Susan Johnson (19 page)

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t when every particle of her being was thinking how
impossible
it would be to stay.

“Just say yes.”

No, no, no!
“Yes,” she whispered, her heart triumphing over reason.

His smile warmed the room, her soul. And perhaps in a way too illusive to recognize, it erased her past as well.

“Now, I’m going to get well very, very quickly,” Duff proclaimed, a new vigor in his voice.

Her smile reflected the depth of her feelings. “I’d like that,” she said simply.

“Your family is with you, I hear.” He spoke briskly, like a man on a mission. “Have them move in.”

“Are you mad?” Shocked back to reality, her gaze took on a willful stubbornness. “Every tongue in town would take up the scandal.”

The marquis rarely had his wishes thwarted. “I’ll have my mother invite them,” he calmly proposed, equally stubborn. “Surely that would comply with all that is proper.”

“Absolutely not! Duff, don’t be impossible! My mother knows little of my past life and I prefer it that way. If we live at my house, where I’ve given orders to admit no visitors, the possibility of gossip will be considerably lessened.”

He scowled. “Male visitors, you mean.”

“No. As I already told you, those days are past. I have no male friends.”

Except for me
, he wished to say. But he wasn’t about to make comparisons when what he felt for her was so far outside her former way of life—and his…that it was virtually inexpressible.

“I also have turned over a new leaf. You have no male friends and I have no female friends. So stay.”

“You needn’t change anything for me, Duff.” She waved her hand in a little dismissive gesture. “Truly, I have no expectations.”

“Nonetheless, I have changed.”

“When you’ve recovered, you’ll think otherwise.” She smiled. “You are still weak from loss of blood, my lord.”

He wasn’t amused. “You think my brain is not functioning?”

“I simply wish to point out that I don’t require flattery. I’m pleased to be with you and no more need be said.”

“It’s not flattery,” he grumbled. “I’m quite serious. As I am about you staying here with me.”

“Duff, really, you and I both know better. Such news would be all around town within hours.”

“So you were just leading me on when you agreed to stay,” he said sharply.

“If it were possible, I would,” she replied gently. “It just isn’t. Nor would your parents appreciate such an irregular arrangement.”

“You don’t know my parents. Their courtship was so far outside the ordinary, people occasionally still talk about the scandal.”

“Nevertheless, I have my mother to consider. If it’s any consolation, I’m quite willing to visit you as long as you wish each day. I’ll only sleep at home.”

His mouth set in a pout.

Annabelle smiled. “You don’t think that’s going to alter my thinking, do you?”

He broke into a grin. “It used to work on my mother.”

“From what I’ve heard from your mother, you can do no wrong.”

“Nor have I ever,” he noted with an angelic gaze.

She laughed and inadvertently squeezed his fingers.

He gasped.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she whispered, easing her fingers away. “I’m so very sorry. Where does it hurt?”

He tried to laugh and grimaced instead. “Where doesn’t it hurt?” he breathed. “I need a kiss to make it all better.”

“You’re incorrigible,” she chided, her mouth twitching into a smile against her better judgement.

“But you like me anyway,” he said, smiling back.

More than that, she thought, already half in love when she should have known better. “Very well—just one kiss until you’re stronger.”

“Whatever you say.”

She laughed. “It appears you may be very agreeable in your invalid state.”

“Just don’t plan on my weakness lasting long. I have enormous incentive now to heal with all speed.”

“Because of sex, you mean.”

“So I can hold you again,” he said softly. “The rest is up to you.”

It always was with him, she thought. Duff had no need to implore. He had but to smile and crook his finger and every woman was lost.

“Kiss me, please,” he said, soft and low. “I’ve missed you.”

If she didn’t know his reputation, if she hadn’t heard all the stories, it would have been tempting to take his words to heart. And maybe she would—now, this moment, at least. “I’ve missed you, too,” she murmured, bending low, brushing his lips in the lightest of caresses, and even then—with that minute, skimming contact—she felt herself being drawn inexorably toward temptation.

“More,” he whispered, feeling his own provocative siren song.

And one kiss led to another and yet a third, the flame of desire blind to debilities or reason until, breathing fast, Annabelle wrenched herself away.

“This is mad,” she whispered.

“But a glorious madness,” he noted, hot-blooded desire coursing through his veins, every sensibility renewed, revived, Belle’s kiss the curative of all curatives. “You are, my sweet, the perfect medicine,” he murmured with a wink. “Ring for a maid,” he ordered. “I want to eat—and no broths and gruels. I want real food.”

She laughed, his sudden volte-face both gratifying and amusing. “Soon, I shall have to fight you off,” she said over her shoulder as she turned to reach the bellpull.

“I doubt that,” he drawled.

