The Scoundrel's Lover (13 page)

Annabelle linked arms with her mother as they strolled through the parlor behind Rafe’s butler Lathem.

“I’m so glad we’re spending the evening with Serafina and Rafael,” her mother said with a happy sigh. “Though I do wish Crispin would come. We have not had a family gathering in months.”

Annabelle frowned. “He was invited, Mama, I’m certain of it. Perhaps he was simply engaged elsewhere.”

Her mother darted a look at her. “You needn’t try to protect me. I lived with your father, if you recall. I recognize that my son is struggling.”

Annabelle squeezed her eyes shut. She hated to see her mother so troubled by Crispin’s actions. Perhaps she could talk to Rafe about him again tonight, convince her eldest brother to help her in her schemes to watch over and perhaps even help Crispin.

At least she could try.

“Mrs. Flynn and Miss Annabelle,” Lathem said as he opened the parlor door and let them inside.

Annabelle forced a smile on her face as she entered the room, but it fell almost instantly, replaced by what she was certain was a look of utter horror. For standing across the room, talking to Serafina and Rafe, was Marcus Rivers.

Her
Marcus Rivers.

“Mama, Annabelle,” Serafina said, crossing the room with her arms outstretched. She embraced first Annabelle’s mother and then Annabelle. “I’m so happy you’re here. I would like to introduce you to our guest, Mr. Marcus Rivers.”

Annabelle continued to stare, struck almost dumb as she watched her mother walk toward Marcus, hand outstretched.

“You know, I think we have met before, Mr. Rivers,” she said.

His eyebrows lifted in surprise. “We have, Mrs. Flynn, though it must be four years back.”

She nodded. “At my husband’s funeral gathering.”

Annabelle’s eyes went wide. Yes, Marcus
had
been there. She had all but forgotten that in the layers of her grief from that day, but now it rushed back. He had murmured his apologies at her loss just like the others, but then…

She jerked up her face to look at him. He had squeezed her arm in a simple, yet completely inappropriate, gesture of comfort.

“Your husband was the best of men,” Marcus said, his tone low and reverent.

“He was that. And now I am so happy to see you again under much brighter circumstances. Have you met my daughter, Annabelle?”

Her mother turned slightly toward her and Annabelle realized she would be forced to move toward him now. To talk to him politely and try to pretend that she hadn’t felt his mouth on her, that he hadn’t glided his hands over every inch of her body, that just the thought of him made her ache.

“We have met,” Annabelle forced herself to say as she held out a trembling hand. “Mr. Rivers. How nice to see you again.”

His rough fingers closed over hers and he shook her hand quite properly, but she saw the look in his eyes. The dark, swirling desire for her that did not fade even in a room full of her family. Her body gave an answering twitch that made her jerk her hand away suddenly.

“It—it’s very nice to see you again,” she said.

He smiled. “Your brother insisted upon my joining your party tonight. I hope you do not think I am intruding.”

It was her mother who answered. “Goodness no,” she insisted. “I am always happy to see a friend of this family, no matter how long it has been.”

Marcus looked at her, his surprise at her utter welcome clear on his face. In that unguarded flash of a moment, Annabelle could see just how uncomfortable he was in being here. And the sight of that vulnerability on the face of a man who was always perfect in control was rather…

Enticing.

Rafe move across the room and slipped his hand around his wife’s waist. “That is what
I
told him, Mama.”

“He did indeed,” Marcus said with a laugh. “And I’m pleased to be here.”

Annabelle shifted as they all continued chatting, as if it were normal that her…well, what was he? Her lover? Not exactly, but it was the closest term to the truth. How could they all stand and talk to her lover as if this were normal?

She felt like her own voice was too loud when she said, “Mama, you should see what Serafina has done to the nursery.”

She knew the effect that comment would have. Despite the inappropriateness of her suggestion with a guest in the house, her mother’s face lit up. “I would like to see it.”

Serafina grasped her mother-in-law’s hands with a bright smile before she glanced at Marcus in apology. “Would you mind very much if we snuck away?”

Marcus shook his head. “Of course not.”

The two women scurried toward the door, Serafina calling out, “We will be back shortly.”

Rafe laughed as they left. “Mama is over the moon about her first grandchild.”

“As she should be,” Marcus said with a gentle smile unlike anything Annabelle had ever seen.

