Page 37

“ W h—?”

Just like that, Annabelle was pressed against the library door. Henry’s mouth trailed fire down her throat as his hands worked to free her from her bodice.

“Someone could come in,” she gasped, even as she arched into his touch.

“I locked the door,” he murmured against her skin. His teeth grazed her collarbone. “So, there will be no distractions.”

“Oh.” Annabelle shuddered against him. Her nipples pebbled inside her clothes as his big hands closed over her breasts. “Oh…Oh God…”

“Will you not come to my residence, Annabelle?” He whispered against her neck while pulling at her chemise to expose her breasts to the air. “Hm? I long to have you in my bed and see your beautiful hair spread across my pillows.”

This, he followed with a slow, languid lick of his tongue against one nipple.

“Oh!” Annabelle moaned.

Her fingers tangled into his hair to keep him there, even as the heat rushed down south to coalesce in between her legs, where she throbbed urgently.

“I think you deserve more than these stolen moments in the shadows,” he continued. His mouth closed over her breast before he sucked.

“Henry, oh God, please!” She gasped. Her legs shook.

“Hm?” He hummed with her nipple still in his mouth, and the vibration went straight to her clitoris, making her hips jerk.

“I want…you,” she moaned, and Henry groaned before rising to capture her lips again.

“God, you set me on fire,” he whispered as his hands dipped underneath her gown and underclothes to find her already wet cunt.

He ran his fingers through her slit and, holding her gaze, lifted those fingers to his mouth and sucked them clean.

“Hm.” He moaned, and Annabelle’s mouth fell open in a silent scream.

“Henry…” Now, she was the one who was desperate.

She pulled at his breeches, not caring about her own earlier objections to this.

Henry chuckled darkly, but he quickly took over, pulling down his pants and codpiece to release his already bulging member. Annabelle licked her lips, and he growled.

“Heavens,” he sighed as he guided his manhood to her entrance and, without further encouragement, he buried himself to the hilt inside her.

Annabelle’s eyes rolled to the back of her head, but before she could scream, Henry swallowed the sound with a consuming kiss. Then he started to pump inside her in earnest.

His hips moved, slow then fast, then slow again, until she thought she would go mad from the pleasure.

“Yes, yes, yes.” She gasped against his lips before he sucked at her lower lip and angled his hips so that his member caressed her sweet spot and she exploded. Pleasure ripped through her.

Her inner walls clamped down around his thick manhood, and he groaned, pumping once, twice, three times, before pulling out and splattering his seed into a handkerchief.

“My Annabelle,” he moaned as he came.

Annabelle watched him. Her legs and hips still twitched with aftershocks.

By the time she had the presence of mind again, she found him pressing kisses to her cheeks, jaw, and the spot where her neck flowed into her shoulders.

“Please come visit Marchwood Hall,” he pleaded. “I want to?—”

A sharp knock at the door made them both freeze.

“Miss Lytton?” The butler’s voice carried through the heavy wood. “Begging your pardon, but you have visitors. Lord Oakley has arrived with Miss Florentia Lytton.”

The blood drained from Annabelle’s face. “Miss…Florentia?”

“Yes, Miss. Your sister, I believe.”

Annabelle’s knees nearly gave out, now for a completely different reason. Henry steadied her with firm hands. His expression was instantly alert and protective.

“Tell them I’ll be right there,” she called, her voice somehow steady despite the chaos in her chest.

Now, her orgasm and all the fuzzy feelings were completely forgotten.

They worked quickly to make themselves presentable. Henry straightened his cravat while Annabelle smoothed her skirts with trembling hands.

“It will be all right,” he said quietly while pressing a brief kiss to her forehead before unlocking the door. “I’ll go first.”

Annabelle waited several agonizing minutes before making her way to the drawing room. Her heart hammered against her ribs with each step.

The scene that greeted her was like something from a nightmare. Her grandmother sat stiffly in her chair. Disapproval radiated from every line of her posture.

Henry stood near the window with Celia. His expression was politely neutral. Lord Oakley, her father, sat uncomfortably on the settee.

And there, rising gracefully from her chair with that familiar melodic laugh, was Florentia—her younger sister whom she hadn’t seen in years.

“Annabelle!” Her sister rushed forward and enveloped her in an embrace that smelled of expensive perfume and secrets. “Oh, how I’ve missed you!”

Annabelle stood frozen in her sister’s arms, noting how Florentia had filled out and how her face had gained the sophistication that came with experience and heartbreak.

