Chapter Six

Annabelle whirled, reticule dangling from one wrist like a feeble weapon. Her eyes widened as she took in the man standing before her, a black armband on one arm—the final signs of mourning.

Lord Jacob Barrington, the new Marquess of Sunderland, smiled down at her. There was something restless in his eyes, caught by moonlight, like he was on the verge of turning into a wicked fae prince. Despite everything, she was captivated—and she shook herself. This man was just as dangerous as Lord Helmsley. Perhaps more so.

If only she had climbed the tree earlier.

"I see I am not alone in seeking the obscurity of the night," he said, giving a mocking bow. "A rendezvous or an escape?"

Annabelle stood frozen, trapped between the devil and the deep blue sea, knowing that she was in danger no matter where she turned.

"Don't worry," he all-but purred as he stepped closer. "I don't bite."

Thatshe didn't believe.

"What are you doing here?" she asked in a whisper, finally finding her voice.

"I could ask you the same question."

She winced as Lord Helmlsey called her name again. "You know why." Escape.

"Well, then my reasons are similar to yours, although perhaps for different causes." He glanced over her shoulder towards the house and Lord Helmsley. "Tell me, little bird, is that bumbling idiot after you?"

"What gave it away?" Annabelle asked, her heart pounding even as her tone was unusually dry. "The fact he called me by name and is visibly searching for me?"

"Ah, so the cat does have claws," he murmured, one hand coming to touch the same cheek that she had slapped all those months ago. "I remember now."

"Leave me alone."

"The temptation is there, believe me." His smile dropped as he looked down at her, eyes glinting with more of the wild danger she'd seen in them before. "Why are you running from him?" he asked, his voice low. "Did he touch you?"

As though you are one to talk. She held the words back. Somehow, there had been something different about the way he had touched her. Less invasive, though it had been a kiss. "What do you mean?"

"Lord Helmsley, your illustrious companion." The Marquess's lip curled. "I presume that is the reason you fled him so abruptly."

"And if he did?"

"No need to be coy with me," he said sardonically. "I have no interest in compromising you tonight."

"How reassuring." Annabelle shrunk back into the relative safety of the trees. "Can you distract him?"

"I? Why would I give myself such a task?"

She gritted her teeth. "So I can escape. Unless you were lying about your intentions for being here, in which case let me assure you, I am not that sort of lady."

"To be sure you are not," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. "I know that well enough. I believe my cheek is still bruised from our last encounter."

"You deserved it!"

His smile was entirely devoid of humour. "Perhaps I did."

She shrank back until she collided with a tree. The moon came out, drifting light across the garden like snow. If Helmsley came any closer, he would see her.

She closed her eyes.

There was a sigh of resignation, then the Marquess stepped closer, positioning himself so his body was directly in front of hers. And close, so close, one hand braced against the tree, the other up by her waist. Not touching, not quite, but still close enough that she could sense what his touch would feel like. The searing heat of his palm.

"Do not make a sound," the Marquess whispered, bending closer. "If you value your reputation at all, that is."

Her entire body vibrated from the force and speed of her heartbeat.

"Come out, Annabelle," Lord Helmsley called plaintively. "Enough is enough. I will find you."

For a moment, darkness crossed the Marquess's face like a shadow over the moon, but a second later, it was gone. He lowered his head to hers, crowding her in. At this angle, he was so large and all-consuming, he blotted out the bare branches above them. All she could do was try to remember how to breathe.

"If you know what is best for you, you will trust me," he murmured against the line of her jaw. She felt the rush of his breath, felt the proximity of his lips, but he did not touch her. This was no kiss; it was a disguise.

Her head was spinning, caught between run and freeze.

The footsteps grew even closer.

"Keep your head down," he breathed, the hand by her waist finally landing, just as hot as she had imagined. And larger, too; his thumb pressed against her stomach. "When Helmsley sees me, the last thing he would assume is that I'm here with you, so play along, little bird. Can you be coquettish?"

That was the very last thing she was capable of. Her hands came up to his lapels in a silent plea, and he stiffened. The gesture wasn't designed to bring him closer, but after a moment, it appeared to; his nose nudged her earlobe and her breath stuttered. There was something illicit about the darkness, the way his breath grew heavier, his head dipping lower, his lips just grazing the corner of her mouth.

There was a weight in her legs even as her head swam. Their breath mingled in the scant space between them.

"Lady Annabelle?" Lord Helmsley called from close by. "I know you're there somewhere."

She jumped, and the Marquess's hand flexed on her waist. A silent warning.

Then he turned his head, glancing over his shoulder, his voice impatient as he said, "Must you be so loud?"

