When She Was Wicked (35 page)

“Miss Honeycote!” The shrill voice rang out behind her, and she spun around.

Miss Starling walked briskly, looking perfectly elegant as she did so. “Do wait—I shall join you.”

Anabelle tried to disguise her dread but feared she was not entirely successful. “Of course.”

Falling into step beside her, Miss Starling gave a quick
glance over her shoulder as though making sure they were alone. A chill ran the length of Anabelle’s spine.

She told herself Miss Starling couldn’t know Owen had spent the night at the cottage with her.

But she was wrong.

“I confess that I may have underestimated you, Miss Honeycote.”

Although this conversation was unavoidable, Anabelle had hoped to postpone it until after she’d removed the bits of leaves caked onto her hem. “In what way, Miss Starling?”

“Oh, I think you know.” She absently twirled a blond strand of hair around her index finger until it formed an obedient curl. “I awoke this morning at dawn. I happened to look out the window of my bedchamber, and I saw the duke walk up to the house.”

“How fascinating.” She tried to sound droll, even as her pulse beat out of control.

“He was wearing the same clothes as last evening.”

Anabelle raised her brows. “Your eyesight must be extraordinary.”

“Quite.” Miss Starling stopped at a rosebush along the path and admired a succulent, pink bloom. “I might not have given it a second thought, but when I joined him downstairs, I asked whether he’d been hunting. He said he hadn’t.”

“A scintillating conversation, to be sure. I’m not certain what it has to do with me.”

“Patience, Miss Honeycote.” She continued walking as if they were on a pleasant stroll. “Huntford also denied that he’d been out riding. I couldn’t imagine what he was hiding from me, but I had a niggling suspicion that
you
were involved.”

“I’m flattered.”

Miss Starling glared. “So, I decided to join him on his ride to retrieve you. And I saw the most peculiar thing. Your missing spectacles were in the pocket of his jacket. How do you suppose they got there?”

“I have no idea.” Her cheeks flamed. For an extortionist, she was a dreadfully poor liar.

“Well, I do. And it does not cast you in a favorable light.” Her sharp tone made the hairs on the back of Anabelle’s neck stand up. They were only a few yards from the house; she longed to flee to her bedchamber and slam the door. “Your actions are beyond the pale—hardly proper for a companion. If your
indiscretion
were to become known, I suspect your charges would be shocked and dismayed.”

Anabelle swallowed the knot in her throat. She hated the thought of hurting Rose and Olivia.

“Such a scandal would not help ease their way into society. They’re odd enough to begin with.”

“They’re lovely girls,” Anabelle said hotly. “And better friends than you deserve.”

Miss Starling raised a perfectly arched brow. “Your indignation is charming, in an unrefined way. Allow me to make my point, Miss Honeycote. You are merely a plaything for the duke. We both know he will tire of you before long, and your fairy tale will end. You’ll return to your pathetic existence, hemming dresses and wearing your dowdy clothes. Meanwhile, Huntford will marry me.”

Anabelle’s chest constricted with anger and something else. Quite possibly fear. She tamped it all down. “This has been delightful. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to go rest.”

“Not so quickly.” Miss Starling grabbed her arm in a viselike grip. “This afternoon, you will tell the duke that you must leave the house party immediately and that you can no longer act as the girls’ companion.”

“I can’t do that. I—”

“You
must
.”

Anabelle jerked her arm away. “I don’t take my orders from you, Miss Starling.”

With an amused smile, she responded, “No? Then consider this. If you don’t leave—immediately—I will inform everyone that you are the duke’s mistress.”

“Mistress? That’s a lie!”

“Is it, Miss Honeycote?” She laughed as though Anabelle had uttered the most amusing witticism. “Don’t tell me you are deceiving yourself?”

Anabelle turned and strode into the house, fighting tears the whole way. Happiness, within her reach for the briefest of moments, had been snatched away.

Oh, Miss Starling was a wretched person, but her words only pricked because they held a painful kernel of truth.

Although seemingly unfair, the ultimatum—leave, or have her affair exposed—was a fitting if ironic form of justice.

Everything had come full circle.

Anabelle had started out as the extortionist—and had become the victim.

