Page 36

“ W e should get you back inside.” Henry finally spoke after a long moment of silence between them.

Surely, he couldn’t keep holding her here, in the conservatory, dressed the way that she was.

Annabelle’s eyes widened, and her flushed cheeks brightened in the moonlight that pierced the glass ceiling of the conservatory.

“Oh!” she said, trying to pull away. “I…I can go back in myself. You?—”

Henry’s brows slashed downward above his eyes. “So eager to be rid of me, are you?” He grouched and she blinked up at him.

“I’m sorry?”

“How little do you truly think of me,” he said, “that you would think I would leave you alone like this, after that explosive moment we just shared?”

Now, Annabelle gasped. Her blush spread past her neck to pepper the tops of her breasts, which were now hidden from his gaze inside her chemise.

“Henry!”

“Good Lord, how I love my name on your lips.” He sighed while adjusting his hold as he carried her through the moonlit garden toward the house.

With each step, his heart pounded in his chest.

“Well, Henry.” Annabelle wrapped her arms securely around his shoulders. “Perhaps you should put me down and let me walk.”

“Absolutely not,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple. “I rather like having you in my arms like this. Makes me feel like some sort of knight errant carrying off his fair maiden.”

“More like a scoundrel absconding with an innocent,” she countered, though her tone held no real reproach.

“Innocent?” Henry’s chuckle was low and wicked. “My dear Annabelle, after what we just did, I think we can safely say your innocence is a thing of the past.”

Heat flooded Annabelle’s cheeks at the reminder, and she buried her face against his shoulder. “You’re terrible.”

“Terribly besotted with you,” he corrected while navigating the servants’ entrance with stealth.

The corridors were mercifully empty. The household had long since retired for the evening.

“Now, kindly tell me where we’re going before I walk right into Lady Oakley’s chambers.”

Annabelle’s laughter was like music to his ears, but she obliged him, whispering the directions in his ear. Henry fought back the urge to take her again.

When they reached her chamber, Henry set her down gently. His hands lingered at her waist as she found her footing. The intimacy of being alone together in her bedroom sent another flutter of awareness through him and he toyed with the notion of seducing her once again.

“I should go,” he said quietly, though he made no move to leave.

“Yes, you should,” she agreed, though her hands remained pressed against his chest.

They stood there for a moment, neither moving, the air between them thick with unspoken words and barely contained desire.

And then they both gave in.

Henry’s lips captured hers once again in a kiss that was both tender and demanding. His arms pulled her against the solid warmth of his chest. She melted into him. Her hands fisted in the fabric of his coat as the familiar fire ignited between them.

When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Henry rested his forehead against hers.

“By God, I cannot stop kissing you, Annabelle Lytton.” He confessed again in a voice that was rough.

“Neither can I,” she admitted. The words tumbled out before she could stop them. “I cannot seem to help myself.”

“Then don’t.” His hands framed her face while his thumbs traced her cheekbones. “Don’t help yourself. Don’t fight this. Kiss me.”

“I-I want to. I really do, but it’s not that simple.” She pulled back slightly, though her hands remained pressed against his chest. “You know it isn’t.”

Henry’s arms tightened around her. “Annabelle,” he started to say, but she shook her head once, cutting him off.

“I-I’ve been here before,” she whispered. “I believed in impossible things once, and it nearly destroyed me.”

“Your fiancé,” Henry said, and it wasn’t a question.

She nodded as her throat grew tight with the old pain.

Philip Horton, the heir to the Marquess of Belfast. We were to be married some years ago.

I thought… I believed I loved him then. Now, I know it was just a fairytale infatuation, but at that time, I…

I had hopes…fairytale dreams that would put the writers to shame. I…”

Henry swallowed hard, but he remained silent, waiting for her to continue.

“The morning of our wedding…I discovered the truth.” The words came easier now, as if saying them aloud might finally exorcise the demons they carried.

“My lady’s maid —” Pure heartbreak and rage bled from that word.

“—saw him running away with another woman. Kissing and fondling like they couldn’t bear to let go of each other. ”

Henry did not say a word.

“Then she told me who it was. My own little sister, Florentia.” Annabelle’s laugh was bitter.

“She’d been helping me prepare for the wedding.

All those intimate conversations about marriage, about love…

She knew everything about my hopes and dreams for the future and she… she decided to take it all.”

Henry’s hands tightened on her face. “Christ, Annabelle.”

“They ran away together that very morning. While I stood in my wedding dress, waiting for a groom who would never come.”

“That bastard,” Henry breathed. His eyes blazed with fury on her behalf. “And your sister?—”

“Our father told everyone that she’d gone to the colonies to live with a distant aunt. Luckily, only my lady’s maid saw her with Philip. The ton believed the story my father fed them,” Annabelle finished. “And I haven’t seen her since. We’re not…um, we’re not very close, you see.”

Henry could imagine why. They stood in silence for a moment, and the weight of her confession settled between them like a physical presence.

“I’m not him,” he said finally, his voice steady and sure. “I’m not Philip Horton.”

“I know,” she whispered. “But you’re still a duke, and I’m a spinster with a scandal in her past. The ending may be different, but it will still be an ending.”

“Do you truly believe I would abandon you?” His voice carried a note of hurt that he just could not mask.

“I think you would do what duty demands,” she replied honestly. “As you should.”

Henry was quiet for a long moment, his thumbs still tracing gentle patterns across her skin. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, more vulnerable than he’d used with her before.

“My father was a very timid man,” he said quietly. “He never stood up for himself, never for me. He preferred his stones and his books to his own son. I spent years trying to earn even a glance of approval from him.”

