Ten Things I Love About You (17 page)

He stopped. What the hell was he thinking? All she had done was hold her own against his risqué comment. That was hardly akin to adversity.

He needed to be careful, else he’d build her up into something she wasn’t. It was what he did almost every night, holed up in his room with pen and paper. He created characters. If he allowed his imagination to get the best of him, he’d turn her into the perfect woman.

Which wasn’t fair to either of them.

He cleared his throat and motioned to the book. “Shall I continue?”

“Please.”

“She looked down at her faithful collie—
”

“I have a dog,” she blurted out.

He looked up in surprise. Not that she had a dog. She seemed the sort who would. But he
hadn’t expected another interruption so quickly on the heels of the last. “You do?”

“A greyhound.”

“Does he race?”

She shook her head. “His name is Mouse.”

“You are a cruel woman, Annabel Winslow.”

“It’s a fitting name, I’m afraid.”

“I don’t suppose he was the winner in the Winslow Most Likely to Outrun a Turkey contest.”

She chuckled. “No.”

“You did say you’d come in third,” he reminded her.

“We usually limit candidates to those of the human variety.” Then she added, “Two of my brothers are quite fleet of foot.”

He held up the book again. “Do you want me to continue?”

“I miss my dog,” she said with a sigh.

Apparently not. “Er, your grandparents don’t have one?” he asked.

“No. There is only Louisa’s ridiculous hound.”

He recalled the fat little sausage on legs he’d seen at the park. “He was quite stout.”

She let out a little snort. “Who names a dog Frederick?”

“Eh?” She was jumping from topic to topic like a chickadee.

She sat up a little straighter. “Louisa named that dog Frederick. Don’t you find that ridiculous?”

“Not really,” he admitted.”

My
brother
is named Frederick.”

He could not imagine why she was telling him all this, but it seemed to be taking her mind off
her troubles, so he went along with it. “Is Frederick one of the fleet-footed ones?”

“He is, actually. Also the Winslow Most Likely Not to Become a Vicar.” She motioned to herself with one hand. “I would have certainly beaten him at
that,
had the girls not been disqualified on religious grounds.”

“Of course,” he murmured. “Most likely to fall asleep in church and all that.” Then it occurred to him to ask, “Did you actually do it? Fall asleep in church?”

She let out a weary sigh. “Every … single … week.”

He chuckled. “We would have made quite a pair.”

“You, too?”

“Oh, no. I never fell asleep. I was ejected for bad behavior.”

She leaned forward, eyes sparkling. “What did you do?”

He leaned forward, smiling wickedly. “I’ll never tell.”

She drew back. “That’s not fair.”

He shrugged. “Now I just don’t go.”

“Ever?”

“No. Although to be honest, I probably
would
fall asleep.” He would, too. Services were very poorly timed for people who did not sleep well at night.

She smiled, but there was something wistful in it, and she rose to her feet. He started to get up, but she held up a hand. “Please. Not on my account.”

Sebastian watched as she walked to the window, resting her head against the glass as she peered
out. “Do you think he’s still there?” she asked.

He didn’t pretend he didn’t know exactly what she was talking about. “Probably. He’s very tenacious. If your grandparents tell him they expect you to return soon, he’ll wait.”

“Lady Olivia said that she would drive past Vickers House after her appointment to see if his carriage is there.” She turned around, and she didn’t quite look at him as she said, “She didn’t have an appointment, did she?”

He thought about lying. But he didn’t. “I don’t think so.”

Annabel nodded slowly, and then her face seemed to crumple, and all he could think was,
Oh God, not more tears,
because he wasn’t good with tears. Especially not
her
tears. But before he could think of an appropriately comforting thing to say, he realized—

“Are you laughing?”

She shook her head. While she was laughing.

He came to his feet. “What is so funny?”

“Your cousin,” she sputtered. “I think she’s trying to compromise you.”

It was the most ludicrous thing he’d ever heard. And true.

“Oh, Annabel,” he said, walking toward her with predatory grace. “I was compromised a long, long time ago.”

“I’m sorry.” She was still laughing. “I didn’t mean to imply …”

Sebastian waited, but whatever it was she hadn’t meant to imply was lost in a fresh gale of laughter.

“Oh!”
She leaned against the wall clutching her middle.

“It wasn’t that funny,” he said. But he was smiling as he said it. It was impossible not to smile while she was laughing.

She had an extraordinary laugh.

“No, no,” she gasped. “Not that. I was thinking of something else.”

He waited. Nothing. Finally he said, “Care to tell me what?”

