Kiss Me Annabel

скачать книгу бесплатно


But the Earl of Mayne had never felt that reluctance when it came to Tess Essex, now a happy Mrs Felton. In fact, he considered himself quite the injured party, given that he had traded in the shreds of his reputation after Felton told him to get out so he could marry Tess himself. Now everyone thought him a despicable rake, who had left a woman at the altar, whereas Felton was hailed as the knight who stepped in to save a lady’s reputation and future.

And considering that the Feltons were nauseatingly happy, he rather thought he should take credit for the match. In fact, it was amazing how he seemed to leave a trail of happily married women in his wake. First there was Countess Godwin – and he counted it quite a success that he could think of her without wincing, a full year later – and now there was Tess. Both of them were, by all accounts, blissfully happy, and never mind the fact that he was turning into a permanent bachelor.

Since the countess had rejected him, he hadn’t had even a simple intrigue. Nor a mistress. People didn’t quite realise it; sometimes he couldn’t believe it himself. At this point, he hadn’t been in a woman’s bed in a year, and given the apathetic state of his interest in the female sex, it was likely to be years more.

Tess smiled at him as he kissed the tips of her fingers, and that made him think about how well they would have got along as a married couple, if only his best friend hadn’t decided to take her away.

‘Feeling sorry for yourself again?’ she suggested sweetly.

‘I could have been a happy man,’ he grumbled.

She smiled at that and walked on, her fingers light on his arm. ‘I need to ask a favour.’

In his experience, when a married woman asks you for a favour, it’s often something that leads to pistols at dawn. Still…‘Has Felton been misbehaving?’ he asked with some surprise. It was positively unnerving to sit about with his old friend, the way that smile kept creeping onto his face.

‘Not yet,’ she said. ‘No, it’s about Imogen.’

‘I met her Scottish beau last night. Rafe was doing his best to persuade the man to marry elsewhere, but I gather Imogen has her own plans. What’s the matter, don’t you care for him?’

‘It’s not him that I’m worried about,’ Tess said. ‘She would do better with you.’

Mayne blinked. ‘With me?’

‘Yes.’

‘Are you talking about marriage or something other?’

‘Other,’ she said, just as calmly as if she were discussing raspberry syllabub.

He cleared his throat. ‘I’m not quite sure how you missed this pertinent fact, m’dear, but I’m not exactly a proper matron’s first choice. And, more to the point, your sister hasn’t chosen me for that honour.’

‘Yes, but you’re quite experienced in all that…’ She indicated that with a wave of her hand. ‘And Imogen –’

‘Does your husband have any idea you’re speaking to me on this matter?’

‘Of course not,’ she said tranquilly. ‘Lucius is much occupied with affairs of business.’

‘I think he would still be interested to know that you’re – you’re –’ But he couldn’t think of a polite way to phrase exactly what she was suggesting.

‘Let me be more clear,’ she said. ‘You haven’t had a mistress since the Countess Godwin returned to her husband, am I right?’

He waited for that sour twinge of bitterness, but it didn’t come. ‘I have not.’

‘Imogen does not truly wish to take a lover. But she seems wilfully self-destructive at the moment…I’m not sure why. At this rate, she will bankrupt her reputation and ruin herself. She’s throwing herself out of the ton. Perhaps so she’ll never be eligible for marriage again.’

‘Ah,’ Mayne said. He could almost understand that kind of grief.

‘But hardly anyone takes notice of your affaires, and if they do, the scandal seems to wear off within days.’

‘Humph.’ It wasn’t an attractive picture.

But she didn’t stop there. ‘I’d like you to dislodge the Earl of Ardmore, if you please. You can reuse some of those compliments you wasted on me.’

‘Tess –’

Quick as a cat, she turned on him before he could even voice all the reasons why this plan of hers would never work. ‘You owe me.’

He opened his mouth, but she raised her hand to stop him. ‘I know that you were merely obeying Lucius when you jilted me, but the truth of it is that you acted as you did from loyalty to your friend, and not loyalty to me, your betrothed. And when Lucius asked you to say nothing to me, you simply galloped away without a second thought. What if I hadn’t wished to marry Lucius? What then?’

‘That’s an absurd line of questioning, because you did.’ But he didn’t need her frown to see that she had a good point. ‘All right,’ he muttered. ‘I’ll cut out the poor Scot. He probably thinks to marry her, you know. I rather liked him last night, and I’m fairly sure that he said he has to marry well.’

‘He’ll find someone.’

Another thought struck Mayne. ‘What about Rafe? He’ll slay me.’

‘I’m sure you two can work it out between yourselves. Perhaps a fistfight?’ She needn’t sound so condescending.

