At Least Once More (9 page)

A watery laugh escaped. “We both know that would never have worked. I’d have snuck out.”

A half-smile on his face, he squeezed her fingers. “Yes. No doubt you would have.” He released her hands, then stood and propped a hip against the desk. “Now, given the…uh…circumstances of this morning’s events, Grey and I agree it is best not to show more haste than necessary with the wedding. So, no special license. The banns will be called, and you’ll marry in a month.” His gaze dropped to her lap. “If there are consequences from your actions today…” He returned his gaze to hers and shrugged.

Heat flamed Annabelle’s cheeks. What an uncomfortable discussion to have with one’s brother! She studied the books lining the wall. “Yes, well, it’s not unheard of for babes to come early.”

She covered her stomach. Had she and Gareth created a life today? Warmth shimmered in her chest at the image that popped to mind of a black-haired, green-eyed little boy.

****

Annabelle clenched her fist as she recalled her happiness at the thought of having a child with Gareth. If he kept up his cold behavior of the past three weeks, he wouldn’t survive long enough to father a babe. Either he’d feigned attraction to her to get her to marry him and couldn’t stomach the idea of touching her again, or he was just being a proper gentleman and a horse’s ass. Whatever the reason, she was going to kill him.

“You know he’s only marrying her for her fortune.” Miss Fitzwilliam-Smythe’s high-pitched voice carried through the open terrace doors to where Annabelle stood just inside.

“Actually, my love, that isn’t even the best part. He compromised her first, giving her brother no choice but to say yes.”

Digby. Markham’s words had obviously not deterred the sniveling cur from gossiping. Her stomach turned. Gossip was so rarely true, but it did often bear a kernel of truth within its rotten core. Had Gareth compromised her to ensure her brother’s agreement to a marriage proposal? Nausea churned. Had she unwittingly aided his plan with her silly need to have a man prove he desired her body?

“Smile, Miss Abbott.” She jumped at Markham’s voice so close to her ear. “You’re supposed to be happy.”

Annabelle whirled until her back was to the open terrace doors letting in the cool night air. However, the draft did nothing to ease the heat of embarrassment warming her blood. No one wanted to be caught eavesdropping, even less so when she learned unpleasant half-truths. “Pardon, my lord. I’m feeling a bit out of sorts at the moment. I was hoping some fresh air would help, but I fear I feel even worse now.”

“Excuse us.” Annabelle jumped again at the sound of Digby’s voice behind her. She sidestepped with a nod of her head as he escorted Miss Fitzwilliam-Smythe past her. They nodded their heads, but avoided meeting Annabelle’s gaze.

Cowardly, sniveling curs.

Without another word, the pair walked deeper into the ballroom. Digby whispered something in the ear of his betrothed and she broke into a giggle.

Those two deserved each other.

Markham locked gazes with Annabelle. “Yes, the air isn’t quite as refreshing as one would hope. Is there somewhere else I can escort you to?”

The little tingle of apprehension that Annabelle had always ignored in the past, the one that alerted her she was about to do something stupid even if she wasn’t sure just what, turned her belly and tightened the base of her skull. She couldn’t claim ignorance any longer. While it was perfectly possible Markham meant only to see to her comfort, given his reputation as a rake, reformed or not, his marital status, the mere fact he was a man, all dictated she say no to his latter question.

She swallowed hard. “Thank you for the kind offer, my lord. However, that would be highly improper.”

Markham compressed his lips into a thin line and his brows drew together. “What have they done to you, my dear?”

Annabelle frowned. “Whatever do you mean, my lord?”

He folded his arms, the action stretching the superfine of his evening jacket tight. “Please stop my lord-ing me. I mean whatever happened to the delightful Miss Abbott who gave only a passing nod to propriety? The one who ran headlong into adventure without thought?”

She lifted a shoulder. “I guess she was finally chastised.” It didn’t matter that she really hadn’t been searching for adventure. She’d only wanted to find a man who wanted her, and if Digby were to be believed, she hadn’t even managed that.

Tears welled in her throat. She couldn’t cry, not here at the ball meant to celebrate her upcoming marriage, not now when the whole
ton
watched.

She inhaled a deep but shaky breath. What had happened to her? She’d never cared what people thought before.