Y
ou can’t leave.” Owen struggled to reconcile the memory of Anabelle from last night, warm and pliant in his arms, with the woman before him. She stood rigidly in front of the desk in Harsby’s library where Owen had come to escape the perpetual chatter of the drawing room and think. Her skin glowed pink, and damp tendrils curled around her face, as though she’d just taken a bath. She wore a blue dress that turned her gray eyes to silver.

She clutched her bags in her hands, for God’s sake.

Anabelle wasn’t the sort of woman to play games, and yet he couldn’t fathom the alternative—that she was about to climb into a coach and ride away, leaving him in a cloud of road dust.

“I know it seems sudden, but I’ve become desperately homesick. I’m worried about Mama and Daphne.”

“I see.” She was lying. Why else would she avoid
his gaze? “If this is about last night, I want you to know—”

“It’s not about last night.”

Another lie. He rose, walked past her to shut the library door, and faced her. “I didn’t want to wake you before I left. But I meant what I said. I’ll find a way for us to be together.”

“It shouldn’t be so difficult or complicated. We’re not meant to be.”

“Of course we are.” He folded her in his arms, rested his chin on top of her head, and inhaled the fresh sweet scent of her hair. “I love you, Belle.” He hadn’t realized it before then, but the truth of it nearly bowled him over. He loved her.

She stiffened and pulled away, turning his blood to ice.

“I’m grateful for all you did for me and my family. You needn’t worry about us. Now that Mama is well, I’m confident I’ll be able to support her and Daphne.”

Although he hadn’t expected her to declare her love in return, she might have at least put down her portmanteau. “I don’t view you as some kind of obligation, Anabelle. I
need
you in my life.”

“We both know that’s not true. Your life would be infinitely easier without me. But that’s not the reason I’ve decided to leave.”

“Why don’t you
tell
me the real reason?” He watched as she swallowed and wished he could kiss the delicate skin at the hollow of her throat until the icy glaze coating her cracked and slid away.

“I don’t belong in your world—I never have, and I never will.” Her gray eyes, full of conviction, revealed she believed the words she spoke.

And that scared the hell out of him.

“You
can’t
leave. You haven’t finished the girls’ dresses. What happened to your code of honor?” A petty question, but he wasn’t above grasping at straws.

“I’ll make sure their ball gowns arrive at your country estate in plenty of time for Rose’s debut.” Raising her chin, she said, “This is the right course of action. You must believe me.”

“The hell I do. I won’t let you travel alone. If you’re going back to London, I’ll go, too.”

“I’ve already spoken to Lady Danshire. She’s leaving for Town immediately after lunch, and I’ve arranged to ride with her.”

The situation was quickly bucking out of his control. He pulled up on the reins. “It seems you’ve thought of everything. Have you told Olivia and Rose?”

She lowered her head. “No. They’re napping.”

“They adore you, you know. They’ll be devastated.” So would he.

“I hate the thought of hurting them. But, in a way, I already have. They’ll be far better off without me.” She squared her shoulders and turned to leave. If he were a gentleman he would have opened the library door, but he wasn’t about to make this easy for her. She set down a satchel and reached for the knob.

“Wait.” He went to her and cupped her face in his hands. “I need you, Belle. Please, don’t go.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, he kissed her. Hard.

He backed her up against the paneled door and pressed his body against hers, touching her in all the places that she liked. The bag she’d held thumped to the floor. At least she wasn’t totally unaffected.

Pouring everything he felt for her—tenderness, passion, and love—into the kiss, he willed her to stay. And as he tasted her, he became more convinced than ever he couldn’t live without her. Giving her little time to breathe or think, he kissed and caressed her until he was so hard all he wanted to do was lay her on the damned library floor, flip up her skirts, and pleasure her until she cried out in bliss. Until she forgot about leaving.

Somehow, he refrained from ravishing her. Checking his desire, he gently brushed his lips over hers. “I love you,” he whispered hoarsely.

Her eyes filled with tears, but she sniffled and blinked them away. Placing a palm on his chest, she said, “Good-bye, Owen.”

In utter disbelief and horror, he watched as she picked up her bags.

And left him.

