A Sister's Secret (17 page)

‘Charles, you are making me quake and quiver,’ breathed Annabelle. ‘I am to imply I might assassinate the duke unless his intentions are honourable? I vow he will burst out laughing.’

‘I fancy, if you speak firmly enough, you won’t hear him laugh. I fancy he might look as if he’s in serious admiration of you.’

‘It’s true he is contemptuous of weak people. Oh, dear, I pray I shan’t be miserably weak.’

‘You’re a sweet gift from America, dear girl, and not to be trifled with. I ain’t intending to let anyone trifle with you, not even Cumberland. Well, here we are. I’ll wait not far away, and will give you thirty minutes. Out of respect for Lady Caroline, your sister, I can’t give you more. It won’t do to let you linger with His Magnificent Highness.’

Annabelle, escorted upstairs by the senior flunkey, a Mr Pringle, was shown into the drawing room of Cumberland’s private suite. It was a room of spacious, high-ceilinged splendour. Patterned carpets proliferated, and the walls were hung with gilt-framed paintings, some depicting scenes of peaceful nature, others scenes of battle and strife. The furniture was large and opulent. Cumberland was not present, and the flunkey left her to await the duke’s arrival. Annabelle, her excitement a distinct nervousness, seated herself. Her fan fluttered.

A door opened a little, and through it she heard Cumberland’s deep voice. ‘Comfortable he may be, but is he still secure?’

‘As secure as you could wish, Your Royal Highness, and, in his own mind, for his own sake.’

‘And ye’re sure ye alone among my staff know he’s where he is?’

‘Only you and I—’

‘Myself, I know nothing, ye hear?’ Cumberland’s voice was swift and harsh.

‘Indeed I know. My apologies, Your Highness.’

‘There’s still a watch on him?’

‘There is, Your Highness. I shall be going later to look things over, as usual. I suggest, sir, we must consider the importance of silence.’

‘Well, ye have the responsibility, not I.’

Annabelle experienced a little uneasiness, for the conversation had unappealing nuances, and she knew there were people, unkind people, who spoke in whispers of the dark soul of the Duke of Cumberland. She shook herself free of the uncomfortable thoughts as the partly opened door was pulled wide and the duke entered. He came to an abrupt halt as he saw her, his brows drew together and his muscular body seemed to tighten. He loomed, silent, dark-faced and intimidating. Then a smile came, creasing his scarred face.

‘I am mortified,’ said Annabelle, ‘you have forgotten this arrangement.’

‘Indeed not,’ said Cumberland, ‘but devil take whatever servant of mine left ye waiting and unannounced.’ He refrained from saying that various ladies who called were merely brought quietly up to his drawing room and never announced. Some ladies preferred not to hear their names spoken.

‘Oh, I’ve only this minute arrived,’ said Annabelle, and came to her feet, lashes nervously flickering. In his presence, she was invariably afflicted with palpitations.

‘I naturally wish I’d been able to greet ye, but I needed to speak to my private secretary,’ said Cumberland, his sound eye searching.

‘Oh, I surely know you to be a man who never has time to sit and wait,’ said Annabelle, defensively ambiguous. ‘I managed to come, as you see, Your Highness, but should not have wanted to interrupt you.’

‘Oh, a small formal matter. Yes, formal, but not important. And by no means as important as ye, my sweet.’

Cumberland advanced then. His brown suede knee breeches moulded his powerful thighs and shaped his loins. His tailed black coat was buttoned tightly over
his broad chest. His movements reminded Annabelle of a pantherlike creature about to spring. His face twisted itself into another smile.

‘We are to talk?’ she said breathlessly.

‘Talk?’ His eye was still searching, his smile a teeth-gleaming façade. ‘Does one talk to roses, or does one cosset them? Well, one at least acknowledges the tenderest of them.’

If Annabelle had arrived full of resolution, most of it began to run from her as he lifted her hand to his lips. He took her parasol from her, and gently freed her bonnet, placing it, with the parasol, on a table. For a man whose uncompromising maleness was legendary, he could be surprisingly gentle and frequently was. Like a woman mesmerized, Annabelle watched his every movement, his aura of arrogant, infallible masculinity holding her in thrall.

‘Sir,’ she said as bravely as she could, ‘as a rose, am I to be placed in a vase among others, to become merely one of many, and all of us discarded when we fade and our petals drop?’