Rafe opened his mouth as if to reply, but Annabelle rushed to fill the space in the conversation. “Rafe, would you mind getting me a drink, I am parched.”

“Certainly,” her brother said slowly. “What would you like?”

She smiled. “Some of Serafina’s special madeira.”

Her brother flashed a grin. It was well known that he specially ordered the drink for his wife because it was her favorite. “I’m afraid I have none in this parlor. She hoards it away, I think,” he said with a laugh.

Annabelle tilted her head. “Would you mind very much fetching a bottle? I have been dreaming of it since the last time I came here and shared a glass with her.”

Rafe pinched his lips together. “I’ll get your drink, Annabelle. But if you wanted to talk to Mr. Rivers alone, you could have asked. I would suggest apologizing to him again for sneaking into his carriage.”

He shook his head as he left the chamber. Annabelle glared after him, cheeks flaming.

But she was brought swiftly back to reality when Marcus touched her arm. “Are you planning to apologize?”

She pivoted to find him smiling at her, eyes dancing. “No, of course not,” she said. “But we only have a few moments before he returns.”

“But what a person can do in a few minutes,” he drawled, but made no move to touch her. Still, his implication made her shiver despite herself and it took all her willpower to focus on what she needed to say.

“Why are you here?”

His smile faltered. “As I said, your brother invited me.”

“To supper?”

He shrugged. “That was not the initial reason for my visit, no. He called me here earlier.”

Her eyes went wide and she gripped her hands at her sides. “Does he know?”

Marcus arched a brow as he drawled, “About us?”

She nodded, tossing a glance over her shoulder to make sure Rafe hadn’t rushed in his retrieval of the wine. “Yes.”

He folded his arms. “Do you think your brother would invite me to supper if he knew I made you shake, quiver and scream out my name in bed?”

“Marcus!” she burst out, eyes wide at his description and body trembling and tingling despite the deep inappropriateness of this entire situation.

He gave her a slow smile, and her sex clenched as betraying wetness gathered there. Damn him for making her so weak.

“He has guessed nothing,” he reassured her. “As far as he knows, the last time we spoke was the first night you barged into my club.”

She let out a breath of relief, even though her body could find none. “Then why did he call you here?”

“Crispin,” he said with a shrug. “You are not the only one concerned about him.”

She leaned in. “Oh, Marcus, does that mean he will help our brother?”

He stared at her for a beat, his expression unreadable. “His feelings about your brother’s fall remain the same, Annabelle. He waits for Crispin to ask for help.”

She turned away, all desire crushed in that moment of utter disappointment. “How can he be so callous?”

Marcus’s fingers closed around her upper arm and he slowly turned her back toward him. “He isn’t being callous,” he reassured her. “Rafe is obviously deeply troubled about Crispin, he asked for a great many details about his activities. And he was pleased that I was watching out for him. He isn’t immune to Crispin’s difficulties, Annabelle. He simply has a different tactic in addressing them.”

The sleeve on her gown was short, and as he moved his thumb in a gentle stroke, he touched her bare skin. She shuddered, her eyes fluttering shut of their own accord. What he could do to her.

“Marcus,” she whispered, but before anything else could be said, Rafe walked back through the door, madeira in hand. Marcus released her instantly and Annabelle backed away, working to measure her breath.

“Did I give you enough time to batter Mr. Rivers with apologies and questions?” Rafe asked as he grabbed a glass and poured her the drink she hadn’t even truly wanted.

“Yes,” she murmured.

“Excellent, because I heard Mama and Serafina coming down the stairs as I came back to the parlor and I am famished. So drink up, sister, and let’s eat.”

Marcus leaned back in his chair, unable to stop himself from laughing at the very amusing story Lady Hartholm had been telling. To his surprise and despite all his misgivings, he had been having a smashing time all night. Mrs. Flynn was nothing but kind and welcoming, Rafe was his old self, Serafina was lovely…and then there was Annabelle.

Wonderful, fiery, magnificent Annabelle, who he wanted so much that it physically hurt him to look at her sometimes.

Mrs. Flynn wiped tears of mirth from her eyes and smiled at him. He could see Annabelle in her face, in her eyes, in the way she tilted her head. Perhaps that made him like the older woman even more than he normally would have. He couldn’t help but return her smile.

“So how is it that you and my son are acquainted, Mr. Rivers?” she asked.

