Secrets of a Summer Night (Wallflowers #1)(22)

Unless, of course, she wanted to be compromised.

Drawing close to the long row of French doors that opened onto the wide flagstone terrace, Annabelle saw her quarry. As Evie had described, Lord Kendall was sitting alone at a round table, leaning back in his chair with one leg stretched carelessly before him. He seemed to be enjoying a momentary respite from the overheated atmosphere of the house.

Quietly Annabelle strode to the nearest door and slipped through it. The air was lightly scented with heather and bog myrtle, while the sounds of the river beyond the gardens provided a soothing undercurrent. Keeping her head down, Annabelle rubbed her temples with her fingers as if she were afflicted with a nagging headache. When she was ten feet away from Kendall’s table, she looked up and made herself jump a little, as if she was startled to see him there.

“Oh,” she said. It was not at all difficult to sound breathless. She was nervous, knowing how important it was to make the right impression on him. “I didn’t realize that someone was out here…”

Kendall stood, his spectacles twinkling in the light of the terrace torch. His form was slim to the point of being insubstantial, his coat hanging from his padded shoulders. Despite the fact that he was approximately three inches taller than Annabelle, she would not have been surprised to learn that they were the same weight. His posture was at once diffident and oddly tense, like that of a deer poised for a sudden, bounding retreat. As she stared at him, Annabelle had to admit silently that Kendall was not the kind of man whom she would have had any natural attraction to. On the other hand, she didn’t like pickled herring, either. But if she was starving and someone handed her a jar of pickled herring, she was hardly going to turn her nose up at it.

“Hullo,” Kendall said, his voice cultured and soft, though a bit high-pitched. “There’s no need to be alarmed. Really, I’m harmless.”

“I shall reserve judgment on that,” Annabelle said, smiling, then wincing as if the effort had pained her. “Forgive me for disturbing your privacy, sir. I wanted a breath of fresh air.” She inhaled until her br**sts pressed becomingly at the seams of her bodice. “The atmosphere inside the house was rather oppressive, wasn’t it?”

Kendall approached with his hands half-raised, as if he feared she might collapse to the terrace. “May I fetch you something? A glass of water?”

“No, thank you. A few moments outside will restore me to rights.” Annabelle sank gracefully into the nearest chair. “Although…” She paused and tried to look self-conscious. “It wouldn’t do for us to be seen out here unchaperoned. Especially as we haven’t even been introduced.”

He made a slight bow. “Lord Kendall, at your service.”

“Miss Annabelle Peyton.” She glanced at the empty chair nearby. “Do have a seat, please. I promise, I shall hurry away as soon as my head clears.”

Kendall obeyed cautiously. “No need for that,” he said. “Stay as long as you wish.”

That was encouraging. Mindful of Lillian’s advice, Annabelle pondered her next remark with great care. Since Kendall was being exhaustively pursued by a score of women, she would have to distinguish herself by pretending that she was the only one who was not interested in him. “I can guess why you came out here alone,” she said with a smile. “You must be desperate to avoid being mobbed by eager women.”

Kendall threw her a glance of surprise. “As a matter of fact, yes. I must say, I have never attended a party with such excessively friendly guests.”

“Wait until the end of the month,” she advised. “They’ll be so friendly by then that you’ll need a whip and a chair to hold them off.”

“You seem to be suggesting that I’m some sort of matrimonial target,” he commented dryly, giving voice to the obvious.

“The only way you could be more of a target is if you drew white circles on the back of your coat,” Annabelle said, making him chuckle. “May I ask what your other reasons for escaping to the terrace are, my lord?”

Kendall continued to smile, looking far more comfortable than he had at first. “I’m afraid I can’t hold my liquor. There is only so much port that I am willing to drink for the sake of being social.”

Annabelle had never met a man who was willing to admit such a thing. Most gentlemen equated manliness with the ability to drink a sufficient quantity of liquor to inebriate an elephant. “Does it make you ill, then?” she asked sympathetically.

“Sick as a dog. I’ve been told that tolerance improves with practice—but it seems a rather pointless objective. I can think of better ways to pass the time.”

“Such as…”

Kendall contemplated the question with great care. “A walk through the countryside. A book that improves the mind.” His eyes contained a sudden friendly twinkle. “A conversation with a new friend.”

“I like those things, too.”

“Do you?” Kendall hesitated, while the sounds of the river and the sway of the trees seemed to whisper through the air. “Perhaps you might join me on a walk tomorrow morning. I know of several excellent ones around Stony Cross.”

Annabelle’s sudden eagerness was difficult to contain. “I would enjoy that,” she replied. “But dare I ask—what about your entourage?”