“Do I take this to mean you’ve been warned about me?”
“Oh yes,” came her too-fast reply. And then she snapped back to attention, looking him directly in the eye. “I have to go. Now.”
“As you might recall I’ve been telling you,” he murmured.
She looked toward the side garden, grimacing at the thought of passing through a lovers’ lawn. “Head down,” she said to herself. “Barrel through.”
“Some live their entire lives by that motto,” he said cheerfully.
She looked at him sharply, clearly wondering if he’d gone mad in the last two seconds. He shrugged, unwilling to apologize. He was finally beginning to feel like himself again. He had every right to feel cheerful.
“Do you?” she asked.
“Absolutely not. I prefer life to have a bit more style. It’s all about the subtleties, don’t you think?”
She stared at him. Blinked a few times. Then said, “I should go.”
And she went. She put her head down and barreled through.
Without telling him her name.
Chapter Six
The following afternoon
You’re terribly quiet today,” Louisa said.
Annabel smiled weakly at her cousin. They were walking Louisa’s dog in Hyde Park, accompanied—theoretically—by Louisa’s aunt. But Lady Cosgrove had come across one of her many acquaintances, and while she was still in sight, she was no longer in earshot.
“I’m only tired,” Annabel said. “I had difficulty sleeping after all the excitement of the party.” It wasn’t the whole truth, but neither was it a lie. She’d lain awake for hours the night before, making elaborate studies of the insides of her eyelids.
She refused to stare at the ceiling. On principle. She’d always felt that way. In the quest for sleep, open eyes were a clear admission of defeat.
Still, no matter where she looked, it was impossible to escape the magnitude of what she’d done.
Sebastian Grey.
Sebastian Grey.
The words rang like a miserable moan in her head. On the list of men she ought not to be kissing, he had to rank at the top, along with the King, Lord Liverpool, and the chimney sweep.
And frankly, she suspected he was higher up the list than the chimney sweep.
She hadn’t known very much about Mr. Grey before the Trowbridge party, just that he was Lord Newbury’s heir, and the two men did not tolerate each other’s company. But once word had got out that Lord Newbury was pursuing her, everyone seemed to have something to tell her about the earl and his nephew.
Oh very well, not everyone, since most of society wasn’t the least bit interested in her, but everyone she knew had an opinion.
He was handsome. (The nephew, not the earl.)
He was a rogue. (Again, the nephew.)
He was probably penniless and spent a great deal of time with his cousins on the other side of his family. (Definitely the nephew, and in fact, it had better be the nephew, because if Annabel married Lord Newbury and he turned out to be penniless, she was going to be livid.)
Annabel had left the ball straightaway after the disastrous interlude on the heath, but apparently Mr. Grey had not. He must have made quite an impression on Louisa, because this morning, good heavens, it was all she could talk about.
Mr. Grey this, and Mr. Grey that, and how was it possible that Annabel hadn’t seen him at the party? Annabel had shrugged and made some sort of I can’t imagine type of comment, but it didn’t matter because Louisa was still nattering on about his smile and his eyes which were gray and oh wasn’t it just the most marvelous coincidence and oh yes, everyone had noticed that he departed on the arm of a married woman!
This last bit did not surprise Annabel. He’d told her quite plainly that he’d been cavorting with a married woman before she’d tripped over him.
But Annabel had a feeling that this was a different married woman. The one on the blanket had been careful of her reputation, departing the scene well before Mr. Grey. No one who practiced such discretion would be so brazen as to leave on his arm. Which meant it had to be someone else, which meant he’d been with two married women. Good heavens, he was even worse than people said.
Annabel pressed her fingers to her temples. No wonder her head hurt. She was thinking too hard. Too hard, and about items too frivolous. If she had to develop an obsession, couldn’t it be about something worthwhile? The new Cruel and Improper Treatment of Cattle Act would have done nicely. Or the plight of the poor. Her grandfather had been ranting about both this week, so Annabel had no excuse for not developing an interest.
