Secrets of a Summer Night (31 page)

He was well aware that scenes like the one she had endured two evenings ago would have reduced any other sheltered young woman to embarrassed tears, and yet Annabelle had handled it with relative poise. They had attended a soiree given by a wealthy French architect and his wife, a rather chaotic affair with flowing wine and too many guests, resulting in an atmosphere of raucous immoderation. Having left Annabelle at a table of acquaintances for just a few minutes, Simon had returned from a private conversation with the host to discover that his flustered wife had been cornered by two men who were drawing cards to see who would have the privilege of drinking champagne from her shoe.

Although the game was being played in a spirit of fun, it had been clear that the rivals for Annabelle’s favor were deriving a great amount of enjoyment from her discomfort. There was nothing more pleasurable to those of jaded disposition than assaulting someone’s modesty, especially when their victim was an obvious innocent. Although Annabelle had been trying to make light of it, the brazen game had distressed her, and the smile on her face had been entirely false. Standing from her seat, she had cast a quick glance around the room in search of sanctuary.

Maintaining a bland social facade, Simon had reached the table and slid a reassuring hand over Annabelle’s stiff back, his thumb stroking over the ridge at the exposed top of her spine. He had felt her relax slightly, and the hectic color had eased from her face as she looked up at him. “They’re quarreling over who will drink pink champagne from my shoe,” she had told him breathlessly. “I did
not
suggest it, and I don’t know how—”

“Well, that’s a problem easily solved,” Simon had interrupted matter-of-factly. He had been well aware that a crowd was gathering, eager to see if he would lose his temper over the men’s audacious advances toward his wife. Gently but firmly, he had guided Annabelle back into her chair. “Have a seat, sweetheart.”

“But I don’t want—” she had begun uneasily, and gasped as Simon sank to his haunches before her. Reaching beneath the hem of her skirts, he removed both her beaded satin slippers. “Simon!” Her eyes had been round with astonishment.

Standing, Simon had handed a slipper to each rival with a flourish. “You may have the shoes, gentlemen — just so long as you’re both aware that their contents belong to me.” Picking up his barefoot wife, he had carried her from the room, while the crowd reacted with laughter and applause. On the way out, they had passed the waiter who had been sent to fetch the bottle of champagne. “We’ll take that,” Simon told the dumbfounded waiter, who had handed the heavy chilled bottle to Annabelle.

Simon had carried Annabelle out to the carriage, while she clutched the bottle in one hand and curled her free arm around his neck. “You’re going to cost me a fortune in footwear,” he told her.

Laughter had shimmered in her eyes. “I have some more shoes back at the hotel,” she told him cheerfully. “Are you planning to drink champagne from one of them?”

“No, my love. I’m going to drink it from you.”

She had shot him a startled glance, and as understanding dawned, she had pressed her face against his shoulder, her ear turning crimson.

Recalling the episode, and the pleasurable hours that had followed, Simon looked down at the woman in his arms. The glittering light of eight chandeliers was reflected in her upturned eyes, filling them with tiny sparks that made the blue irises look like a starry summer midnight. She was staring at him with an intensity that she had never shown before, as if she yearned for something she might never have. The look disquieted him, eliciting a powerful need to satisfy her in any way possible. Whatever she might have asked him for in that moment, he would have given without a qualm.

No doubt they presented a hazard to every other couple there, as the room had become dreamily unfocused, and Simon couldn’t bring himself to give a damn about which direction they were going. They danced until people remarked dryly that it was rather gauche for a husband and wife to display such exclusivity at a ball, and that soon after the honeymoon they would tire of each other’s company. Simon only grinned at such comments, and bent to whisper in Annabelle’s ear. “Are you sorry now that you never danced with me?”

“No,” she whispered back. “If I hadn’t been a challenge, you would have lost interest.”

Letting out a low laugh, Simon hooked his arm around her waist and led her to the side of the room. “That would never happen. Everything you do or say interests me.”

“Really,” she said skeptically. “What about Lord Westcliff’s claim that I’m shallow and self-absorbed?”

As she faced him, Simon braced one hand on the wall near her head and leaned over her protectively. His voice was very soft. “He doesn’t know you.”

“And you do?”

