Kay Springsteen (12 page)

He knew! Somehow he knew she
’
d been pilfering the food that had been sent for him. Of course, she hadn
’
t been terribly skilled at hiding her trail. She never should have indulged in that second scone.

Seabrook inclined his head and raised one eyebrow.

Annabella took a step back
,
but bumped into the chair. Trapped! Heat rushed to her face. She couldn
’
t seem to think straight. No, if he knew she was pinching some of his food, he
’
d have said something. Why would he invite her to take a meal with him?

His smile widened and
a calculated gleam entered his eyes. Of course… He
’
d expected a
guest
, maybe an evening
’
s loving entertainment. And now that his visitor hadn
’
t arrived…

“
You have such an aversion for dining alone you would lower yourself to take your meal with a servant?
”
She narrowed her eyes.
“
And what would such a fine meal cost the servant with whom you dine?
”

Confusion clouded his expression.
“
Cost?
”

Annabella jutted her chin outward.
“
Yes. Cost. What would you expect? A few stolen kisses? An evening
’
s dalliance, perhaps?
Was
that the nature of your… guest? Some little trollop who didn
’
t keep to your bargain?
”
She rolled her eyes, enjoying the look of discomfiture that settled over his fine features.
“
Such women can be so… unreliable. I do hope you didn
’
t pay in advance for her services… my lord.
”

Crimson seeped from beneath his cravat as a predatory glint replaced the confusion on his face.
“
I wonder if you might have more knowledge of that than I,
Annie
.
”
He cocked one eyebrow and took a step forward.
“
I assure you, h
ad I desire for a woman, I would not need to seek one from the streets.
”

Oh, what had she done? Her mother often warned her that she allowed her tongue too much free rein. Was she about to pay for her wicked remark? She shrank away from him
,
but the table hadn
’
t moved. Her mouth worked as she tried to force an apology, but though she knew what she wanted to say, the words hung in her throat.

Seabrook lifted his hand and moved it toward her face. Trembling, Annabella darted a gaze at the kitchen door, just visible over his left shoulder. Escape. If only she could—

He stopped just short of touching, his fingers hovering so close she could feel their warmth even without the contact. Something softened in his eyes, stripped the edginess from his intent.
“
What happened to your face?
”
he murmured.

“
M-my face?
”
Annabella hated the tremor in her voice
,
but she couldn
’
t seem to make it stop.

“
You
’
ve scratches on you cheek.
”
He leaned closer.
“
You look as though you
’
ve been fighting with a cat.
”

Annabella lifted a hand
to her cheek and winced when she brushed the skin just to the side of her left eye. It must have been the brambles. She dropped her hand and pushed out her chin.
“
I expect you
’
d know more about cat fights than I, given the company you likely keep.
”
Filled
with disdain, she swept the table with a glance and when he followed her motion with his eyes, she adeptly side-stepped and pushed past him.
“
Or in this case, apparently do
not
keep. Enjoy your… supper. My lord,
”
she tossed over her shoulder as she all bu
t stumbled into the kitchen.

After she shut the door, she leaned against it, willing her traitorous heart to stop its mad pounding. For just a moment, she
’
d been tempted by his offer. Oh, to enjoy a fine meal with intelligent company.

Not
his
company. Intelligent perhaps, but
also
insufferable, overbearing, infuriating—

She opened her mouth and drew in a sharp breath, but she suppressed the scream of frustration that begged for release, turning it instead into a long, harsh sigh. Her gaze strayed to the pantry, where her measly supper of bread and cheese awaited.

Annabella slumped, her mood deflated. She
’
d done it again. She might have at least allowed herself to enjoy a decent meal and fine wine before she ran off in a fit of pique.

Her mouth watered at the memory of those asparagus tips smothered in creamy sauce. Odd, how once she
’
d balked at eating them. With her father
’
s encouragement, she
’
d tried the green spears and discovered herself to be quite fond of them.

And now, Seabrook sat at the dining table —
her
dining table — eating the tender shoots. Even if he left any, they would be cold, the sauce congealed into an unappetizing lump. She kicked at the bare floor.

The pantry had the same dusty smell when she entered. Suppressing a sneeze, she walked directly to the barrel and pried open the lid. Wine… wine would go nicely with her cheese at least. She ran her fingers over the velvet bag shrouding the bottle she
’
d stashed with her pilfered food. Surely a taste would hurt nothing. If she didn
’
t like it, she would recork the bottle and place it back in the barrel.