‘Right. A fistfight. Maybe I can get Rafe drunk first and just trip him up.’

She patted him on the arm. ‘You males know precisely the best way to solve these little problems amongst you.’

‘Tess. You do realise what this is going to do to my reputation, don’t you?’

She cocked her head to the side and looked at him thoughtfully. ‘Imogen is an extremely beautiful young woman, but also a grievously sad one. If you could see your way to having this affaire without engaging in any intimacies, I’d be very grateful.’

‘That’s off the subject. I was pointing out that my reputation is going to be destroyed by first jilting one Essex sister, and then having a highly improper affair with a second, widowed Essex sister.’

‘Yes,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘But darling, if you were going to miss your reputation, you should have noticed years ago, when it first went missing. Now, if you could get right to work, I’d be very grateful. Because so far today Imogen hasn’t shocked anyone, but she has a gleam in her eye that I don’t like.’

Mayne sighed. ‘And just how do you interpret that gleam?’

‘She had just this look when she went riding over to the Maitland house, and the next thing I knew she had sprained her ankle, and a day after that she’d eloped with Draven Maitland, and the devil take the hindmost. Imogen simply doesn’t consider reputation very important. You two should get along very well.’

That was another slur, but Mayne let it pass. Obviously, he was being pointed like a bullet in the direction of Imogen, and since there was no way to escape it, he might as well give in.

Eight (#ulink_4d78cede-966b-5d53-b17c-8edeb3fca8cb)

Mayne found Imogen was sitting at the banquet next to her sister Annabel. There was a strange sense of isolation about her. Mayne had seen that time and again; he knew precisely what was happening. Imogen was being given the cold shoulder by the ton.

He walked over and sat down next to her. She was eating pigeon pie, and (thankfully) looked unperturbed. Some women dissolved into tears at their first snub; others felt deprived if they didn’t receive at least one cold shoulder of an evening.

‘May I join you?’ he said, giving her the special smile he reserved for future chères amies.

‘Of course.’ She looked indifferent.

‘I am so happy to see that you are out of mourning,’ he said softly.

‘In that case, you’ll be disappointed to learn that the fact I’m wearing black means I’m still in mourning.’

‘Black suits you like no other woman,’ he said, gazing soulfully into her eyes. She did have beautiful eyes, with bewitchingly long eyelashes. In the old days he would have been after her like a hound scenting a fox.

‘Actually, black makes me sallow,’ she said. ‘But once I told my modiste to lower my bodice as far as it would go, every man I meet seems to find it a satisfactory colour.’

Of course, his gaze automatically shifted to her breasts, and then flew back to her mocking face. ‘There was no need to call my attention to such a lovely aspect of your figure,’ he said, with just a touch of asperity.

‘Actually, there was,’ she said, taking a deep draught of wine. ‘You hadn’t noticed, had you?’

‘I was entranced by the cupid’s bow of your mouth,’ he said.

‘Nice phrase,’ she said, obviously unimpressed.

He suppressed a sigh. Apparently he’d lost his touch, but he couldn’t bring himself to give a damn. He could report failure to Tess, and this little episode would be over. After all, in his experience a woman bent on sending her reputation into flames usually succeeded. There was no reason for him to burn to a crisp with her.

But then Imogen glanced at him over her shoulder and said, ‘So who put you up to my seduction?’

‘What?’

‘You don’t know Annabel well enough, so my guess would be Tess.’ She must have read the truth in his eyes. ‘Tess! Who would have thought that she could stop thinking about her delectable husband long enough to give me a thought?’

The thought of Tess and her husband seemed to give her a pang, because she got a queer look on her face, like a little girl lost in a storm, and Mayne felt some of his resolution to walk away slip.

‘Thank you for the letter you sent after Draven died,’ she said, abruptly changing the subject.

‘I was sorry to miss the funeral. Maitland was a good man with a horse. And a humorous story,’ he added.

‘He was funny, wasn’t he?’ Imogen said. ‘I –’ She looked away from him and drank some more wine.

Someone brought him a plate of food. He took a bite and choked on its sweetness. Imogen looked back at him, all mocking again, and said, ‘In the Renaissance, spices were the only way to preserve meat. I think there might be quite a lot of nutmeg in this food. The recipes are all authentic.’

‘Good.’ He signalled the waiter for wine. Which wasn’t quite normal because there were strange, small objects floating about in his glass, but he could live with that.

‘How well did you know Draven?’ She asked it very casually, as if the answer meant nothing to her, but Mayne hadn’t spent his twenties sleeping with married women without learning the ins and outs of a casual question. Imogen very likely knew the answer; she just wanted to talk about her husband. His mother had been the same, after his father died.