Annabelle’s hands moved to grip his own, as she offered her own silent comfort.

“My mother, however, was everything he wasn’t. Strong, determined, ambitious.” His laugh was hollow. “I thought she loved me. I thought her constant criticism was because she wanted me to be the best duke I could be.”

“What changed?” Annabelle asked softly.

“Margaret. I was nineteen, foolish, and easily manipulated. Margaret trapped me into scandal, and I married her to preserve both our reputations. But years later, I discovered the truth.”

His jaw clenched, and the muscle there ticked with suppressed anger. “My mother orchestrated it all. She chose my wife for me by manipulating both Margaret and me into that compromising situation. Because she didn’t trust me to make the right choice.”

Annabelle’s breath caught. “Henry…”

“After I confronted her, she wasn’t even…she felt no remorse. So, I…I banished her to Scotland. I thought that was punishment enough.” His voice turned bitter. “I was wrong. She had Margaret killed, Annabelle. My wife was murdered because my mother blamed her for everything that went wrong.”

“Henry, I’m so sorry.” Annabelle’s eyes filled with tears, and Henry’s heart swelled at the sight of it; of the fact that she was sad for him. “None of that was your fault. I hope you know that.”

Henry smiled at her. “Do you see now, Annabelle?” He said, and his beautiful vixen blinked up at him with confusion in her eyes.

“See what, exactly?”

“We’re the same, you and I,” he said. “And if you think you’re not worthy of my affection, then I deserve none of your tender feelings either.

But I am here with you now. In this moment and the next, and the next after that, until the end.

I’m saying that this time, I choose you.

Not duty. Not a responsibility to society or my blasted title. Just you.”

The word hung between them like a bridge neither quite dared to cross.

“Henry—”

The look on her face…Henry knew that he had to get away before he pulled her down into that bed of hers and ravished her all night long.

“Sleep well, my Annabelle,” he whispered.

Then, he lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it, before he pulled away and quickly disappeared out the door.

It was for the best that he let her rest. The Lord knew his control was already shot to smithereens where Miss Lytton was concerned.

“You’re glowing, my dear.”

Annabelle nearly dropped her teacup at her grandmother’s observation. The delicate porcelain rattled against the saucer as she set it down with trembling fingers.

“I am glowing?”

“Indeed. There’s a certain… luminescence about you these past few days,” Lady Oakley continued. Her sharp eyes studied Annabelle with the intensity of a hawk. “One might almost think you were in love.”

“Grandmother, really,” Annabelle managed as heat rose in her cheeks. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you mean.”

“Hmm.” The older woman’s lips curved in a knowing smile. “Well, whatever the cause, it suits you remarkably well. You haven’t looked this alive since—well, since before that dreadful business with Florentia.”

It had been over three weeks since that night in the conservatory, where Henry had taken her with all the desperation of a starving man. Annabelle had a feeling that her grandmother knew all about her escapades and secret meetings with the Duke of Marchwood, but decided to turn a blind eye.

Until today, that is.

“Well, it’s…London is a nice change of scenery for me, is all.”

“Hm.” Lady Oakley hummed, and at that moment, the butler appeared in the doorway. “Your Grace, the Duke of Marchwood and Lady Celia have arrived for today’s lesson.”

Annabelle’s pulse quickened traitorously at the mention of Henry’s name, even as she tried her best to hide her reaction.

“Excellent timing,” Lady Oakley declared, rising from her chair. “Annabelle, do fetch the etiquette primers from the library while I greet our guests. We’ll be working on deportment today.”

The library. Of course. Annabelle had also begun to suspect her grandmother was orchestrating these little errands that conveniently removed her from the drawing room whenever Henry arrived, so that it was easier for him to meet with her.

She was not going to complain about it, though. She made her way down the familiar corridor, and her heart hammered against her ribs with each step. She stepped into the library and closed the door behind her, but made sure not to lock it.

Not yet.

Instead, she pretended to peruse the shelves for the etiquette primers she knew very well were already in her grandmother’s possession. But she did not have to wait long before the door creaked open.

“Looking for something in particular?” Henry’s voice was low and warm as he stepped inside, then closed the door behind himself with deliberate care.

Annabelle’s heart started to beat hard and fast inside her chest because of the mere sound of his voice.

“The etiquette primers,” she replied, though she made no move toward the shelves where they were kept.

Instead, she found herself turning towards him with anticipation already dogging her movements.

“Hm,” he hummed, closing the distance between them in two easy strides, and Annabelle had the sudden urge to run, but it was an urge that was without agency, because her body refused to move.

This man…he had her completely under his thrall.

“And how is your deportment this morning, Miss Lytton?”

The formal address sent a shiver through her, especially when delivered in that particular tone that suggested anything but propriety.

“Quite proper, Your Grace, as it should be.” The words came out in a near-breathless gasp.

“Should be,” he repeated as he moved closer with that predatory grace that never failed to make her breath catch. “But is it?”

“Henry.” His name escaped her lips as barely a whisper. “We agreed to be careful.”

“That we did.” He lifted his hand to trace the line of her jaw with feather-light touches. “Haven’t we been doing splendidly?”

She leaned into the touch despite herself, and her eyes fluttered closed.

“Your daughter is just down the hall.” She protested now, although it came out weakly.

“Learning to be a proper young lady from your grandmother,” he murmured. His thumb brushed across her lower lip. “While I am here, completely improper thoughts about you consume my every waking moment.”

“Henry.” She whined because she knew she could not resist him. “I think my grandmother has caught onto us, as well.”

“All is well,” he said. “Because I do not intend to hide this relationship.”