How to Lose a Bride in One Night (16 page)

“Of course you didn’t, Papa. I was with Owen.”

Owen’s smile grew pained. There was a stillness, a quietness to him that reminded Annalise of when they first met. She realized she had grown accustomed to a certain degree of ease from him. But here, among his own family, he behaved almost as a stranger in their midst.

Paget reclaimed her baby, her voice softening into a croon. “I can only hope little Brand here is just as responsible and trustworthy. The girls in the village shall be lucky indeed to have such a champion in their midst.”

“You named him Brand?” Owen asked in a quieter voice, stepping forward to peer down at the tiny bundle of new life.

“There was no finer namesake,” Jamie spoke up.

“Your brother is watching down now with pride,” the countess’s father inserted.

Owen nodded, looking rather humbled as he stared down at his nephew.

“Here. Take him.” Lady Winningham thrust him into Owen’s arms even as he shook his head in protest, his expression suddenly alarmed.

“There now. Just watch his head,” she instructed.

Baby secured in Owen’s arms, Paget stood back, her dark eyes shining with pleasure. Her husband draped an arm around her shoulders. Together they watched Owen, obviously so thrilled to have him there. To have him holding their son, albeit awkwardly.

Annalise marveled that Owen claimed to feel like an outsider among his family. Right now that was how she felt. The fact that no one had yet to acknowledged her amid the little reunion did not help. If she could slip from the room unnoticed, she would have. At this point she only hoped to remain ignored, overlooked.

It wasn’t to be, of course. “Oh. Forgive me. How very rude.” Lady Winningham’s gaze swerved from Owen to Annalise and back again. “You brought a guest, Owen.”

The question hung in the woman’s voice.
Who was she
?

Owen looked up from his nephew. “Yes. This is Anna.”

Everyone in the room blinked and looked at each other, uncertain how to react to this less than verbose of introductions. Annalise hesitated, wondering if he would offer more explanation than that. He didn’t, returning his attention to the baby, catching one tiny fist with two of his fingers.

Heat crept over her face. “It’s a pleasure to meet you all,” she murmured, her gaze scanning everyone.

Owen’s brother and sister-in-law exchanged glances. The embarrassing heat in her face twisted to anger. Had he no plans to explain her presence? Heavens knew what conclusions they were drawing.

“Paget, we must take our leave,” the other young woman said. “What a truly splendid day.” She stepped forward to kiss the countess lightly on both cheeks. “John and I are so happy for you.” She faced Owen. “Good to see you again, Owen. And farewell to you, my little darling.” She stepped forward to stroke baby Brand’s cheek.

Paget’s father departed the room with them, leaving the four of them alone.

A moment passed before Owen stepped forward and returned the baby to Paget’s arms. She happily accepted her child, saying, “I do hope you will stay longer than last time, Owen.” Her gaze flicked to Annalise. “You and your guest . . . Anna.”

Annalise offered up a tentative smile.

“We can only stay for a short time, I fear.”

Paget frowned. A strained silence fell again. Jamie’s jaw clenched, as he looked from his wife to Owen, clearly disliking that Owen had not pleased her with a promise for a longer visit.

Annalise blew out a breath. She was sorely tempted to demand that they all cease with the silent stares and confess whatever it was they were thinking.

“If it would not be any trouble,” she said, “I should like to rest in my room for a spell.”

“Oh. Of course. How thoughtless of me,” Paget said. “You must be tired from your journey. Let me ring for Miss Spence to show you the way.”

“I can show her.” Owen moved to her side, helping her to her feet.

Paget nodded once, smiling tremulously. “Oh. Very well. Ms. Spence likely put her things in the rose room. You know the way. This is your home, too, after all.”

“It was my home,” Owen corrected.

Paget visibly swallowed. A faint pink tinged her cheeks, and Annalise felt sorry for her. Jamie’s lips thinned, clearly displeased with his brother’s terseness.

As if realizing that he had come across harshly, Owen added, “But I’m glad for the invitation and honored you both would want me here.”

Paget released an audible breath, her face brightening at his words.

Owen led her from the drawing room then, his fingers light on her elbow. He strode quickly. She practically had to skip to keep pace.

“I need a drink,” he muttered beside her. He stopped before a door on the second floor, pushing it open for her, his expression distracted, his gaze not even on her.

She spun to face him, not yet ready to move inside until she aired her grievances. “How could you bring me here?”

His gaze snapped to her face. “What do you mean?”

