“I haven’t the faintest notion of what you mean,” she said, her voice oddly breathless. Then, instinct driving her, she inched closer.
There.She saw it—the flare of undisguised heat in his hooded eyes.
Unfortunately, an answering heat swirled through her, settling low in her belly. She’d never experienced anything like the intoxicating rush of…she couldn’t say what it was, only that it filled her with a deep sense of curiosity about what it might feel like to be held in his strong arms and kissed. Truly kissed.
Eyes locked with his, she took another tiny step.
His brows slamming downward, he took an answering series of steps backward. Then he raked a hand through his thick hair and started for the door.
“Where are you going?” she demanded, barely resisting the urge to follow after him.
“You’ve cleared things up nicely, and I have work,” he said from the doorway.
And then he was gone. Odious man. Making her feel all those delicious things, and for what purpose? To run away from her and leave her wondering if she’d imagined his response all over again?
Chapter 10
Later that evening, Annabelle swallowed one last bite of the poached whitefish. She could not make herself eat more. She did, however, take another dainty sip of the dry white wine that accompanied her repast, congratulating herself on her aplomb—not that anyone was looking. For the entirety of the meal, she’d had only herself for company in the dining room, excepting when Nell or the young footman came to add or clear a dish or refill her wine goblet.
Without a word of explanation, Lord Randall had abandoned her to her own devices for the remainder of the day following the unsettling finale to their conversation. The audacity of the man.The gall.
She’d done nothing wrong. Indeed, she’d answered his question. She’d proven she wasn’t out to entrap him. And still he’d treated her like this. The man he claimed not to like, Lord Vane, had received greater hospitality from him.
She sniffed, lifted her glass, and drained it dry. It was her second—which was probably a mistake. She rarely indulgedbeyond one. But she was edgy, angry, restless. She’d wanted to see Lord Randall tonight. Wanted to experience that exhilarating sense of aliveness once more before she departed, as she surely would on the ‘morrow.
The storm had ceased, the snow had stopped falling, and Lord Randall would see her gone with the changing tide.
Curse the man. How dare he cause her blood to sing, then leave her alone to ponder the moment the two of them stood face to face and he’d…he’d wanted to kiss her. Or, had she imagined his interest? Had it all been nothing but wishful thinking on her part—again?
She would never know. She was leaving tomorrow, and that would be that.
She closed her eyes, briefly, stomach clenching as the true disaster she’d wrought flooded her awareness. She was leaving tomorrow with nothing to show for her fool’s errand—beyond proving she really wasn’t much of a daughter. She’d had such noble intent, to wrangle a confession out of Lord Randall, and barring that, drag him back to London.
All she’d managed to do was make a cake of herself in his eyes.Again.That was why he’d run from the chamber.
The coming Season loomed before her, terrifying and inescapable. How long would she last on the marriage mart before one of the men on Gaston’s list won her father’s approval for her hand? A day? A week?
Movement out of the corner of her eye alerted her to Babette entering the dining hall, clutching that damned feather duster. Casting furtive glances behind her, she dashed on tiptoes toward Annabelle.
“Coffee for milady? Cheese?” she asked, raising her voice so that it carried, then she lowered her mouth to Annabelle’s ear. “Milord is on the roof, playing with his apparatus.”
Annabelle’s brows shot up. “His…apparatus?” she aped, keeping her voice low.
Babette giggled. “The master is certainly playing sardines with you, but you won’t let him win.” She straightened, eyes widening with sudden alarm, then hastened toward the archway, jamming to a halt to narrowly avoid a collision as Nell entered.
“There you are, Babette. You know very well you’re not to disturb Lady Montrose,” Nell scolded, albeit without any real heat.
Babette turned to Annabelle, wide-eyed. “I beg your pardon, milady.”
Annabelle didn’t hesitate to maintain Babette’s ruse. “Never fear, Nell, Babette merely offered coffee, which I declined.”
Nell sighed in evident relief. “Very good, ma’am.” She moved forward and began clearing the used dishes from the table while Babette hovered in the corridor, wearing a small, mischievous grin.
“In fact, I prefer an after-dinner drink. Brandy, I think. Kindly deliver it to me upstairs,” Annabelle added smoothly, pushing back from the table.
“Of course, ma’am. You’ll enjoy your toddy in your bedchamber,” Nell agreed equably.
“No. I refer to the rooftop. Babette, fetch my cloak.”
