Secrets of a Summer Night (21 page)

She was suddenly released, and she turned to flee from him, stumbling against the statues in her haste. He followed in slow pursuit, his low laugh echoing in her ears. He stayed close behind her, deliberately prolonging the chase, until she was hot and exhausted and robbed of breath. Capturing her at last, he drew her back against him, and pulled her down to the floor. His dark head blotted out the sky as he covered her with his body, and the music was drowned out by the thunder of her own heartbeat. “Annabelle,” he whispered, “Annabelle…”

She awakened, her eyes widening in her sleep-flushed face as she sensed that someone was with her.

“Annabelle,” she heard again… but it was not the husky, caressing baritone of her dream.

A
s Annabelle looked up, she saw Lord Hodgeham standing over her. She struggled to a sitting position and inched backward, comprehending that this was not an imaginary figure, but an all-too-real one. Rendered speechless with surprise, she shrank from him as he reached out with a heavy hand and flicked the lace trim at the front of her day gown.

“I heard about your illness,” Hodgeham said, his gaze heavy-lidded as he glanced over her half-reclining form. “How sorry I was to learn that you had suffered such an affliction. But it appears there was no permanent harm done. You seem…” He paused and moistened his plump lips, “… as exquisite as ever… though perhaps a bit pale.”

“How… how did you find me here?” Annabelle asked. “This is the Marsdens’ private parlor. Surely no one gave you leave—”

“I made a servant tell me,” came Hodgeham’s smug reply.

“Get out,” Annabelle snapped. “Or I’ll scream that you’re assaulting me.”

Hodgeham chortled richly. “You can’t afford a scandal, my dear. Your interest in Lord Kendall is obvious to everyone. And we both know that one hint of disgrace attached to your name would completely ruin your chances with him.” He grinned at her silence, revealing a mouthful of crooked yellow teeth. “That’s better. My poor, pretty Annabelle… I know what will restore a blush to those pale cheeks.” Reaching into his coat pocket, he extracted a large gold coin and waved it in front of her tantalizingly. “A token to express my sympathy for your ordeal.”

Annabelle’s breath came in an outraged hiss as Hodgeham leaned very close, the coin clutched between his fat fingers as he attempted to tuck it into the bodice of her dress. She knocked his hand away with a stiff, jerking movement. Although she was still feeble, the gesture was enough to send the coin flying from his hand. It fell to the carpeted floor with a solid thud.

“Leave me alone,” she said fiercely.

“Haughty bitch. You needn’t try to pretend that you’re any better than your mother.”

“You swine—” Cursing her own lack of strength, Annabelle struck out at him feebly as he bent over her, her body racked with chills of horror. “No,” she said through gritted teeth, covering her face with her arms. She resisted fiercely as he grasped her wrists. “No—”

A clatter from the doorway caused Hodgeham to straighten in surprise. Shaking from head to toe, Annabelle looked in the direction of the noise and saw her mother standing there with a lunch tray. Silverware had tumbled from the edge of the tray as Philippa realized what was happening.

Philippa shook her head as if finding it impossible to believe that Hodgeham was there. “You dare to approach my daughter…” she began in a thick voice. Scarlet with rage, she went to settle the tray on a nearby table, then spoke to Hodgeham with quiet wrath. “My daughter is ill, my lord. I will not allow her health to be compromised — you will come with me
now,
and we will discuss this in some other place.”

“Discussion isn’t what I want,” Hodgeham said.

Annabelle saw a quick succession of emotions cross her mother’s face: disgust, resentment, hatred, fear. And finally… resignation. “Come away from my daughter, then,” she said coldly.

“No,” Annabelle croaked in protest, realizing that Philippa intended to go somewhere alone with him. “Mama, stay with me.”

“Everything will be fine.” Philippa didn’t look at her, but kept her emotionless gaze on Hodgeham’s ruddy countenance. “I’ve brought you a lunch tray, dearest. Try to eat something—”

“No.”
Disbelieving, despairing, Annabelle watched her mother calmly precede Hodgeham from the room. “Mama, don’t go with him!” But Philippa left as if she had not heard.