She waved a hand. “Are you intending to explain my presence? Ever? What must they think?”

“That you are my guest,” he replied curtly. “Just as I said.”

She snorted. “Goodness knows what conclusions they are drawing of me even now. They must think that I’m—that you and I—” She broke off, too mortified to put it into words. Shaking her head, she hissed, “I should have never come here.”

“Well, you’re here now.” He looked at her coolly, and his apathy only infuriated her further.

“How long must we stay?”

He cocked his head. “Need I remind you that you encouraged me to come here?”

“That was before.”

“Before what?”

“Before I realized you’re in love with your brother’s wife.”

The words spilled free. She had no idea they bubbled so close to the surface. She sucked in a shuddering breath, horrified, regretting the awful words and all they revealed of her feelings.

It was like a curtain dropped over his face. Typically stoic, his features were harder than ever, granite. “You are mistaken.”

She worked past the lump in her throat, swallowing deep. “Am I?”

He angled his head, a dangerous glint entering his dark blue eyes. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Anna.”

She rolled back her shoulders, composing herself, knowing this was not a conversation she wanted to have with him. “It’s none of my concern.”

He was silent for a moment, studying her, the blue of his eyes dark and stormy. “Then why say anything?” He stepped closer.

Because I felt like a fool sitting in that room.

“I don’t know,” she lied, lifting her chin a notch. “Forget I ever said anything.” Indeed, she wished
she
could forget the wretched words had ever escaped her.

She started to close the door on him, but he caught it with one hand and backed her inside the room, closing it and sealing them in.

“What are you doing? They already think me some strumpet you’ve dropped into their midst.” Her cheeks burned as she recalled their uncomfortable expressions when Owen introduced her simply as Anna. As though she wasn’t important enough to possess a surname. She shook her head. “Go! The servants are probably whispering already that you’re in here with me. What will your family think?” She stepped around him, intent on opening the door and expelling him from her room.

His hand fell on her shoulder, turning her and forcing her back against the shut door. He was close now. The broad wall of him all-encroaching heat.

“Let me be clear. I am not in love with Paget,” he murmured, so close his breath fanned her lips.

She shivered. “It’s not my—”

“Don’t say it’s not your concern when it so obviously is,” he bit out, his gaze crawling over her face slowly, thoroughly.

Her stomach clenched at that penetrating stare. She compressed her lips, holding silent. She resisted the urge to fidget, feeling very much like a cornered animal beneath his probing gaze, his words hanging between them. Words it was impossible to deny. Not when he consumed so much of her thoughts. Right or wrong, he filled her head, infected her blood, it seemed. Standing this close, she could not draw enough air to fill her lungs.

His eyes moved from her eyes to her lips and back again. She felt his gaze like a touch, an actual caress. She couldn’t fathom her reaction if he actually did touch her . . . kiss her. She might just go up in flames.

“I grew up with Paget. We were children together. We were close, but then life happened.” His lips curled in a grimace. “War happened. Brand died. Jamie came home. I stayed in India. They fell in love.”

She moistened her lips. “And you’re sorry for that?”

He dipped his head, bringing those pale night blue eyes so close she could see the dark ring around the irises. “There isn’t one fraction of me that longs to be with her, that longs to . . .” His words faded.

Annalise’s body leaned forward of its own accord, as if seeking the rest of those words, craving them like a touch. “Yes? What?”

His eyes roamed her face, searching. She squirmed, struggling to maintain eye contact. A battle when those eyes looked so deeply into her own. A battle she finally lost, her gaze ducking away.

His hand slid along her face, capturing her cheek. With a single, powerful tug he forced her gaze back. “I don’t long for this with her, with anyone else.”

He didn’t leave her to wonder what
this
was. He showed her.

His lips brushed her lips, softly, teasingly at first. She lifted her face closer, like a moth to the light, hungering for more no matter the imminent danger.

Warmth spread through her as he increased the pressure of his mouth, sliding his arm around her and pulling her closer until she was plastered against him.

She melted against him, her body softening and yielding.

Her thoughts reeled.
I don’t long for this with anyone else
. Implying he only longed for her, then? Had that been his meaning? It was a heady, marvelous thought and only heightened the desire thrumming through her. It only made her want to crawl inside of him until they were fused together.

He slanted his mouth and kissed her deeper, his tongue licking at the seam of her lips. She sighed and his tongue delved inside, stroking her tongue.