Annabella gathered the cheese and bread, picked up the velvet bag with the wine, and hurried back to the kitchen. After she set her food on the worktable nearest the bank of windows, she crossed to the oak storage hutch that contained the chipped and battered dishes. With thoughts of mice on her mind, she slapped the outside of the wide drawer a few times, hoping to frighten off anything that might be lurking inside. She jerked on the drawer and jumped back, waiting to see what might pop out.

Nothing moved except the iron ladle that had been jostled with her motion. Annabella frowned. The ladle was the only thing in the drawer. She couldn
’
t very well open the bottle of wine with that. What did the kitchen staff use to open bottles of oil? She slammed the drawer shut and opened the top cabinet to grab her plate. Struggling against disheartened feelings, she shuffled over to the table.

The velvet pouch had sagged down, exposing the top of the dark green bottle. The thing mocked her as she loaded her plate with cheese and bread. To make matters worse, the aroma of Seaside
’
s lavish meal lingered in the air. She broke off a chunk of orange cheese and nibbled on the edge. Smoky sharpness tickled her tongue and heat pervaded her face.

Idly, she scraped one fingernail along the wax coating the corked top of the bottle. A little of the burgundy sealant flaked off. Another nibble of cheese and a bit more scraping, and more wax peeled loose. Then she set the cheese down, stripped the velvet from the wine bottle, and began gouging at the wax. Some of it got beneath her fingernails but most ended up on the table. When
she had bared the cork
, she tried twisting
it,
but it had swollen into the mouth of the bottle and was stuck fast.

Annabella poked at it with her dinner fork
,
but it still wouldn
’
t budge.
“
Oh, what
’
s the use?
”
Frustrated, she shoved the bottle across the table. It teetered and
rolled
onto its side with a dull thud.
“
Well, that was silly!
”
Sighing, she picked up the bottle again.
“
You might have broken it, you ninny. And then you
’
d have nothing.
”

In the middle of standing the bottle upright, she froze. That was it! She could break the top off. Of course, that meant she wouldn
’
t be able to re-cork it, but if Seaside finished off his wine, she could pinch one of his decanters and fill it with whatever she had left.

A giggle slipped out. The solution was so simple. She tripped over to the hutch and removed a goblet, then fairly danced back to her place at the table. It took three strikes of the bottle
’
s neck against the heavy wooden table before she heard the soft crack. After one final blow, the neck of the bottle popped off the body and flew across the room, where it struck the door and then bounced to the floor.
Reddish liquid sloshed from the opening and coated her fingers.

A sweet, fruity, cedar aroma wafted up to stroke Annabella
’
s awareness. Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply, inexplicably reminded of Papa
’
s cigar box. Oh, how she
’
d loved lifting the lid and smelling his fine cigars. She
’
d had to be careful to do it when her mother wouldn
’
t catch her at it.

“
Annabella! Close that at once. Such things are not in the least ladylike,
”
announced Regina, wrinkling her nose in distaste.

“
But, Mama, I like the smell!
”
Annabella stomped her foot and looked to Papa for help.

“
Let her be, Reggie,
”
he said with a soft chuckle. He ruffled Annabella
’
s hair.
“
She
’
s only seven years old. Plenty of time to grow into being a lady yet.
”

“
And plenty of time to grow into a hoyden if we let her,
”
snapped her mother, slamming the lid
on
Papa
’
s cigar box.

Scowling at the memory that had stolen her moment of happiness, Annabella raised the broken bottle and waved it beneath her nose, inhaling slowly.
Almost giddy with
her success
, she brushed a shard of glass from the broken edge and then tipped the bottle and poured a generous measure into her goblet. The garnet colored liquid sparkled as it caught a bit of light from the nearby candle flame. The bouquet ros
e to permeate the air as
Annabella
lifted the goblet and sipped.

Sweet blackberry and cedar splashed over her palate. She swished the wine a bit before swallowing. The mild burn in the back of her throat was instantly quieted by the silkiness of the flavorful blend. Annabella moaned softly. None of the wine served at Wyndham Green had ever been this smooth. She took another sip, swirled the glass and took another. Smiling, she broke off some of the crusty bread and bit. Then she sank her teeth into a piece of cheese, enjoying the bite of the cheddar against the yeasty taste of the bread. Another sip of wine soothed away the sharpness.

Seaside could have his fancy supper. She was quite enjoying her makeshift meal. She lifted the glass and drained it, then stared at the bottle. Such a lovely bottle, all green and shiny… and such pretty red wine that sparkled as it sloshed into her goblet. Right. Just one more glass then.