“Your aunt Margaret thought maybe a quiet family party before the big engagement ball would be best. I agree it’s very nice to all get together. When the formal celebration is given, there will be quite a crush. I am glad you could come.”
Since he’d rather be dragged naked backward through a muddy field full of brambles and rocks by a runaway horse, Derek merely managed a brittle smile. “How could I possibly miss it?”
“The food was delightful, wasn’t it?” Tall and lean, with a scholarly air, Thomas raised his brows just a fraction.
It might have been paste for all Derek knew. He’d drunk his way through dinner and not taken more than a few bites. He gave a grunt that might have meant anything, and looked around for more claret. It was true, the family gathering of thirty people or so was better than a ballroom full of guests, but only marginally. He still had to render a credible performance of indifference—or, worse, joy for the happy couple—plus dredge up the appropriate small talk with great-aunts and distant cousins. Hence his position on the fringe of the room, as out of sight as possible. If he could have ducked behind one of the elegant settees or crawled up the chimney of one of the several Italian marble fireplaces, he would have.
But he was the earl, his presence was requested by his aunt, of whom he was genuinely fond, and the best he could do was endure with as much equanimity as possible under the circumstances.
“For my part, of course, I wasn’t sure about Hyatt for Annabel. She’s on the headstrong side now and again and the man is a bit meek.” Thomas chuckled. “Why am I telling you this? You’ve known her almost all her life. She has grown from a curious, mischievous child into a young woman who very much knows her own mind. I think we can agree she needs a firm hand.”
What she needed, Derek thought in wayward contemplation, were
his
hands. On her, touching every delicious inch, bringing her exquisite, unforgettable pleasure . . .
He cleared his throat. “I am sure Hyatt can manage.”
“She’ll manage
him
, that’s my prediction.”
Having to attend the dinner was bad enough, but discussing how the woman he loved would handle her marriage to someone else was infinitely worse. Derek glanced across the room, noticed the way the candlelight gave rich golden highlights to her pale hair, and straightened. She
was
headstrong. Also bright, beautiful, and far too close even in a crowded room. He rasped out, “I need more wine. Please excuse me.”
“Yes, I cannot help but notice you look rather miserable. But is wine the solution?”
Thomas’s quiet question stopped Derek in the act of walking away. He froze and turned around.
Miserable
was an understatement, but he’d thought he’d done a rather good job of hiding how he felt.
Thomas went on. “I tried to stay out of this, but have decided it is doing no one any good. Have you ever thought about telling her how you feel?”
Derek had a desperate moment where he wanted to act as if he didn’t understand, but Uncle Thomas knew him too well. He’d been there as Derek assumed his responsibilities as the earl; he’d been like a father in many ways, since Derek had lost his own so young. He exhaled on a ragged expulsion of breath, ran his fingers through his hair, and didn’t dissemble. “She despises me.”
“You think so?” Thomas looked bland.
“She’s made it clear enough.” Derek heard the defensive note in his voice and did his best to temper it. “It’s my fault and I’m suffering for it, but it is what it is.”
“Mind telling me what happened? I’ve asked her about your apparent falling-out and she refuses to explain.”
Did he mind? Hell yes, he minded. It brought back the memory of Annabel’s face that unlucky evening. Derek did his best to seem nonchalant, but his stomach tightened. “I’m afraid she caught me in a rather flagrant indiscretion with Lady Bellvue. I am sure you remember when she was our houseguest at Manderville Hall last year.”
To his credit, Thomas didn’t look disapproving. Neither did he seem surprised. “I thought it might be something like that. I remember the lady in question was in hot pursuit of you her entire stay. I suppose I am not astonished to find out you finally succumbed.”
No, he shouldn’t have. It might have been the weakest mistake of his lifetime. Derek said explosively, “Bloody hell, Uncle, don’t excuse me. I shouldn’t have touched Isabella, and I wouldn’t have except . . .”
“Yes?”