“Arrogant man.” Jerking the embroidered strap, she turned back around. “I may surprise you.”

The only thing that would surprise him after their heated kisses was if she gave him time to fully recuperate. But he was inclined to be tactful. “If you do choose to fight me off, then might I suggest you get fit? Because I intend to take you on in a matter of days. Or seduce you.” He grinned. “Whichever you prefer.”

It was astonishing how his words alone could arouse her, how she could feel the heated implications of his threat melt through her senses in a fevered rush of pleasure. “I’ll let you know later which I prefer,” she replied, skittish and flushed.

It was impossible not to hear the longing in her voice, a familiar enough inflection to a man of his repute. “Take your time,” he murmured, smiling faintly. “It may take me a day or two to get out of bed. Although, I don’t suppose I’d have to get out of bed,” he drawled. “In fact, if I asked you nicely, perhaps you’d oblige me in my infirmities—say, perform more of the—er—vigorous activity, for instance. I’d be more than happy to make it up to you at some later date. You might even be able to talk me into taking orders from you…”

“Enticing as your offer is, my lord, allow me to refuse,” Annabelle said with equal drollery, having marginally restrained her desires. “And for your information, I have no dominatrix tendencies. I hope that does not deter your interest in me.”

“Vixen. You toy with me when I am deep in love.”

“You are merely in rut. Pray don’t confuse the two.”

“I don’t in the least.”

She flushed before his steady gaze and opted for mockery rather than admit the extent of her own involvement. “I daresay your feelings will change once you climax.”

“If I could move, I’d throw something at your head for your rudeness,” he said with a roguish grin, taking his cue from her. Who better than he understood a reluctance to speak of love?

She stepped back. “Then I am fortunate to be out of range.”

“But not for long, darling,” he murmured. “Not for long…”

T
rue to his promise, Duff forced himself to sit up the next day, and the day after that, he was on his feet. Shakily, but unaided. Although his teeth were gritted against the pain, his forehead beaded with sweat, and the moments he was upright were brief.

But he refused to be deterred and as the week progressed, he became increasingly stronger. His appetite had returned as well, and the cook was kept busy supplying him with nourishing food. In short, his recovery was moving by leaps and bounds. Even Dr. Stewart described it as phenomenal.

His parents thanked Annabelle on so many occasions, she indeed felt like some ministering angel, a role she accepted with the full knowledge that her input was minuscule compared to Duff’s Herculean efforts.

She was in constant attendance because Duff wished it, and she could no more have refused than she could have stopped the sun in its tracks. Nor did she wish to. Nor did her mother or Molly, from their unsubtle comments about Cinderella and the Prince and all such fantasies.

But Annabelle took her role as companion in the sickroom as she would a role in a play that had perhaps a long, but ultimately a limited, run. In real life she understood Cinderella stories didn’t exist, and even in those cases where women of lesser rank married into the nobility, the resulting marriages were rarely, if ever, ideal.

Her duties were pleasant, though, more than pleasant, and she looked forward each day to her time at Westerlands House.

In the early days, she’d asked if Duff wished her to read to him during those times he was abed.

“No, thank you,” he’d said. “Talk to me instead.”

She hadn’t thought they would have had so much conversation. She knew him so little. And truth be told, many of her relationships with men hadn’t revolved around conversation.

Nor had Duff’s with women.

They were both treading on virgin ground, but they found the experience both enjoyable and enlightening. They spoke at length of their childhoods. His was idyllic; there was no other word for it. Hers had been equally pleasant in her early years when her father’s business had prospered and the family had lived in comfort. Her education was excellent, Cambridge offering more than its share of tutors in every discipline. And until Annabelle was fourteen, her life had been cosseted and free of suffering.

As her father’s illness had progressed, however, everything had changed. She spoke of some, but not all, that had transpired. Nor had she ever to anyone.

“When my family situation required it,” she said, editing her version of events to avoid words like
destitute
and
desperate
, “I came down to London to seek my fortune.” She smiled, as though her tale followed the pattern of triumphant conquest and victory so often portrayed in the popular fiction of the time.

“That’s when I saw you at Drury Lane,” Duff noted.

“Yes,” she said, neglecting to say that she’d already spent a year as a governess at a salary that had barely kept her family from starvation. Nor did she mention she’d had to constantly avoid the master of the house, who thought all female servants were fair game to his lust. But when a question came up regarding that lapse of time between Cambridge and Drury Lane, she conceded, “I did try the life of a governess first. It turned out to be too challenging.”

“No doubt,” Duff observed drily. “As if you’d last a fortnight with your looks.”

“Actually, I lasted a year.”

“Astonishing. Did your employer prefer young boys or did his wife shackle him to her leg?”

