Secrets of a Summer Night
Page 72
Annabelle had stopped squirming. “Really? Where?”
“I suspect we could get a fair amount of acreage near Bloomsbury, or Knightsbridge—”
“What about Mayfair?”
Simon had smiled as if he had been expecting such a suggestion. “Don’t tell me you want to live in some overbuilt square like Grosvenor or St. James, staring out the window at pompous aristocrats waddling through their little iron-fenced yards—”
“Oh, yes, that would be perfect,” she had enthused, making him laugh.
“All right, we’ll get something in Mayfair, God help me. And you can hire as many servants as you want. Notice that I didn’t say ‘need,’ as that seems to be completely beside the point. In the meantime, do you think you could tolerate a few months at the Rutledge?”
Recalling the conversation, Annabelle investigated their large suite of rooms, all luxuriously appointed in velvet and leather and gleaming mahogany. She had to admit, the Rutledge certainly changed one’s perceptions about what a hotel could be. It was said that the mysterious owner, Mr. Harry Rutledge, aspired to create the most elegant and modern hotel in Europe, combining Continental style with American innovations. The Rutledge was a massive building located in the theater district, occupying five blocks between the Capitol Theater and the Embankment. Features such as fire-proof construction, food service lifts, and a private bathroom for every suite, not to mention a renowned restaurant, had made the Rutledge a favorite haunt of wealthy Americans and Europeans. To Annabelle’s delight, the Bowmans occupied five of the hotel’s one hundred luxury suites, which meant that she, Lillian, and Daisy would have frequent opportunities to see each other after she returned from the honeymoon.
Having never traveled outside of England in her life, Annabelle had been excited to discover that Simon intended to take her to Paris for a fortnight. Supplied with a list of dressmakers, milliners, and perfumers from the Bowmans, who had once visited Paris with their mother, Annabelle eagerly anticipated her first glimpse of the City of Light. However, before their departure on the morrow, there was still the wedding night to get through.
Dressed in a nightgown trimmed with lavish falls of white lace from the bodice and sleeves, Annabelle paced restlessly around the suite. She sat beside the bed and picked up a hairbrush from the night table. Methodically, she began to brush her hair as she wondered if all brides felt this apprehensive, uncertain as to whether the next few hours were something to dread or enjoy. At that moment, the key turned in the door, and Simon’s dark, lean form entered the private suite.
A nervous thrill went down Annabelle’s spine, and she forced herself to continue brushing her hair with calm strokes, though her grip was too tight on the handle, and her fingers were shaking. Simon’s gaze wandered over the drifts of lace and muslin that covered her body. Still dressed in his formal black wedding suit, he approached her slowly and came to stand before her as she remained sitting in the chair. To her surprise, he lowered to his knees to bring their faces level, his thighs bracketing her slender calves. A large hand lifted to the shimmering fall of her hair, and he combed his fingers through it, watching with fascination as the golden brown strands slipped across his knuckles.
Although Simon was immaculately dressed, there were signs of dishevelment that lured her attention…the short forelocks of his hair falling over his forehead, the loosened knot of his ice gray silk cravat. Dropping the brush to the floor, Annabelle used her fingers to smooth his hair in a tentative stroke. The sable filaments were thick and gleaming, springing willfully against her fingertips. Simon held still for her as she untied the cravat, the heavy silk saturated with the warmth of his skin. His eyes contained an expression that caused a ticklish sensation in the pit of her stomach.
“Every time I see you,” he murmured, “I think you couldn’t possibly become any more beautiful—and you always prove me wrong.”
Letting the cravat hang on either side of his neck, Annabelle smiled at the compliment. She jumped a little in her seat as she felt his hand close around hers. His mouth curved slightly as he gave her a quizzical glance. “You’re nervous?”
Annabelle nodded, her fingers unresisting in his as he held and chafed them gently. Simon spoke quietly, seeming to choose his words with unusual care. “Sweetheart…I assume that your experiences with Lord Hodgeham were not pleasant. But I hope you’ll trust me when I say that it doesn’t have to be like that. Whatever your fears are—”
“Simon,” she interrupted with an apprehensive croak, and cleared her throat. “That is very kind of you. A-And the fact that you are prepared to be so understanding about it…well…I appreciate that. But…I’m afraid I wasn’t entirely forthcoming about my relationship with Hodgeham.” Seeing his sudden curious stillness, and the way his expression had been wiped clean of emotion, Annabelle took a deep, steadying breath. “The truth is, Hodgeham did indeed come to our house some evenings, and he did pay some of our bills in return for…for…” Pausing, she felt her throat contract until it was hard to force the words through. “But…I wasn’t actually the one that he was visiting.”
Simon’s dark eyes widened slightly. “What?”
“I never slept with him,” she admitted. “His arrangement was with my mother.”
He stared at her, dumbfounded. “Holy hell,” he breathed.
“It started a year ago,” she said, her voice edged with defensiveness. “Our circumstances were desperate. We had endless bills and no means to pay them. The income from my mother’s jointure had dwindled because it had been invested badly. Lord Hodgeham had been sniffing at my mother’s heels for some time…I don’t know precisely when his evening visits began…butI saw his hat and cane in the entrance hall at odd hours, and the debts eased a little. I realized what was happening, but I never said anything about it. And I should have.” She sighed and rubbed her temples. “At the party, Hodgeham made it clear that he had tired of my mother and wanted me to take her place. He threatened to expose the whole secret…‘with embellishments,’ he said…and we would be ruined. I refused him, but somehow my mother managed to keep him quiet.”