Annabelle fought back the urge to squeak and practically pressed her face into his chest so Lord Helmsley wouldn't see her face. Then she prayed the moonlight could perform magic and turn her dress a different colour.

After a heartbeat, the hand that had been braced behind her on the tree came to cup the back of her neck, holding her against him. He smelt like cotton and amber and something darker that reminded her of a rain-soaked night. Wild, yet oddly comforting.

"God, Barrington," Lord Helmsley said. "At every event?"

"What is the point of accompanying a lady to a house as large as this if one cannot take advantage of the privacy," the Marquess drawled. He pinched the back of her neck, which was presumably her cue to do something ‘coquettish'.

She, unsurprisingly, froze.

"I quite agree," Lord Helmsley said. "And on that note, have you seen Lady Annabelle? She came outside, presumably so we can enjoy the privacy of the garden, but I can't find her."

Annabelle's fingers curled more firmly against the Marquess's lapels. If he moved or revealed it was her, she would be ruined forever. Her heart was uncomfortably large in her throat. She closed her eyes.

"If you have not found her despite all that abominable noise, I suspect she doesn't want to be found," the Marquess said, and turned back to Annabelle, crushing her so firmly against the tree, she would have been unable to breathe if she'd tried. The hand cupping her neck tilted her head, and his mouth came within half an inch of hers, his breath hot and steady. She opened her eyes and looked into his face. His eyes were dark holes, shadowed voids, a honey trap.

She was the fly.

"So you have not seen her?" Lord Helmsley asked plaintively.

The Marquess raised his head enough to say, "I have not. If you find her, by all means have your way with her, and in the cold if that pleases you. But stop making a racket. Chances are, she's returned to the house."

"The cold does not pose an obstacle to you."

A muscle in the Marquess's jaw leaped. "I am not deflowering a maiden, Helmsley. The difference is subtle, but it is there."

Lord Helmsley made a sound like a curse and thankfully walked away. Annabelle held herself still, trembling, until he had finally strode away. Then she released a breath, relief mixing potently with the concoction of other emotions in her body.

The Marquess stepped away from her and frigid air rushed between them. He brushed a hand down his crumpled lapels. "I suppose this will add to the veracity of my story, although my valet will not be pleased."

Annabelle's mouth opened, then closed. She shivered.

He cut a cool glance at her. "You can thank me, you know. Before you return to the house."

She fully intended to thank him, but what came out of her mouth was, "Could you not have headed him off sooner?"

"I might have if he hadn't come so close. He would have seen you if I had so much as turned." The next look he slanted at her was flat. "You might be surprised to hear this, little bird, but I have no intention of being caught with an unmarried lady."

"Why, because you might be expected to marry her?" she demanded.

"Something like that."

"Well, it's lucky I have no intention of marrying, then." She folded her arms. She still ought to thank him, but there was something about him that made her wary, the way she imagined she might feel when confronted with a panther. Unpredictable.

Hungry.

"How singular," he murmured. "Your pursuer will be disappointed to learn that."

"It's a difficult thing to learn when the Dowager Duchess of Norfolk introduces me to scores of eligible gentlemen and implies I am an object to be bartered away," she snapped, then flushed. She hadn't intended to give so much of herself away, and she took a breath, trying to think about how to retract her statement. But, to her surprise, the Marquess laughed.

"My brother truly was barking up the wrong tree," he said, a note of curling, ironic amusement threaded through his voice. "Alas."

"Your brother?"

"I believe he danced with you once."

"I remember." How could she have forgotten? He was the first gentleman she had met that had shared her interests, and whom she had been marginally less vehemently against marrying.

Then he had died and she had been thrust back into the marriage mart with renewed force, as though the burden of the Marquess's death fell on her shoulders.

She shivered as another chilly gust of wind snaked its way down the garden, and the Marquess looked down at her. "You should return to the house. Helmsley will probably be inside by now."

"What about you?"

"I'll wait out here a few more minutes. The last thing either of us needs is for anyone to see us entering the house together." His gaze found hers in the darkness. "And remember, tell no one of this. Not even your sister."

Annabelle had conveniently forgotten to tell Theo about that kiss they had shared three months prior; she would certainly not be telling her about this. "Believe me, I have no intention of telling anyone."

"Good." He stepped back, away from her. "Now go. And let us both hope I don't find you alone again, little bird."

The threat in his voice had her picking up her skirts. "For both our sakes," she said over her shoulder. Then he was gone, lost to the shadows of the garden. And Annabelle, no less overwhelmed than she had been when she had fled from Lord Helmsley, spent altogether too long in the powder room before venturing out to find her sister.