At Least Once More (3 page)

Annabelle stiffened in Gareth’s arms.

“Did you see poor Lord Thornton’s face when they arrived?” another voice asked. “He must be relieved not to be trapped in marriage to a horse-faced ninny.”

Annabelle’s thin frame trembled, and he gathered her closer. He didn’t know if her body’s response was caused by the chill in the air or the frost in the voices, but it mattered not. The urge to shield her from both was too great to ignore.

Gripping the lapels of his jacket, she nestled closer to him until her forearms rested along his torso. Her hips and thighs brushed his. The heat from her body beckoned him closer.

He bit back a groan as the need to comfort flamed into desire. If she turned her head up but a fraction, he could claim her lips, but he doubted he’d be able to stop there. If he twisted them slightly, he could pin her against the wall, bring her flush against him—

“Do you think someone should warn His Grace?” yet a third voice inquired.

He stilled. Warn him about what?

A titter sounded. “That brute of a man can fend for himself. Besides, they’re related somehow. He is surely only lending his reputation to hers.” The voice dropped. “Not that he has much of a reputation himself. I heard…” The voices trailed off as the women no doubt returned indoors.

****

Related? Confusion dulled the desire coursing through Annabelle’s blood. Had she been having lustful thoughts about a relative? That was an even worse deed than if he was married, which she hadn’t even…She shook her head—better to ask the questions than lose herself in speculation—and shoved from Gareth’s arms.

For one brief moment, she feared—and hoped—he wouldn’t relinquish his hold and she’d do something stupid like tilt her face up for a kiss, but then she was free. With shaky hands, she smoothed the material of her dress. “What horrid ladies.” She hated gossip. It was rarely accurate, but yet the biddies had roused her curiosity. How exactly were they related? And what exactly was his reputation?

He couldn’t be more than a cousin, and even a distant cousin, William wouldn’t allow within ten paces if the relation was also a fortune hunter. Then what? A rake? If so, then he wouldn’t be married. Did he see her as a potential conquest? Excitement heated her skin. She wet her lips.

“I believe the term ladies only applies loosely in their cases.” He folded his arms across his chest. The action made him appear even broader.

A dull throb pulsed at the apex of her thighs. Some might consider his size intimidating, but she’d quite enjoyed having those same arms wrapped around her only moments ago. She would definitely entertain the notion of being enfolded in them again. “Yes, well, at least they saved us from doing something foolish in the extreme.”

He cocked his head to the side. “What do you mean?”

Embarrassment washed through her. Had she imagined the attraction between them—but then what had he meant by misbehave? She forced a laugh. “As you heard, I’m renowned for dragging gentlemen into untenable scrapes. I would hate for your kindness to a relation to have been thought of as more.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “You did know we’re related?”

He waved a hand. “Cousins many times removed. And, I’m sure there’s more to the story than what those women think to be the truth. I generally treat gossip as nonsense.”

Was it all nonsense? She was a horse-faced ninny. One who had repeatedly thrown herself at unsuitable men. She studied Gareth’s face, but his expression was hidden in shadows. “Not all nonsense. I’m not the most attractive of women, and Lord Thornton is undoubtedly relieved not to be married to me.”

Gareth’s hand shot out. Any other miss might have flinched, but she leaned in, wanting to feel the strength, the power he held reined. But when he cupped her chin, his touch was even gentler than she’d anticipated.

His thumb teased her lower lip. Her body tightened in the strangest ways—her nipples as if she were cold, her belly as if she were hungry. But neither of those things were true. Heat warmed her veins and a fullness weighted her breasts. Her belly.

“You may not be a classic English beauty, but then you’re not English, are you?”

She moistened her lips, the tip of her tongue catching his thumb. The material of his glove tasted faintly of leather and tobacco. “It’s all right. I know I’m no beauty.”

He stepped closer. His knuckles skimmed her cheek when he brushed an errant strand of hair off her face. “I see beauty. Chestnut hair shot through with strands of gold.” He lightly touched the corner of her eye with a finger. “Eyes, whose blue varies like the colors of the day, but decorated with the sparkle of starry nights.”

