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After all your blunt will only make it that much easier for him to make improvements to Graenfrae.”
She nodded her agreement, not really agreeing at all, but needing to leave. Ian would not see things that way. He was such a proud man, so independent. It would gall him that his inheritance from his stepfather would pale in comparison to the fortune she would bring to their marriage. She climbed the stairs to her room. Purdy dozed on the window seat, waiting for her return. Annabelle lightly touched her shoulder. “Go on to bed, Purdy. I will do for myself tonight.”
Her young maid bobbed a sleepy curtsy and left. Relieved to finally be alone, Annabelle sat in the window seat her maid had just vacated. Had she lost Ian? Another man might ignore her duplicity, but would he? He refused to believe in love because of the betrayal of his first fiancée. He would have no tolerance for her deception.
She admitted to herself now that it had been a deception. She could have told him, but hadn’t. Fear had kept her silent. Ian had made it very clear that he did not wish to marry a woman of means. She worried that he would regret his choice to marry her if he found out that she was not the perfect embodiment of his requirements.
He did not love her. She was convinced that the passion they felt together was just a bonus to Ian, not a necessity. If it were the man could not have made his ridiculous list of requirements to begin with.
Slipping off the coat, Annabelle began to undress. She laid her pelisse and dress over the back of a chair. By the time she stripped out of her stockings and chemise, she was shivering.
Her room was chilly. Purdy had not dared to lay a fire without express permission.
Annabelle grumbled as she found her nightgown and slipped it over her head. Aunt Griselda’s eccentricity regarding coal usage was really out of hand.
Trying to convince herself that it was just because she was cold, Annabelle slipped Ian’s coat back on over her nightrail. His smell clung to the blue superfine. She reveled in the heady fragrance of spice and Ian’s unique male scent. It reminded her of the wonder she felt in his arms. She longed for those arms now. What would she do if Ian broke their engagement? She would never feel his hard body pressed to hers, never experience the unique blend of pleasure and passion that he gave her.
She punched her pillow and cursed the stupid squire. If not for his machinations, she would have had an opportunity to tell Ian of her fortune. If Squire Renton were within shooting distance, she would go looking for the nearest pistol. He had ruined everything.
She climbed into her bed and curled up with Ian’s coat tucked around her. She could have told Ian sooner, but she had been afraid. The squire was a fool and a lecher, but he wasn’t the only one at fault in this debacle. Annabelle fell asleep with the concern that Ian would never trust her enough to love her now, much less marry her.
Chapter Sixteen
William gripped the bottle of gin on the grimy table. Thorn’s rooms were hardly what he was used to. Boards blocked the meager light that tried to get in through the cracked and soot-encrusted windows. The fireplace smoked more than it burned because of the layers of ash under the fresh coal. William sat on the only chair in the two rooms.
It wobbled if he moved, one of its legs shorter than the others. He had commandeered the only bed and left Thorn to sleep on the decaying sofa in the main room. Other than the filthy table his gin rested on, there was no other furniture.
William shuddered when he slept on sheets that had clearly not been washed in a month of Sundays, or more. He had no choice. For now. It had been three days since his botched attempt at kidnapping Lady Annabelle and the failure still rankled. He had acted without enough forethought. The fear that his hasty actions would precipitate a wedding by special license for Lady Annabelle now appeared unfounded. In fact, the street urchin Thorn had hired to watch Lady Beauford’s townhouse had reported no sign of the Scotsman at all.
Would he be fool enough to give up Lady Annabelle and all her groat over a botched attempt at abduction? The barbarian had not rejected Lady Annabelle after finding her indecently exposed and in William’s arms. Graenfrae would not give her up now. What was his game then?
William poured himself another glass of gin. Thorn had protested buying the gin and hiring the urchin to spy on Lady Annabelle. William smiled at the thought that the man no longer protested anything he did. Not after William had explained what he would do to Thorn before he killed him.