“The baroness
did
hold the purse strings. She was an heiress who married a penniless title, but when it came to authority—”

“Money won out, of course. That at least explains why you lasted so long.”

“The situation finally became untenable.”

“I don’t doubt it. The man must have been near to raving mad by then. And I say it as a compliment, darling. You are exquisite. Not that you haven’t heard as much before. So who was this brute?”

“I’d rather not say.”

“I won’t call him out.”

But Duff’s voice had taken on an edge, and in the interests of prudence, she said, “I believe the family went abroad.”

He grinned. “Liar.”

“You’ve only just begun to heal. Be sensible. And consider, if this man, who shall remain nameless, hadn’t driven me to the life of an actress, we never would have met.”

“At least, not until the horse fair.”

She made a small moue. “Argue if you wish.”

“Truly—I don’t mean to argue.” He gently patted the bed. “Come sit with me.”

Since Duff could traverse the entire upstairs corridor unaided and without stopping, it wasn’t likely she was going to accept his invitation. “Your parents might walk in,” she equivocated.

“No, they won’t.”

“How can you be so sure?” Her voice held a note of suspicion.

“I told them not to bother me unless I called for them.”

Why had she even asked? “Nevertheless, I shall not sit with you,” she firmly declared.

His smile was teasing. “Afraid?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact. I’m afraid I’ll be embarrassed should someone come in, regardless you assure me no one will. What about servants?”

“They have orders, too.”

“Everyone has orders, I see.”

“Now if only
you
would bend to my will,” he said with a boyish grin, “I would be vastly content.”

“Where would I be, however, if I let you bend me to your will?” she answered with a faint haughtiness that smacked of the actress.

“Under me, if I had my preference.” He grinned. “Snobbish airs and all.”

“Very amusing. But I’m afraid I don’t have similar carnal urges.” Although seated on his bed as he was, handsome as sin in his buckskin breeches and open-necked shirt, his feet bare and his smile enticing, perhaps she wasn’t being completely candid.

“Allow me to disagree,” he murmured, smiling faintly. “After our afternoon together at my hunting lodge, I would say our carnal urges are much in accord.”

“Please, Duff—stop.” Putting up her hand, she leaned back in her chair as though distancing herself from temptation. “Don’t remind me of such things when I’m trying to maintain a modicum of control. I do not have your exhibitionist tendencies in this, your parents’ house.” She took a deep breath, as though in restraint, and added, “I am quite firm in that regard.”

He groaned softly, then sent her a quizzical glance. “What are your feelings about the garden house outside?”

“I should slap you for your insolence,” she muttered.

“Come slap me,” he said, velvety soft.

“Duff—for heaven’s sake…don’t,” she whispered. “We’re supposed to go downstairs for tea in scarce an hour,” she added, finding herself tremulous and fainthearted and altogether too ready to throw herself into his arms. “And my mother is coming to visit for the first time.” Panic colored her words. “I’m quite nervous enough about that already. I don’t need any further pressures.”

“I’m sorry, darling,” he said, instantly contrite. “Forgive my selfishness. It’s just that I’m going out of my mind. Don’t be alarmed.” This time he was the one to put up his hand. “I shall survive well enough. And you’re right, of course. We wouldn’t want to be all rumpled and mussed with your mother coming.”

“Don’t even say such things!” Annabelle cried, horrified at the mental image of appearing thusly at teatime. “I already live in constant fear that my mother is going to hear some scandal about me.”

He couldn’t so easily empathize in regard to scandal. “Darling, you worry too much about such things,” he noted casually. “As if everyone I know hasn’t been implicated in some scandal at one time or another.”

She made a wry face. “That may be acceptable behavior for the aristocracy. Unfortunately, persons of lesser rank are held to a different standard.”

“That’s stupid, of course. I can protect you from any scandal.”

“But perhaps not from my mother’s distress,” she answered as resolutely.

On that point she might be right. Although from what little he knew of Mrs. Foster, she seemed very much a woman of the world rather than a martinet for propriety. But obviously, Annabelle was distrait about possibly disgracing her mother. “Don’t worry, darling,” he immediately said, his voice soft as silk. “I shall be circumspect in all things. You will find me prudent as a vicar at tea. Should I discuss passages from the prayer book?”

She couldn’t help but smile. “Please, no. You hardly look the part. And truth be told, our vicar was of the ‘buckish’ type. He drank rather a lot and kept a race stable while his curate carried out his duties. We all went hunting or to the races together on Sundays.” Holy Orders were often the last resort of younger sons who chose to avoid the army or navy and found the practice of law beneath them. No religious training was required.

Duff laughed. “I can see that we are destined for a long and happy friendship. My family, too, spent Sunday at the races or hunting. The afternoon will be a great success—just wait and see. Your mother and I shall talk horses.”