“Yes, I know you.” He reached out to finger a tendril of damp hair that clung to her neck. “You guard yourself carefully. You don’t like to depend on anyone. You’re determined and strong-willed, and you’re decided in your opinions. Not to mention stubborn. But never self-absorbed. And anyone with your intelligence could never be called shallow.” He let his finger stray into the wisps of hair behind her ear. A teasing glint entered his eyes as he added, “You’re also delightfully easy to seduce.”

With an outraged laugh, Annabelle lifted a fist as if to pummel him. “Only for you.”

Chuckling, he grasped her fist in his large hand, and kissed the points of her knuckles. “Now that you’re my wife, Westcliff knows better than ever to utter another word of objection to you or the marriage. If he did, I would end the friendship without a second thought.”

“Oh, but I would never want that, I…” She looked at him in sudden bemusement. “You would do that for me?”

Simon traced a vein of golden hair that ran through the honey brown locks. “There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you.” The vow was sincere. Simon was not a man given to half measures. In return for Annabelle’s commitment to him, she would have his unequivocal loyalty and support.

Annabelle was unaccountably quiet for a long time after that, leading Simon to conclude that she was tired. But when they returned to their room at the
Coeur de Paris
that evening, she gave herself to him with a new fervor, trying to express with her body what she could not say in words.

A
s he had promised, Simon was a generous husband, paying for a lavish quantity of French-made gowns and accessories that would be sent to London when they were finished. When he took Annabelle to a jeweler’s shop one afternoon and told her to pick out anything she liked, she could only shake her head helplessly at the array of diamonds, sapphires, and emeralds spread on black velvet. After years of wearing paste stones and thrice-turned gowns, the habits of economy were slow to die.

“Is there nothing you like?” Simon prodded, lifting a necklace made of white and yellow diamonds strung together like strands of little flowers. He held it against her bare throat, admiring the glitter of diamonds against her fine skin. “What about this?”

“There are earrings to match, madame,” the jeweler said eagerly, “
et aussi
a bracelet that would accompany the piece quite well.”

“It’s beautiful,” Annabelle replied. “It’s just that… well, it seems so odd to walk into a shop and buy a necklace as casually as if it were a tin of sweets.”

Slightly perplexed by her diffidence, Simon regarded her intently, while the jeweler tactfully retreated to the back of the shop. Gently Simon laid the necklace back in its bed of velvet and took Annabelle’s hand in his. His thumb caressed the backs of her fingers. “What is it, sweet? There are other jewelers if this one’s wares are not to your taste—”

“Oh, it’s not that! I suppose I’m so accustomed to
not
buying things, that it’s rather difficult to adjust to the fact that I can now.”

“I have every expectation that you’ll be able to overcome that problem,” Simon replied dryly. “In the meanwhile, I’m tired of seeing you in paste jewels. If you can’t bring yourself to choose something, then allow me.” He proceeded to select two pairs of diamond earrings, the flowered necklace, a bracelet, two long ropes of pearls, and a ring with a five-carat
pear-shaped diamond. Unnerved by such extravagance, Annabelle had offered a few half-hearted protests, until Simon laughed and told her that the more she objected, the more he was going to buy. She promptly closed her mouth and watched with wide eyes as the jewelry was purchased and placed in a velvet-lined mahogany trunk with a little handle on top. Everything except the ring, which Simon slid onto her finger, ascertained that it was too loose, and gave it back to the jeweler.

“What about my ring?” Annabelle asked, holding the mahogany box with both hands as they left the shop. “Are we just going to leave it there?”

Amused, Simon arched his brow as he glanced down at her. “He’s going to resize the band and send it to the hotel later.”

“But what if it gets lost?”

“What happened to your objections? In the shop, you behaved as if you didn’t even want it.”

“Yes, but now it’s
mine,
” she said worriedly, causing him to roar with laughter.

To her relief, the ring was safely delivered to the hotel that evening, in a little velvet-lined box. While Simon gave a coin to the man who had brought it, Annabelle hurriedly emerged from her bath, dried herself, and donned a fresh white nightgown. Closing the door, Simon turned to discover that his wife was standing right behind him, her face lit with the anticipation of a child on Christmas morning. He couldn’t help smiling at her expression, seeing that her efforts to be ladylike were fast being demolished in a rush of excitement. The ring glittered and flashed as he took it from the box and reached for Annabelle’s hand. He slid the ring onto her fourth finger, fitting it snugly against the simple gold band he had given her on their wedding day.