“Is your head bothering you?” Louisa asked. But she wasn’t paying much attention. Frederick, her ridiculously fat basset hound, had spotted a fellow canine in the distance and was yanking on the lead. “Frederick!” she yelped, tripping a step or two before she found her footing.
Frederick stopped, although it wasn’t clear if it was due to Louisa’s hold on the lead or outright exhaustion. He let out a huge sigh, and frankly, Annabel was surprised that he didn’t collapse on the ground.
“I think someone has been sneaking him sausages again,” Louisa grumbled.
Annabel looked elsewhere.
“Annabel!”
“He looked so hungry,” Annabel insisted.
Louisa motioned toward her dog, whose belly slid along the grass. “That looks hungry?”
“His eyes looked hungry.”
Louisa gave her a skeptical look.
“Your dog is a very good liar.”
Louisa shook her head. She was probably rolling her eyes, too, but Annabel was watching Frederick, who was letting out a bored yawn.
“He’d be quite good at cards,” Annabel said absently. “If he could speak. Or had thumbs.”
Louisa gave her another one of those looks. She was very good at them, Annabel thought, even if she saved them for family.
“He’d win against you,” Annabel said.
“That’s hardly a compliment,” Louisa answered.
It was true. Louisa was abysmal at cards. Annabel had tried everything—piquet, whist, vingt-et-un. For someone who was so good at keeping every emotion off her face in public, Louisa was dreadful when it came to games. Still, they played, mostly because Louisa was so bad it made it fun.
She was a good sport, Louisa.
Annabel looked down at Frederick, who had, after about thirty seconds of standing in place, plopped his bottom down on the grass. “I miss my dog,” she said.
Louisa looked over her shoulder toward her aunt, who was still engrossed in conversation. “What was his name again?”
“Mouse.”
“That was very unkind of you.”
“Naming him Mouse?”
“Isn’t he a greyhound?”
“I could have named him Turtle.”
“Frederick!” Louisa yelped, rushing forward to remove something—in all honesty, Annabel preferred not to know what—from his mouth.
“It’s better than Frederick,” Annabel said. “Good heavens, that’s my brother’s name.”
“Let go, Frederick,” Louisa muttered. Then, still grabbing at whatever was in his mouth, she looked back over at Annabel. “He deserves a dignified name.”
“Because he’s such a dignified dog.”
Louisa raised a brow, looking every inch a duke’s daughter. “Dogs deserve proper names.”
“Cats, too?”
Louisa let out a dismissive pfft. “Cats are entirely different. They catch mice.”
Annabel opened her mouth to ask how, exactly, that pertained to proper names, but before she made a sound, Louisa grabbed her forearm, hissing her name.
“Ow.” Annabel reached down and tried to pry Louisa’s fingers loose. “What is it?”
“Over there,” Louisa whispered urgently. Her head jerked toward the left, but in a way that said she was trying to be discreet. Except she wasn’t. At all. “Sebastian Grey,” Louisa finally hissed.
An
nabel had heard the hearts-dropping-to-the-stomach expression before, and she’d said it, too, but this was the first time she actually understood it. Her entire body felt wrong, as if her heart was in her stomach and her lungs were in her ears, and her brain was somewhere east of France.
“Let’s go,” she said. “Please.”
Louisa looked surprised. “You don’t want to meet him?”
“No.” Annabel didn’t care that she sounded desperate. She just wanted to be gone.
“You’re joking, aren’t you? You must be curious.”
“I’m not. I assure you. I mean, yes, of course I am, but if I am going to meet this man, I don’t want to do it like this.”
Louisa blinked a few times. “Like what?”
“I’m just—I’m not prepared. I—”
“I suppose you’re right,” Louisa said thoughtfully.
Thank God.
“He will probably think you have loyalties toward his uncle and will prejudge you accordingly.”
