If the Slipper Fits (27 page)

From the tightness in his voice, Annabelle knew he was angry. The assistant curate had said that Lord Simon had been keeping them apart on purpose. Her initial delight in seeing him altered suddenly to mulish irritation. Did he intend to dictate who she chose to be her friends?

She slipped her fingers around Mr. Tremayne’s arm. “The pleasure is entirely ours, my lord. It’s a fine day to shop—or to take a drive, don’t you agree?”

Nicholas had been eyeing the carriage and horses with great interest. Now, as if on cue, he tugged on Lord Simon’s sleeve. “Please, sir, will you take me for a ride?”

As he glanced down at his nephew, Lord Simon’s stern expression softened briefly. He reached out and ruffled the boy’s flaxen hair. “In a few moments, yes, I shall.”

“Hooray!” Nicholas said as he darted off to examine the carriage and horses from a safe distance.

The two men assessed one another, and tension radiated in the air. Lord Simon wore that arrogant look again. “It’s been good seeing you, Tremayne. But now I’m sure you’ve sermons to copy or pews to polish.”

Mr. Tremayne matched his stare. “As it so happens, I’m free at the moment to escort Miss Quinn to the shops.”

“Perhaps you don’t understand me,” Lord Simon said, taking a step closer, his tone deceptively quiet. “I intend to take her—and my nephew—back to the castle now.”

Unwilling to be the center of their juvenile fight, Annabelle decided to wash her hands of the two of them. “I’m going nowhere until I do my shopping,” she announced. “My lord, if you’d be so kind as to keep a watch on Nicholas for a short while. Mr. Tremayne, perhaps we will have an opportunity to talk another time. Good-bye.”

With that, Annabelle marched away down the street. She refused to look back. Instead, she peered in shop windows until she spied one that had ladies’ hats and other sundries on display.

The bell over the door tinkled as she entered the shop. It was not a large place, but a vast variety of sewing supplies crammed the shelves and counters. A stout woman with merry blue eyes and faded brown hair emerged from a back room to voice a cheery greeting. She showed Annabelle the area where the long bolts of fabric were stored.

“The new governess, are ’ee? His Grace is a right fine cheel, he is. Don’t ’ee worry, we all look out t’ protect him.”

“Thank you, that’s very kind.” Annabelle listened with half an ear as the woman expressed her indignation over the recent incident with the mysterious gunman. Annabelle needed only to murmur and nod every now and then while she looked through the rolls of cloth.

An azure blue silk caught her eye. Removing one glove, she ran her bare fingertips over the soft, supple material. It would be perfect with a deep cream underskirt. The garnet slippers that Lady Milford had given her would add a pretty, if unconventional, touch to the gown.

The shopkeeper helped her select buttons and thread, lace and ribbons. By the time Annabelle was done, she’d made a sizable dent in her savings. It seemed shockingly extravagant to squander so much on a gown that she would likely wear only once. And yet she did so want to dress as beautifully as the other ladies at the ball. She wanted Lord Simon to notice her …

She put a firm stop to that dangerous thought. While the shopkeeper wrapped the purchases, Annabelle wandered around to examine the other goods. A display of shawls caught her attention, one in particular that was made of a cream-colored merino so fine it was almost sheer. She let the airy fabric sift through her fingers. If only it weren’t so wildly impractical, it would look perfect with her ball gown …

The bell over the door jangled. At the sound of male footsteps, she felt a little catch in her chest and dropped the shawl back onto the table. Without even looking, she knew who stood behind her. Nevertheless, she glanced over her shoulder to see Lord Simon looming in the doorway, Nicholas at his side.

The shopkeeper beamed at them. “M’lord, ’tis an honor. Dost ’ee like a chair t’ sit?”

“That won’t be necessary, Mrs. Littlejohn. How are the grandsons?”

“Growin’ too fast,” she said on a laugh. “Much like our young duke here. Such a right handsome fellow he is.”

The shopkeeper handed Annabelle the string-tied parcel, which Lord Simon took from her without a word. As he held the door and she preceded him out into the street, she knew by his stiff manner that he was still irked.