Together they admired the sight of the diamond on her hand, until Annabelle threw her arms around him with an exclamation of delight. Before he could respond, she broke away and did a little dance of glee in her bare feet. “It’s so lovely — look how it sparkles! Simon, do go away — I’m well aware of how horridly mercenary I must appear. Never mind, I
am
mercenary, and you may as well know it. Oh, I do love this ring!”

Enjoying her excitement, Simon caught her slender body against his. “I’m not about to go away,” he informed her. “This is my opportunity to reap the benefits of your gratitude.”

Enthusiastically, Annabelle tugged his head down and crushed her mouth against his. “And so you shall.” She pressed another ardent kiss to his lips. “Now.”

He chuckled at her full-bodied assault. “No doubt I should say that seeing your enjoyment is repayment enough. On the other hand, if you insist—”

“I do! I do insist.” Striding away from him, Annabelle went to the bed, clambered onto the mattress, and dramatically flung herself backward until she landed spread-eagle on the counterpane. Simon followed her into the room, fascinated by her antics. This was an Annabelle he had not seen before, droll and enchantingly capricious. As he approached the bed, she lifted her head and encouraged, “I’m all yours. Start reaping your rewards.”

Deftly he stripped off his jacket and removed his necktie, more than ready to oblige her. Annabelle hoisted herself to a sitting position to watch him. Her legs remained spread beneath the veil of her nightgown, her hair falling in a silky tumble over her shoulders. “Simon… you should know that I would go to bed with you even without this ring.”

“You’re too kind,” he replied dryly, stepping from his trousers. “A husband always likes to hear that he is valued for more than his financial merit.”

Her gaze slid along his lean body. “Of all your merits, Simon, the financial one is probably the least.”

“Probably?” Walking to the edge of the bed, Simon picked up one of her bare feet and pressed his mouth to her tender instep. “Don’t you mean ‘definitely’?”

She fell back, gasping at the warm stroke of his tongue, while the hem of her gown slid to the tops of her thighs. “Oh… yes, definitely. Most definitely…”

Her body was damp and sweet from her recent bath, retaining the crisp scent of soap and the heady influence of rose oil. Aroused by the sight of her pink, fragrant skin, Simon kissed and nibbled his way to her ankle, then to her knee. At first Annabelle giggled and writhed beneath the ministrations of his mouth, but when he moved to her other leg, she quieted, her breath coming in slow, deep surges. He knelt between her parted thighs, inching her gown upward and kissing every newly exposed inch of flesh, until he had reached the thatch of glinting curls. After letting his chin barely graze the springy softness, he continued his journey upward, while she made a feeble sound of protest. Intoxicated by the velvety texture of her skin, he kissed her waist and each tender projection of her ribs, making his way to the place on her chest where her heart pounded beneath his lips.

Annabelle made a pleading sound and took hold of his hand, trying to bring it between her thighs. Resisting with a quiet laugh, Simon pinned both of her wrists over her head and settled his mouth on hers. He sensed her surprise at being restrained, and the response that followed, her eyes closing and her breath striking his cheek in a faster rhythm. Maintaining the secure grip on her wrists with one hand, he slid his free hand along the front of her body, his fingertips circling the peaks of her breasts. His own body was hard and hot with arousal, his muscles tight with coiling need. In all his experience with lovemaking, he had never known such feverish absorption, all connection to the world outside completely severed so that he was occupied only with Annabelle… her delight fueling his… her quivering responses intensifying his own desire. Her mouth opened beneath his in trembling welcome, moans slipping from her throat as his penetrating kisses became more aggressively penetrating. He touched the crevice between her legs, loving the silky moisture of her flesh. Her body undulated upward, her hips tilting toward his hand, while her imprisoned wrists flexed in his grasp. Every writhing movement communicated her need to be taken and filled, and his body hardened to an exquisite degree as primitive hunger rushed through him.