She let out a snort of laughter, possibly through her nose, and she clapped both hands over her mouth, nay, her entire face.

“You look like you’re crying,” he said.

“I’m not,” was her muffled reply.

“I know. I just thought to tell you that, on the off chance someone comes in and thinks I made you weep.”

She peeked through her fingers. “Sorry.”

“What is so funny?” Because really, by now he had to know.

“Oh, it was just … last night … when you were talking to your uncle …”

He leaned against the back of the sofa, waiting.

“You said you wanted to restore me to the bosom of society.”

“Not the most elegant turn of phrase,” he allowed.

“And all I could think was—” She looked as if she were going to explode again. “I’m not so sure I like society’s bosom.”

“It’s not my favorite bosom,” he concurred, trying very hard not to look at hers.

This only seemed to make her laugh more, which made her quiver in rather bosomy areas.

Which had quite an effect on certain of
his
areas.

He stopped moving.

She covered her eyes in embarrassment. “I can’t believe that I just said that.”

He stopped breathing. He could only look at her, look at her lips, full and pink, still suspended in a smile.

He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to kiss her more than he wanted to breathe. He wanted to kiss her far more than he had sense, because if he’d been thinking sensibly, he would have stepped away. Walked out of the room. Found himself a very cold bath.

Instead he stepped toward her. Put his hand over hers, holding it gently in place over her eyes.

Her lips parted, and he heard a soft whisper of air rush across. Whether she’d exhaled or gasped, he didn’t know. He didn’t care. He just wanted her breath to be his breath.

He leaned forward. Slowly. He couldn’t rush it, couldn’t risk losing one second of it. He wanted to remember this. He wanted every last moment burned into his memory. He wanted to know what it felt like to be two inches away, and then one, and then …

He touched his lips to hers. One tiny, fleeting touch before pulling back. He wanted to see her, to know exactly what she looked like after a kiss.

To know exactly what she looked like waiting for another.

He wound his fingers through hers and slowly
pulled her hand from her eyes. “Look at me,” he whispered.

But she shook her head, keeping her eyes closed.

And then he could wait no longer. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against him, and brought her lips to his. But it was so much more than a kiss. His hands stole around and down to her bottom, and he squeezed. He didn’t know whether he was trying to press her against him or simply revel in the lushness of her body.

She was a goddess in his arms, soft and sumptuous, and he wanted to feel her, every inch. He wanted to touch and stroke and knead, and Good Lord, he almost forgot he was kissing her, too. But her body … her body was a thing of beauty. It was a bloody miracle in his arms, and when he finally lifted his mouth from hers to draw breath, he couldn’t help it. He moaned and then moved down to her jaw, to her throat. He didn’t just want to kiss her mouth. He wanted to kiss her everywhere.

“Annabel,” he groaned, his fingers nimbly finding the buttons at the back of her frock. He was good. He knew exactly how to disrobe a woman. He usually did it slowly, savoring every moment, every new inch of flesh, but with her … he couldn’t wait. He was like a madman, pushing each button through its hole until he’d got enough undone to push the dress down over her shoulders.

Her chemise was very plain, no silk, no lace, just thin white cotton. But it drove him wild. She didn’t need embellishment. She’d been made perfectly.

With shaking fingers he went to the ties at her shoulders and tugged, barely able to breathe as the thin strips of fabric fell away.

He whispered her name, and then again, and again. He heard her moan, a soft little squeak of noise which grew deeper and huskier as his hand slid along her shoulder, down to the luscious curve of her breast. She was only lightly corseted, but the stays pushed her up, making her breasts impossibly high and round.

He nearly lost control of himself right then.

He had to stop this. It was madness. She was a proper young lady, and he was treating her like—

He pressed one final kiss against her skin, breathing in the hot scent of her, and then wrenched himself away.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped. But he wasn’t. He knew he should be, but he didn’t think he could ever regret having held her so intimately.

He started to turn away, because he didn’t think he could see her and not touch her again, but just before he did, he saw that her eyes were closed.

His heart dropped, and he rushed to her side. “Annabel?” He touched her shoulder, then her cheek. “What is wrong?”

“Nothing,” she whispered.

His finger moved to her temple, right to the corner of her eye. “Why are your eyes closed?”

“I’m afraid.”

“Of what?”

She swallowed. “Of myself.” And then she
opened her eyes. “Of what I might want. And what I have to do.”

“Did you not want me to …” Dear God, had she not wanted him? He tried to think. Had she returned the kiss? Had she touched him in return? He couldn’t remember. He’d been so overwhelmed by her, by his own need, that he couldn’t remember what she’d done.