Thorn was a fool. William had the blood of a conqueror in him. He would not be denied. The fortune would be his and his horses would know no other master but him. He might even allow Lady Annabelle to live long enough to give him an heir. She had shown courage in the face of disaster. Frowning, he remembered how she had punched him the
night of the musicale. She was not ladylike, but she was intelligent. They were admirable traits in an heir, if not a wife. Besides, he would insure that she paid for her abuse of him.
He needed to plan for every contingency this time. He had not been prepared for Graenfrae’s interference on the road to Gretna Green. It only showed how rattled he had been. His plans never failed. This one had been inferior because the Scottish laird had upset William by responding to him kissing Annabelle as no gentleman should. The Scotsman should have been repulsed by his fiancée, instead he had defended her and challenged William to a duel.
William still was not sure why he had given Lady Annabelle up so easily. All he knew is that when he had looked into Graenfrae’s eyes, he had seen his own death foretold in the Scotsman’s glare. Fear had engulfed him like it never had before and William had thrown Annabelle from him and ran. He had not stopped running for several hours and had not returned to Town until the next day.
William reminded himself that Graenfrae was just a man, an ordinary man. He was nothing compared to William.
No one knew of William’s involvement with Thorn. They would not expect him to strike through that channel. He smiled to himself. He stood up and swayed a bit. Cheap gin. Too potent, by half. He waited until he regained his balance and called for Thorn.
* * *
“Any news?”
Ian and Finchley looked up at the sound of Hamilton’s voice. Ian had still not come to terms with the fact that the man he had begun to call friend had deceived him. He inclined his head in cold welcome and Hamilton took a vacant chair. The club on St.
James was quiet for the afternoon. Few gentlemen graced the well-appointed rooms this time of day.
Ian and Finchley occupied a table in the corner away from the window in which the dandies did their posturing. A light tea tray sat between the two men, for the most part untouched. Finchley offered tea to Hamilton.
Hamilton shook his head. “No thank you. I am more interested in news than tea.”
“News about what?” Ian asked.
Hamilton frowned. “Do not try to gammon me. You have my sister convinced you will never come to call again, but I know better. I refer of course to the search you are undoubtedly doing for Renton.”
Hamilton knew him well. Above their table hung a painting depicting the hunt. Ian identified with the looks of fierce determination on the hunters’ faces. He would find his quarry too. “He has not been seen at his country seat, nor his rooms here in Town.”
“So that is where you have been. Annabelle hasn’t seen you in three days and she walks around looking like she did after my parents died.” Hamilton caught Ian’s gaze and would not let him look away. “She even refused to go to a lecture by that Burnaby woman. Miss Graves called to invite her and Annabelle turned her down. I cannot say that I am saddened at the news, but it is most unlike my sister.” Finchley shifted in his chair at the mention of Miss Graves.
Ian felt a stab of guilt, but he squelched it. She had deceived him. “I sent her flowers.”
Hamilton set his lips in a straight line. “After the way you left the other night, flowers are not going to comfort my sister. I thought her heart was safe with you.”
“I t
hought I could trust her.”
“You can trust her. So, she did not tell you about her fortune. Is that such a crime?
Most men would be thrilled to discover the woman they intended to marry possessed such an inheritance.”
Finchley intervened. “MacKay ain’t most men, don’t you know?” Hamilton frowned. “I do know. That is why I encouraged his pursuit of my sister. I don’t like finding out that I was wrong.” Although he responded to Finchley, his gaze locked on Ian.
“I dinna take to finding out that those I had come to trust had all lied to me.” Ian wanted an explanation.
Hamilton did not hesitate. “I did not lie to you. We never discussed Annabelle’s finances.”
Ian fisted his hands on the arms of his chair. “You knew what I believed, what the rest of the bloody ton believes about your sister.”
“The ton believes my sister is ordinary, a bluestocking spinster of no account. If I thought you believed that, I would shoot you before I let you marry her,” Hamilton replied with some heat.
“I am referring to her money,” Ian replied, “not her character.”
