Annie's Song (22 page)

Talking more slowly and forming each word precisely so it would be easier for her to follow him, Alex repeated himself. Eyes large and luminous, she continued to stare at him for what seemed like endless minutes, each of which broke his heart just a little bit more. Moving cautiously so as not to frighten her, he extended his hand.

“Please, Annie?”

Trying to see things from her point of view, Alex doubted she would find the courage to refuse him. He, the possessor of the razor strop? He was standing nearly on top of her now and blocked her path to escape. She either had to dance with him or suffer the consequences. He felt bad about using her fear to his advantage. It was a poor way to start a relationship. On the other hand, it was better than making no headway at all. There would be time later to revise her opinion of him.

Looking none too sure of her decision, she finally relented and set her other dance partner aside. The poor fellow took a tumble and landed in a lifeless heap, which was exactly where Alex hoped he would stay. This was his dance. His wife. He felt like a man who had accidentally stumbled upon the end of a rainbow.

No, not a rainbow, he thought nonsensically. More like a beautiful butterfly emerging, almost magically,
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from its chrysalis. In that moment, that was how he saw Annie. He didn’t analyze the feeling. He had unveiled something incredibly precious, immeasurably lovely, and completely unexpected. When God saw fit to bestow such a gift, a man with any sense didn’t ask questions.

Nervous of frightening her any more than he already had, he touched a palm lightly to her waist, took her hand in his, and gently moved into a waltz. Accustomed to leading, she stumbled slightly and tromped on his toes, but her weight was so slight that Alex scarcely noticed. As if he could feel his toes. Not with this girl in his arms. In the carriage that first morning, he had sensed the rightness, but he’d shied away from it, appalled by his feelings. Now he realized he should have trusted his instincts.

In retrospect, he looked back on the events that had drawn them together and believed with all his heart that an invisible hand had moved him and her about like pieces on a chessboard, aligning their positions, manipulating incidents, bringing them inexorably to a collision point. Fate? The Almighty? Alex didn’t know, nor did he care to guess. All that mattered was this moment and the feeling that it was wonderfully and perfectly right.

After a few turns on their imaginary dance floor, Annie relaxed and began to take her cues from him, floating with the music as gracefully as a butterfly drifted with a breeze. The music ... It was insane. He knew it was. But gazing down at her small face, he could almost hear the orchestra playing.

Annie, dancing to make-believe music, in a make-believe world, but no longer in the arms of a make-believe man. This fantasy world he’d invaded was all she had. Branded a moron. Shunned for most of her life. No education. No companions. An ugly secret that her parents had kept hidden. Rage roiled within him, but he tamped it down. Later he would let himself think about the how and why. Later he would place the blame.

For now, there was only the waltz and the girl he held in his arms.

It had been years since Alex had played make-believe. Too many years, perhaps, for there was a surreal feeling in the air around him. A feeling that anything might happen—if only he believed. He didn’t want to shatter that.

Even holding her at a polite distance filled him with a sense of wonder. Though small and delicately made, she fitted to his body as though she’d been fashioned for him. Against the side of his hand, he could feel her hip moving. Beneath his thumb, he detected the swelling due to her pregnancy. He yearned to draw her closer, to press his cheek to the curls atop her head, to drown in the clean smell of rose-and-glycerin soap that Maddy used to bathe her.

Unable to resist, he did exactly that.

Momentarily startled by the sudden closeness, Annie stiffened. But when he continued to dance, she finally gave in to the strength of his arm and let her body mold to his. He pressed his face against her hair and let his eyes fall closed. Precious. It was the only word he could think of to describe her. God help him, he never wanted to let her go.

Not wishing to tire her, Alex eventually had to end the waltz. When he stopped and drew away from her, she looked slightly disoriented, eyes unfocused, cheeks flushed, lips parted with breathlessness.

“Thank you, Annie,” he said slowly. “That was lovely.”

A dimple flashed in her cheek as she returned his smile. “Yes, lovely.”

