He set his head to one side and looked at her. “I have not set myself an easy task, have I?” he said. “Even the absurdity of this conversation cannot draw a smile from you.”
“It’s just silly talk,” she said.
“Precisely.” He rubbed at her chin with one knuckle. “But all of us are permitted some silliness some of the time. Some of us more than others, of course. You disapprove of me, don’t you, Annabelle? I’m not serious enough for you.”
“I would not presume either to approve or to disapprove of you,” she said.
He threw back his head and laughed. “I sometimes forget that I am such a grand person that I am beyond reproach,” he said. “Can Justin make you smile?”
“What a silly idea it is,” she said, “that I never smile. Of course I do.”
“Do you smile when he kisses you?” he asked.
“Joshua!” She flushed.
“Well, do you?” He took her chin in his hand, though she tried to pull away. “Do you like being kissed?”
“That is a very improper question,” she said.
“Yes, isn’t it?” He held to her chin and grinned at her. “Don’t tell me he has not done it yet. What a slowtop.” And he bent his head and kissed her firmly on the lips. “Smile at me now.”
Annabelle drew back an arm and smacked him hard across one cheek. “How dare you,” she cried. “I am a woman, Joshua. I am eighteen years old, if you had not noticed. I am not a child still, to be teased and humored and laughed at. Leave me alone.”
Lord Beresford winced and held one palm against a reddening cheek. “Well,” he said, “that certainly was no smile, was it?”
“I hate you,” she cried. “You have always teased me as a little girl who cannot possibly have any feelings. You may be surprised to know that I have. And I don’t feel happy when I am close to you. That is why I don’t smile, if you must know. I don’t smile because I don’t like you. I hate you.” She turned sharply away.
But he caught her by the arm. “Annabelle,” he said, “what is this? What have I done to hurt you so much? Have I always teased you? Yes, I suppose I have. But I tease almost everyone—everyone I like, that is. I have always felt an affection for you. Haven’t you known that? Or is it something else about me that you dislike?”
She had her head turned away from him, staring at the ground. “I don’t dislike you,” she said. “I’m sorry I said I did. But you should not have done that. I belong to Lord Wetherby. I always have.”
“I’m sorry too,” he said gently. “I didn’t mean any disrespect, Annabelle. We have known each other forever and I forgot that you are all grown up and not to be kissed teasingly like that. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Forgive me?”
“Let’s go back inside the walls,” she said.
“You go,” he said. “If I go back now, Justin will be challenging me to pistols at dawn when he sees the mark of your fingers on my cheek.”
She looked up at the telltale marks and bit her lower lip.
He grinned. “I would hate to put a bullet between his eyes before he has even had a chance to kiss you,” he said.
“Don’t joke about such things,” she said.
“I had better find the inside of the cave fascinating for the next five minutes,” he said, turning away from her. “Here come Robin and Toby and Christobel.”
The Earl of Wetherby rode beside Annabelle again on the way home. He wondered what she had seen or heard or imagined. There was a closed look about her face and a tightness about her jaw that had not been there before. Surely she had not seen anything.
The very last thing he felt like doing was conversing, deliberately setting himself to charm a young lady who looked as if she had no intention of being charmed. He wanted to bury himself in his own thoughts. He wanted to gallop away from the whole group, be alone for a few hours. The very worst thing about a house party was the lack of privacy.
“I’m glad the abbey was suggested,” he said. “I would hate to have missed it.”
“What?” she said. “Oh, yes, it is rather splendid, isn’t it? I can’t imagine how anyone would have wanted to destroy it.”
Josh, fairly close behind them, was making Christobel giggle over something, Lord Wetherby could hear. Rosamund, he saw in one swift glance over his shoulder, was riding with Carver.
It was going to be hard to forgive himself for what had just happened. He had gone beyond the wall with the intention of finding Annabelle, of spending a few minutes alone with her, of kissing her even, if circumstances had been right. He had found Rosamund instead, ignored her request that he go away, and kissed her—not even in a chaste manner just for old times’ sake.
Had he so little self-control? So little regard for Rosamund’s feelings? So little regard for the girl who was to be his bride? The girl riding silently at his side?
