Earl Lessons by Valerie Bowman
Chapter Twenty-Eight
David spent the next day torn between misery every time he thought about how much he wanted Annabelle, and anger at allowing himself to become embroiled in this situation. Why had he thought it was a good idea to spend time in the company of the most notoriously unattainable spinster in London? Oh, yes. Earl Lessons.
He didn’t want to want Annabelle. He didn’t want to love her. But with each passing moment he was more certain it was too late.
There was one thing he was clear on, however. He wanted Annabelle for Annabelle, not because she was a prize to be won. Spending time with her, talking to her, he’d learned that she wasn’t the vain princess he’d first thought her to be: Lady Presumptuous. Instead, she was funny and witty and wise. She was bold and passionate. She truly cared about others and loved her family deeply. She was someone who would do a large favor for a near stranger. And she was kind. She’d readily accepted Marianne in her family, hadn’t she? Annabelle just wanted to be seen and heard. She wanted someone to look past her beauty and realize what a treasure of a person she was. And he had. He had. But for some reason that she would not discuss, she refused to marry.
He had no one to blame but himself for his misery. Annabelle had made it clear from the moment they’d begun their lessons that she wasn’t looking for a husband. And David had been the idiot who’d gone and…fallen in love with her.
The partygoers were having a quiet, light supper this evening in expectation of the large wedding feast and ball that would be held tomorrow night after the morning wedding, but David had sent down his regrets to the dinner table tonight. He simply hadn’t been able to stand being in the same room with Annabelle, especially if she was at the side of that horse’s arse, Murdock. David wanted to kick the man (in defense of the dog) every time he saw him.
Now, David was in his bed, tossing and turning, completely unable to sleep. A slight knock on his bedchamber door caught his attention. Shirtless and barefoot, wearing only his breeches, he threw back the covers and strode to the door. Who could it be? Hopefully not his sister having second thoughts about marrying into such an illustrious family. He’d never seen a couple more in love than Marianne and Beau, and his sister was more than good enough to be a marchioness. He was hardly able to recount all the reasons why Marianne would make an excellent marchioness. He only hoped she knew it because David was still having difficulty thinking of himself as an earl. There were still days he wanted to grab his sister’s hand and take the first mail coach back to Brighton, renouncing the title the same way their father had.
But when the door swung open, it wasn’t Marianne, it was Annabelle. She stood there with a glass of champagne in her hand, an inscrutable expression on her face. She was wearing a lavender gown with a gauze overskirt and a white sash around her middle. Her hair was swept up in a chignon and diamonds dangled from her ears. His mouth went dry just looking at her. But why was she here? After she’d rejected him soundly last night, he was determined not to see her again, and this time he meant it.
“Annabelle,” he muttered, knowing what a useless thing to say that was. If anyone saw her standing outside his bedchamber door, she’d be ruined.
“May I come in?” she asked in a sultry voice, arching a blond brow.
He bit his bottom lip. “You know, we never precisely covered this in our lessons, but I don’t think it’s proper for a lady to come alone to a man’s bedchamber in the middle of the night.”
“Oh, I’m well aware. There’s nothing proper about this visit.”
David gulped. He stuck his head out of the door to quickly look both ways to ensure no one was watching before standing back to allow her entrance to his room. The moment she stepped in, he closed the door behind her.
David lit a candle on the table next to the bed, then turned back to face her.
“Your shirt is off,” she said.
He couldn’t help but smile at that. Good. At least he wasn’t the only one saying obvious things tonight.
“I don’t sleep with it on,” he informed her. “Too many nights in camp when it was wet and too cold to wear.”
Her gaze traced his naked chest. “I, ahem.” She tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear. “I can’t say it’s an unwelcome sight.”
He laughed outright at that. “I’m certainly glad to hear it. Would it make you more comfortable if I put on a shirt?”
“No!” she nearly shouted, before clearing her throat and saying. “I mean, if you like. Whatever you prefer.”
He grinned at her and remained shirtless.
Annabelle held up her champagne glass, studying the bubbly liquid inside. “Do you know my brother doesn’t drink? Ever. Not even on the eve of his wedding.”
“I do know that,” David replied, nodding. He’d never seen so much as a sip of alcohol pass Bell’s lips. Had she truly come to his room in the middle of the night, risking ruination, to inform him that her brother didn’t drink? “But you do drink, I see.”
“Yes.” She nodded. “I do. Do you know why?”
David shook his head, still bemused as to where the conversation was headed. “No, why?”
