Kiss Me, Annabel

Page 28

Annabel felt his inquiry through her whole body. Instinctively she closed the last fraction of an inch that lay between their bodies. She felt a shudder go through his hard body. It was an extraordinary feeling to be so intimate with another person. It was as if he could taste her sorrow, and her fear, and her reluctance, and he was telling her silently that he would make it better—he would solve everything, and all that without words.
It made her want to do nothing more than nestle against his chest and simply…let him. But at the same time, the very generosity of it made her conscience awake, and even as his mouth slanted hungrily over hers again, and again, and her body started to tremble in his arms, her conscience kept beating at her, a small voice that wouldn’t be silenced until she finally tore her mouth away and said, “I’m not jesting, Lord Ardmore. I truly have no dowry.”
He had his large hands spread on her narrow back, and now he slid those hands slowly, slowly up to her shoulders. His eyes had an indolent smile in them that made Annabel shiver just as much as the fact that his thumbs were tracing lazy circles on her shoulders, where the little sleeves of her morning gown ended.
“You have a horse,” he reminded her.
“Only a horse.” She swallowed. “Surely you’ve heard of my father’s will. Our dowries have become somewhat infamous.”
“The rumor had not reached me, but then, I’m not much for gossip. I shall welcome your dowry to my stables. I can’t say I share your father’s skill, but I do have an ample training program. ’Twill be like coming home for you.”
Annabel swayed on her feet, and all the rosy glow she felt from his kiss disappeared from her body like a mist in the night.
She was marrying a horse trainer, a man with her father’s enthusiasm for a horse.
She was going home, in every sense of the word.
Twelve
They were all together again. Tess was leaning against one of the bottom bedposts; she and her husband were spending the night so as to be able to see Annabel off in the morning. Josie, just arrived from Rafe’s country estate, was curled up against the other bedpost, and Imogen was next to Annabel.
Annabel leaned against her bedpost and tried not to even think about tears. She’d been poor before, and she could be poor again. Only a weak-spined ninny would cry over such a paltry thing.Instead she tried to feel happy that her sisters were with her. But in reality she felt a numbing, selfish sense of the unfairness of it all. Imogen and Josie would stay in England in Rafe’s comfortable house, and Tess would stay in the luxury of her husband’s house, while she had to return to Scotland. She, who hated Scotland more than any of them.
Josie would have taken her place in a moment. Josie had just turned sixteen and was beginning to blossom into a beauty who would be irresistible in a year or so. Now she was prey to spots, bouts of nostalgia for Scotland and fits of temper. The temper might well be a lifelong characteristic, Annabel had to admit. Certainly Josie’s sense of humor would be.
“If you’d like to have a wedding-night conversation with Annabel,” Josie said to Tess, “I would be glad to lend my advice.”
Tess snorted. “Your advice, shrimp? And just what marital advice would you offer?”
“Plutarch has a great deal to say about marital relations,” Josie said with a grin.
“Plutarch!” Tess said. “I thought Miss Flecknoe kept you on a strict diet of ladylike pursuits.”
“You’ve forgotten. I obediently practice dancing and curtsying and paying morning calls in the mornings, and then I am allowed to read as I wish in the afternoon. Rafe’s library is stocked with classics. Miss Flecknoe considers those books to be far too old to be dangerous and unladylike…she is most worried that I will somehow obtain a copy of one of the novels printed by the Minerva Press. Miss Flecknoe seems to consider that Minerva is staffed by devils bent on ruining ladies’ virtue.”
“I’ll give you mine,” Annabel said, smiling faintly. “I think I have acquired every volume put out by the Minerva Press, thanks to Rafe’s generosity.”
“You’ll want to take those with you,” Tess objected. “Keep your books, Annabel. I’ll send Josie some novels.”
“I won’t need them,” Annabel said, realizing that her tone was bleak. She never had any time for reading novels when they were growing up, although they probably didn’t remember that. She used to watch Tess going off to the river to try to catch a fish for dinner, Josie hanging on to her hand and Imogen trailing after…but she could never go with them. She had too much to do.
A wave of bitterness caught her and Annabel had to bite her lip, hard, so as not to cry.
“I have something important to say,” Tess was saying. Tess had mothered them all, after their mother died, and Annabel was a little afraid of her perceptiveness. So she summoned up a smile.
“Good!” Josie said happily. “Now, Plutarch says that a bride should nibble a quince before getting into bed.” She turned expectantly to Tess. “Do you have any idea why? I don’t like quinces because they’re so sour, but I’m willing to—”
“Stop this foolishness,” Imogen said, and now she wasn’t curled under the covers anymore, but sitting upright. “I have to say something first, and it’s the more important.” She took Annabel’s hand, and Annabel saw with a pulse of exhaustion that tears were making their way down her cheeks. “I’ve ruined your life…my own sister’s life, and I just—I just have to say that—”
But tears were choking what she wanted to say, and so Annabel scooted over in the bed and gathered her into a hug. “My life is not ruined, Imogen,” she said, stroking her hair. “Hush, now.”
“You don’t get—get to choose who you wish to marry,” Imogen choked. “And I only had Draven for two weeks, but I chose him, and even if he’s gone, I’ll always know that I—that I gave myself to someone I loved—”
“Darling, think about it,” Annabel said gently. “Falling in love has never been very high on my list of priorities. You know that. I think I’m simply missing that romantic side that you have in such abundance.”
“That’s—that’s just because you don’t know how wonderful love can be,” Imogen stammered, gasping for breath, she was crying so hard.
“What one doesn’t know, one doesn’t miss,” Annabel pointed out.
But it was no use. Imogen launched into a tangled explanation of love, and how she knew she was in love with Draven the moment she saw him (as if she hadn’t told them at least one hundred times), and how important she thought—
Until Josie leaned forward and said, “Imogen, this conversation did not begin by focusing on you. May I suggest that you actually try to think of someone else’s feelings for a change?”
Imogen choked to a halt, and Annabel frowned at Josie.
“Oh, stuff it,” Josie said impatiently. “Imogen needn’t be coddled forever. By her own account, she was lucky enough to have two weeks of heavenly bliss. This evening is supposed to be about you, Annabel, not an endless tearful reiteration of Draven Maitland’s less-than-obvious virtues!”
Imogen and Josie always sniped at each other, but this time Imogen didn’t respond in kind. She just rolled out of the bed and stood up, her face smeared with tears. “I was trying to say something important!” she said fiercely to Josie. Then she turned to Annabel. “I just want to say that I am so sorry that my stupidity led to you being forced to marry Ardmore. I want you to know that. And now please have your conversation. I know I’m not fit company.” She turned and fled.