‘Ye gods,’ said Cumberland, voice guttural with Germanic undertones, ‘one of many? D’ye think I collect young ladies to make a bouquet of them? I’m content with one rose, fresh and sweet and unblemished. Come, we’re to talk, I believe, and I swear ye’ll be far more entertaining than Erzburger, my secretary, who has only just finished plaguing me with his dullness.’ His low laugh vibrated, but the searching glint in his eye did not relate to amusement.

Annabelle sensed he was inviting her to disclose what he suspected, that she had overheard his conversation with Erzburger. Uneasy again, she simulated a light, inconsequential smile. ‘Oh, I’ve no knowledge of your
secretary or his dullness,’ she said. ‘I am only concerned with how you regard me.’

‘Ye’re not aware it’s a warm and loving regard?’ said Cumberland. ‘How could it not be when ye show fresher than September’s morning dew? How d’ye sustain such an unspoiled look in a city that nurtures pretty men and enamelled women?’

‘Your Highness, I sustain myself as I am by my belief in God and the honourable conduct of gentlemen.’

His smile was brief and mocking. ‘D’ye say so?’ he said.

‘I do, sir.’ Annabelle thought of Captain Burnside and his support and advice. ‘I am not to be trifled with.’

‘Good God,’ said Cumberland, vastly amused.

‘I have a proud family, Your Highness, and proud blood. My sister has a temper, and so have I.’ Annabelle drew on her courage, all for the purpose of making him declare himself, one way or the other, as Captain Burnside had advised. ‘I have heard, sir, that even the sons of a monarch can stand in fear of assassination when the circumstances concern dishonour.’

Cumberland’s face darkened, and his powerful frame stiffened. His mouth broke apart and his teeth gleamed. His look frightened her for a moment. ‘Ah, is innocence not so innocent?’ he said. ‘Who has been talking to ye?’

‘Oh, it is read in books, or comes from hearsay, that is all.’

‘Books?’ Cumberland laughed. ‘Food for butterflies. Hearsay? Meat and drink for old women. Come, let’s discard the trivial and take up kissing.’

‘No, Your Highness.’ Annabelle fought weakness as he moved closer. ‘If that is all I mean to you, a kiss or two, then I have no future with you.’

‘Your future with me, sweet one, is under consideration.’

‘Sir?’ she said, her breath catching.

‘Serious consideration.’

‘Am I to believe – Your Highness, no—’ But there she was, in his arms, swept close by his truly pantherlike action, and her intention to avoid all embraces was defeated. His mouth smothered hers, and the kiss took her breath and bemused her mind. Prolonged, it made a trembling thing of her resolution. However, the moment he released her lips she placed her hands on his chest and pushed. She broke free. ‘Sir,’ she gasped, face flushed, ‘I beg you to be in nobler understanding of my true self than this.’

Cumberland studied her. She was, in essence, merely one more pretty face. Did she own anything of note other than pretty looks and a plump bosom? She was easily aroused, and he might have bedded her months ago had it not been for his designs on her sister.

‘Well, what is your true self?’ he asked, as if her true self found him suspect.

‘Virtuous, Your Highness, and accordingly I must ask if I may expect more from you than ardour.’

Cumberland laughed. ‘What more is there than ardour sincere and profound?’ he said.

‘Serious consideration of my future, as you said, sir. Surely a son of the King must be concerned with honour.’

Cumberland laughed again. ‘The King himself ain’t above compromising with honour for the sake of the outcome,’ he said.

‘I cannot compromise, sir,’ said Annabelle, and blushed as he eyed her bosom. ‘I cannot,’ she breathed, and put herself at a distance from him by moving to a window. Her eyes took in nothing at first of the scene below. Then she made out her sister’s carriage waiting a little way down the street. Captain Burnside was there too, seated, the reins relaxed, likewise his posture.

Cumberland, watching her, saw her fixed, thoughtful gaze. He came up beside her. He saw the waiting carriage and the man in a cavalry uniform. His brows drew together.

But he said quite lightly, ‘Ye’ll not be asked to forgo honour, only to be sweet, for sweet I know you could be.’

‘Your Highness!’ Annabelle gasped as he swept her into his arms again and even lifted her off her feet. He placed her on a couch and seated himself beside her. He cupped her chin. She stared at him, her body quivering, her heart beating riotously. He kissed her, quite gently, but lingeringly, and she experienced an alarming sense of vulnerability.

‘God’s heaven,’ he murmured, when he had reduced her to her weakest, ‘ye’re a warm and shapely piece, and I’ll not deny it. Ye’ll allow me to remove my coat and so come cooler to the tender business of loving ye?’

