‘My dear Miss Havenham, I never meant—’
She turned and walked off before he could embarrass her or himself further. With dismay she felt the angry tears rising and blinked them away. She would have to find a quiet corner to compose herself.
The Red Lion was an old hostelry and had been altered and extended many times over the years, so there were numerous shadowed alcoves and hidden nooks in the twisting corridors. Annabelle slipped out of the ballroom and made her way to one such alcove on the far side of the stairs. It was mercifully empty at present, for the assembly was well underway and everyone was either in the ballroom, at supper or playing cards. She sank down on the bench at the back of the recess, where she was screened from the view of anyone passing to or from the main rooms.
Annabelle stripped off her gloves and took out her handkerchief. A rogue tear had rolled on to her cheek and she quickly wiped it away. She was not upset at having lost a suitor. After all, she had never really wanted to marry Mr
Keighley, but the manner of his going hurt her pride. She chided herself upon her sensibility. This snub was not important, she must regain her composure and return to the ballroom before her father missed her. Poor Papa, she hoped he would never learn of these malicious rumours.
She was wiping her eyes and did not notice the shadow fall across the alcove, was not aware of anyone’s presence until she heard Lucas’s deep voice.
‘I saw you leave the ballroom. Are you unwell, Miss Havenham?’
‘No, no. I w-wanted a little air.’
To her consternation he sat down beside her.
‘I do not believe that is all.’ His keen eyes searched her face. ‘You have been crying.’
‘No.’
‘Yes.’ He gently cupped her chin and turned her face towards him. ‘Your eyes are even now full of tears. Tell me what has upset you.’
She freed herself. His sympathy would indeed make her weep if she did not look away.
‘I am merely being foolish,’ she said, threading her handkerchief through her restless fingers. ‘There have been rumours.’ Her glance slid back towards him. He was silent, waiting for her to continue. She ran her tongue around her lips, suddenly nervous. ‘Rumours that we—that
my father—cannot meet his obligations.’ She frowned. ‘Who would start such a report?’
He did not reply, merely continued to look at her, his harsh face inscrutable.
‘Several persons this evening have distanced themselves from us because of such talk.’ She looked down and added quietly, ‘I wondered if that was why you had kept away from…from me.’
‘Would it matter to you, if that was the reason?’
She raised her head and met his eyes, determined to be honest.
‘Yes. I thought better of you than that.’
‘And Keighley? I saw you talking to him. I thought he might have upset you.’
‘He was avoiding me tonight. It was all the more noticeable because he had been growing very particular in his attentions. I cannot deny I am disappointed in him, not for myself but for my father, who will miss his company if he cannot bring himself to visit Oakenroyd. It is very lowering to know one’s only suitor is so easily discouraged.’
She tried to sound light-hearted, but even to her own ears these last words sounded sadly flat. To her dismay the tears spilled over. Her handkerchief was too damp to be of use so she
lifted her gloves to wipe her face, but Lucas stopped her.
‘No, satin will not do it. Allow me.’
Again he used his fingers to tilt her face up towards him and applied his own fine linen handkerchief to her cheeks.
‘There.’ He smiled into her eyes, his face only inches from her own. He said softly, ‘You should not cry, Belle.’
‘I am not normally so lachrymose,’ she managed, unable to look away. ‘I—’
He lowered his head and kissed her open mouth. For a moment he hovered there, his touch light as a feather, as if unsure how to proceed. Annabelle remained quite still, afraid that if she moved he would release her, and she knew, she
knew
she did not want him to do that. His arms slid around her and she leaned into him as his kiss deepened and he pulled her on to his lap, cradling her head against his shoulder as he kissed her with a thoroughness that made her tremble right down to her toes. She felt flushed with excitement and there was an ache tugging at her thighs.
When at last he released her mouth she dragged in a ragged breath, but it caught in her throat as she felt his lips on her neck, then on the soft swell of her breast. Her head was thrown back against his shoulder and she arched upwards,
offering her body to his caresses. The blood was singing in her veins, she had never felt so alive before. Annabelle put her hand to his cheek, slid her fingers into his hair and gently drew his face closer so that he could kiss her again and this time she responded, her mouth working against his. But then the rest of her body was bereft. Her breasts tingled, ached for his touch, and when she felt his fingers sliding over them a little groan of satisfaction trembled in her throat.