Discontent weighted her shoulders. It was all Gareth’s fault.

As if echoing her thoughts, Markham shook his head. “Damn fool,” he muttered. “That is not at all what I meant.”

“No? Then what did you mean.” Really, his cryptic comments exhausted her. The whole situation wore on her. She chewed her lower lip. Maybe she should have let William send her back to America after all.

Markham’s gaze swept the ballroom. “Would it be proper for you to show me where the study is? I’m supposed to meet your brother there to discuss some business matters later.”

She narrowed her eyes, the tingle of apprehension growing into racing warning pulses. Then again, William was known to sneak off at parties to conduct business… “I suppose.”

He offered his arm. “Lead the way, my dear.”

They skirted the dancers on the floor. A waltz had struck up. Gareth’s dance. He’d claimed them all at every event they’d attended since the announcement of their engagement.

She searched the room and found Gareth standing on the opposite side of the dance floor with his gaze fixed on where her hand rested on Markham’s arm. His fists were clenched and tension radiated from his stiff form, much like the morning he’d found her and Markham in the park.

She tossed her head. He could fume all he wanted. She was tired of being lectured on proper behavior, and that’s all he’d done during their waltzes, carriage rides, and strolls. Indignation flared. Him. The man who’d danced her out onto the terrace with the intent of luring her into misbehaving.

Well, she had, and aside from those long, delicious minutes in Markham’s morning room, she hadn’t had a moment’s pleasure since.

Discounting her solitary explorations at night. Her skin flushed. She really was a wanton, and probably needed those lectures. Now that she’d learned what ecstasy awaited, she couldn’t keep her hands from seeking the wetness that wept from her woman’s mound every time she recalled Gareth’s thickness inside her. Though, no matter what she did, it wasn’t the same as having Gareth himself seated deep within.

Markham coughed and she met his gaze. “Dare I ask what thoughts have put that rosy flush on your cheeks?”

She sighed. Markham probably never neglected his wife. “Pardon, my lord. I think I’m just overheated from the crush.”

Thankfully, they’d reached the hallway, which was empty for the moment. She led the way to William’s study and pushed open the door. “Here we are.”

A fire burned in the grate. Whether Markham’s story about meeting with her brother was true or not, William obviously planned to be there later. “Now, I should return before my absence is remarked upon.”

Markham grabbed her arm when she turned to leave. “A moment, if you please. I owe you an apology.”

She laughed. This was a first. Wasn’t she always the one apologizing? She folded her arms. “About?”

His gaze shot down the long hall to where another couple, engaged in a heated discussion, stood outside the ballroom doors. He pointed into the study. “Might we? We can leave the door open, of course.”

Of course, they’d leave the door open. It was only the proper thing to do. Did she even care anymore? Wasn’t she already ruined? What more could happen? She shrugged and strolled into the room.

Markham walked past her to lean against the desk. He placed his hands on the wood behind him, tugging his evening clothes tight. He really was an impressive man, though not as imposing as Gareth. Heat fanned her skin as she recalled Gareth’s broad form beneath her. She suppressed a shudder and widened her eyes. “You were saying?”

“I’m sorry for getting you into this mess, Annabelle.”

She cocked her head to the side. He hadn’t created this situation, she had. Her reckless behavior, her wanton nature had answered Gareth’s demands. A low throb started in her core and she clenched her muscles tight.

Nay, she had enjoyed Gareth’s demands. A thrill shot from the nub hidden in her folds to increase the pulsing low in her belly and tighten her nipples into hard buds. Thank goodness for stays and shifts.

“Markham, you didn’t have anything to do with this.”

No, if Digby’s rumors were to be believed, Gareth had carefully planned the whole thing out. And now that he had what he really wanted—her fortune—he could care less about her person.

“Really? Because I’m the one who told Grey about our planned meeting at Rotten Row.”

She smoothed the wrinkles from her gloves. “Hmm, yes. Why exactly did you do that?”

Had he been in on the whole sorry affair from the start? Not that she was sorry over what had happened in his morning room that day. If she were to be truthful with herself, her regrets centered on what hadn’t occurred again since.

She couldn’t do anything about why Gareth was marrying her, but the idea of never experiencing the intense sensations revealed that morning left a hollow ache inside.

