Chapter Two
Annabelle cast a worried glance at the clouds above.
She had escaped for a lengthy stroll on the property and avoided an afternoon of card games and, quite honestly, all the couples mooning over each other.
The lakeside itself was particularly pretty, and a much better atmosphere than a stuffy drawing room, made even stuffier by the presence of Knox.
She’d already spent most of the day avoiding the vexing Duke of Redwyck, a futile task since her mind refused to join the endeavor.
Should she simply return home?
This gathering plainly held no place for unattached guests, not with these excessively devoted couples unable to keep their eyes, or their hands, to themselves.
A faint, unwelcome flicker of envy followed.
She longed for affection such as that. Open, unguarded, and bestowed wholly without reserve.
None of her friends seemed to care a whit about appearing foolish for their attachment.
She was growing downright covetous.
However, such devotion could only be achieved with the right man. Not certain newly-minted dukes. Desiring such a man was dangerous. Made women foolish. And Annabelle Swanley had never been that foolish—not for a man, not for anything. She had no intention of becoming so now.
She’d rather chew on her wrists.
A soft sigh left her lips, and she fixed her gaze on the lake, staring across the body of water.
The bank was deep green, the water catching the afternoon light in scattered diamonds.
Come to think of it, lakes were bountiful with fish.
As was the pool of bachelors. There was no need for one man to consume her thoughts.
Hmph. Lakes also seemed to have a way of encouraging entirely unhelpful thoughts.
“Lady Annabelle.”
Lakes were also unlucky.
Drat and drat.
She twisted to face the source of her mortal annoyance approaching her.
Hah. She just couldn’t escape him, could she?
Annabelle hadn’t even realized he’d come up behind her.
And he seemed to be struggling with the humidity as well, for he wore only a set of trousers and a shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
Lord.
The man was pure sin.
Even his feet were bare! She’d never glimpsed him this carefree. Though, carefree was hardly the most typical word she’d use for the man.
“Redwyck,” she muttered in begrudging greeting.
That vexing brow arched. “Please, just call me Knox.”
“Very well then, you can drop the formality as well.” She refused to be outdone by this man.
He inclined his head. “If you wish,” he murmured, studying her, “You should head inside, lest you be caught in a downpour soon.”
She scoffed. “Speak for yourself.” A little rain didn’t frighten her.
He shrugged. “I don’t mind a downpour.”
“I beg your pardon?” Annabelle said with astonishment. Surely this rogue wasn’t serious? “Yet you mind a bit of water accidentally spilled on you.”
Those stormy eyes, the color of the darkened clouds above, narrowed on her a fraction. “Was that an accident?”
How extremely vexing. “Why would it not have been? Do you believe me petty enough to spill water, across,” she motioned at his nether region, “the bits you are clearly concerned about?”
His eyes practically glowed. “Well, you did accuse me of stealing my bath.”
This again? “I ordered a bath and it ended up in your chamber! You still expect me to believe the servants made a mistake?”
“They did.”
Unbelievable. “And yet you don’t believe when I say I spilled water on you accidentally.” Her hand shot out, pointing at his face when his brow started to rise. “Do not raise your brow at me.”
His brow flattened almost instantly.
Annabelle nearly laughed at the consternation that crossed his face. “Well, if there is nothing else, I’ll take my leave.”
He nodded. “I’ll escort you back to the house.”
Annabelle shook her head, turning to leave. The man had a way of driving up her heartbeat whenever he ventured too close. “No need.”
“Wait.” His hand closed around her wrist.
Annabelle’s breath caught, a strange, unbidden awareness skittering up her arm as though her very skin had been startled awake. Her gaze dropped to where he clasped her. Abruptly, he released her, cleared his throat, and looked out over the lake.
“Let us call a truce,” he suggested.
Suspicion arose. “A truce? Why?”
He glanced back at her. “For prosperity’s sake? Do we even require a bigger reason?”
Annabelle suddenly felt like a fool again.
That annoying sensation, second-guessing whether she had been too excessive.
Only now the smidgeon of resentment that stirred in her chest was overpowered by something far more treacherous.
She was drawn to him. To his infuriating devil-may-glare attitude.
And the combination made her feel doubly ridiculous—irritated and wanting all at once.
“I don’t know,” she said smoothly. “I find the present hostilities rather exhilarating.”
He took a step closer, close enough that she felt the tendrils of warmth reach out and slither over her skin. “I do not.”
Oh truly?
Was this a new sort of trick?
The space between their bodies seemed to dwindle, however, and the heat rolling off him was far more distracting. His gaze had dropped to her mouth, as though the shape of it had suddenly become the most compelling thing in the world.