“No,” she said softly. “I wanted you to. That’s the problem.” She closed her eyes again, but just for a moment. She looked like she was trying to restore something within herself, and then she opened them again. “Could you help me?”

He started to say yes, that he’d help her. He’d do whatever was within his power to protect her from his uncle, to save her family and keep her brothers in school, but then he saw that she was motioning to the ties of her chemise, and he realized that all she actually wanted was help getting dressed.

So he did that. He tied her ties and buttoned her buttons, and he didn’t say a word as she took a seat near the window and he found one by the door.

They waited. And they waited. And then finally, after what seemed like hours, Annabel stood and said, “She’s back.”

Sebastian rose to his feet, watching Annabel as she peered out the window at Olivia, alighting from her carriage. She turned, and it just came out of him:

“Will you marry me?”

A
nnabel nearly fell on her face. “What?”

“Not precisely the answer I’d been expecting,” Sebastian murmured.

Still, she could not quite grasp it. “You want to marry me?”

He cocked his head to the side. “I believe I just inquired about it, yes.”

“You don’t have to,” Annabel assured him, because … because she was an idiot, and that was clearly what idiots did when men asked to marry them. They told them they didn’t have to.

“Are you saying no?” he asked.

“No!”

He smiled. “Then you are saying yes.”

“No.” Dear God, she felt dizzy.

He took a step toward her. “You’re not speaking very plainly, Annabel.”

“You purposefully caught me off guard,” she accused.

“I caught myself off guard,” he said softly.

She gripped the back of the chair she’d been sitting in. It was horribly uncomfortable piece of furniture, but it had been near the window, and she’d wanted to look out for Lady Olivia, and—oh for heaven’s sake, why was she thinking about a stupid chair? Sebastian Grey had just asked her to
marry
him.

She glanced out the window. Lady Olivia was still in her carriage. She had two minutes, three at most. “Why?” she asked Sebastian.

“You’re asking me why?”

She nodded. “I’m not a damsel in distress. Well, I
am,
but it is not your responsibility to rescue me.”

“No,” he agreed.

She’d been ready with an argument. Not a coherent one, but still, an argument. This, however, completely flummoxed her. “No?”

“You’re right. It’s not my responsibility.” He walked over, seductively closing the distance between them. “It would, however, be my pleasure.”

“Oh my.”

He smiled.

“I’m back!” It was Lady Olivia, calling out from the hall.

Annabel looked up at Sebastian. He was standing very close.

“I kissed you,” he said softly.

She could not speak. She could barely breathe.

“I kissed you in ways a husband kisses a wife.”

Somehow he was even closer than before. Now she definitely couldn’t breathe.

“I think,” he murmured, his breath now close enough to heat her skin, “that you liked it.”

“Sebastian?” It was Lady Olivia. “Oh!”

“Later, Olivia,” he said, not even turning around. “And close the door.”

Annabel heard the door shut. “Mr. Grey, I’m not sure—”

“Don’t you think it’s time to start calling me Sebastian?”

She swallowed. “Sebastian, I—”

“I’m sorry.” It was Lady Olivia again, bursting in. “I can’t.”

“You
can,
Olivia,” Sebastian ground out.

“No, I really can’t. It’s my house, and she’s unmarried, and—”

“And I’m
asking
her to marry me.”

“Oh!” The door shut again.

Annabel tried to keep her head, but it was difficult. Sebastian was smiling down at her as if he might like to nibble her from top to toes, and she was starting to feel the strangest sensations in areas of her body she’d almost forgotten she’d possessed. But she couldn’t forget that Lady Olivia was almost certainly standing right outside the door, and she also couldn’t forget that—

“Wait a moment!” she exclaimed, wedging her hands between them. She gave him a little push, and when that didn’t work, turned it into a shove.

He stepped back, but he didn’t stop smiling.

“You just said to her that you didn’t want to marry me,” she said.

“Hmmm?”

“Just a few hours ago. When I was crying. You said you’d known me barely a week.”

He looked unconcerned. “Oh, that.”

“Did you think I didn’t hear?”

“I
have
known you barely a week.”

She didn’t reply, so Sebastian leaned down and stole a quick kiss. “I changed my mind.”

“In”—she looked crazily around the room for a clock—”two hours?”

“Two and a half, actually.” He gave her his most wicked smile. “But they were a rather momentous two and a half hours, wouldn’t you agree?”

Olivia came crashing through the door. “What did you
do
to her?”

Sebastian groaned. “You’d make a terrible spy, did you know that?”