Let him stew. She had every right to come into town on her afternoon off—and to speak to whomever she liked. Their disagreement might even have a beneficial effect. Maybe it would keep him at arm’s length so he’d lose interest in her.

“Miss Quinn, wait until you hear.” Nicholas tugged on her hand. “Uncle Simon bought me
two
tarts.”

She smiled down at his dear face in the bright sunshine. “Let me guess what kind. Chocolate with powdered sugar.”

“How did you know?”

“The evidence is around your mouth.” She gave him her folded handkerchief. “There now, clean yourself, please.”

While he was busy, she noticed that Lord Simon had led them to his carriage. “Our coachman is waiting at the Copper Shovel,” she said.

“Not any longer.”

So he had ordered the vehicle to return to the castle. In his present ill humor, she couldn’t imagine why he would insist upon driving them himself. He offered no explanation as he helped her up into the high perch. Nor did she intend to ask for one.

Like a monkey, Nicholas scrambled up the other side of the carriage and plopped down at the far end. “May I ride right here?” he begged. “I won’t see anything if I’m squashed in between.”

“Suit yourself,” Lord Simon said, as he secured the parcel to the back of the carriage.

He bounded up, and much to her chagrin, Annabelle found herself seated in the middle, much too close to him. Their legs and arms brushed even though she made every effort to avoid contact. She couldn’t imagine the arrangement was to his liking, for a glower hardened his features. He snapped the reins and the pair of sleek bays set off on the meandering road that led out of the village.

Annabelle kept an eye on Nicholas, though she had a keen awareness of the man beside her. The cool breeze and the sunshine should have lifted her spirits—if not for Lord Simon’s testy manner.

“Why did you go out in the carriage today?” she asked him.

“I had a call to pay.”

An unpleasant understanding struck her. “Ah. You took Lady Louisa for a drive?”

He cast an enigmatic glance at her. “Yes.”

The news was a bitter pill to swallow. She was
glad,
Annabelle told herself firmly. Glad because it provided a necessary reminder that he was far beyond her reach. If he still harbored any interest in her at all, it could be for only one purpose—a purpose that had nothing to do with marriage.

His wedding vows would be reserved for a lady of his own class.

Though a knot formed in her throat, she kept her expression serene. Now was not the time to sort through her tangled emotions. If he insisted upon being reticent, then she would be as well.

After all, there was a lovely day to enjoy, with the leaves changing to red and gold in the patches of woods. They passed picturesque farms and green pastures nestled in the hills. Around every bend in the road lay a new sight for Nicholas to exclaim over, from a hawk wheeling against the blue sky to a dog chasing a fat sheep back into its herd.

While the boy was busy watching the countryside, Lord Simon spoke in a low, grating tone meant for her ears alone. “I want you to stay away from Tremayne.”

She tilted her head sharply to look at him. He was gazing at her, his lips thinned, his eyes piercing. The chaotic swirl of feelings inside her coalesced into anger. “Am I allowed no friendships, my lord?”

He set his jaw and glanced back at the road. “I never said that. Just not—him.”

“Without explanation?”

“Are you truly so naïve?” he muttered under his breath. “The scoundrel has designs on you.”

Naïve! Lord Simon might have much more experience of the world, but that didn’t mean she was dense. “And you do not have designs?” she whispered icily. “Or am I naïvely misreading
your
intentions toward me?”

He gave her a quick, sharp look, and Annabelle half wished she could call back her words. Dear heaven. She should have bided her tongue. What if she was horribly wrong to think that he desired her? What if he had only meant to be kind when he’d invited her to the ball?

No, she wasn’t mistaken. The previous day in the library, he had radiated lust, from the heated look in his eyes to the caress of his hand on hers. He had given her a crooked smile that promised something wicked and wonderful if only she would succumb to him.

Now, however, his face appeared set in granite. He glared at the road ahead, his hands tight on the reins as he guided the horses down a hill. The lump in her throat thickened. The miserable truth was, she didn’t want to believe he had no interest in her as a woman. She wanted to dream that he might—just
might
—suffer from the same emotional tangle as she did. That by some miracle he was falling madly in love with her and his feelings were strong enough to transcend the barriers of class. Why, oh why, was she so foolish?