His hand skimmed her spine, drifting up. She felt his fingers dancing over each vertebrae even through the fabric of her gown, grazing her bones as though savoring and memorizing the feel of them.

She sighed into his mouth, drinking in his kiss, his tongue, as she ran her hand up his neck. She lost her fingers in the thick strands of his hair, reveling in the silky tendrils filling her palms.

He came up slightly for air and breathed her name into her mouth in a hot little gust. It drove her wild. Especially with the echo of his words in her head. He longed for only her.

Need pumped through her blood for him. She brought one hand to his cheek, loving the scratching rasp there. He was everywhere and not nearly close enough. She moaned and pulled his head closer, mashing her lips until they were a tangle of lips, teeth, and tongues.

Suddenly he broke away. Air sawed from his lips as he panted down at her, studying her with eyes far too bright with emotion. Gone was her cold-eyed rescuer. In his place stood a man gripped by desire. For her. It was wholly satisfying. She smoothed her hands over his shoulders, eager, prepared for more than another kiss from him. She wanted what came next. She wanted it all.

Then he suddenly opened the door behind her.

She gaped for a moment, snapping her mouth shut when he stepped out in the corridor and turned back to look at her.

“I shall explain your presence here to my brother and his wife. I apologize if I made you uncomfortable earlier.”

Annalise stared, hardly hearing his proper and correct speech. She realized she should feel appeased, but she felt only acute disappointment at the abrupt loss of him from her arms. He had kissed her and the earth moved beneath her feet. Had he not felt that, too?

She forced herself to nod and reply with something similarly polite and correct. “Thank you. That is of much relief.”

“I would not have you embarrassed ever again by my thoughtlessness. Or hurt.”

She angled her head, wondering if he was referring to more than her earlier mortification with his family. But then he turned and strolled down the corridor with swift steps, leaving her looking after him and wondering at that remark.

Chapter Eighteen

T
hey were ready for Owen as soon as he entered the drawing room.

“Who is she?” Jamie asked baldly, his expression disapproving in a way that reminded Owen of his youth, when his brother had frowned on his wild ways.

“Jamie,” Paget murmured, her voice chiding as she rocked the baby in her arms.

He longed to reply that Anna was none of Jamie’s concern, but he had promised her that he would set matters to rights. He had brought her here without thinking through how he would explain her presence. Humiliating her was not his wish.

“I found her.”

“You found here?” Jamie looked incredulous. “Like a lost penny?”

He winced. “It’s not like that. When I left here I found her near the river. She was injured. Unconscious.”

Paget smiled with that tenderness that was so like the girl he remembered. “You rescued her.”

Jamie processed this for a bit, his eyes failing to go all soft and dreamy in the manner of Paget’s. “Has she no family? Is there no one you can return her to?”

“It’s complicated. She can’t remember,” he offered, even though he didn’t entirely believe that to be true. He had no intention of filling in all the details for his brother.

Paget looked knowingly to her husband. “Remember when Owen rescued that injured falcon?”

And that was so very Paget—seeing only the best in him.

“Only she’s not a pet, Paget.” Jamie looked him over. He knew him better than that. “She was at your house when I visited? How is it you never mentioned her to me then?”

Owen shrugged. “It never occurred to me.”

Jamie narrowed his gaze on him. “You’ve taken this woman into your care and you know nothing about her?”

Owen nodded, a slow smile curving his lips. For a moment he felt like that boy he had once been, needling his older brother and getting beneath his skin. “Yes.”

“And what do you plan to do with her?”

Paget tsked. “Jamie, I’m sure Owen knows what he’s doing. He doesn’t answer to us.”

“Indeed.” Owen nodded once. “Since when am I required to keep you abreast of all my activities?”

Jamie squared his shoulders. “When you bring her into my home, I think I have a right to know.”

The smile slipped from his lips. Anger began to simmer inside him. His brother spoke as though Anna were some dangerous criminal with whom he consorted. “I thought you wanted me here. I can go.”

He turned to leave, but Paget rushed to his side and pulled on his sleeve with her free hand. “Please, Owen, stay. You
and
your guest. Anyone can see she’s harmless.” She sent a quelling glance to her husband. “We’re so glad you are here. You know Jamie. He’s merely being that overbearing older brother. It’s an old role to shake.”

Jamie nodded stiffly. “Forgive me. We don’t want you to leave. I just worry about you.” He sighed. “Although I know I have no call. You’ve been a grown man for some time now.”