Olivia practically flew across the room. “Did you compromise her in my drawing room?”

“No,” Annabel said quickly. “No. No. No, no, no. No.”

That was quite a lot of no’s,
Seb thought peevishly. “He kissed me,” Annabel said to Olivia, “but that’s all.”

Sebastian crossed his arms. “When did you become such a prude, Olivia?”

“It’s my
drawing room!”

He didn’t see a problem with that. “You weren’t here,” he pointed out.

“That’s it,” Olivia declared, stomping past him and taking Annabel’s arm. “You’re coming with me.”

Oh no, she wasn’t. “Where do you think you’re taking her?” he demanded.

“Home. I just drove by. Newbury’s gone.”

Seb crossed his arms. “She hasn’t given me an answer yet.”

“She’ll give it to you tomorrow.” Olivia turned to Annabel. “You can give him your answer tomorrow.”

“No. Wait a moment.” Sebastian reached out and yanked Annabel back. Olivia was
not
going to take over his marriage proposal. Holding Annabel firmly at his side, he turned back to Olivia and said, “You were just hounding me to ask her to marry me, and now you’re taking her away?”

“You were trying to seduce her.”

“If I’d been trying to seduce her,” he growled, “you’d have found a much different scene when you arrived.”

“I’m still here,” Annabel said.

“I may be the only woman in London who has never been in love with you,” Olivia said, jabbing a finger toward Sebastian, “but that does not mean I don’t know how charming you can be.”

“Why, Olivia,” he said, “such lovely compliments.”

Annabel held up a hand. “Still here.”

“She will make up her mind in the privacy of her own home, and not while you’re looking at her with those … those …
eyes.”

For about two seconds Sebastian was silent. Then he doubled over with laughter.

“What?” Olivia snapped.

Seb elbowed Annabel, then jerked his head
toward Olivia. “I usually look at
her
with my nose.”

Annabel pinched her lips together, obviously trying not to smile. She had an excellent sense of humor, his Annabel.

Olivia crossed her arms and turned to Annabel. “He’s better than Lord Newbury,” she said waspishly, “but only just.”

“What’s going on in here?” It was Harry, looking a bit rumpled, as if he’d been running his hand through his hair. There was an ink stain on his cheek. “Sebastian?”

Seb looked at his cousin, then at Olivia, and then started laughing so hard he had to flop into a chair.

Harry blinked and shrugged, as if this were nothing out of the ordinary. “Oh, good afternoon, Miss Winslow. Didn’t see you back there.”

“I told you you knew what she looked like,” Olivia muttered.

“I’m looking for a quill,” Sir Harry said. He went to a writing table and started looking through the drawers. “I snapped three of them today.”

“You snapped three quills?” Olivia asked.

He pulled open another drawer. “It’s that Gorely woman. Some of those sentences … Good God, they go on forever. I don’t know that I have the skill to translate them.”

“Try harder,” Sebastian said, still trying to catch his breath.

Harry looked over at him. “What’s wrong with you?”

Seb waved a hand in the air. “Just having a bit of fun at your wife’s expense.”

Harry looked over at Olivia, who merely rolled her eyes. He turned back to Annabel. “They can be a bit much at times. I do hope you’ve been made to feel welcome.”

Annabel’s skin flushed a delightful pink. “Er, very much so,” she stammered.

Harry, however, was color blind, and thus oblivious to a woman’s blush. “Ah, here we are.” He held up a quill. “Don’t mind me. Resume whatever it was you were—” He looked down at Sebastian and shook his head. “Er … doing.”

“I will,” Sebastian said solemnly. It sounded rather like wedding vows. He liked that.

“I should go home,” Annabel said, watching Harry depart.

Sebastian stood, mostly recovered from his fit of laughter. “I will escort you.”

“No, you won’t,” Olivia cut in.

“Yes, I will,” he returned. And then he lifted his chin in the air and proceeded to look down his nose at her.

“What are you doing?” she burst out.

“I’m
looking
at you,” he said, his voice almost singsong.

Annabel clapped a hand over her mouth.

“With my no-ose,” he added, just in case Olivia hadn’t got the joke the first time.

Olivia actually covered her face with her hands. And not because she was laughing.

Sebastian leaned sideways toward Annabel, not an easy maneuver when he was trying to keep his nose pointed at Olivia. “Not my favorite bosom,” he whispered.

“I don’t want to know what you just said,” Olivia moaned from behind her hands.

“No,” Seb agreed, “you probably don’t.” He resumed a normal standing position and grinned. “I shall escort Annabel home.”

