She stood still, seeming to weigh the merits of his idea, feather duster fluttering slightly in her grasp.
“Thank you, Babette,” he added dryly.
Mouth firming, she nevertheless nodded, then darted from the room.
He decided to make good his escape before Nell, Cogsworth, and Chip made a run at him.
***
Annabelle stared out the window into the inky black night, regretting her rash decision to hide in her chamber. She had done nothing wrong. Why should she sequester herself? It might have been better to ignore Sterling over the dinner table while keeping up a lively banter with Caroline, and then disappear to her own bedchamber for the night.
Except…the thought of sleeping without him filled her with a sick foreboding, as if, by choosing to throw down the gauntlet, she’d set a new precedent for the two of them.
What if, when they returned to London, he opted to maintain the distance she’d established between them tonight?
What if he’d already grown tired of her?
Stop making yourself a bloody nuisance, Annabelle. Nobody likes a hanger-oner,Gaston had said under his breath more than once.
She remembered one particular such event, when her family had invited several guests to their country home for the weekend. She had been fifteen or sixteen years of age. No longer a child, but not yet a woman. She’d yet to master her hostess skills, and so Gaston informed her when she’d tried to be social and join in the conversation with the young folk.
She’d only meant to be nice. To be accommodating. A proper hostess. To do her parents proud.
And yes, to make friends.
Gaston had thought her…what word had he used? Repellent? No.Repulsive.
All your fawning is repulsive. Go over there and do what you do best,he’d suggested, waggling his fingers toward theirpapa. Charm the oldies. Bat your lashes at Lord Trent and Lord Barwick, the two Father wishes to impress. Who knows? Maybe you’ll tempt one of them to offer for you and make a good connection for the family.
She stomped to her vanity and snatched up her silver brush to drag it through her hair with ruthless strokes.
She didn’t like remembering Gaston in a mood. At the time, she’d felt sure--or almost sure--he’d merely wanted to rid himself of her so he could flirt unobserved with one of the girls she’d befriended.
What if she’d been wrong? What if shewasneedy to the point of repellent? Shame hollowed out her stomach. She couldn’t bear for Sterling to find her craving for him, for his attention, his affection,repulsive.
She set the brush aside, the argument between them replaying in her mind on a loop.
He’d accused her of being irresponsible. Of putting his sister in danger.
Perhaps she had. Perhaps she should have considered the recent past.
But his tone. He’d been so cold.
As if that is what has your knickers in a knot,Annabelle.
No. It waswhyhe’d been angry that was eating a hold through her insides—because she’d endangered his sister; he’d as much as said so. And for some reason, after the seeming closeness they’d shared, the evidence of where his true affection lie, hurt.
And that made her angry.
A sharp knock sounded at her door, startling her. Babette generally gave a soft scratch.
Perhaps Nell or Chip or Cogsworth were delivering her meal.
She rose and moved toward the side table near the hearth. “Come,” she called.
The door opened as she lowered onto the armchair facing the fire. Then it closed with a bang. Nearly the instant she turned her startled gaze toward the door, her breath caught in her throat.
Sterling, dressed in casual evening clothes, hair damp from a recent wash, cheeks still dewy from a recent shave, looking heart-stoppingly gorgeous, pushed a meal cart into the chamber, acting for all the world like a footman who performed such tasks regularly.