Her breath caught at the poetic words spoken in the tempting, lilting tone. No suitor had ever uttered such sweet words. What a fool she had been, though not as big a fool as she was about to become.

He trailed his finger lower, down her cheek to her chin, which she tilted upward. “Lips that beg to be tasted.”

She swallowed hard as his head descended. Unlike the quick, soft kisses she’d experienced before—ones that had always left her disappointed and doubting her own thoughts about hidden delights—Gareth’s lips were firm, certain. They moved over hers with purpose. Probing. Seeking. She parted her lips, and his tongue stroked inward.

She gasped as fire shot through her. Her nipples tightened painfully, but the pain was so pleasurable. The throbbing between her legs increased. She sought the firm planes of his body. Her breasts flattened against his chest. Her hips cradled his. Elation soared through her at the rigid proof of his sex pressing into her. Here was a man who wanted her person.

“Miss Abbott, I believe you’re about to miss our set.”

With a gasp, she broke away from Gareth, but his grasp prevented her from putting much-needed distance between their bodies. She twisted her head toward the corner of the veranda, where Lord Markham propped a shoulder against the house’s stone facade. His legs were crossed at the ankles as if he were asking about the weather and not witnessing her compromise. “My lord—”

“Bugger off, Markham.”

At the growl in Gareth’s voice, where the heat of embarrassment should have burned, flames of desire licked instead. Would Markham leave? She willed him away. The answers to her questions dangled just outside her reach.

Lord Markham crossed his arms. “I’m afraid I would be remiss in my duties as a good host if I didn’t see Miss Abbott inside.”

Gareth’s grip tightened until his fingers dug into her arms. The tight pressure shot thrilling tendrils to her peaked nipples.

Her breath caught. When Lord Thornton had grabbed her thusly after William and Minerva had overtaken them, only disgust at being manhandled had filled her. Of course Thornton had never inspired anything like the emotions racing through her. Thank God William had saved her from that mistake. She would not be extending a similar thanks to Markham for saving her from this mistake though.

The earl swept her body with a knowing look before focusing on Gareth’s hand. “‘Ware your strength, Grey, lest you leave marks.”

Gareth released his hold and staggered back a step as if punched.

Blood rushed to where he’d gripped her arms, to her throbbing sex, and roared in her ears. Confusion rolled through her at the strange set of sensations. Surely it wasn’t normal to find pain arousing? To have lust rule one’s body to the point that all discretion was lost?

“Come, my dear.”

Annabelle shifted her gaze between Markham’s hand and Gareth’s still form. “Gareth?” One word and she’d stay, her promise to Minerva but a distant thought to the temptation of feeling his lips on hers at least once more. Besides, Gareth was William’s friend. Surely, her brother would approve?

“Go.” His harsh tone grated along her nerves. Shame doused the flames of desire. “Make sure you return her to Lady Minerva directly after the dance.”

“No worries, old friend.” Lord Markham’s smile should have irritated her, but the possessiveness in Gareth’s warning tone sent elation through Annabelle.

Surely if they were old friends, as Markham claimed, Gareth wouldn’t remind Markham of etiquette. He would know, as her brother and Minerva seemed to know, of the earl’s devotion to his countess. Or maybe because they were old friends, Gareth had reason to believe Markham would now think her of easy virtue and attempt to take advantage of that.

A dark thrill shot through Annabelle. To possibly be pursued by two of the most handsome men in one night. Her legs threatened to buckle. What would a woman do with the attentions of two men? Not that she’d ever allow Markham any of the liberties she’d given Gareth.

She accepted Markham’s hand, which he then tucked into his side and covered with one of his own—much like a father or brother.

She bit back a small smile. So much for that little fantasy.

“Tell me, Miss Abbott, have you ever heard the expression, ‘out of the frying pan, into the fire’?”

Or maybe not. That husky tone didn’t sound at all paternal or brotherly. Had she finally gotten herself into an inescapable scrape? Fantasizing about Markham pursuing her was one thing, but for him to actually do it was another thing all together. He was married—completely and totally unavailable.

Nausea turned her stomach. Gareth could be those things as well. She had only assumed as a rake he wouldn’t be, but yet here was Markham proving a married rake wasn’t necessarily a reformed rake. Nausea turned her stomach. “My lord, if you wouldn’t mind, I think I’d rather sit this set out.”