Two days later, Anabelle arrived home so heartbroken she was numb. She felt as though she’d been hollowed out and left empty of emotion. Lady Danshire raised her brows when her coach rolled into Anabelle’s sooty, unkempt part of Town. Anabelle was beyond caring; she simply thanked the marchioness and said good-bye.

She trudged up the narrow steps—the creak of the second stair so achingly familiar, she might never have been away from home.

For Mama and Daph’s sakes, she summoned a smile before letting herself into the apartment. When they saw her, they jumped off the worn settee, crying out.

“Oh, you’re home!” Daph hugged her fiercely. “You are lovelier than ever, Anabelle! Isn’t she, Mama?”

Her mother, looking ten years younger than the last time she’d seen her, playfully pushed Daphne aside and hugged Anabelle herself. Feeling the strength and vigor in Mama’s embrace, Anabelle began to cry.

Many tears were shed by all three women before Mama dried her eyes and announced she was going out to get a few items for a celebratory dinner.

“That’s not necessary.” Anabelle wasn’t in a particularly festive mood.

“Nonsense! This is a special day, and I haven’t made a mincemeat pie in ages.”

Mmm. Mama’s mincemeat pie tasted like happiness, family, and love. “That sounds heavenly,” Anabelle said. “Thank you.”

Daph clasped her hands beneath her elfish chin. “Could we also have those pastries, Mama, the ones stuffed with gooseberries and sprinkled with sugar?”

“We shall see.” Eyes twinkling, Mama grabbed her shawl and reticule, pressed a kiss to each daughter’s forehead, and set out.

“I can’t believe how healthy and vibrant she is,” said Anabelle, sinking onto the sofa.

Daphne nodded and joined her. “I can hardly believe the transformation. She’s doing extraordinarily well, thanks to your duke.”

The mention of Owen made it difficult to breathe. “He’s not my duke. I can’t deny he behaved charitably toward us, but I dislike being in his debt. I intend to pay him back.”

Her sister considered her shrewdly. “I was not under the impression that he helped us out of a sense of duty or even charity. I think he cares for you.”

Anabelle sighed. No sense in hiding the truth
from Daph. “I believe he
had
feelings for me. As I did for him.”

A wide smile lit her sister’s pretty face. “I knew it! That’s wonderful. Only, something must have happened, or you wouldn’t be here.”

Anabelle reached for the miniature portrait of her mother and father on the table beside her and lovingly traced the tarnished frame with a fingertip. “I realized there was no future for us. He needs to marry, and it goes without saying that I am entirely unsuitable.”

Daphne clenched her fists in her lap. “That’s not fair. You’re more refined, gracious, and kind than most ladies of the
ton.
I’m surprised the duke could not see that for himself.”

For some reason, Anabelle felt obliged to defend him. “He didn’t seem to mind my humble origins, but—”

“Humble? You are the granddaughter of a viscount!”

“Who wouldn’t know me if he tripped over me on the street.”

Daphne sprang from the settee and paced in front of it. “I don’t see why any of that matters. If you and the duke care for each other, you should be together.”

“He
did
want for us to be together. He told me he loved me.” Anabelle choked back a sob. “He just didn’t love me enough to… want to marry me.”

“Oh, Belle.” Daph hugged her until she grew sick of her own pathetic sobbing. Her sister handed her a soft handkerchief and said, “If he’s too blind to see what a treasure you are, then he doesn’t deserve you. But I know it stings just the same. I’m sorry.”

As Anabelle hiccupped and dabbed at her face, she wondered how her sister had become so wise. “I feel
like such a fool. I hoped that if I loved him enough, the difference in our stations wouldn’t matter. But he never acknowledged our relationship to anyone—not even his sisters. He was ashamed of me.” She set the framed picture of her parents back in its place. She’d always admired her father for his convictions, but never more so than now.

Daphne’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Why, the cad! If our paths ever cross in Town, I shall—”

“No. It is over between us, and I would just as soon forget him.”

But in her heart, Anabelle knew she never, ever, would.

Two weeks later, Anabelle was once again installed in the cozy back room of Mrs. Smallwood’s dress shop, working among the fabrics, sights, and smells she loved. The shop owner had been happy to take Anabelle back in spite of the hefty raise she’d requested. It seemed her previous association with a duke had its benefits.