Her breath lodged in her throat. Why was he looking at her like that? And why was his head bending to hers? And why did her pulse leap in wild anticipation? Surely, he didn’t mean to . . .
Thunder cracked overhead, and the sky broke open.
*
Knox lifted his head up to the sky and cursed.
Of all the blasted moments in existence, of course the clouds chose that moment to split wide, releasing fat, merciless drops that struck with no damn warning at all.
Within seconds, his shirt clung to him, soaked through, and in all his adult life he could not recall ever being caught so thoroughly, so absurdly, in the rain.
Honestly. What the devil was going on? First the spill over his trousers, and now this. Both instances in her presence.
Was the minx cursed?
Without thinking, he caught Annabelle’s hand and broke out in a run. “Come!”
She didn’t resist and called after him, “Where are we going?”
“There’s an old cottage on the grounds. Belonged to the maintenance fellow.”
“We are not about to invade the poor man’s home!”
“I said old,” he tossed back over his shoulder. “He’s been given better lodgings. This one’s been empty for months.”
The downpour swelled as they reached the trees, rain driving harder.
The canopy of leaves broke the worst of it, but not nearly enough.
Water still forced its way through, slicking his shoulders.
He paid the soaking no mind. His attention remained fixed on the smaller hand clutched in his and on keeping his footing as the earth turned slippery beneath his feet.
She stumbled.
“Be careful.” He pulled her firmly against his side, not breaking stride.
“Where is this so-called cottage?” she asked, breathless.
“Up ahead. There. See?”
A cottage emerged from the rain, a sturdy stone building half-swallowed by ivy.
Knox directed them straight toward the shelter, keeping her close as the mud threatened to claim their footing more thoroughly with each passing second.
The rain chased them the last few yards as they broke free of the tree line, pelting them without mercy.
At the door, he set his shoulder and kicked near the latch, and the weathered, half-rotten wood gave with a sharp crack, swinging inward on protesting hinges.
He stepped aside to let Annabelle pass before shouldering the door back into place.
Annabelle dragged a chair over. “Here. This should help.”
Knox nodded and shoved the chair beneath the door’s handle to keep the growing gusts from blowing it back open.
He swept over the modest cottage in a glance.
Bare stone walls and a wide, empty hearth with no sign of recent use, and unfortunately, no wood stacked nearby.
Rain streaked the deep-set windows, but at least they were still intact.
Fortunately, a rough table with three chairs were still left standing and a narrow bed set against the far wall, a thin mattress laid across the frame.
At the foot of the bed, what looked like several neatly folded blankets were stacked with a single pillow on top.
The place would do in a pinch.
He glanced at Annabelle and furrowed his brow when she visibly shivered.
Damn it.
“We need to get undressed.”
Her eyes widened. “Here? Now?”
“Do you wish to freeze to death? We cannot remain in wet clothes. There are blankets on the bed we can use to cover ourselves and keep warm.”
“Fine.” She strode to retrieve a blanket and tossed it at him. “Turn around.”
He caught the blanket against his chest and turned, only just preventing his brow from raising at the woman’s quick turnabout.
The simple act required far more discipline than it ought.
His mind, however, didn’t care for discipline at the moment.
It was conjuring all sorts of pictures he ruthlessly shoved back down.
Cursed. He was surely cursed.
Knox set the blanket over the back of a chair and reached for his collar. He shrugged out of his clothes with more force than necessary and tossed them onto the table. From behind him came the faint rustle as Annabelle shed her layers.
He clenched his jaw.
Wrapping the blanket around his waist, Knox resolutely kept his gaze fixed on the wall ahead, focusing on the uneven cracks between the rocks.
He had faced far greater trials in his life, yet this—standing in a silent cottage with her undressing a few paces away from him—felt like the cruelest test of them all.
He fiercely fought the temptation to turn.
His eyes were not worthy of the sight. Not of her.
She’d been raised in a doting family and could pick and choose from the litter of men in their circle.
She was everything that was innocent and pure of the world.
Even with her temper that sparked at the mere lift of a brow.
He, on the other hand, title and wealth aside, was not cut from the same clean cloth.
His cloth carried much more dirt. If she saw the true him . . .
Knox dragged a hand down his face.
She would recoil faster than a spooked horse.
Another soft rustle reached him, and his imagination threatened to spiral.
“By the by,” came her soft murmur, saving him from a mad dash into fantasy, “you have a way of making me feel like a child, and I absolutely loathe the feeling.”
Knox whipped around, and for the first time in his life, felt struck dumb.