Oblivious to the tension between them, Nicholas pointed at a small, rocky waterfall half-hidden in the woods alongside the road. “Look, Miss Quinn. May we stop and go see it?”

Grateful for the distraction, she smoothed her hand over his wind-tousled hair. “It’s quite lovely. Perhaps we can—”

“Not today,” Lord Simon snapped. “I’ve work to do.”

Nicholas glanced cautiously at him. Then he ducked his chin before turning away to look quietly out at the countryside. Seeing his small shoulders hunched brought a poignant reminder to Annabelle of the fearful boy he’d been on her arrival.

She compressed her lips. Blast Lord Simon! It was best to avoid conversation or she might say something else she’d regret. Nicholas didn’t deserve to witness a quarrel.

Placing her arm around the boy, she spent the remainder of the trip talking with him about the various sights. She ignored Lord Simon altogether. Yet her senses remained stubbornly aware of him. Whenever the wheels hit a bump in the dirt road, his body brushed hers. The breeze carried an alluring whiff of his spicy scent. His expert handling of the reins made her wonder how those hands would feel caressing her.

By the time they drove through the open gate of the castle, she was more than ready to be rid of him. Lord Simon jumped down while a groom ran out to hold the horses. Nicholas hopped to the ground by himself. Because of her skirts, Annabelle had to make the descent more cautiously. She had only started down when a pair of strong male hands caught her by the waist and lifted her the rest of the way.

She turned around swiftly, only to find herself trapped between the large carriage wheel and Lord Simon. He made no move to step aside. He was still holding her, and the warmth of his fingers caused that curious melting sensation she both craved and despised.

His moody gaze flicked to her lips. She thought for an instant that he meant to kiss her right out here in the courtyard—and that she would lack the willpower to refuse him.

But he merely issued a harsh command. “You’re not to leave the castle grounds again without my permission. Is that clear?”

Her spine stiffened. “Perfectly, my lord.”

He looked as if he wanted to say something more. But with a haughty bow, he turned on his boot heel and strode away.

Chapter 20

Simon knew he’d made a muddle of things. He had thought of little else in the three days since he’d caught Annabelle with Tremayne. The memory of them laughing together was imprinted on his brain.

Sitting in a copper tub of warm water in his dressing room, he groped around the bottom for the cake of sandalwood soap. Finding it, he scrubbed the grime from his body. What he really needed was an icy plunge in the ocean so he could purge himself of this wretched fever for her. A day spent at hard labor, shoveling dirt at the Celtic site, had provided only a temporary distraction. The moment he’d trekked back up the hill to the castle, thoughts of Annabelle had returned to plague him.

Despite her sharp intellect, she was too innocent to understand a man like Tremayne. But Simon understood. He had taken the man’s measure from the start and had seen that the assistant curate was ill-suited to a pious life. Born a gentleman of privilege, Tremayne harbored a sense of entitlement toward women of a lower order. To him, Annabelle was fair game for seduction.

And you do not have designs? Or am I naïvely misreading your intentions toward me?

Denying a jab of guilt, Simon vigorously lathered his wet hair. He had been shocked when Annabelle had said that. He had not expected her to confront him so bluntly—or to compare him to Tremayne.

Yes, damn it, he wanted to bed her, too. But he would treat her far better than that scoundrel ever would.

Simon didn’t view her as a quick amusement to be used and then abandoned. He wanted Annabelle to be his mistress—permanently. She was far too fascinating a woman for him to tire of her anytime soon. He planned to give her a house, fine clothing, servants, anything she desired in exchange for the pleasure of making love to her. And if their relationship bore fruit, he would provide for their child—or children—because with Annabelle he craved a long-term liaison.

Now it was just a matter of convincing her. She needed to be wooed—not snarled and snapped at as he’d done in the carriage. He had let jealousy get the better of him. That wouldn’t happen again. However, such a strong, principled woman would not easily succumb to seduction. She might very well demand a wedding ring first.

Something deep and raw twisted in his gut. As much as he desired Annabelle, the notion of speaking his vows to her caused a tension akin to panic in Simon. Bachelorhood was far preferable to the daily drama of living with a woman. Diana’s betrayal had cured him of ever wanting to commit himself to a marriage.