Marcus felt his expression falter, and he slid his gaze toward Rafe. There was really no appropriate way to explain this, especially not to ladies. And he found he didn’t want Annabelle’s mother to think less of him, as she surely would if she knew the truth.

Hell,
Annabelle
might think less of him if she knew the truth.

Rafe leaned back in his chair, all calm and certainty as he flashed a big grin toward his mother. “Ah, Mama, I am not certain you want to know the answer to that question.”

She shook her head, but there seemed to be no upset on her face, nor even surprise. “And here I thought I had asked it.”

Rafe shrugged. “You know our wicked ways, Mama.”

Now Mrs. Flynn’s smile vanished and Marcus flinched as he waited for her to turn a judgmental gaze on him. Instead, she merely ran her finger along the tablecloth reflexively.

“I suppose by
our
that you mean he is a friend of yours and Crispin’s?”

It was amazing to Marcus to watch the mood of the table shift with the mere mention of Crispin’s name. Serafina reached out to take her husband’s hand, Mrs. Flynn’s shoulders slumped and Annabelle went stiff as a board as she stared at her plate like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

He cleared his throat. “I do know your younger son, Mrs. Flynn,” he admitted. “He is as fine a man as your oldest.”

She lifted her gaze, snagging his. He saw her pain, her struggle, and it nearly took his breath away. He had been raised most of his life without anyone to love him, to give a damn whether he lived or died. That had changed thanks to…well, thanks to the sons and husband of this very woman.

His painful past meant he appreciated love even more. This family cared for its own. Annabelle was not alone in that.

“Thank you, Mr. Rivers,” Mrs. Flynn said softly.

With a screech of her chair, Annabelle leapt to her feet. The entire table turned toward her, eyes wide, including his own.

“Mr. Rivers, would you like a tour of the gardens?” she asked, hands opening and shutting at her sides.

He blinked, taken aback by this strange request.

“In the dark?” Rafe asked, tilting his head to look more closely at his sister.

Marcus held back a groan. If Annabelle kept requesting, no
demanding
, time alone with him, the true nature of their arrangement was going to become crystal clear. And yet, the idea that she wanted to be with him was almost irresistible.

“There is a moon,” Annabelle insisted through clenched teeth.

“Annabelle, we were about to retire to the parlor for port and wine,” Serafina said, watching her sister-in-law just as closely as the duke was currently doing.

“We would only take but a moment.”

“If you did not stray too far, I couldn’t see the harm,” Mrs. Flynn surprised him by saying. “You have been a bit high strung tonight, Annabelle—perhaps the night air will do you good.”

With her mother’s blessing, Marcus rose to his feet and offered Annabelle his arm. She took it, sending a brief glance over her shoulder before she motioned toward an adjoining door to a parlor with an exit to the terrace. He felt three pairs of eyes on them with every step that took them away from the party.

But when he left the house and closed the veranda door behind them, he knew they were once more alone. And the things he wanted to do to this woman were wildly inappropriate.

She didn’t seem to sense his desire, but pulled from his arm and paced away to the edge of the terrace.

“Marcus,” she began.

“If you are going to scold me for speaking so openly to your mother or for being here, then please don’t.” He shrugged. “This is not a night that will likely be repeated.”

She looked at him, surprise on her face. “I was not going to scold you at all,” she said, her tone suddenly gentle. “Your presence here has actually been good for my mother. Mama is obviously very hurt by Crispin’s actions of late and tonight is the first time I’ve seen her smile so brightly and engage with another person so completely.”

He drew back. “If that is true, then I am pleased for any part I have to play in her happiness. I truly like your mother.” He couldn’t help it. He edged closer. “But is she the
only
one who enjoyed my company tonight?”

Annabelle sucked in a harsh breath, and he saw the answer on her face before she whispered, “You know she is not. You know that I have been unable to focus on anything other than you since the moment I walked in the door and found you with my brother and his wife.”

“I like that answer,” he murmured, cupping her chin and tilting it up. He leaned in, loving that the shadows of the trees just along the terrace provided them with protection from those inside.

He took the opportunity and pressed his lips to hers. Immediately she let out a desperate little moan and opened to him. He took what she offered, delving his tongue deep inside her mouth, sucking and tasting and teasing her until her hands came up to grip his forearms and her breath was short and heavy.

He wanted to back her into the corner and lift her skirts. He wanted to violate their agreement and claim her until she arched against him and moaned his name. He wanted to do wicked things to her, the fact that her family was feet away be damned.