Paget dropped her hand from Owen’s sleeve and went back to rocking little Brand. “I must confess we were planning to introduce you to a few ladies new to the area since you last lived here, but I can see that would be awkward now that you are here with your, er . . . companion.”

His lips twisted wryly. “It’s not like that, Paget.”

“Oh.” She blinked and nodded as though she understood, even though she could not possibly understand. How could she when he himself did not? “I thought, well, the way you looked at her.” Her cheeks turned pink. “And the way she looked at you.”

He resisted the urge to ask her to elaborate on how precisely Anna had looked at him. Instead he shook his head decisively. “No. It is not like that at all between us.”

And yet even as he uttered those words, he could only think about that mind-numbing kiss he had just shared with her. The taste of her, the sounds she made in the back of her throat as he touched her, her hands in his hair. It was etched in his memory, lodged forever in his blood.

Brand started to whimper, and Paget made soft, shushing sounds. “Gentlemen, excuse me. Owen, I’ll see you at dinner.” Her look was pointed as she added, “With Anna, I presume.”

He nodded.

She started to move away, but then paused as though recalling something. “Forgive me for saying, Owen, but you really should find her some decent attire. Her gown doesn’t even fit properly. I hazard to guess that the rest of her wardrobe is no better.”

He smiled. Trust Paget to concern herself with such matters. He inclined his head. “Very well.”

Nodding in satisfaction, she left the room. He looked back to find his brother gazing after his wife and son with his heart in his eyes. He couldn’t help chuckling.

Jamie’s gaze shot back to him. “What?”

“It’s still a marvel. You in love with Paget. When we were children I didn’t think you could abide her.”

Jamie smiled. “Yes, well, want to know a little secret?”

“What’s that?”

“I was always a little bit in love with her.”

He lifted his eyebrows. “Indeed?”

“Sometimes it just doesn’t make any sense.” He shook his head, his expression serious. “Logic doesn’t apply. Only what’s in here.” He tapped his chest, directly over his heart.

Owen stared at him a long moment before snorting. “Didn’t take you for a romantic.”

“I suppose I am now. Paget saw to that. And someday I hope you’re lucky enough for a woman to make a romantic out of you.”

Owen searched for a retort, something dismissive, but nothing came to mind. No. The only thing that filled his head was the female one floor above. He doubted there would ever be a woman in existence to make a romantic out of him, but Anna certainly filled him with emotion, a blistering desire that made him feel like a green lad again. His hand curled into a fist as he battled the urge to corner her upstairs and continue where they had left off.

“Well, well, brother,” Jamie murmured, peering at him closely with speculation bright in his eyes. “Perhaps that day is sooner arrived than expected.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Jamie smiled. “I merely look forward to acquainting myself further with your Miss Anna.”

Owen frowned and moved toward the doors, saying over his shoulder, “She is not
my
Miss Anna, Owen.”

“Quite so.”

He hesitated at the threshold. “She’s temporarily in my care. There is nothing more to our relationship.”

“And yet you brought her here with you. Why not leave her in Town?”

Why not indeed? “As I said, she’s in my care. We’re not having an affair.”

Jamie nodded, his expression mocking. “Of course.”

With a muttered epithet, he quit the room, refusing to let Jamie’s knowing smirk get beneath his skin. He was not romantically involved with Anna. A few ill-advised kisses did not constitute an affair.

Not yet.

D
inner was a tiresome affair. Lady Winningham pelted her with questions which she could not answer. Not without revealing more of herself than she wished. She felt Owen’s gaze on her during these moments, watchful as a hawk, likely waiting for her to slip up as she fielded any one of the very natural questions regarding her history. By the time she retired to her room and dismissed the maid waiting to help her undress, her head throbbed.

Sinking down before the dressing table, Anna rubbed at her temples and stared at her murky reflection. Dropping her hands, she studied the woman staring back at her, wondering what she was doing here. Was it just Owen’s promise to help her or something more?

She sighed and shook her head, acknowledging to herself that she was growing increasingly infatuated with Owen. That early kiss had robbed her of every scrap of reason she possessed, leaving her craving more.

She released the pins one by one from her hair, hoping that might alleviate her aching head. The brown mass tumbled around her shoulders and down her back. Burying her fingers through the strands, she massaged her scalp until feeling rushed back in.

A solid rap on the door had her swiveling around on the stool. “Come in,” she called, assuming the maid had returned to pester her further. The girl had been appalled at her insistence that she could ready herself for bed.