What might have happened, what other delightful sensations he might have awakened in her she would never know. A door slammed somewhere below, and Lucas raised his head. He was still cradling her and she clung to him, burying her face in his neck, breathing in the mixture of soap and spices and clean linen that overlay the male scent of him, the familiar scent she remembered from the first time she had been in his arms. Now it filled her senses and made her feel weak with a longing she did not understand.
Raucous voices sounded on the stairs, getting closer. Lucas’s chest rose and fell on a sigh. They both knew the moment was over. Reluctantly Annabelle sat up, trying to order her thoughts.
‘If we are discovered now, there will be hell to pay.’
It did not need Lucas’s hushed whisper to tell
her that. If she was found here her reputation would be ruined. How could she have been so thoughtless? What was it about this man? He only had to touch her and she melted into his arms, counting the world well lost.
Annabelle slid from his lap to the bench, but he kept his arm about her and they remained there, silent and still, listening to the voices and the thud of heavy feet on the stairs. There was a sudden swelling of music and chatter as someone opened a door. Then it was gone, the voices had disappeared and they were alone again.
‘I must go—’
As she rose he caught her hand.
‘Belle, I need to tell you—’
She looked back at him. Even in the shadows his face was ashen. He looked as shaken as she was by their encounter.
‘Tell me what?’
‘About me.’
She shook her head. ‘There is no time. I will be missed.’ She squeezed his hand, but his fingers did not relax their grip.
‘Forgive me, Belle.’
For what, for kissing her when she was only too willing to be kissed?
‘There is nothing to forgive.’
‘Do not think too badly of me.’
‘I do not.’ She gave him a puzzled smile. ‘Please, you must release me.’
He looked as if he would say more, but she dared not stay longer. Tugging her hand away, she hurried off.
Lucas did not stir. He heard her soft footsteps as she crossed the landing, the sudden rise and fall of the music as she slipped into the ballroom. His hands clenched into two hard fists. Hell and damnation, what was he about? He had spent the past couple of weeks avoiding the chit because he could not square it with his conscience to befriend her while he was plotting her father’s ruin, and here he was now making love to her!
He wished to heaven he had not come to the assembly. He should have stayed away, continued with his plotting and his planning until it was time to spring his trap and take his revenge. By coming here tonight he was once again prey to doubts. Samuel Havenham had greeted him in such a genial manner it was very difficult to hate him. Difficult, but not impossible.
But Annabelle—he looked up at the ceiling, exhaling slowly. He could not deny the attraction, she fired his blood but it was more than that. He had admired her spirit at their very first meeting, the way she handled that brute of a horse and since then he had enjoyed being with
her, making her laugh, seeing her eyes light up when something amused her. He liked her. He wanted her to be happy, and he wanted to banish that sad shadow he had seen in her eyes tonight, even when he was the one to put it there.
He had not thought of Annabelle when he dropped the first hints about Havenham’s impending ruin, but the rumours were hurting her. Fool that he was, he should have known they would. She had left the ballroom with her head high, but his keen glance had detected the unnatural glitter in her eyes and he had followed, wanting to comfort her.
Lucas dropped his head in his hands. It had all seemed so simple before he came here, and even in those early weeks after he purchased Morwood he had but one goal: to ruin Havenham. Annabelle had seemed at first just one more weapon he could use against the man, but since then he had come to know her and if there was some way he could save her from any pain he would be glad to do so.
As he opened his eyes, his gaze alighted upon Annabelle’s discarded gloves lying at his feet. She had forgotten to pick them up in her hurry to get away. He scooped them up and lifted them to his face. There was a faint trace of scent about them, a hint of orange blossom and a touch of
citrus. He recognised it as Annabelle’s perfume and breathed it in.
