Kiss Me, Annabel

“It’s not that I don’t believe in heaven,” she told him (although she didn’t, not very much). “But I don’t worry about it.”

“What do you worry about?”

“Being poor again,” she admitted. “I would hate that.”

His arms tightened. “Hunger is a terrible thing.”

“We weren’t ever really hungry,” Annabel said. “There was always enough to eat; it was just the same food day after day. No, I’m afraid of the exhaustion of it. The strain of not being able to pay a bill when it comes due. The humiliation of trying to convince someone to wait for his justly earned payment. Of not having a single chemise without a hole in it.”

He said nothing.

“You’re rich, aren’t you?” she demanded fiercely.

He kissed her. “I am.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I wanted you to like me for myself first. And you do, don’t you? At least, you like some of the things I do to you.”

He laughed at her blush, but she felt ashamed, to the very tips of her toes. She felt shabby and small.

“I estimate that we owe each other at least five extra kisses,” he said, smiling down at her. There wasn’t an ounce of condemnation in his eyes.

“Don’t you mind?” she asked him.

“Mind what?”

“Mind that I—I wanted to marry a rich man, and now I’m marrying you—”

“ ’Tis an example of God’s gifts, isn’t it? Money has never meant much to me; I grew up with lots of it, and without family, and I hadn’t the heart to attach myself to the coins. But for you this money was important, and perhaps that’s the reason I have it.”

She buried her head against his middle and thought about how simple his view of life was, and then, with a kindled fire, how easy it would be to love a person like him. Like Ewan. “But if you’re only afraid for your soul,” she asked suddenly, “does that mean you’re not afraid for your person?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, when the robbers were in the hotel room, you looked furious, but you undressed without putting up a fight.”

“I was furious. And I was worried about you and your sister. But there wasn’t any real reason to start a fight. If I did so, they might shoot off one of those guns, and then someone would be hurt. Whereas if I just gave them what they wanted, they would leave without violence.”

“Even though they tried to humiliate you by making you take off your clothing?”

He grinned. “I got to see your eyes widen when you realized what you were looking at. That moment paid back any humiliation. Besides, Annabel, what if I had fought?”

“You were much bigger than either of them.”

“I could have taken one of their guns away,” he said. “And then what would I have done with it?”

“Threatened them?”

“Do I look like someone who would hold a gun to your head and threaten to kill you?”

“Why not?” she asked uncertainly. “Anyone can do that.”

“You have to mean it. I would never point a gun at a person because I would never mean to kill him.” He paused. “And there’s an answer to what would kill my immortal soul: killing a man, and all because I wouldn’t share my money with him. How many kisses is that?”

She had to laugh. Until he took her breath away with a kiss.

Eighteen

The Earl of Mayne put down a detailed account of a promising yearling being offered by the Grafton stud and sighed. His butler stood at the door of his study, his body stiff with annoyance. Rimple was a highly principled individual who had made it clear that he would countenance his employer’s debauchery only as long as proprieties were observed.

“Is she here?” Mayne asked, knowing the answer.“A carriage with the Maitland coat of arms is drawn up at the front door,” Rimple said, his lips barely moving. “If you wish, I will ascertain whether Lady Maitland is within. Since she has not emerged herself, I would conjecture that her ladyship wishes you to join her in the vehicle.”

To Rimple’s mind, gentlemen paid visits to unmarried ladies, and not the other way around. The London ton agreed with him. Yet somehow Mayne couldn’t manage to convince Imogen of that fact: she had already visited him twice this week in the broad daylight, which gave the servants up and down St. James’s Street ample opportunity to gossip as well as delighting scandal rags in need of material to print.

Mayne rose. Life had been easier when he was bedding a number of ladies, rather than not sleeping with only one lady, Imogen. His previous consorts had precisely understood the power of reputation, the need for a guarded show of chaste behavior and the delicious piquancy of secrecy. Imogen was like some sort of puppy, rushing in wherever she wanted, and the hell with the consequences.

Rimple offered Mayne his greatcoat. “Perhaps her ladyship wishes you to join her for a brief drive in the park,” he said.

Mayne understood. If he himself entered the carriage, rather than allowing Imogen to enter his house, little scandal would result. He shrugged on his greatcoat, selected a hat from the three offered by a footman and walked into the morning sunshine. It was still rather startling to find himself up so early in the morning.

Until the previous year, he had rarely gone to sleep before five in the morning, spending his evenings dancing and his nights snug against the curves of a beautiful woman. Consequently he had dodged morning sunshine for years. Now he looked around and shrugged. He wasn’t going to fool himself that the sight of dew shining on the spiky leaves of daffodils at his front step was compensation for the pleasure of watching a woman’s eyes close in ecstasy.

The footman waiting at the door of Imogen’s carriage opened the door as he approached. Had he promised to go for a drive this morning? Surely not. It was only nine o’clock, and he generally maintained the delusion that he was still leading a fashionable life, even though these evenings he found himself sitting at home with a book more often than not.

He took off his hat and entered the carriage. But instead of a minx hell-bent on impropriety, an oddly respectable party met his gaze.

“Why, Grissie,” he said, bending to kiss his sister’s cheek. “And Miss Josephine.” He nodded to Imogen’s little sister, and finally to Imogen herself. “I regret to say that my engagement to drive with you this morning somehow slipped my mind.”

“We had no appointment,” Imogen said blithely.

“Then to what do I owe this pleasure?” Mayne asked. “I thought you were laid up with a cold, Grissie.” He sat down opposite his sister.

“I’m over the worst of it,” she said. To a brother’s eyes, Griselda still looked rather hagged. Of course, this was likely the first time she’d been awake at this hour since the season began.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your presence, given your malaise?” Mayne asked. The carriage jolted and started down the street without further ado. “May I ask where we are going?”

There was an odd moment of silence in the carriage.

Mayne raised an eyebrow and looked at his companions’ faces. Griselda had closed her eyes and was obviously pretending she didn’t hear the question. Therefore, despite her denial of responsibility, he inferred that she approved of the expedition.