“I suspect we could get a fair amount of acreage near Bloomsbury, or Knightsbridge—”
“What about Mayfair?”
Simon had smiled as if he had been expecting such a suggestion. “Don’t tell me you want to live in some overbuilt square like Grosvenor or St. James, staring out the window at pompous aristocrats waddling through their little iron-fenced yards—”
“Oh, yes, that would be perfect,” she had enthused, making him laugh.
“All right, we’ll get something in Mayfair, God help me. And you can hire as many servants as you want. Notice that I didn’t say ‘need,’ as that seems to be completely beside the point. In the meantime, do you think you could tolerate a few months at the Rutledge?”
Recalling the conversation, Annabelle investigated their large suite of rooms, all luxuriously appointed in velvet and leather and gleaming mahogany. She had to admit, the Rutledge certainly changed one’s perceptions about what a hotel could be. It was said that the mysterious owner, Mr. Harry Rutledge, aspired to create the most elegant and modern hotel in Europe, combining Continental style with American innovations. The Rutledge was a massive building located in the theater district, occupying five blocks between the Capitol Theater and the Embankment. Features such as fire-proof construction, food service lifts, and a private bathroom for every suite, not to mention a renowned restaurant, had made the Rutledge a favorite haunt of wealthy Americans and Europeans. To Annabelle’s delight, the Bowmans occupied five of the hotel’s one hundred luxury suites, which meant that she, Lillian, and Daisy would have frequent opportunities to see each other after she returned from the honeymoon.
Having never traveled outside of England in her life, Annabelle had been excited to discover that Simon intended to take her to Paris for a fortnight. Supplied with a list of dressmakers, milliners, and perfumers from the Bowmans, who had once visited Paris with their mother, Annabelle eagerly anticipated her first glimpse of the City of Light. However, before their departure on the morrow, there was still the wedding night to get through.
Dressed in a nightgown trimmed with lavish falls of white lace from the bodice and sleeves, Annabelle paced restlessly around the suite. She sat beside the bed and picked up a hairbrush from the night table. Methodically, she began to brush her hair as she wondered if all brides felt this apprehensive, uncertain as to whether the next few hours were something to dread or enjoy. At that moment, the key turned in the door, and Simon’s dark, lean form entered the private suite.
A nervous thrill went down Annabelle’s spine, and she forced herself to continue brushing her hair with calm strokes, though her grip was too tight on the handle, and her fingers were shaking. Simon’s gaze wandered over the drifts of lace and muslin that covered her body. Still dressed in his formal black wedding suit, he approached her slowly and came to stand before her as she remained sitting in the chair. To her surprise, he lowered to his knees to bring their faces level, his thighs bracketing her slender calves. A large hand lifted to the shimmering fall of her hair, and he combed his fingers through it, watching with fascination as the golden brown strands slipped across his knuckles.
Although Simon was immaculately dressed, there were signs of dishevelment that lured her attention…the short forelocks of his hair falling over his forehead, the loosened knot of his ice gray silk cravat. Dropping the brush to the floor, Annabelle used her fingers to smooth his hair in a tentative stroke. The sable filaments were thick and gleaming, springing willfully against her fingertips. Simon held still for her as she untied the cravat, the heavy silk saturated with the warmth of his skin. His eyes contained an expression that caused a ticklish sensation in the pit of her stomach.
“Every time I see you,” he murmured, “I think you couldn’t possibly become any more beautiful—and you always prove me wrong.”
Letting the cravat hang on either side of his neck, Annabelle smiled at the compliment. She jumped a little in her seat as she felt his hand close around hers. His mouth curved slightly as he gave her a quizzical glance. “You’re nervous?”
Annabelle nodded, her fingers unresisting in his as he held and chafed them gently. Simon spoke quietly, seeming to choose his words with unusual care. “Sweetheart…I assume that your experiences with Lord Hodgeham were not pleasant. But I hope you’ll trust me when I say that it doesn’t have to be like that. Whatever your fears are—”
“Simon,” she interrupted with an apprehensive croak, and cleared her throat. “That is very kind of you. A-And the fact that you are prepared to be so understanding about it…well…I appreciate that. But…I’m afraid I wasn’t entirely forthcoming about my relationship with Hodgeham.” Seeing his sudden curious stillness, and the way his expression had been wiped clean of emotion, Annabelle took a deep, steadying breath. “The truth is, Hodgeham did indeed come to our house some evenings, and he did pay some of our bills in return for…for…” Pausing, she felt her throat contract until it was hard to force the words through. “But…I wasn’t actually the one that he was visiting.”
Simon’s dark eyes widened slightly. “What?”
“I never slept with him,” she admitted. “His arrangement was with my mother.”
He stared at her, dumbfounded. “Holy hell,” he breathed.
“It started a year ago,” she said, her voice edged with defensiveness. “Our circumstances were desperate. We had endless bills and no means to pay them. The income from my mother’s jointure had dwindled because it had been invested badly. Lord Hodgeham had been sniffing at my mother’s heels for some time…I don’t know precisely when his evening visits began…butI saw his hat and cane in the entrance hall at odd hours, and the debts eased a little. I realized what was happening, but I never said anything about it. And I should have.” She sighed and rubbed her temples. “At the party, Hodgeham made it clear that he had tired of my mother and wanted me to take her place. He threatened to expose the whole secret…‘with embellishments,’ he said…and we would be ruined. I refused him, but somehow my mother managed to keep him quiet.”