“Exactly,” Annabel said, latching onto this like a lifesaver.
“Or he’ll try to talk you out of it.”
Annabel cast a nervous glance toward the spot where Louisa had seen Mr. Grey. Subtly, of course, and without actually turning around. If she could just escape before he saw her…
“Of course, I think you should be talked out of it,” Louisa continued. “I don’t care how much money Lord Newbury has, no young lady should be forced to—”
“I haven’t agreed to anything yet,” Annabel practically cried. “Please, may we just go?”
“We have to wait for my aunt,” Louisa said, frowning. “Did you see where she went?”
“Louisa.”
“What is wrong with you?”
Annabel looked down. Her hands were shaking. She couldn’t do this. Not yet. She couldn’t face the man she’d kissed who happened to be the heir to the man she didn’t want to kiss but whom she probably was going to marry. Oh yes, and she could not forget that if she did marry the man she didn’t want to kiss, she was likely to provide him with a new heir, thus cutting off the man she did want to kiss.
Oh, he was really going to like her.
She was going to have to be introduced to Mr. Grey eventually, there was no avoiding it. But did it have to be now? Surely she deserved a little time to prepare.
She hadn’t thought she was such a coward. No, she wasn’t a coward. Any sane person would flee in such a situation, and probably half of the mad ones, as well.
“Annabel,” Louisa said, her voice sounding exasperated. “Why is it so important that we leave?”
Annabel tried to think of a reason. She really did. But there was only the truth, which she was not prepared to share, so instead she stood there dumbly, wondering how on earth she was going to get out of this fix.
But alas, that particular moment of panic was brief. To be replaced by a far, far more horrific moment of panic. Because it soon became apparent that she wasn’t going to get out of the fix. The lady on Mr. Grey’s arm appeared to have recognized Louisa, and Louisa had already waved in greeting.
“Louisa,” Annabel hissed.
“I can’t ignore her,” Louisa whispered back. “It’s Lady Olivia Valentine. Her father is the Earl of Rudland. Mr. Grey’s cousin married her last year.”
Annabel groaned.
“I thought she was out of town,” Louisa said with a frown. “She must have just got back.” Then she turned to Annabel with an earnest expression. “Don’t be fooled by her appearance. She’s very kind.”
Annabel didn’t know whether to be horrified or confused. Don’t be fooled by her appearance? What was that supposed to mean?
“She’s quite beautiful,” Louisa explained.
“What does—”
“No, I mean—” Louisa cut herself off, clearly dissatisfied with her ability to convey the extent of Lady Valentine’s charms. “You’ll have to see for yourself.”
Thankfully, the staggeringly beautiful Lady Olivia didn’t appear to be walking very quickly. Still Annabel judged that she had no more than fifteen seconds before the two parties intersected. She grabbed Louisa’s arm. “Don’t tell them about Lord Newbury,” she hissed.
Louisa’s eyes widened with astonishment. “Don’t you think they’ll already know?”
“I don’t know. Maybe not. I don’t think everybody knows yet.”
“Of course not, but if anyone does, don’t you think it would be Mr. Grey?”
“Maybe not by name. Everyone refers to me as ‘that Vickers girl.’”
It was true. Annabel was being brought out by Lord and Lady Vickers, and no one had ever heard of her father’s family, which, her grandfather was quick to point out, was how it should be. In his opinion, his daughter would have been far better off if she’d never become a Winslow.
Louisa frowned nervously. “I’m sure they know that I’m a Vickers grandchild as well.”
Annabel grasped Louisa’s hand in full panic. “Then don’t tell them I’m your cousin.”
“I can’t do that!”
“Why not?”
Louisa blinked. “I don’t know. But it can’t possibly be proper.”
“Hang proper. Just do this for me, please.”
“Very well. But I still think you’ve gone a bit strange.”
Annabel could not argue. She’d gone quite a few things in the last day, and really, strange was the least of it.