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The words she mouthed but didn’t speak were nearly as audible to Alex as if she’d said them aloud, probably because they were the expected response. He had to learn to lip-read, he thought with a sense of panic. Straightaway, he needed to learn. Without circumstances to cue him, he would be at a loss when she tried to communicate with him.

Reluctant to leave the attic and this version of her, he cast his gaze about her parlor, searching almost frantically for an excuse, any excuse, to prolong the make-believe mood. Inspiration struck when he spotted the chipped china on the table. Pretending she had issued him an invitation, he took the male dummy’s chair, picked up his empty cup, and extended it toward her for a refill. Even in the dimness, he could see the wariness returning to her eyes.

The magic of the waltz had ended. And now, like it or not, they were back to reality. Only Alex was no longer absolutely certain what reality was. Where it began, where it ended. He only knew this beautiful girl had been horribly wronged, and somehow he had to make it up to her.

To help her, the first thing he had to do was gain her trust.

He continued to hold out the cup, waiting, compelling her with his gaze. Something touched his pant leg.

He ignored it. In that instant, nothing mattered to him but Annie. Then came a ticklish sensation through his sock. Little pinpricks. Unable to block out the sensation, Alex moved his foot slightly and bent to brush at his ankle. As he did, his fingertips connected with a small, furry body.

“Son of a—Jeee-sus Christ!”

He and the teacup parted company, the cup shooting upward, Alex diving to swat at his trousers. Dimly he heard china shatter.

“Son of a bitch!” He leaped to his feet. “It’s going up my—Jesus Christ!”

A mouse. Up his trouser leg. Horror filled Alex. He started to dance again, alone this time and to a tune called hysteria. A goddamned mouse. And the little fiend was scrabbling for purchase, making a beeline for his crotch. Not in this lifetime.

Alex slapped at his leg. Big, mouse-squashing slaps, his intent murder. So fixed was his attention on the rodent that it took him a moment to realize Annie was hanging on his arm.

“Naah-ohh!” she cried.

No? Alex was so shocked to hear her make a sound that he forgot the damned mouse.

“Naah-ohh!” she cried again.

The word was distorted. An awful and not quite human sound. But to Alex, it was the most wonderful thing he’d ever heard. No. A simple expression, one that children learned at an early age and never forgot because adults said it to them so frequently. A word that Annie knew because she’d once heard it said herself.

Because she seemed so frantic to save the mouse, Alex forced himself not to slap his leg again. The last thing he wanted was to kill the revolting little thing and break her heart. That would only drive another wedge between them. Panicked from the blows, the mouse continued its ascent. Alex clenched his teeth.

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A scrabbling sensation well above his knee.

Then high on his thigh.

He stood it for one more second—undoubtedly the longest of his life—then swore and grabbed for the fly of his trousers. If that mouse gained a few more inches— well, it didn’t bear thinking about. Alex could almost feel its small teeth sinking into his ballocks.

Forgetting about everything—Annie, propriety, decency—he dropped his pants. Its tiny claws hooked to his drawers, the mouse was hanging on for dear life. Seizing it by the tail, Alex jerked it loose and held it at arm’s length. A squirming little body. Shrill squeaking. God, it was his worst nightmare. Not sure what to do with the creature, he glanced at Annie only to discover she had clamped a hand over her mouth and looked as if she were about to burst with laughter.

It struck Alex then how ridiculous he must look. A grown man, dancing around on his tiptoes like a hysterical woman. Trousers around his knees. Drawers flapping. A mouse dangling from one hand. He chuckled in spite of himself. Bending to release his small captive, he shook his head.

“You, young woman, will be the death of me yet.”

Behind her hand, Annie made a sound that could only be stifled giggles. Alex refastened his trousers and belt. “You think it’s funny, do you?” Measuring off a scant inch between thumb and forefinger, he grinned and said, “Your little friend came just that close to meeting his maker.’’ Nudging a piece of china with the toe of his boot, he said, “Thanks to him, I think our tea party is over.”

