Chapter 13 #2
Beside her, Hawke sighed. “Well, come on, then.” He took her hand, pulling her into the crowd.
Right away, a man with a dirty beard linked arms with her.
Annabelle gasped at the touch and nearly screamed, but the man wasn’t even looking at her. On his other side, more people joined together, arm in arm, and they kicked and jumped with the music.
She realized after a moment that there was an order to their movement. A pattern that the others already knew.
Hawke linked his arm on her other side, and soon Annabelle was laughing as she stumbled over her feet, trying to follow along.
Hawke, however, performed the steps perfectly. How had he caught on so quickly? “Have you done this before?”
“It is my natural agility,” he said with a teasing smirk. “I am very nimble-footed.”
She rolled her eyes, unable to hold back a smile.
A new song began, and a different man clasped Annabelle’s hand.
He lifted their joined fists high, spinning her beneath his arm, and then he spun beneath her arm before moving on to another partner.
Annabelle looked at Hawke. He shrugged, smiling as another man took her hand, and performed the same routine.
A woman took Hawke’s hand, and Annabelle was spun away by another dancer.
As the song continued, she looked for Hawke between each partner, finding him always near, and always watching her.
The next person to claim her hand was Grieg. “Having a good time, Belle? Imagine this is nothing like a London ball, is it?”
“Not one bit.” She grinned, dipping under his arm in a spin.
Had she ever enjoyed herself this much at a Society ball?
The difference between Annabelle’s two worlds was in sharp contrast as she twirled and laughed among strangers.
This freedom, this exuberance . . . She felt so alive, so unfettered, and so happy.
How could she give it up to return to the confines of London Society?
Just when Annabelle’s arms were becoming too tired to continue, the music changed to a song with a slow tempo.
A man caught her eye, smiling as he approached her, but Hawke was there first. He scowled at the man, deterring his advances, and pulled Annabelle to him.
He slipped his arm around her as they swayed to the music, moving in a slow circle.
The way he held her was practically an embrace, but of course it was necessary to keep her from getting lost in the crowd or claimed by another partner.
She put a hand on his arm, and he took her other hand in his.
The torches were extinguished, and the moonlight gave the world a soft, silvery glow. The rhythm was gentle, the sound pleasant, and the swaying became hypnotic. Annabelle’s eyes grew heavy.
The music came to an end, but Hawke didn’t release her. They continued to spin slowly.
“Today took an . . . unexpected turn,” Hawke said.
“More than one,” Annabelle agreed.
“Indeed.”
Hawke’s arm tightened around her, and she laid her head against his chest. She closed her eyes, listening to his heartbeat and the sounds of voices around her. “Thank you,” she said.
“For . . . ?” His voice rumbled beneath her ear.
“For fighting those men. For saving me from—” A tremor went through her. “From them,” she finished in a soft voice.
Hawke pulled back, tipping his head as he looked at her. His lips twitched. “Even though women do not always need a man to rush in and rescue them?”
“Even though,” she said.
“Hmm. That is unexpected.”
“What is?”
“I think, what you’re saying is, I’m not to add you to my list of disappointed women?”
Annabelle pulled away, swatting at him. “Don’t be so certain. You will have plenty of chances.”
Hawke chuckled. “Come, my lady. It is time for sleep.” He walked with her to the door of her bedchamber and lit the lantern. “Lock the door. And do not open it for anyone. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
Hawke looked both ways down the hall, hand on his sword, before bidding her good night.
Annabelle closed the door behind him, turning the key in the lock.
She extinguished the lantern and removed her dress, laying it across the foot of her bed. Having no nightclothes, she would have to sleep in her shift.
The blanket was scratchy, the mattress full of lumps and very likely bugs. The moon shone through the window, but instead of the comforting silvery glow, it only made the shadows in the room deeper.
She lay down, exhausted, but when she closed her eyes, the memory returned. The rough hand, the foul breath, the shine of the knife.
Even through the door, she could hear the people in the tavern below. Without the music, the voices sounded angry and threatening. She rolled over, putting her hands over her ears, trying to block out the sound.
Something shattered, and someone yelled.
Annabelle closed her eyes again, but every noise startled her awake. She missed the gentle rocking of the ship, the familiar creaks and lapping of the waves.
A knock came at her door.
Annabelle wrapped the blanket around her. Her heart pounded. “Who is there?”
“It’s me,” Hawke said.
She sighed, relieved, and unlocked the door.
“I told you not to open the door for anyone.” His voice was gruff.
“But I thought—”
A straw mattress was pushed through the doorway, swinging the door fully open. Annabelle moved back against the wall to make room for it. Hawke came inside. He tossed a pillow onto the mattress, then closed and locked the door.
“What are you doing here?” Annabelle pulled the blanket more tightly around her, wishing it did not have such a sour odor.
In the light of the moon, Hawke pulled off his boots, unbuckled his sword, and lay down on his back, one arm behind his head. “Sleep well, my lady.”
Relief poured over her, and her fears fled. She was safe. Annabelle returned to her bed, soothed by the sound of his breathing, the reassurance of his nearness. In only a moment, she fell into a deep sleep.