fingers had been hot through her shift as he’d helped her unfasten her gown. And then he’d—

She frowned. He’d what? Why couldn’t she remember more?

He stepped into the pantry. Too close. Far too close!

“What do you thi—”

“Get out!” she shrieked, placing her hands on his chest and giving him a good shove. When he stumbled against the doorjamb, she squeezed past and fled into the kitchen. It didn’t take him long to recover. He was on her heels in seconds. But she placed herself on the far side of the worktable and held her hands in front of her. “Stop!”

He quit moving. Understanding seemed to dawn and he rocked back on his heels, pressing his palm against his chest. “M’lady, once again you wound me. All those beautiful words that crossed your lips last night, tempting me like you were a siren on a rocky shore. Do they mean nothing to you in the light of day?”

Annabella’s mouth fell open as a wild quivering sensation began in her middle. “W-words?”

Seabrook scratched his chin. “Let’s see if I might recall a few specifics. I remember talk of your desire to be a bride at one point.”

Annabella gasped. Surely she hadn’t confessed her mother’s plans to him.

A grin spread across his face. “And kissing. You had a peculiar obsession with kissing.” He cocked his head to the side and winked his right eye. “Even asked if I should like to kiss
you
.” With a nod, he sauntered toward the door to the great room, but he paused just before crossing the threshold. “I expect that’s where the evening truly got its start.” With a whistle on his lips that sounded vaguely familiar, he ducked through the opening and disappeared just as Annabella threw the first thing she laid her hands on.

One fine stocking fluffed out and floated through the air, only to land a few feet away.