“Are you sure about that? Do you think the sensations coursing through your body will diminish with inactivity?” He tsked and shook his head. “You’re better off dancing to work off some of the frustration that will settle in soon.”

Dancing. He’d said dancing. And maybe she should take his advice, for what did she really know of the aftereffects of lust? Until tonight, her body had never felt like a vessel waiting to be filled. Indeed, until tonight, her feelings had all been but ghostly echoes of what could be.

But now she knew. She knew the pounding need, which even now still throbbed in her veins despite the questions galloping through her head. “Whatever you think best, my lord.”

And, since he and Gareth were old friends, perhaps he could answer the uppermost question in her mind. “Tell me, my lord, is His Grace married?”

Lord Markham laughed a deep belly laugh. “A little late to be asking that question, my dear.” He squeezed her hand before relinquishing it so they could take their places for the country dance.

“Pardon, my lord?” Was that a yes? Frustration gnawed as the steps of the dance parted them, forcing her to wait for his response.

“No, Miss Abbott. He is imminently eligible. And apparently very fortunate.”

She fought against stamping her foot. “Whatever do you mean, my lord?” She’d wanted answers from him, but instead, he inspired more questions.

She bit back a grunt as they were once again separated. When he returned to her side, he said, “You are a treasure, Miss Abbott. One not to be taken lightly.”

Heat flushed her skin. Not one, but two men tonight had made her feel special. “Thank you, my lord.”

“Don’t thank me, Miss Abbott. If not for my lovely wife, I fear I would be behaving myself in a most unacceptable fashion.” He sighed, a small smile teasing the corners of his lips. “But lucky for you, I’ve left my wilder days behind.”

A surge of something inexplicable flowed through her. If he were an eligible
parti
, would he have been truly interested in her? She shook her head. It mattered not. She couldn’t, shouldn’t be interested in two men. One man to quench the fire in her veins and still the questions on her tongue was all she needed. One unmarried man.

Maybe she was just a complete wanton. But no, if that were the case she’d have long ago given herself to a field hand or a stable boy or some other equally ineligible male, such as a married and, supposedly, reformed rake.

When their steps entwined once more, he said, “Pardon, Miss Abbott. I should not have said the last.” He shook his head. “Sometimes old habits are hard to break. Did you have any other questions you wanted to ask of me?”

Annabelle locked her jaw to stifle a scream as they once again parted. She had a myriad of questions, all of them completely inappropriate. Why did she ache so? Did pain and pleasure go hand in hand? Could a woman be with two men? The last more for curiosity sake. She just wanted one man to want her.

But, given the way of me had flowed off Markham’s tongue in a low promising tone, the man knew she couldn’t ask for answers to any of her queries. Mayhap sitting the dance out would have led to some form of frustration, but it couldn’t possibly have been worse than this.

The dance concluded, bringing Markham back to her and ending her torment. At last, they could hold a decent conversation.

As she rose from her curtsy, Markham smiled. “Again, I beg pardon, Miss Abbott. I am not the one to answer the questions burning the tip of your tongue. You ride in the morning, correct? I’ll rouse my lovely wife and ensure she meets you.”

With a polite smile and bow, he deposited her at her sister-in-law’s side and disappeared before she could utter a word. She fisted her hands as the need to stomp her foot and scream threatened her composure.

“Did you enjoy the sets?” Minerva asked.

“Yes, but I fear I feel a headache coming on.” Annabelle never suffered from megrims, but she didn’t trust herself to not compromise herself further tonight by seeking out the answers she wanted. Besides, Markham had promised she’d receive her answers in the morning.

She needed to get a good night’s rest because after tomorrow morning, she had a feeling her world would be different. She scoffed. Who was she fooling? Her world was already different. No longer did she have vague suppositions to heat her blood. Now she had the memory of firm lips against her own, a hard body clasped to hers and a hollow ache between her thighs to remind her there was more to be had between a man and a woman.

Relief washed across Minerva’s face as she took a deep breath. With a hand to her belly, she said, “Oh, good. Well, not good that you feel a headache coming on, but I fear I’m not feeling at all the thing either.”