He stood up to unbutton his coat. Annabelle, crimson and trembling, adjusted her bodice with shaking fingers. The sense of alarm rushed at her, clearing her head. It was terrible to be in love with a man who dissimulated so much, a man who would not marry her, either because, as a royal duke, he could not, or simply because he would not.

She was close to yielding, her weakness alarming. However, Captain Burnside’s words of warning entered her mind, and there was present too a sense of uneasiness that would not go away. As Cumberland began to peel off his coat, she rose swiftly, snatched up her bonnet and sped to the door. Cumberland turned. She feared for a moment that the door might be locked, that he would have her trapped. But the door opened as she turned the handle. She heard Cumberland laugh as she fled, nor did he make the slightest effort to detain her.

Cumberland, indeed, only moved to the window.

Captain Burnside saw her come out of the house and hurry towards him, crossing the wide street in floating haste. Cumberland, at the window, missed nothing.

‘Upon my soul,’ said Captain Burnside, out of the carriage and giving her a hand, ‘is it love that brings you in such flushed haste, Annabelle?’

Annabelle, emotions confused, yet in some relief to be with him, said, ‘Sir, I declare! You are laughing.’

‘That I ain’t,’ said the captain, ‘I’m shocked. Young lady, you ain’t even dressed.’

Annabelle realized her bonnet was still in her hand. She put it on and tied the ribbons. But even beneath the shade of the bonnet, she could not hide her high colour. Captain Burnside took his seat, thinking that Miss Annabelle Howard of South Carolina had a dangerously appealing sweetness, and a dangerous weakness for Cumberland. Only the unpalatable would shock her into plain, sober thought. It had been necessary to assist her to come face to face with the unpalatable. He had a feeling that this had just happened. He did not think Cumberland would forcibly seduce her in his own residence, but he was always more than likely to show his dark, frightening side. The pretty young American girl was patently shaken.

‘You may proceed, Charles,’ she said, ‘instead of looking me up and down.’

Captain Burnside took up the reins and gentled the pair into life. The carriage began to move. ‘May I hazard a guess, dear girl, that you did not take formal leave of Cumberland, but escaped him at a rush?’

Annabelle, looking about her, said ruefully, ‘I do confess, he was alarmingly pressing. His affection is very ardent. Mercy me, it surely is upsetting to be loved but not to be properly courted.’

‘Are you sure he loves you?’ asked the captain, entering traffic.

‘Oh, his declarations, his manifestations—’

‘Manifestations?’

‘So ardent,’ said Annabelle.

‘Ah, his kisses, his caresses?’

‘Must I confess them?’

‘Not to me, dear girl, but certainly to your sister, your caring guardian while you’re in her charge.’

Annabelle, alarm and fright receding to leave only the sweet, tingling confusions that had come from being extravagantly kissed and caressed, made a little gesture of protest. ‘Truly, I vow no one could love a sister more than I love mine,’ she said, ‘but I could not confess to her anything concerning the duke and myself. She would fly at me and allow me to go nowhere except in her own company. Not that the duke was ungentle; he was merely demonstrative in assuring me of his love.’

‘Demonstrative, h’m,’ said the captain.

‘And I was firm with him, of course, as you advised.’

‘He was demonstrative and you were firm.’

‘Yes. It was a question, you see, of his ardour and my honour.’

‘Well, I should tell you, young lady, you come from his house looking as if you had either been kissed to distraction or shocked into flight, and there ain’t too much difference between one and the other.’

‘Oh, mercy me,’ gasped Annabelle, ‘how disconcerting you are.’ She needed her parasol to hide her blushes. There was no parasol. There were only more confusions, all to do with the duke’s masculine strength and her feminine weakness. ‘No, no, Charles, you must not think he was shocking.’

‘But your flight from his ardour was desperate?’

‘I simply insisted on leaving,’ said Annabelle.

‘Without your parasol?’

‘Oh dear,’ she sighed, ‘you are quizzing me unmercifully.’

‘Well, I repeat, I ain’t having you trifled with,’ said the captain. ‘It’s certain that in your sweetness you’re bound to be kissed, but I ain’t being party to anything that will encourage him to bed you.’

‘Oh, land sakes, I beg you to spare my blushes,’ breathed Annabelle. ‘See, you are catching the eye of promenading ladies, and I am sure they are wondering what you are saying to turn me crimson.’