She crouched to pat the floor-length hem of her skirt, located the mouse, which had found sanctuary at her feet, and lifted it in her cupped hands. Alex’s stomach did a turn when she kissed the rodent’s small head and then held it to her cheek. As if it knew how close it had come to death, the creature curled into a quivering little ball. Annie kissed it again, stroked it with her fingertip, and then set it on the floor, shooing it away to safety with a light pat on its rump.

The moment she straightened and met his gaze, her smile vanished. Nervously, she toyed with the buttons at her bodice. Then she intertwined her fingers and cracked her knuckles. He wondered if the sensation was as soothing when one couldn’t hear the hollow little pops. Judging by her tenseness, he didn’t think so.

With a sigh, he concluded that one turn around a dance floor was not enough to instill trust in a wary girl.

Not that he had expected miracles, but he had hoped to see a little less fear in her eyes.

He finished tucking in his shirt and hunkered to clean up the mess he had made. Keeping a safe distance, Annie knelt to assist him. When they both happened to reach for the same shard of china, she jerked her hand back as if she feared he might grab her. Alex tried his best not to take it personally. Earning her trust was going to take some time.

Acutely aware that the magic mood had been shattered as irreparably as the cup, he was filled with a profound sadness, but he pushed it away. There was no reason to feel sad. None at all. The waltz might be over, but Annie’s life had just begun. If it was the last thing he ever did, he would see to that.

Conscious of Alex’s gaze on her and growing more nervous by the second, Annie pretended to be oblivious of everything but the tiny shards of china that she was picking up and adding to the pile on her
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palm. Foolish, so foolish. She should never have sneaked up here to his attic in the first place. From the beginning, she had known her disappearances upset him and Maddy. If she’d had half a brain, she would have expected him to eventually discover where she was going.

Now he knew the truth about her, and he’d probably send her away to that awful place her mama was always warning her about—the place where girls like her were locked up in little rooms and fed wormy gruel. Not only would she never be allowed to go outdoors again, but her mama said they were mean to the people there, frightfully mean.

A lump rose in Annie’s throat, and tears scalded her eyes. She dumped the shards onto the table and brushed her hands clean, avoiding Alex’s gaze. If only he would leave. She could put her own clothes back on, take down her hair. Maybe, if she was very, very good and never came back up here again, he would forget all that he’d seen and not tell her papa.

She gave a little start when he suddenly grasped her chin and forced her to look at him. Annie blinked, but it was futile. The tears in her eyes had nowhere to go but out, and they spilled over her lashes onto her cheeks.

“Hey...”

She imagined his voice, low and laced with gentle scolding. For some reason, that made her want to cry all the harder. With leathery fingertips, he wiped the wetness from her cheeks. One corner of his mouth turned up in a crooked smile.

“Don’t be afraid, Annie love. Everything is going to be all right. I promise you that.”

It was easy for him to say. He wasn’t the one who might have to eat worms. Disconcerted by his penetrating gaze, she lowered her lashes. In response, he strengthened his grip on her chin and gave her a slight shake. Startled, she looked at him again.

“Trust me,” he said very slowly. “Do you know that word, trust? It means that I want you to believe I’m your friend. Can you try to do that?”

Annie gave him the blank look that she had perfected with fourteen years of practice. His smile deepened. “You can’t fool me. I know damned well you understand what I’m saying.”

With that, he released her and pushed to his feet. Uncertain what to do, Annie remained crouched at his feet. When she finally found the courage to lift her gaze to his, she found that he was smiling and had one hand extended to her. “Come on, let’s go downstairs. Maddy isn’t going to believe her eyes.”

Annie’s heart started to race. She cast a frantic glance at her own clothing, which she’d left folded over the rocker. He followed her gaze, then smiled and shook his head. “Just as you are. Come on.” When she made no move to obey him, he leaned down to grasp her arm and draw her up. “I’ll send a maid up to get your things,” he assured her. “Except for the mouse, of course. I’m afraid he’ll have to stay up here.”

She shot an anxious glance into the shadows. When she looked back at him, Alex said, “I’ll give strict orders that none of your little friends are to be hurt, I promise. So stop worrying. I can’t say the same for the spiders, however.” Following her example, he peered into the darkness that encroached upon them.