Perhaps he would delay his plans a little. After all, there was no hurry. he had waited this long, a little longer wouldn’t make much difference. He was clutching at straws and he knew it. However long he waited to exact his revenge she would be hurt by it and she would blame him. Perhaps he should talk to her, explain why he had to do this. Would she understand? He rose and prepared himself to return to the ballroom. He had to try. He must arrange to see her. Alone.
Annabelle realised as soon as she returned to the ballroom that she had left her gloves behind. She dare not go back for them and could only hope that no one would notice. That seemed quite possible, for everyone was in a boisterous mood now, joining in the country dances with such spirit and laughter that the old building positively rocked with their enjoyment.
Her body was still in shock after her encounter with Lucas, but she was determined not to allow it to show. She desperately wanted to sit down and go over every kiss, every touch but she dared not do so here. Such an indulgence must wait until she was alone. She thought perhaps she would make herself stay awake all night to think about it and relive those delicious sensations,
but for now she must put it from her mind and dancing would help her to do that.
Annabelle returned to the dance floor, thankful that her wide acquaintance meant she could find plenty of partners. It did not matter to her whether they were very young men or contemporaries of her father, she was just happy to dance, forcing herself to concentrate upon the steps. The room was very warm. The windows were thrown wide to allow in the night air, but even so by midnight Annabelle’s cheeks were glowing and she laughingly excused herself from dancing and sought the cool breeze by one of the open windows. She was staring out at the night, fanning herself vigorously when a familiar deep voice murmured in her ear.
‘I thought you were determined to dance your shoes into ribbons.’
She looked around to find Lucas behind her. He was smiling and she suddenly found it hard to breathe, but even so she could not resist smiling back.
‘Who knows when I may have the opportunity to dance again?’ she said lightly.
‘You could hold a ball at Oakenroyd.’
She shook her head. ‘Papa would not enjoy it. He would feel it was his duty as host to be in place until every last guest had gone and that would tire him too much. His health is not good,
you see. He was very ill a few years ago and it has left him with a weakness.’
‘So you do not entertain.’
‘We hold dinners and the occasional card party, but I must look to others for dancing.’ She smiled brightly. ‘But you are not to be pitying me, sir. I do not repine. My life is very full, I assure you.’
‘I am glad of it.’ A waiter passed close to them, bearing a tray and he reached out to scoop two full glasses. ‘Would you like a little wine?’
‘Thank you.’
She reached for the glass and her fingers slid over his as she took it from him. Touching his skin revived memories of their recent embraces and sent little shock waves running through her arm. Afraid she might drop the glass, she brought up her other hand, only to find she was now cradling Lucas’s fingers as well as the glass between her hands. It felt incredibly intimate and her cheeks began to burn.
‘Oh, I beg your pardon.’
‘No need for that.’ He extricated himself from her grasp, but kept his smiling eyes upon her. His look caressed her and she felt like a cat basking in the sun. She wanted to purr with happiness. She resisted the urge to smile foolishly up at him and instead said quietly, ‘Did—did you see my gloves, sir? I think I dropped them…’
‘You did.’ He patted his breast. ‘I have them safe, but I do not think it would be wise for me to return them here, do you?’
The smile deepened and set her heart hammering once more. It was exhilarating, thrilling, but the tumult of emotions unnerved her. She sipped her wine and looked out of the window at the velvet darkness.
‘Meet me tomorrow,’ he said quietly. ‘Come to the boathouse in the morning and I will return your gloves to you.’
An assignation. The warm glow that had enveloped her vanished. After what had occurred, did he think she would put herself into such a situation? Shaking her head, she turned towards him.
‘You know I cannot do that.’
‘Can’t you?’
He was gazing down at her, the fire in his black eyes burning into her very soul. All around them the big room buzzed with chatter and noise yet they seemed to be in a little bubble, cut off from the rest of the world. Beyond Lucas everything was blurred and distorted, yet he was so very clear. She could see every minute stitch on his coat, every detail of the intricate embroidery on his waistcoat and the complicated folds of his neckcloth. The bubble enclosed them. Belle felt its pressure on her back, pushing her towards
him. He loomed over her, enveloping her in his animal presence. She blinked, trying to break the spell with a shaky laugh.