His cock stirred and he sighed. What a fool he was. Last night, he’d abandoned the idea of seeking his satisfaction elsewhere. He’d never been one to use one person in place of another. However, Annabelle apparently had no similar reluctance.
“Gareth, stop being an ass. As tempting as she is, I’m not here to steal Annabelle’s virtue, nor am I here to counsel for marriage.”
Instead of relief, even more anger clouded Gareth’s vision. It hadn’t looked like Markham was attempting to steal anything. Women were fickle. It was true. The one lesson he should have learned at his mother’s knee, and he should have taken from his father’s oft-repeated words, had just never held any meaning—until now.
He crossed his arms, though his hands remained balled tight. “No? I guess one cannot steal what is freely offered.”
Annabelle’s harsh gasp only reinforced his belief she’d been willing to participate in whatever Markham would have suggested. Still, some part of him took in Annabelle’s shaking form and wanted to embrace her, to protect her—even if it had to be from herself. Maybe if someone had done the same for his mother, she wouldn’t have done the things she had. He would never have been born, but hadn’t that been what his father wanted anyway? “And why not marriage? Am I somehow not good enough for her?”
Markham snorted. “My dear boy—”
Gareth ground his molars at the patronizing tone. He was no boy! He and Markham were of an age. As were he and William. They were both married. Why not he? Indeed, marriage was the only way to protect Annabelle, since everyone else did such an abysmal job of it.
“I said no such thing. As a point of fact, I believe you’d make an admirable couple, if you can meet Annabelle’s needs.”
Red flooded his vision. He stormed toward Markham, who started backing away, hands out in front of him. “No insult to your manhood, Grey. I merely meant Annabelle has questions she’d like answered. It’s never good to have unspoken desires—”
“Stop!” Gareth barked. Needs? Unspoken desires? What inappropriate longings had Annabelle confided to Markham? He spun on his heel, pinned Annabelle with his gaze, and advanced until but a breath separated them. Through clenched teeth, he asked, “What the hell is he talking about, Annabelle?”
Eyes wide and the same true blue of a clear summer day, she said, “I don’t really think this is the appropriate—”
A rough laugh barked out. “Appropriate?” He shifted to encompass Markham in his narrowed gaze. Primal need raced through him when his shoulder touched Annabelle, who vibrated with tension. He wanted her shaking with need for him, not just any man. Perhaps a firm hand was all that was necessary. His cock hardened. On the other hand, he could just keep her naked and locked in a bedroom. “None of this is appropriate.” Not his lustful thoughts or this morning meeting.
“Well, doesn’t this look cozy?” a lazy voice drawled.
Annabelle stiffened beneath Gareth’s shoulder.
Markham faced the path. Distaste flashed across the man’s expression before he adopted an indolent air. “Lady Evans. Digby.”
Annabelle blanched; a slight tremble ran through her and into him.
Gareth stifled a groan. Lady Evans was the biggest gossip in the
ton
. Was this what Annabelle had planned all along? Had she wanted to be caught? Was she so desperate for attention that she’d compromise herself for it?
If he could prevent it, Gareth had no intention of being driven to the altar by gossip. He straightened his shoulders and spun. “Good morning, Lady Evans.” He ignored the dandy at her side, never having been introduced to him and not caring for an introduction now. Perhaps if they all acted as if nothing untoward was occurring, then these two would go about their morning exercise. “Lovely time for a ride, don’t you think?”
Lady Evans inclined her head. “Yes it is, Your Grace. Though, I hope nothing is remiss with any of your mounts.” Her no doubt feigned, concerned gaze took in the three horses grazing well out of reach. “Did you send Miss Abbott’s groom back for aid, perchance?”
Damn the woman’s impertinence! She couldn’t take a subtle hint. By tea every hostess in town would know Annabelle had been unchaperoned with not one, but two gentlemen—one of whom might be married, but was well-known to have been a notorious rake prior to said union. Gareth was well and truly trapped. He had no choice but to offer for Annabelle now. Not if he valued his friendship with William and wanted to protect the foolish woman from herself.
He tensed, but there was no feeling of dread, or even regret. No, instead relief washed through him and his shoulders relaxed. He opened his mouth to speak, though he was uncertain of his words—
“No need to concern yourself on our account, Lady Evans,” Markham drawled. “Not when you have so much on your mind already. How is Lord Evans? Recovering from his unfortunate accident, I hope?”