Annabelle was not aware of how many minutes passed as she stared blankly at the empty doorway. There was no thought in her mind of touching the lunch tray. The tang of vegetable broth that flavored the air made her feel nauseous. Bleakly, Annabelle wondered how this hellish affair had ever started, if Hodgeham had forced himself on her mother, or if it had initially been a matter of mutual consent. No matter how it had begun, it had now turned into a travesty. Hodgeham was a monster, and Philippa was trying to pacify him to keep him from ruining them.

Weary and miserable, trying not to think of what might be occurring between her mother and Hodgeham at that very moment, Annabelle levered herself off the settee. She winced at the protesting ache of her muscles. Her head hurt, and she was dizzy, and she wanted to go to her room. Walking like an old woman, she made her way to the bellpull and tugged. After what seemed an interminable length of time, there was still no response. With the guests gone, most the staff had been allowed their day off, and maids were in short supply.

Scrubbing her fingers distractedly through the limp locks of her hair, Annabelle assessed the situation. Although her legs were weak, they felt serviceable. That morning her mother had helped her to walk the length of two hallways from their room to the Marsdens’ upstairs parlor. Now, however, she was fairly certain that she could manage the short journey on her own.

Ignoring the brilliant sparks that danced across her vision like fireflies, Annabelle left the room with short, careful steps. She stayed close to the wall in case she needed to avail herself of its support. How odd it was, she thought grimly, that even this minor exertion should cause her to pant as if she had just run for miles. Infuriated with her own weakness, she wondered ruefully if she shouldn’t have drunk that last cup of clivers after all. Concentrating on setting one foot in front of the other, she made slow progress along the first hallway, until she was nearly at the corner that led to the east wing of the estate, where her room was located. She stopped as she heard quiet voices coming from another direction.

Hell’s bells.
It would be mortifying to be seen by anyone while she was in this condition. Praying that the voices belonged to a pair of servants, Annabelle leaned her weight against the wall and stood without moving. A few strands of hair stuck to her clammy forehead and cheeks.

Two men crossed the passageway before her, so involved in their conversation that it seemed they wouldn’t notice her. Relieved, Annabelle thought that she managed to escape detection.

But she was not that fortunate. One of the men happened to glance in her direction, and his attention was immediately rivetted. As he approached her, Annabelle recognized the masculine grace of his long strides even before she saw his face clearly.

It seemed that she was destined to be forever making herself an exhibition in front of Simon Hunt. Sighing, Annabelle pushed away from the wall and tried to appear composed, even with her legs trembling beneath her. “Good afternoon, Mr. Hunt—”

“What are you doing?” Hunt interrupted as he reached her. He sounded annoyed, but as Annabelle looked up at his face, she saw the concern in his gaze. “Why are you standing alone in the hallway?”

“I’m going to my room.” Annabelle started a little as he slid his arms around her, one at her shoulders, the other at her waist. “Mr. Hunt, there’s no need—”

“You’re as weak as a kitten,” he said flatly. “You know better than to go anywhere by yourself in this condition.”

“There wasn’t anyone to help me,” Annabelle replied irritably. Her head swam, and she found herself against him, letting him support some of her weight. His chest was wonderfully solid and hard, the fabric of his coat silky-cool against her cheek.

“Where is your mother?” Hunt persisted, smoothing back a tangled lock of her hair. “Tell me, and I’ll—”

“No!” Annabelle glanced up at him with instant alarm, her slender fingers biting into his coat sleeves. Dear God, the last thing she needed was for Hunt to instigate a search for Philippa when she was probably in some damnably compromising situation with Hodgeham at that very moment. “Don’t look for her,” she said sharply. “I… I don’t need anyone. I can reach my room by myself, if you’ll just let go of me. I don’t want—”

“All right,” Hunt murmured, his arm remaining firmly around her. “Hush, I won’t look for her. Hush.” His hand continued to smooth her hair in gentle, repeated motions.

She wilted against him, trying to catch her breath. “Simon,” she whispered, vaguely surprised that she had just used his first name, for she had never used it even in the privacy of her thoughts. Moistening her dry lips, she tried once more, and to her astonishment, she did it again. “Simon…”

“Yes?” A new tension had entered his long, hard body, and at the same time, his hand moved over the shape of her skull in the softest caress possible.

“Please… take me to my room.”

Hunt tilted her head back gently and regarded her with a sudden faint smile playing on his lips. “Sweetheart, I would take you to Timbuktu if you asked.”

