AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Absolutely, breathtakingly beautiful.
And Annabel, who was accustomed to being the most striking person in the room, found herself flustered and thrown off balance just by looking at him. She also felt a discernable tug in the bottom of her belly. Apullof recognition. Of remembrance. Of yearning not yet extinguished. Which had absolutely nothing to do with her highwayman’s physical appearance, and everything to do with the way that he kissed.
Like the devil.
He kissed like the devil, and he looked like an angel, andhow, in all of heaven and hell combined, was he standing right in front of her?
It should have been impossible. That of all the people and places in England, he would be here, in this village, on this street, by this stretch of shops. If she blinked, might he vanish? A specter of highwaymen past.
“Do you have a spot of dust in your eye?” Lenora asked with some concern when Annabel proceeded to bat her lashes furiously together. “Here, use my handkerchief.”
She snatched up the handkerchief, but didn’t bring it to her face. Instead, she crumpled it between her hands in an anxious knot of linen when her Adonis apparently made the decision to approach.
“My ladies,” he said, removing his hat and lowering his mouthwateringly broad shoulders in a generous bow that earned a nod of respect from Lenora, who had long valued proper manners…especially given that her own husband had none. “What brings you out on this fine day?”
It was here that Annabel would usually deliver a witty quip or demure head tilt. But her mouth was dry, and her neck was stiff, and dear God–in this circumstance, wassheLord Wimplebottom or any of the other countless lords who had been so floored by her attractiveness that they’d hardly been capable of more than an unintelligible gurgle?
Say something, she ordered herself.Sayanything.
“Scarfmaidistmas,” she managed.
“Bless you,” he said politely.
Annabel pressed her lips together in silent horror and threw her gaze to the sky.God, if you were ever going to cast me down for my lack of humility, she pleaded,might as well go forth and do it now. I’m ready.
“I believe what my sister meant to say,” Lenora intervened with the gentle ease of a lady well versed in smoothing over rough social interactions, “is that we are shopping for our family and staff. Are you doing the same, good sir?”
“For my mother.” His lopsided grin made Annabel lightheaded, and that was evenbeforehis eyes twinkled. In the natural light they were more of an ash gray as opposed to the hot slate they’d been right before he lowered his mouth onto hers. “A herculean task under the best of circumstances, and Christmas has a way of adding to the pressure of finding the perfect gift. Is there anything you would recommend, my ladies, for the woman that already has everything?”
Lenora smiled in response. “Oh, women never haveeverythingthat they want. Don’t you concur, Annabel?”
Annabel blinked–normally, this time–and tore her gaze from the sky when it became obvious that God was busy with more important matters than a tongue-tied debutante. “I…I…I do. I do concur. Yes.”
An elbow found its way into her ribs. “You are behaving very oddly,” Lenora hissed in her ear. “Do you know this man?”
“Know–know him?” she squeaked. “Why…why would you suggest such a thing? I–I’ve never seen him before in my life. We’ve never met. Not…not at a ball, or in a carriage, or–or in a carriage. No. Most decidedly not.”
“I see,” said Lenora, sounding less than convinced. A sister with a mother’s intuition, her maternal instinct towards her three younger siblings had always existed, even when they were girls. She could sniff out a lie at ten paces, and did not suffer fools lightly. “In that case,” she went on in a louder tone, “then it is only fitting that we conduct introductions. I am Lenora Stewart, Duchess of Monmouth. This is my dear sister, Lady Annabel Rosewood. And you are…?”
The highwayman bowed again, and when he straightened, his gaze went straight to Annabel and lingered there, like a bee hovering over a flower that it found most delectable. “Lord Ezra Washington, Your Grace. The Earl of Whitmore. It is a pleasure to make both of your acquaintances.”
He had a name, then.
Lord Ezra Washington, the Earl of Whitmore.
How prestigious it sounded…a direct contradiction to the man who had roughly nuzzled her neck and nipped her bottom lip and suckled on her–
No.
No, no, no.
No.
When a blush, warm and tingling, threatened to splash across Annabel’s cheeks in a wave of betraying pink, she battled it back and struggled to compose herself. She was not Lord Wimplebottom, incapable of self-control and blurting out whatever inane thought fluttered through her head at any given moment. She was, as Lenora had said, Lady Annabel Rosewood. And Lady Annabel Rosewood was elegant, charismatic, and, most importantly of all, unflappable.
Shemademenblush, not the other way around.
When it came time for introductions,theywere the ones rendered speechless, not her.