Twin spots of color bloomed high on the lady’s cheeks.
“And Digby, I hear congratulations are in order. Miss Fitzwilliam-Smythe accepted your offer, yes? I believe she and my wife are both members of The Ladies Society for Reform.” He shrugged. “Perhaps not, though. I’ll have to ask Lady Markham when I return home.”
Where Lady Evan’s complexion had grown increasingly flushed, Digby’s had paled. Gareth bit back a smirk. Somehow Markham always knew everyone’s darkest secrets, and he had no doubt that the man had just reminded these two of that precise fact. Gareth was uncertain what point Markham was making exactly. However, he was certain Lord Evans would not care to hear his wife was out riding unescorted at an unfashionably early hour with a man. Hadn’t that been the precise thing that had drawn Gareth out? Not that he and Annabelle were married. Yet.
“No need to mention us to your wife, my lord. I’m sure she has more important things on her mind after hosting such a successful crush last night.” Lady Evans spurred her mount, which then wheeled around to face the main path. “Your Grace.” She nodded. “Miss Abbott.” The couple was off before anyone could deliver a return farewell.
Annabelle whimpered. Gareth returned his gaze to her. While she stood tall, she also appeared to have shrunk into herself. She’d wrapped her arms around her midriff and her brows were drawn together.
“I am well and truly ruined now. Lady Minerva and William will banish me back to America, I’m sure.”
America? Not if he had something to say about it.
“Don’t fret, my dear,” Markham said. “Those two won’t say anything without possibly exposing their own sorry affair. Though I’m not sure how much longer it will last now that Lady Evans knows Digby proposed to another. She doesn’t appreciate infidelity in her men. How do you think Lord Evans was injured? She apparently has a vicious right jab.”
Despite the amusing anecdote, neither Annabelle nor Gareth laughed. For his part, a monumental decision had just been made that defied any levity.
Markham walked over and had the effrontery to squeeze Annabelle’s shoulder. Luckily for him, he withdrew the hand before Gareth could brush it off, perhaps breaking a finger or two of the earl’s in the process. “Now, might I suggest we adjourn to my house for breakfast?”
“I think it best if I take Annabelle home, discuss with William how best to resolve this…” Folly. Height of stupidity. “…little adventure.”
A small gasp escaped Annabelle. The woman knew there was only one way to stifle the gossips. Was she that averse to marriage to him? She’d been willing enough to take the risk last night. Was Markham really that much more appealing?
He forced his shoulders straight. It mattered not. Of the two of them, he was the only one who could salvage her reputation.
Markham narrowed his eyes. “Don’t you think Annabelle should have a say in her own future?”
Annabelle gripped Gareth’s hand. “Please, Gareth.”
Her eyes held the same plea as her voice. Perhaps it would be best to hear her out. He didn’t want a marriage filled with strife. He’d seen firsthand the damage it wreaked on the parties involved and innocent bystanders alike. “Fine.” In the future, he only hoped her pleas were the breathless ones of a woman in need of release.
They mounted and headed down the lane, he somehow falling behind while Markham and Annabelle rode ahead. His stomach knotted at the role of chaperone he played. Of course, wasn’t that why he even contemplated marriage to the woman?
Despite the recent threat posed to her reputation, she sat straight in the saddle. Her form, clad in a rich green habit that brought out the red highlights in her hair and complemented her sun-kissed complexion, hardly swayed with her mount’s steps. The silly feather on her hat moved more. She held her seat well, a natural rider. Would she ride a man as well? His cock stirred. Given the amount of frustration he’d been subjected to in less than twelve hours, it believed he deserved a reward. He wasn’t too far behind in seconding that opinion.
Her throaty laughter floated back to him. Irritation dampened his lust. While he was fantasizing about her, she was letting that bastard tease away her doldrums. What was Markham saying that was so entertaining?
Suspicion tightened his throat and chest. Was it possible she’d already allowed Markham to tease away her virtue as well?
His horse tossed its head and sidestepped as his hold tightened on the reins. He spent a few moments regaining control of his mount only to find they’d arrived at the earl’s. He dismounted and threw the reins to the stable boy who ran up.
