But then, from outside the door, she heard a familiar masculine voice, the words unclear, the inflexion that of a question being asked. Annie’s breath caught and the next sob stuck like a pebble in her throat. There followed a click as the door handle turned and a softcreak as the door swung open. Then a floorboard squeaked, followed by another, and Annie knew, without doubt or explanation, who had entered the room. She swallowed the trapped sob, dropped her hands, and lifted her gaze.
With the pale light of the corridor behind him, Julian Northcott appeared almost as a silhouette, detail visible, but subdued. Fists loosely clenched, he wore a slight frown, his expression one of concern; an expression she’d seen once before. His chest rose and fell visibly, though he had yet to utter a word. Annie, unsettled by his silence, scrubbed the tears from her eyes, sniffed, and gave him an utterly understated greeting, her voice slightly wobbly. “Good day to you, Mr. Northcott. It’s nice to see you again.”
His chest heaved once more, and his expression relaxed into a smile. “Good day to you, Miss Fairfax. It’s nice to see you again, as well. I have been looking for you.”
The nearness of him, the sound of his voice, and his smile, did indescribable things to Annie’s stomach and heart. She waited, expecting him to ask what she was doing at Myddleton, but the question never came. Instead, he continued to gaze down at her, stretching the silence between them, compelling her to speak.
“Yes, sir, and for that I must apologize,” she replied at last, with another sniff. “I should not have run off like that. I… I’m not really sure why I did.”
The frown returned as he pulled a folded handkerchief from his vest pocket and crouched before her. “Not quite what I meant, but I’ll explain later,” he said, leaning over to dab the remaining tears from her cheeks. “And an apology is not necessary. There, that’s better.” He tucked the handkerchief back in its place, stood not quite upright, and held out his hands. “Come on, let me help you up. I doubt you’re very comfortable down there.”
Explain later? Explain what?
Annie wiped her damp hands on her skirts and then reached forhim. “It occurs to me, sir, that this is not the first time you’ve set me back on my feet,” she said, as he hoisted her gently from the floor, his touch causing a little tingle that lifted the hairs on her nape. “I fear it is becoming quite a habit.”
The smile reappeared. “Happy to be of assistance, Miss Fairfax.”
“I did not expect to see you here.” Another understatement.
“Likewise, I can assure you.” His expression softened as he gave her hands a slight squeeze. “And before anything else is said, please accept my condolences on the death of your father.”
“Thank you.” Annie glanced down at her black skirts, which had obviously announced her bereaved status. “Are you a guest here, Mr. Northcott?”
“You could say that.” He released her. “Now, unless you’re feeling less than able, I believe we have a task to complete.”
Annie furled her fingers to preserve the warmth of his touch for a moment longer. “A task?”
“Yes.” He gestured to the open door and the hallway beyond. “Arranging the flowers in the gallery.”
“Oh.” Annie swallowed against a twinge of confusion and disappointment. It seemed she had just been put in her place, wherever Julian Northcott considered that to be. Was this part of his delayed explanation? Had he only come looking for her to make sure she completed her floral task? Things must have changed since the time he’d suggested they correspond with each other. Or maybe, in her naivety, she’d misunderstood his intentions, though it sickened her to think so.First Leo, and now him. Are all men prone to duplicity, then? No, not all. Papa, at least, was an honest and honorable man.
A shadow of disappointment cast a chill over her. It also stirred up a touch of indignation. “I understand, sir, of course.” She met his gaze and bobbed a slight curtsey. “I shall see to it right away.” Biting down against another threat of tears, she brushed by him and went into the hallway.
His voice followed her. “Miss Fairfax, wait, please.”
Shoring up the sorry remains of her defenses, Annie paused, lifted her chin, and turned. “Yes, Mr…?” Her voice faltered as he stepped out of the doorway and approached. She cleared her throat, linked her fingers together at her waist, and tried again. “Yes, Mr. Northcott?”
He halted barely a hand-span away and Annie found herself staring, as she had once before, at the pin in his cravat. Not tipped with a pearl this time, but a faceted, pale-blue stone. With little confidence in her fraying emotions, she purposely kept her gaze on that bright little jewel.
“I believe I said ‘we’.” With a hooked finger, he gently tipped her chin up. “I apologize if my intent was not made clear.”
Annie’s wretched heart skipped a beat as she gazed into his eyes. There was not a hint of duplicity in them, and she feared, suddenly, that all this was nothing more than a bizarre dream. That at any moment she’d hear Lancelot’s lamentable crowing and awaken to see a pair of faded yellow curtains at her window. “Your intent?”
“Yes,” he replied. “I actually thought to assist you with the flower arrangement, if you have no objection.”
“Assist me?” Annie pondered. “You mean, as an observer?”
His mouth twitched. “While I’m certain that would be most pleasant, I fear it would not be particularly productive. I was rather hoping to be of some use to you, though I confess to having no knowledge of such things. However, if you tell me what flower goes next into that silly vase, I’m sure I’ll be able to manage it. In any case, I am entirely at your disposal.”
Annie’s cheeks warmed anew. “Forgive me, Mr. Northcott, but are you saying you wish tohelpme with the flower arrangement?”
“That is exactly what I’m saying.” He cocked his head. “But only if agreeable to you, of course.”
“Oh, yes! I mean, yes, of course.” An errant tear slid down the side of Annie’s nose and she brushed it away. “That would be most agreeable.”
“Excellent.” He smiled and, as he had once before on that busy London street, offered her his arm. “Then let’s go.”
Still not fully convinced any of this was real, Annie hesitated for a moment before she dared to place her hand on it. Immediately, Julian Northcott crooked his elbow around her fingers, his hold firm yet gentle, and sweetly familiar. Just as well, since Annie now felt deliciously lightheaded, as though she’d consumed a tad too much wine. Or perhaps she was, after all, merely trapped in the unearthly realm between sleep and wakefulness. Holding her breath, she made a fist with her other hand and dug her fingernails into her palm till it hurt.
