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“We are not finished talking.” He said as he cleaned himself with a handkerchief and straightened his clothes. “I will send footmen and maids to clear this disorder.”
Annabel lay there unmoving, basking in the aftermath of her folly. And her delight. Her mouth savoured his salty soft hair-peppered skin, she wanted to go on forever. The warmness mingled with the hairy roughness in delectable contrast. She envisioned licking his entire muscled frame from the top of his blunt, elegant nose, to his… well… everything.
When she uncovered his manhood, exhilaration overtook her. So hard, so, oh, large. Hot silky skin covering his iron firmness, her curiosity to explore overwhelming. The way he reacted to her caresses also enthralled her, made her feel powerful and feminine. A puissant release put her to mind of a Roman god, potent and masterful. She needed to unveil what it meant to be with a healthy man and now she witnessed it. Being Romulus, it equalled paradise.
The servants came in tearing her off her reveries. Jumping out of that deliciously angled mattress, she rearranged her clothes. She had an escape to organise.
CHAPTER NINE
Annabel would flee tonight. Soon after the castle fell quiet. She had arranged the details with Benson. The side gate key still in her possession would be useful to slip through the wall no one seeing her. This would give them a good head start, since his people would learn of her missing only midmorning, when they dared come to her chamber.
She had also directed the coachman to release Peter from the dungeon and send him to the inn. The unnerving man resorted to despicable mediaeval techniques, learned from his barbarous ancestors. No surprise there, no.
The problem was how to skip dinner with the Duke. She did not fear his questioning, for she might question him in return. No, oh no. She feared not being able to resist him. Sure as the sunrise, he would want to continue what they began this morning. There was not a chance she could deny him. Or herself for that matter, which must be the worst of all.
Having not seen him all day, she reckoned he had been busy with estate matters. But the morning’s events played over and over in her head. Especially her assault on his irresistible person. And this time she did not even find guilty in her for the traitor he proved to be. The feel of him next to her overcame any moral consideration she might have had. Until now.
In the end, she pleaded indisposition and hoped he would swallow the excuse.
* * *
Slippery as a fish, the damned woman would not make things easy for him, Romulus conjectured, in his solar after dinner. She was going to get him to wait until morning for their conversation. And cause his body burn for eternity with craving.
He must get her to talk about what had been the purpose of her coming here. She came too close to discovering his plans and, worse, to divulging them to someone in London. He needed to disclose for whom she worked.
Her honed skills made sense now. Some kind of training enabled her to perform such… tasks. If she continued on that track, she would put herself in danger. The woman had no idea what she nosed. Diversion would not serve her on the morrow. She would talk either she wanted it or not.
What actually caused his thoughts to twirl was her declaration she came to know of his death. He would never have imagined that this could have been the reason she married another. It explained many things. In hindsight, he should have talked to her before he returned to the front, get this turbid situation sorted out. But he had not; and he spent six years of his life in bitter resentment. Perhaps, he ought to talk to his brother and ask him about these past rumours.
True, he had not written her as often as he wanted. More than that, his superiors assigned him to different posts, Spain and Portugal among them. Two war torn countries where roads and communication became precarious. And yes, he had been away undercover in a special assignment of his own, unable to write to anyone. The facts conspired against them. In her place, he would have seen no reason not to move on with his life though. He raked his sleek hair, expelling air forcefully from his lungs. War meant a waste of everybody’s time.
The rest of his brandy down his throat, he retired. Tomorrow she would talk. Or he would make her.
* * *
Annabel closed the side gate softly and spotted Benson with their two horses and borrowed saddles. The inn would bring them back two days later when her escape would not be a secret anymore. Her travelling dress did not list as the best for a ride, but three miles were not that far. She had packed a smaller bag with the essential since there would be no way to carry the trunk on horseback.
They rode slowly the first few yards to keep silent and started a more forcible trot to the inn. To sneak away from Blackthorne figured as the most difficult. Only gaining the road as fast as possible would ensure their success, she hoped.
At the inn, Benson and Peter quickly attached the horses, and they left in full speed. The cool night bore no moon, but she estimated the hour around midnight. They would have roughly ten to twelve hours until someone missed them. The servants also informed her that their contact at the inn had been summoned by her superiors, having departed mere hours ago.
Annabel kept checking the carriage back, apprehensive. They pressed ahead, changing horses when necessary. It took two days to London, in good conditions. Perhaps, luck would shine to them.
* * *
Romulus glanced at the clock in the solar, the hour drawing eleven. No sign of the woman so far. He started getting worried. Perhaps, her indisposition was real. He would have her maid check on her.
After knocking, the butler came in the room. “Your Grace, Lady Winchester is nowhere to be seen.”
“Did the maid say if her things are missing?”
The butler avoided eye contact. “Yes, milord. It seems the lady took a small bag with her.”
Like a bullet up from his seat, he punched the massive desk with a bang that made the servant wince. “The resourceful hellion!” He muttered frustrated to himself.
To the butler. “Have my horse saddled, please.”
After a careful bow, the older man left.