“Oh, go ahead,” Olivia sighed.

Sebastian leaned down to Annabel and murmured, “I’ve exhausted her.”

“You’ve exhausted me.”

“Not yet I haven’t.”

Annabel blushed again. Sebastian decided he had never been so glad that he was not color blind, too.

“You have to give her at least a day to consider your proposal,” Olivia insisted.

Sebastian quirked a brow in her direction. “Did Sir Harry give you a day?”

“That’s not relevant,” Olivia muttered.

“Very well,” Sebastian said, turning back to Annabel, “I shall bow to my dear cousin’s greater expertise. Harry was at least the twelfth man to propose to her. Whereas I have never even uttered the word ‘marriage’ in a woman’s presence before today.”

Annabel smiled at him. It felt rather like a sunrise.

“I will call upon you tomorrow for your reply,” he said, feeling his own smile creep across his face. “But in the meantime …” He held out his arm. “Shall we depart?”

Annabel took a step toward him, then stopped. “Actually, I think I would like to walk home by myself.”

“You would?”

She nodded. “I assume my maid is still here to accompany me. It’s not far. And …” She looked down, chewing on her lower lip.

He touched her chin. “Speak plainly, Annabel,” he whispered.

She did not quite look at him when she said, “It can be difficult to think clearly in your presence.”

He decided to take that as a very good sign, indeed.

Annabel closed the front door carefully behind her and paused, listening. The house was quiet; maybe—hopefully—her grandparents had gone out. She set her book down on the entry table as she pulled off her gloves, then picked it back up, intending to head upstairs to her room. But before she could take three steps, her grandmother appeared in the doorway to the drawing room.

“There you are,” Lady Vickers said, looking highly disgruntled. “Where the devil have you been?”

“Just out shopping,” Annabel lied. “I saw some friends. We got an ice.”

Her grandmother let out a beleaguered sigh. “You’re going to ruin your figure.”

Annabel gave a tight smile and held up the book Lady Olivia had lent her. “I’m going to my room to read.”

Her grandmother waited until she had a foot on the stairs, then said, “You missed the earl.”

Annabel swallowed uncomfortably and turned around. “He was here?”

Her grandmother narrowed her eyes, but if she suspected that Annabel had been avoiding Lord Newbury, she did not say so. She motioned with her head toward the drawing room, clearly expecting Annabel to follow. Annabel turned and did so, standing near the doorway while her grandmother walked over to the sideboard to pour herself a drink.

“It would have been a great deal more convenient if you had been here,” Lady Vickers said, “but I’m pleased to say we’ve brought him up to scratch. He spent the better part of an hour with your grandfather.”

“Did he?” Annabel’s voice came out high and hollow.

“Yes, and
you’ll
be pleased to know that I had my ear to the door the whole time.” She took a sip and let out a contented sigh. “Your grandfather forgot to mention anything about your family in Gloucestershire, so I took it upon myself to intercede.”

“Intercede?”

“I may be fifty-three—”

Seventy-one.

“—but I’m still sharp as a tack.” Lady Vickers plunked her glass on the table and leaned forward, looking inordinately pleased with herself. “Newbury’ll see to it that all four of your brothers have tuition through university, and he’ll buy a commission for any who wants one. As for your sisters, I could only manage a piddling dowry, but it’s more than you got.” She took a long drink and chuckled. “And
you
landed an earl.”

It was everything Annabel could have hoped for. All of her brothers and sisters would have security. They would have everything they needed.

“He doesn’t want a long engagement,” Lady Vickers said. “You know he wants a son, and fast. Oh, don’t look at me like that. You knew this was coming.”

Annabel shook her head. “I–I wasn’t looking at you like anything. I was just—”

“Oh
God,”
Lady Vickers groaned. “Do I have to have the
talk
with you?”

Annabel dearly hoped not.

“Euch. I did it with your mother and your aunt Joan. I’m going to need a far larger drink if I have to do it with you.”

“It’s all right,” Annabel said quickly. “I don’t need the talk.”

That got her grandmother’s attention. “Really?” she asked, suddenly very interested.

“Well, I don’t need it right now,” Annabel hedged. “Or maybe not … ever. From you,” she continued, albeit more quietly.

“Eh?”

“I’m from the country,” she said with false brightness. “Lots of … animals … and … er …”

“Look,” Lady Vickers said. “You may know things about sheep that I’m sure I don’t wish to hear about, but I still know a thing or two about marriage to an overweight nobleman.”

Annabel sank into a chair. Whatever knowledge her grandmother was about to impart, she wasn’t sure she could take it standing up.