Except he’d gone into the library that fateful afternoon. He could still remember the way the sunlight fell in blocks over the Oriental rug, how the air was heavy with the scent of yellowing paper and leather, how he hadn’t been in the least surprised to find the room already occupied because Annabel frequently had her pretty nose buried in a book. She’d been there, looking uncommonly lovely in a day gown of white muslin embroidered with tiny yellow flowers of some sort, her shining hair caught simply with a satin ribbon at her nape. When he entered, she’d looked up and smiled, and he’d been more than a little caught off guard with the depth of his reaction.
To a smile.
Yes, he’d known she had a girlish infatuation with him. At first he’d been amused when he realized it, because while he was well used to females in pursuit and it was a game he enjoyed, he was not at all familiar with being the object of an innocent adolescent’s adoration. Then several years went by and she no longer in the least resembled the engaging child who used to trot around at his heels, but had turned instead into a very beautiful young woman. More than just her physical transformation from girl to woman, she was also intelligent, articulate, and, as his uncle had pointed out already, capable of voicing her opinion on most subjects. Even when she was younger, she’d been adventurous, eager for life, and determined to overcome the horrendous tragedy of losing both parents at once in that terrible accident. Perhaps it was being orphaned at such a young age that gave her a resilient, self-reliant nature, or maybe it was just an innate part of her personality, but whatever it was, he liked her air of independence—he always had. In the girl, it had been endearing. In the woman, it was intriguing.
To his surprise, he’d found himself thinking about her often, even when he was in London and she was in Berkshire. Looking back, he realized now he’d gone to Manderville Hall more often than necessary—and Annabel was the reason why. Her laughter, the tendency she had to lean forward when she argued a point, the unfashionable intelligence that she made no effort to hide . . . all of it drew him.
How could it be? He, of all people, interested in a young lady barely out of the schoolroom?
No.
Or was he?
That fateful afternoon in the library, after making the pretense of looking for a book, making a few teasing comments so he could hear the music of her laugh, he’d done the unforgivable and kissed her. Oh, it was neatly executed, because he was quite experienced at the art of flirtation, and Annabel had been no match for him. He lured her to the window to admire the view of the rose garden, stood just a fraction too close for propriety, put his hand on the small of her back, and then angled his body just so and looked down at her. He could still remember vividly the slight widening of her eyes as she realized his intentions, and the soft willing feel of her in his arms.
The taste of her mouth had been strawberry sweet, warmth and innocence, and the tentative brush of her fingers against his neck made his entire body tighten with desire. With a woman’s unerring instinct she’d swayed into him, surrendering everything, and he’d accepted the precious offer, damn him straight to hell.
Her first kiss and he’d been the one.
What’s more, he’d
wanted
to be the one.
However, reality had a nasty habit of coming crashing down, and so it did, even as he lifted his head and stared into her eyes. They were blue, a pure shade he could compare to a cloudless summer sky, and held a dreamy look of happiness even as a brilliant smile touched her soft lips, still damp from his attentions.
Then she said it.
Don’t stop.
In a singular breathless, innocent whisper that summoned a dash of icy reality.
Don’t stop.
Was she insane? Of course he had to stop.
What the hell had he just done?
He was twenty-seven years old and she was not yet eighteen. He was a rake with a formidable reputation for debauchery—some, though not all, of it deserved—and she was his uncle’s innocent ward. Unless he wished to marry her, he shouldn’t lay a finger on her, much less encourage her infatuation.
At the time, the word
marriage
scared the devil out of him. He wasn’t sure it didn’t have the same effect now, but it was with a different kind of perspective.
So, even more dastardly than kissing her, he’d mumbled some excuse, left the room abruptly, and avoided her the rest of the day, because he had no idea how to deal with the tumultuous feelings of guilt, confusion, and something else, something hard to define. When had it happened? When had the child turned into a woman and when had he noticed?
What’s more, when had he been drawn in? Not just by her newfound maturity, not just by the way she looked and moved differently, but by
her
. The sparkle of her laughter, the quick vibrant wit, the unique look in her eyes as she gazed at him.