Annabella sank onto the work stool and leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table and cradling her aching head against her palms.
It wasn’t supposed to go like this.

~~~~

Jon didn’t bother
trying to remove the grin from his face as he returned to the bedroom to make himself decent. The silly chit had no idea what had gone on. Or in their case,
not
gone on.
It wasn’t supposed to go like that.
How had their conversation gone so far awry?

He righted his shirt and tucked it into his breeches, still chuckling as he recalled the look of rage in her eyes. Better that than the stark horror he’d seen in the mirror across from the bed when she’d first awakened and recognized her surroundings.

He frowned, leaning forward to peer into that mirror while he tied his cravat. The situation should have irritated him at the very least. Being accused of taking advantage of a woman who’d been in an inebriated state was far from flattering to his character.

His grin widened. But he’d enjoyed the lady’s discomfort too much to defend himself. Still, he had to tell her the truth. With that course in mind, he exited the bedroom, ready to make amends with Annabella. The last thing he needed or wanted was to find himself shackled to such a harpy.

Although…
Jon found his steps faltering at the bottom of the stone staircase. She was certainly an intriguing woman. And his predicament loomed.
Perhaps…
Something crashed in the kitchen followed by muted words he could only assume were dreadful curses — likely directed at him in absentia.

The path to Annabella — and telling the truth — lay in front of him, but his eyes strayed to the door that led outside. Another crash came from the kitchen, then more curses, audible ones this time, accompanied by some explicit descriptions of the many ways she would torture him. The back of Jon’s neck began to tingle as chills spiraled down his spine.

Without a second glance toward the kitchen, he strode to the front door, his boots making precise clicks on the oak floor. Sometimes the wiser strategy was to retreat and regroup.

The balmy breeze that tickled his face made up for the gray spring sky. Streaks of red clawed their way upward from the horizon. No dark clouds or heavy gale-like winds. Still, something undefined hung in the air. A mood perhaps, a feeling. Jon shook it off and directed his steps toward the stables. A ride on Bertha would keep him out of the house — and out of Annabella’s way — and would have the added benefit of clearing his head.

Birds kept up a steady chirping in the bushes lining the path. Finches of some sort, from the sound of it. Gran would know the name. She could pretty nearly identify every hapless creature one of her feline pets preyed upon — living or dead, though by the time she saw them it was usually the latter.

Contemplation of Gran led to a reminder of his current family difficulties. What drove people to think they knew what was best for another?

Dwelling on it won’t change anything.
He should just put the troublesome matter of his inheritance from his mind the way he’d been doing for the past five years. He still had a handful of months before his lack of an appropriate wife would nullify his own plans for the future.

Tiny white flowers fluttered as the birds darted in and out of the bushes. Blackberries, without a doubt. His mouth watered as he recalled picking berries with his brother and sisters on the estate in Coventry. Mayhap it was time to make the journey home. With or without the requisite wife.

Wife…
Warmth radiated through him. He’d not intended on keeping Annabella company the whole night through. He didn’t even recall anything beyond taking her into his embrace when she’d begun her inconsolable sobbing. Her words had made no sense — most had been incoherent. He’d been surprised at first light when he’d awakened to discover a winsome, curvy female in his arms. Then realization had struck, but he’d been powerless to leave the bed — leave her — as he should have.

Why had that been? Certainly, she was lovely, but with that sharp tongue and tendency toward being disagreeable… A sudden frisson shook him, and he suffered a misstep, stumbling forward.
Best keep your mind out of that territory, Seabrook.

Crashing in the brush to his right jerked Jon from his musing. Deer? He paused to peer into the bushes but saw nothing. The crashing had stopped in any case.

But as he turned back to the path, a broken branch caught his eye. Wilted leaves quivered. There! The grass had been trodden down… and recently. And there! The soft dirt bore the distinct impression of a boot heel. A small boot heel, belonging to a child, perhaps. Or to a woman. He eased the branches aside, mindful of the thorns.

Thorns.

Annabella’s face had borne four light scratches on her left cheek. A number of the branches had grown sufficiently tall to have reached her face. So, not a cat as he’d suggested in jest, but… she’d battled with blackberry brambles?

No sign of movement, no sign that he was being followed. He studied the path of broken branches.

“What would send Annabella here?”

One of the finches scolded him. Jon shrugged and stepped through the tangled underbrush, onto the narrow path. The blackberry bushes closed around him immediately.

It was hard to fathom any reason Annabella would plunge through such dense undergrowth. But as he dodged yet another branch slapping out at his face, he knew with certainty she’d been there.

Why?

He did love the occasional mystery. Not to mention he could use the distraction from the awkward conversation he’d be having with the lady later. The path forked, and he paused. Right or left? Which way had she gone? The track to the left was well-worn with signs of broken branches, the one to the right not nearly as traveled. A single gray thread clung to one of the branches in that direction, though. Smiling, Jon unwound the thread from the blackberry thorn and tucked it into his pocket. Then he parted the bushes on the right and stepped through.

Gran would say the tiny glade was created by faeries — a faery gathering place of some sort. Had Annabella come there seeking solitude? He glanced around. Closed in on all sides by brambles and tall grass, and sheltered overhead by a leafy canopy formed of three old beech trees and an ancient oak, it certainly offered privacy. A cluster of boulders near the center of the space reminded him of a child’s nursery table and chairs.

He could see no evidence she’d been there beyond the gray thread though. Maybe she’d ducked in and then back out again.

The breeze shifted, whispered through the grass. The sound of babbling water enticed. Jon swept a last glance around the clearing. If Annabella had been there, she’d left no traces of what she’d done. Perhaps she had merely passed through.

He shoved a stubborn branch aside and found himself on the bank of a bubbling brook merrily tumbling and splashing over moss-covered rocks. A deer track followed alongside, and he stepped onto the path. Fairly soon, the brook widened into a sizeable pool. Dense bushes lined three sides and a grass-covered knoll trailed down to the water’s edge.

Sunshine slanted over the surface, splintering ripples into gold and silver reflections. On the other side of the pond, the road leading to Wyndham Green spooled between two green fields. Off to the right and a bit farther on, the gray stone spire of the parish church rose as if reaching for the sun. A boulder near the edge of the pool offered a resting place and Jon sat.

Perhaps this was where Annabella had come the day before. He closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of wildflowers. As the brook splattered its way into the pool, Jon considered how to approach her to inform her of her erroneous assumption regarding the previous night’s activities.