But instead, he gently set her aside and paced away, hoping the raging length of his erection would subside if he could no longer smell the tempting waft of jasmine, taste her breath, feel her soft body mold to his.

When he dared to look at her, she had also put her back to him. Her hand was gripped against the top of the wall, her shoulders lifting and falling with every harsh breath.

“What are we doing, Marcus?” she whispered. “Why can’t I control myself whenever I see you?”

He reached out, but forced himself to lower his hand and not touch her. “Whatever it is, we both suffer the same affliction,” he said.

She turned, her beautiful face pale and luminous in the moonlight. It was like she was made of porcelain, impossibly fine but breakable. He didn’t want to be the one to shatter her and her dreams.

And yet he still took a step toward her and whispered, “Will you come back to the club?”

Her gaze darted to his and held there. “Tuesday,” she affirmed, her voice trembling.

“Good,” he said, hoping his immense relief wasn’t reflected in his voice. Her coming meant more to him than it should. He cleared his throat. “Now take me back inside and I’ll excuse myself.”

She sucked in a breath. “Marcus?”

He shrugged. “Being near you is too difficult, and your brother is no fool. He’ll see a connection if we allow him to observe us for too long.”

She bit her lip gently and nodded. “I suppose you’re correct.”

“And I
should
go back anyway. As you know from examining my books, there is always work to be done at the masquerade.”

She smiled. “Always. Come with me, then.”

She turned and began to make her way back to the parlor door, but before she could open it and bring them back to propriety and reality, he took a step toward her.

“Annabelle.”

She stopped and faced him. “Yes?”

“I like your family.”

Her face brightened at the comment, magnifying her beauty until it was almost too much to look at. “I’m glad, Marcus.”

“But I don’t believe, even in my wildest fantasies, that I belong here. Or that I belong with you.” He pursed his lips “It’s important we both realize that as we move forward in our…our arrangement.”

Her smile faded at those blunt words, and for a moment Marcus was certain he saw a flash of disappointment cross her face. But then it was gone and he must have imagined it, because Annabelle had plans and they didn’t include him. What he’d said to her was as much for himself as for her.

“Come,” she said, opening the door.

He followed her inside, but deep in the pit of his stomach, he had a keen sense that he had lost something. Even though it was something he’d never truly had.

Annabelle stared at her reflection in the mirror, focusing on her hollow expression, her empty eyes. She shook her head.

“Miss?”

She jumped at Deirdre’s voice and looked over to find her maid waiting for her to unclench her hands so that she could remove the gown she had been unbuttoning while Annabelle lost herself in thought.

“I’m sorry,” she said, opening her hands and helping Deirdre remove the dress.

Her servant shook out the fabric and carefully folded it, placing it on a chair where it would be taken to be washed.

“You are very quiet,” her maid observed without looking at Annabelle.

Annabelle squeezed her eyes shut. Was she so obvious? She’d been trying so hard to remain unmoved since Marcus left her brother’s house hours ago. Trying to remain normal, as if it were an everyday occurrence for her secret lover to come to call.

“I’m sorry, I seem to be woolgathering, Deirdre,” she murmured.

Deirdre motioned to Annabelle’s chemise and she tugged it over her head, then bent to roll her stockings away. Deirdre handed over her nightgown before she took the clothing Annabelle had removed and folded them to be added to the laundry.

“I know Mr. Rivers was at the gathering at your brother’s home tonight,” her maid offered after enough time had passed that Annabelle was already beginning to return to her reverie.

Annabelle jolted at the accusation and carefully smoothed her nightgown with both hands before she replied. “Oh do you? Who told you that?”

“My sister is your sister-in-law’s maid,” Deirdre said with a slight smile. “And we talk below stairs. You know that.”

“What was said about Mr. Rivers?”

Deirdre shrugged. “That he was an unforeseen guest at the dinner table. Some of the servants teased a little about Lord Hartholm’s past, but Lathem always shuts that down, no matter how good natured the words are.”

“Good old Lathem.” Annabelle smiled. “But no one judged Marcus…Mr. Rivers?”

Deirdre’s eyebrows lifted. “You mean was his reputation discussed?”

Annabelle nodded.

“No. Eluded to, but never discussed. However, everyone knows what he is, Miss. Who he is. I’m a little afraid for you, for your reputation.”

“Were they talking about me?” Annabelle burst out, taking a step toward Deirdre.