He’d seduced, charmed, and won his way through scores of women. This young woman—barely more than a girl—should have no effect on his life or his emotions.
But she did.
Later that evening, when Isabella Bellvue cornered him in the conservatory, he hadn’t resisted her overtures. Anything to get the image of Annabel’s face out of his mind. It was his ill luck, or maybe fate, she had come looking for him.
The disillusioned look on Annabel’s face before she turned and fled the room would be etched in his memory forever. The next day, he’d been even more of an ass and compounded his sin by leaving for London without saying a word. In the year that passed, Annabel had barely spoken to him and he didn’t blame her. Twice he’d tried to offer some banal kind of apology, but both times she’d just walked away from him before he could get more than a few words out. After the second time, he told himself to just forget the incident, forget
her
, and that the world was full of beautiful women who did not despise him.
Intelligent words, but the ghost of that kiss lingered.
He’d come to the conclusion he wasn’t going to so easily dismiss her from his life, but it hardly mattered now. She had dismissed
him
by becoming engaged to another man.
“Except I’m a damned fool,” Derek said heavily.
“Upon occasion, I agree.” Thomas smiled in his benign way. “But then again, most of us can say the same thing. The real question is how badly you want to remedy the damage done. In my opinion, Annabel’s continued disdain is a symbol of her strong underlying feelings. When she was a child, she adored you, and as she turned into a woman, that sentiment seemed to deepen. Finding you in a compromising situation with another woman was probably hurtful. Maybe you should try to repair the damage.”
“She’ll barely speak to me, and besides, in case it has escaped your notice, she is very much promised to another.”
Thomas looked across to where she stood next to her betrothed, his expression thoughtful. “What I’ve noticed, Derek, is that she isn’t happy, no matter what kind of facade she presents in public. I think Hyatt is an amiable man and she likes him well enough, but it isn’t a love match. Not on her part.”
“Most fashionable marriages are not.” Derek spoke with the authority of a man who knew he told the truth. It was part of life in the beau monde. Love was not required to make an advantageous match.
Thomas wasn’t to be deterred. “We both know Annabel deserves happiness, not mere contentment.”
This conversation
and
an empty glass? Neither was appealing. Derek made a helpless gesture with his hand. “It seems to me she’s chosen her path.”
“Maybe a different option would give her another direction. Tell me this. If she were free and you could persuade her to give you a second chance, would you marry her?”
“Yes.”
Good God, he hadn’t even hesitated. He needed something stronger than claret. Hadn’t he just said he’d consider
marriage
?
Uncle Thomas gave him a glimmering smile and said drily, “You see, you aren’t a fool all the time, your recent outrageous wager with Rothay aside.”
“Not my finest idea,” Derek admitted with an inner wince. “But Annabel’s engagement announcement was in the paper that morning. Getting foxed seemed the thing to do.”
“Like now?”
“Insensibility has its merits now and again.”
“The thing to do,” Thomas informed him, “is to change her mind. If she won’t speak to you—and I am fairly sure she is still in that frame of mind—put that legendary talent to good use for a change. God knows you’ve been honing it in a myriad of bedrooms over the years. Don’t let all that practice go to waste when something important is at stake.”
Derek stared, nonplussed, as his uncle strolled off to mingle with the guests.
Had Thomas really just suggested he
seduce
Annabel?
Dinner was simple but delicious in the way only a country meal could be. The butter was freshly churned, the vegetables were just picked and cooked until meltingly tender, and the beef was flavorful and smothered in rich brown gravy. For dessert Mrs. Sims had made a fruit tart with pears from the estate gardens, and Caroline savored every bite.
She also, surprisingly, savored the conversation. They sat in a small charming room usually used for breakfast with a low ceiling and long windows, the table intimate, the space not at all grand but still very appealing. Lit tapers flickered light over a table that had seen use over the years, but as with everything else, each detail was well cared for from the polished dark wood floor to the mural of a spring garden on the wall. It was delightful and informal and not at all what she expected from an august duke with a vast fortune at his fingertips.