Owen entered.

She straightened her spine where she sat.

“Oh. Hello,” she murmured, suddenly self-conscious of her loosened hair. She ran a hand over the mass. His gaze followed the journey of her hand.

He closed the door behind him. “No one saw me enter,” he assured her, clearly remembering her earlier concerns.

“Oh. Thank you.” She swallowed, her nerves stretched tight at his sudden presence in her chamber. He had discarded his jacket and cravat and wore only his shirt. The fine lawn fabric was parted wide at his throat, giving her a glimpse of his upper chest. The golden skin there, the flesh she knew to be dense and compact, smooth to the touch.

Be calm. Don’t act nervous simply because he’s within ten feet of you.

“We’ll leave in the morning.”

She nodded. That soon? “Very well. I’ll be ready.”

“I’ll meet you in the foyer after breakfast. Dress warmly. I’ll teach you to shoot before we return to Town.”

She nodded, her gaze trained on him, drinking in the sight of his face, the deeply set eyes that seemed to see everything, all of her, in the sweep of a glance.

He continued, “It’s a useful skill to possess. Especially if you’re going to be—” He stopped.

She looked at him, eyebrow arched, waiting.

“Especially when you’re on your own,” he finished.

She nodded, understanding. And wasn’t that her plan? To find a place for herself. To live freely and independently. No Bloodsworth. No Jack, a man who never wanted her around until he decided he wanted a blue-blooded son-in-law. No. She would be better off alone.

“Your fire is low.” He stepped deeper into the bedchamber and moved toward the hearth. She watched as he squatted to add more wood.

Her fingers curled around the edges of her bench, gripping it as though she needed to hold onto something. His shirt pulled taut across his back, the shoulders working as he lifted logs and stirred the wood with a poker.

He stood, dusting his hands together. “That should keep you warm. It’s a big house and can get drafty. Don’t hesitate to ring for a maid if you should need the fire tended in the night. Do you have enough blankets?”

She stared, unaccustomed to having anyone care for her comfort to such a degree. To any degree. Especially when there was nothing in it for him.

She glanced to the bed with its thick coverlet. An additional blanket sat folded at the bottom. “I’ll be fine.”

With a slight incline of his head, Owen moved to the door.

She stretched out a hand as though to reach him. “Wait.” The word escaped her without deliberation. And it was madness. This overwhelming urge she felt to keep him near her.

He turned, and she closed her eyes in a slow blink and dropped her hand. She shouldn’t be toying with him like this. She could never have him. Like it or not, she was a married woman. She wasn’t free to be with him.

She swallowed, shoving back down whatever it was she would have said. She moistened her lips. “Thank you. You are very kind, Owen.”

Owen gazed at her for a moment, his eyes gleaming in the glow of the firelight. Then he advanced on her with an easy stride, each step making her heart thud faster in her tightening chest.

He stopped before her. She flinched but managed to hold still as he stretched a hand toward her. He paused for the barest moment before gathering a heavy handful of her hair in his fist. It was their only contact but it felt vastly intimate. It reminded her of the last time his hands delved into her hair. Only then, his mouth had been on hers. Did he intend to kiss her again? The thought brought heat flooding to her face. Desire pooling low in her belly.

“Kind, hm? That’s not something I hear often.” One corner of his mouth lifted. “With good reason.”

She resisted leaning forward, closer to him, closer to the hand caressing her hair. “Perhaps you’re not letting others see the real you.”

“As you do?” His gaze turned rueful. “Perhaps.” He shrugged a shoulder. “Or you’re just seeing what you want to see.”

Her gaze drank him in, the hard planes and valleys of his face, the well-shaped lips, the eyes that looked at her with such intensity, as though he was memorizing everything about her.

She swallowed, wishing she could look away, but was hopelessly drawn to the sight of him. He was achingly beautiful. Like something out of a dream. She supposed that was how she would look back to this time with him. Something beautiful and blurred in her memories. “I don’t believe that.”

His smile deepened, yet it was mirthless and somewhat indulgent. “Of course you don’t. You’re the type of girl who only sees the best in everyone.”

She frowned, hoping that wasn’t true. She couldn’t be that trusting. Not again. That had been her mistake with Bloodsworth. She had never seen him for what he was until it was too late. Owen, however, was no Bloodsworth. She wasn’t wrong about him.

He let her hair slip free from his fingers. His hand moved to her cheek, tracing its curve down to her chin. Warmth spread through her at the contact.