Chapter Seven
Five minutes earlier
It’s really too bad you married my cousin,” Sebastian murmured, steering Olivia away from an enormous pile of horse dung that someone had failed to clean up. “I think you might be the perfect woman.”
Olivia glanced over at him with a perfectly arched eyebrow. “Because I allow you to eat breakfast at my house every morning?”
“Ah, you couldn’t have put an end to that,” Seb replied, giving her a twist of a smile. “The habit was far too entrenched before you entered the scene.”
“Because I didn’t scold you for the three dozen dart holes on the back of the guest-bedroom door?”
“All Edward’s fault. I have perfect aim.”
“Still, Sebastian, it’s a leased house.”
“I know, I know. Odd that you kept it this year. Don’t you want to be a bit farther from your parents?”
When Olivia had married Sebastian’s cousin Harry, she had moved into his home, which was directly next door to her family’s London house. They had conducted half of their courtship through their windows. Sebastian found the story rather charming.
“I like my parents,” Olivia said.
Sebastian shook his head. “A concept so alien I think it must be unpatriotic.”
Olivia turned to him with some surprise. “I know that Harry’s parents were—” She gave her head a little shake. “Well, never mind. But I hadn’t thought that yours were so dreadful.”
“They’re not. But I wouldn’t choose to spend time with them.” Sebastian considered this. “Especially my father. As he’s dead.”
Olivia rolled her eyes. “There must be something in that statement that will get you banned from church.”
“It’s too late for that,” Seb murmured.
“I think you need a wife,” Olivia said, turning to him with strategically narrowed eyes.
“You are in danger of losing your status as the perfect woman,” he warned.
“You never did tell me what I had done to earn it.”
“First and foremost was your heretofore restraint at nagging me about marrying.”
“I shan’t apologize.”
He nodded in acknowledgment. “But there is also your sublime penchant for not being shocked at anything I say.”
“Oh, I’m shocked,” Olivia said. “I just hide it well.”
“Just as good,” Seb told her.
They walked for a few moments, and then she said it again. “You should marry, you know.”
“Have I given any indication that
I’m avoiding it?”
“Well,” Olivia said slowly, “you haven’t taken a wife…”
“Merely because I haven’t found the perfect woman.” He gave her a bland smile. “Alas, Harry got to you first.”
“Not to mention that you’ll do better if you marry before your uncle begets himself another heir.”
Sebastian turned to her with perfectly feigned shock. “Why, Olivia Valentine, that is positively mercenary of you.”
“It’s true.”
“I’m such a gamble,” Sebastian said with a sigh.
“You are!” Olivia exclaimed, with enough excitement that he thought he might be frightened. “That is exactly what you are! You are a gamble. A risk. A—”
“You overwhelm me with compliments.”
Olivia ignored him. “Trust me when I tell you that all of the young ladies would prefer you to your uncle.”
“Again, the compliments.”
“But if he gets an heir, you get nothing. So do they take a risk with you? The handsome rogue who might inherit or the portly earl who already has the title?”
“That is about as kind a description as I have ever heard applied to my uncle.”
“Many would choose the bird in hand, but others would think, ‘If I bide my time, I could have the handsome rogue and the title.’”
“You make your gender sound so appealing.”
Olivia shrugged. “We can’t all marry for love.” And then, just when he’d decided this ought to depress him, she patted his arm and said, “But you should. You’re far too lovely not to.”
“And again, I am convinced,” Seb murmured. “The perfect woman.”
Olivia gave him a sickly smile.
“Do tell,” Sebastian said, steering her away from another disgusting pile, this time of the canine variety, “where is the perfect woman’s perfect husband? Or in other words, why did you require my ser vices this fine morning? Other than to hone your matchmaking skills, of course.”
“Harry is deep in his current project. He won’t see the light of day for a week at least, and I”—she patted her belly, just rounded enough to indicate her pregnancy—“needed air.”