“Because I can control myself when I drink.”
David frowned. “Are you saying Bell can’t?”
Annabelle shrugged. “To my knowledge, he’s never tried. But there’s every reason to believe he might not be able to control himself.”
David continued to frown. “What does that mean?”
She slowly walked toward the canopied bed and stared down at the mattress as if it were a foreign object. “Why weren’t you at dinner?”
The conversation had taken another turn. It took everything in him to keep from asking her why she cared, why she’d come, but instead he rubbed the back of his neck and said, “I didn’t feel up to it tonight.”
She traced a finger along the top of the bedspread. “Up to what?”
David blew out a deep breath. When he’d first seen her at the door, he’d been concerned that she was foxed, but she wasn’t. Now that he’d spoken to her, he could tell that she was perfectly sober. Then why had she risked scandal to come to his door? And how would he ever get her back to her own room without her being seen? But first he had something to say. He’d been wanting to apologize to her all day. But apologizing to someone you had no intention of coming within fifty paces of was difficult. Now that she was in his bedchamber, he might as well take advantage of the opportunity. However unexpected.
“Look, Lady Annabelle,” he began, putting his hands on his hips.
“Lady Annabelle?” she echoed. “So formal? I thought we were long past titles, David.”
She wasn’t making this easy for him. He cleared his throat. “You’re right. Fine, then. Annabelle. I want to apologize for my behavior last night.”
“Which behavior?” she asked, blinking at him in an adorable manner.
He couldn’t think clearly when she was standing that close to his bed. Images of their naked bodies intertwined atop it kept scorching through his mind. What had she just said? Oh, yes. He supposed he deserved that last question. “I shouldn’t have questioned your decision not to marry. It’s none of my concern. I’m sorry.” There. He’d apologized. Now he could truly move on with his life. He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted any woman, but he’d gone about it all wrong. He’d ham-handed his attempted courtship and been nothing but an ass about it. He’d told her she was speaking in riddles, that she made no sense.
“David, I owe you an explanation…”
“You owe me nothing,” he continued, shaking his head. “Least of all an explanation of why you’re not interested in me.”
A short burst of laughter escaped her lips. “I’m not interested in you? Why, that’s news to me.”
His brows shot up at that pronouncement, but he was determined to set things straight and leave them there. This was his last chance. “Whatever your reasons for not wanting to be courted or to marry, they are your own, and I had no right to demand an explanation from you.”
“Do you want to know something?” she asked, leaning a hip against the mattress.
He eyed her warily, not wanting the conversation to take yet another turn. “What?”
“I don’t even like Lord Murdock.” She lifted her nose in the air.
“Really?” David arched a brow. This time he couldn’t help himself. “Then why are you spending so much time with him? The man kicks dogs, for Christ’s sake.”
She drained the champagne glass and set it on the bedside table and stared out the window. “I could ask you the same question. Why have you been spending so much time with Lady Elspeth?”
“To my knowledge, she’s never kicked a dog,” he shot back, hand on his hips again.
“I’m not defending Lord Murdock,” Annabelle retorted.
“Fine, but you still didn’t answer me. Why are you spending so much time with him if you don’t even like him?” Why was he continuing this argument? He’d said what he needed to say. It was over. He should be escorting her to the door and praying the corridor was still empty.
Annabelle wrapped her arms around her middle. “Because…because…he’s an ass.”
“What?”
“Oh, it’s all become so complicated—but none of that matters. I suppose I danced with him that first night at the Talbots’ because…I wanted you to care.” Her voice was broken.
“What?” His voice was hoarse now, shaking slightly. The question was completely different than the same word he’d just uttered moments before. He stalked toward her and spun her around to face him. Clutching her upper arms, he stared deeply into her ice-blue eyes. “Damn it, Annabelle. You already know I care. I can’t stop thinking about you. I can’t stop wondering what you’re going to do next. I think about you every minute. I want you every second. I can’t stop.”
Annabelle’s eyes were wide as moons as she stared up at him. “What did you say?” came her nearly silent whisper.
“I said I can’t stop,” he repeated.
She froze, tears pooled in her eyes. “Before that?” she whispered brokenly.
He pulled her into his arms. “I want you every second,” he repeated, his lips inches from hers. “But I can’t keep doing this, Annabelle. You’ve made it clear you don’t want me.”
“But I do want you, David. That’s why I came here tonight.” She reached up and wound her arms around his neck. “Make me yours.”