Markham picked up the horse-shaped, bronze paperweight from William’s desk and studied the detail. “I’m sure you’re aware of my reputation, my dear.”

Heat prickled Annabelle’s skin, and the fireplace was too far away to have been the cause. She swept her gaze along Markham’s relaxed form, one of almost feigned indifference. Why bring up his reputation now, when they were alone, far enough away from the ballroom not to be heard by guests? “I believe the whole
ton
is aware of your reputation, my lord.”

Hadn’t he mentioned finding her person attractive? But as a married man, he obviously couldn’t take advantage of an innocent miss. However, he also knew she was no longer untouched.

Shame warred with longing. She wanted to be wanted, but by Gareth, fortune-hunting fool that he was. But the thought of never being touched again…

She shuddered.

The corner of the earl’s mouth tilted. “Yes, well. In my…uhm…numerous adventures, I met women who enjoyed certain activities.”

Heat raced through Annabelle’s veins. Almost of their own volition, her feet shuffled closer to where Markham stood. “What kind of activities?” What more could occur between a woman and a man?

“Yes, Markham, please do tell.”

With a squeak, Annabelle faced the doorway. Gareth reclined against the jamb, arms loose at his sides, looking for all the world as if the conversation revolved around a trivial topic like the weather. What in her and Markham’s conversation had made his obvious anger in the ballroom dissipate?

“Ah, there you are, old man.” Markham put the paperweight down with a heavy thunk. “I was wondering when you’d show.”

Annabelle whipped her gaze to Markham. Oh good Lord, he’d done it again. He’d arranged for them to be alone and have Gareth find them. But why?

She was tired of being manipulated. She stomped her foot and frowned at Markham. “My lord, please explain yourself.”

He straightened, shrugged his shoulders, then tugged his jacket sleeves down. “You’re like a spirited mare, my dear. A firm hand on the reins lends itself to an enjoyable ride—”

“That’s enough, Markham,” Gareth barked.

Heat flamed her face as the earl bowed before strolling past her. The man couldn’t possibly know exactly what she and Gareth had done in the morning room, yet his reference implied he did.

As he neared Gareth, Markham added, “But if one’s not careful, he could also break her.” Then his voice dropped and he whispered something too low for her ears.

Gareth’s eyes narrowed as he nodded once, and then Markham was gone. Gareth shook his head and levered away from the doorframe. “What am I going to do with you, Belle?” He shut the door and threw the lock.

Thrill worked down her spine. This was not proper. “Whatever do you mean, Your Grace? Unlike yourself, Markham was a perfect gentleman and left the door open.”

Gareth snorted. “Don’t try and play the innocent, Belle. That conversation was highly improper.”

She lifted a shoulder. “At least he wasn’t lecturing me on the finer points of etiquette. Tell me, Your Grace, can I only look forward to your attentions in the future if Markham goads you?”

She was no fool. She knew what a locked door meant. Despite her anger, or maybe because of it, she would stay. Liquid warmth pooled low in her belly. She might be trapped in an upcoming marriage with a man who only wanted her money, but, by God, she deserved some payment in return.

“Have you been feeling neglected, Belle?” Stripping his gloves off, he stalked toward her. “Have I not paid the proper amount of attention to you?”

He circled her, the soft wool of his evening coat brushing her arms.

Excitement electrified her skin and heightened her awareness. Every hair on her arm stood at attention. The slightest touch of his flesh to hers and she’d lose the ability to form a coherent sentence. “You’ve been all that is proper, Your Grace.”

He quirked a brow. “Then perhaps I should have been paying you more improper attention.” With a finger, he traced her collarbone.

She fought to keep her eyes open, swallowed to quench her suddenly dry throat, and struggled to sound reprimanding instead of needy when she said, “I would say there was no perhaps about it, Your Grace.”

He stroked the length of her arm. “So, you chose to seek Markham to have that desire satisfied?”

Annabelle locked her knees to prevent melting into a puddle at Gareth’s feet. The man didn’t need his ego stroked. “A woman wants to know she’s desired, Your Grace.”

His eyes sparkled like emeralds in the light. She’d seen that look once before, when he’d dubbed her his Belle. “But a wife should only care about whether her husband desires her. My wife should only care about what I desire.”