“If you recall, I told you that Florentia decided to return to London,” Lord Oakley said. His tone was carefully casual. “She’s missed England dreadfully, haven’t you, my dear?”

“Terribly,” Florentia agreed as she pulled back to study Annabelle’s face with eyes that held shadows that hadn’t been there before. “I’ve been such a fool, Anna. Such a terrible fool.”

The childhood nickname made Annabelle go even stiffer, and she saw Henry’s subtle shift in posture from the corner of her eye.

“How… unexpected,” Lady Oakley said coldly. Her disapproval of this disruption was evident in every syllable.

“Indeed,” Henry said smoothly, executing a perfect bow. “Miss Florentia Lytton, Lord Oakley. I should take my leave. Come along, Celia.”

As he passed Annabelle, his fingers brushed hers briefly, communicating a silent promise of support that she clung to desperately.

When they were finally alone, Florentia turned to her with tears in her eyes.

“I know you must hate me,” she began, but Annabelle cut her off. Her curiosity was fixed on something more important.

“Where is Philip?” she asked.

Florentia’s face crumpled. “He… He’s gone. He… he left me last year for an actress. Took what little money I had and disappeared.”

Annabelle shook her head. She didn’t know what to feel, but…despite everything, she couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy. “Florentia…”

“I was such a fool, Annabelle. I thought I was in love, thought he truly cared for me. But you were right all along. He was selfish and weak. He would have made you miserable.”

“That wasn’t your choice to make,” Annabelle said quietly.

“I know. I know I took your life away from you.” Tears spilled down Florentia’s cheeks. “I know, and I’m so sorry. I’ve regretted it every day since. Can you… Can you ever forgive me?”

Annabelle looked at her sister—truly looked at her—and saw not the radiant girl who had stolen her future, but a young woman who had learned hard lessons about love, trust, and betrayal.

“Yes,” she said finally, even though she couldn’t help but harbor that inkling of doubt in her heart about her sister’s intentions. “I forgive you.”

“Oh, Anna!” Florentia hugged her even tighter and pressed her face against her neck. “Thank you so much!”

But Annabelle couldn’t help but wonder if she’d just made a big mistake.

The weeks following Florentia’s return passed in a blur of forced civility and carefully orchestrated encounters. It seemed wherever Annabelle ventured, whether to morning calls or afternoon shopping, her sister materialized like an unwelcome specter from her past.

“How fortuitous,” Lord Oakley would declare each time. He kept his satisfaction poorly concealed. “Perhaps you ladies might accompany each other. Sisters should remain close, after all.”

The latest such orchestration manifested at Lady Pemberton’s garden party, where Annabelle found herself trapped in the verdant splendor of manicured lawns and strategic social positioning.

“My dear Miss Lytton,” Lady Pemberton greeted with the practiced warmth of a seasoned hostess. “How delightful that you could join us. And with your sister returned to our midst—what a lovely reunion this must be.”

Annabelle managed a smile that felt brittle as porcelain. “Indeed, Lady Pemberton. Most unexpected.”

“Unexpected, perhaps, but thoroughly charming,” came a familiar voice. Henry approached with measured steps. His presence immediately shifted the tenor of their small gathering.

“Your Grace.” Lady Pemberton curtsied deeply. “How honored we are by your attendance.”

“The honor is mine entirely,” Henry replied, though his gaze remained fixed on Annabelle. “Miss Lytton, you appear particularly radiant this afternoon.”

The compliment, delivered with such genuine warmth, drew curious glances from nearby guests. Annabelle felt heat rise in her cheeks as whispers began to circulate like autumn leaves on an unwelcome breeze.

“Papa!” Florentia’s melodic voice rang across the garden as she glided toward them, resplendent in pale blue silk that complemented her golden curls to perfection.

“You didn’t tell me His Grace would be attending.

Your Grace,” Florentia executed a flawless curtsy, her eyes sparkling with practiced charm.

Henry’s bow was polite but reserved. “Miss Florentia Lytton. I heard you spent time abroad. I trust your travels were… educational.”

“Oh, immensely,” she laughed. The sound was high and clear like silver bells. “Though nothing compares to being home in England. Don’t you agree, Anna? There’s simply no place like home.”

Annabelle managed to wrestle the feeling of annoyance before it could show on her face.

“Home is indeed precious,” Annabelle managed. She kept her voice steady despite the turmoil within.

“How lovely to see sisters so devoted,” Lady Pemberton observed. “Though one must say, the resemblance is quite remarkable. And yet, how different you both are in temperament.”