By that time, the other man in the hallway had reached them, and Annabelle was dismayed, though not surprised, to see that it was Lord Westcliff.

The earl glanced at her with cold disapproval, as if he suspected that she had somehow arranged this situation as an intentional inconvenience.

“Miss Peyton,” he said crisply, “I assure you, there was no need for you to make your way through the hall unescorted. If there was no one available to help you, you had only to ring for a servant.”

“I did, my lord,” Annabelle said defensively, trying to push away from Hunt, who wouldn’t let her. “I rang the bellpull and waited for at least a quarter hour, and no one came.”

Westcliff’s regarded her with obvious skepticism. “Impossible. My servants always come when they’re summoned.”

“Well, today seems to be an exception,” Annabelle snapped. “Perhaps the bellpull is broken. Or perhaps your servants—”

“Easy,” Hunt murmured, pressing her head back to his chest. Although Annabelle couldn’t see his face, she heard the note of quiet warning in his voice as he spoke to Westcliff. “We’ll continue our discussion later. Right now I intend to escort Miss Peyton to her room.”

“That is not a wise idea, in my opinion,” the earl said.

“I’m glad I didn’t ask for it, then,” Simon returned pleasantly.

There was the sound of the earl’s taut sigh, and Annabelle was vaguely aware of his carpet-muffled footsteps as he walked away from them.

Hunt bent his head, his breath warming the tip of her ear, as he inquired, “Now… would you care to explain what is going on?”

All her veins seemed to dilate, bringing a flush of pleasure to her cool skin. Hunt’s nearness filled her with equal amounts of delight and yearning. As he held her, she couldn’t help remembering her dream, the erotic illusion of his body pressing over hers. This was all so terribly wrong, that she should revel silently in being held by him… even knowing that she would get nothing from him but temporary pleasure followed by everlasting dishonor. She managed to shake her head in answer to his question, her cheek rubbing against the lapel of his coat.

“I didn’t think so,” Hunt said wryly. He released her experimentally, assessed her unsteady balance with a narrow-eyed glance, and bent to lift her in his arms. Annabelle surrendered with an inarticulate murmur and linked her arms around his neck. As Hunt carried her along the hallway, he spoke in a quiet voice. “I might be able to help, if you would tell me the problem.”

Annabelle considered that for a moment. The only thing that would come from confiding her woes to Simon Hunt was an almost certain offer to support her as his mistress. And she hated the part of herself that was tempted by the idea. “Why should you wish to involve yourself in my problems?” she asked.

“Do I have to have an ulterior motive for wanting to help you?”

“Yes,” she replied darkly, causing him to chuckle.

He set her carefully down at the threshold of her room. “Can you reach the bed by yourself, or shall I tuck you in?”

Though his voice was lightly teasing, Annabelle suspected that with very little encouragement, he would do just that. She shook her head hastily. “No. I’m fine, please don’t come in.” She put a palm to his chest to keep him from entering the room. Frail though her hand was, it was enough to stop him.

“All right.” Hunt looked down at her, his gaze searching. “I’ll see that a maid is sent up to attend you. Though I suspect that Westcliff is already making inquiries.”

“I did ring for a maid,” Annabelle insisted, embarrassed by the peevish note in her own voice. “Obviously, the earl doesn’t believe me, but—”

“I believe you.” With great care, Hunt removed her hand from his chest, briefly holding her slender fingers in his before letting go. “Westcliff isn’t quite the ogre he seems. You have to be acquainted with him for some time before you appreciate his finer qualities.”

“If you say so,” Annabelle said doubtfully, and heaved a sigh as she stepped back into the stale, darkened sickroom. “Thank you, Mr. Hunt.” Wondering anxiously when Philippa would return, she glanced at the empty room, then turned back to Hunt.

His penetrating gaze seemed to unearth every emotion beneath her strained facade, and she sensed the multitude of questions that hovered on his lips. However, all he said was, “You need to rest.”

“I’ve done nothing
but
rest. I’m going mad from boredom… but the thought of actually doing anything makes me exhausted.” Lowering her head, Annabelle stared at the few inches of floor between their feet with morose concentration, before asking cautiously, “I suppose you have no interest in continuing the chess game later this evening?”