“Are you coming, old boy?” Markham and Annabelle had already struck down the path to the house.
His long stride ate up the distance between them so they all arrived at the door together. It swung open before Markham could even touch it. “My lord, Lady Markham bade you attend her in her chamber upon your return.”
A frown furrowed Markham’s face. “Is all well?” He waved a hand before the butler could respond. “I’ll attend her at once.” He faced Annabelle and Gareth. “Pray, excuse me. Farley, please see my guests’ needs are attended.”
The butler bowed. “Yes, my lord.” Markham was already halfway up the stairs when the servant straightened. He took their gloves and Annabelle’s hat, then placed them on a side table. With another slight bow, he said, “This way, please. Breakfast is not yet served, but I will place you in the morning room and see that the food is readied.”
Gareth and Annabelle trailed the butler to the morning room—Annabelle leading. The slow sway of her hips did nothing to dampen the ember of building suspicion burning his gut. How had she come to be so familiar with the residence? How often had she visited here?
“Your Grace?”
Annabelle’s voice recalled him to his surroundings. Your Grace now, was it? He needed no reminder of his unwanted title, but maybe she did. Maybe she’d chosen him because of his title, which could protect her from all kinds of foibles. Had that been her plan all along? To compromise herself and force a proposal to hide a secret affair with Markham?
What had those silly chits last night been giggling about…Lord Thornton escaping marriage? One could only escape something unwanted. Bile burned his chest and throat. Unwanted, he understood. Would he be unwanted in a marriage to Annabelle, a simple front for her affairs?
“Gareth?”
Blood pounded in his veins, dulling his hearing. Annabelle clasped her throat. Was she afraid? Why? She wasn’t the one in danger of being hurt here.
She took a hesitant step toward him. “Is everything all right?”
He choked. No, everything was not all right. Damned if he’d marry a woman who didn’t want him. “I will not be made a cuckold.”
Confusion crossed her face. “Whatever are you speaking of?”
She would make a fine actress.
He closed the distance between them. “I am speaking of you and your affair with Markham. I will not marry you to hide your folly.”
Annabelle blinked. Her eyes narrowed, but she didn’t deny his accusation. Disappointment weighted his shoulders. She spun and walked with measured steps to the door, but instead of leaving, she shut it. The sound of the lock clicking in place echoed in the silence.
She spun and walked back, a determined gleam in her eyes. “How dare you accuse me of such a vile thing?” She poked him in the chest. “I am not having an affair with Markham, and if I were, I certainly wouldn’t marry you to cover it up.”
She shoved at his chest. He stepped back, not from the strength of the push, but in surprise. “Do you think so little of me?” She prodded him again, and he retreated, right into a chair.
He normally did not back down from confrontation, especially of the physical variety, but the spark of anger gleaming in her eyes had his own irritation metamorphosing into pure, unadulterated lust.
“That I would what seduce one man in place of another?” She scoffed, disdain elevating her chin.
He sidestepped the chair. “How would I know? I but met you last night, and it appeared as if you would have let me take you against the wall of this very house if Markham hadn’t interrupted.” And damn the man a second time for his actions of the previous eve. If not for the earl’s untimely appearance, Gareth would have lifted Annabelle, wrapped her legs around his waist and buried his aching cock in her cunny. His cock throbbed its agreement and frustration.
“Oh, you insensitive oaf!” She advanced, but this time he hopped out of the way and stumbled over a table. The thin cushion of a settee broke his fall. With a creak, the furniture protested his landing.
She stormed over to tower above him as he struggled to right himself. “And did you seek me out last night because you’d heard I was of easy virtue?”
He sat upright, but she left him no room to stand. Discomfort squirmed through him as he was reminded of the many lectures he’d endured from his father in this same position. He’d found then it was easiest to answer the simplest part of the question first. Now, given that his blood was equally divided between his head and his cock, it was the smarter route as well. “I didn’t seek you out, if you recall.”
She gasped and her complexion paled, and suddenly he felt as if he was the one in the wrong, as if his anger was unjustified and his lust-filled thoughts offensive. He snagged her hand when she would have turned away. Her gaze cast aside, she said in a small voice, “Then I must be the one to apologize. It seems as if you have merely been the victim of poor timing.”