Secrets of a Summer Night (Wallflowers #1)(26)

“Dear heaven,” she heard her mother exclaim. Following her appalled gaze, Annabelle looked toward the other end of the terrace, which had been overrun by a cacophony of frantically chattering, squealing, laughing, aggressively posturing girls. They were surrounding something that remained unseen in the middle of the tightly packed congregation. “What are they all here for?” Philippa asked in bewilderment.

Annabelle sighed and said resignedly, “An early-morning hunt, I suspect.”

Philippa’s jaw sagged as she stared at the clamorous group. “You don’t mean to say…do you think that poor Lord Kendall is caught up in the midst of that?”

Annabelle nodded. “And from the looks of things, there won’t be much left of him when they’re finished.”

“But…but he arranged to go walking with you,” Philippa protested. “Only you, with me as the chaperone.”

As a few of the girls noticed Annabelle standing on the other side of the terrace, they crowded more tightly around their prey, as if to shield him from their view. Annabelle shook her head slightly. Either Kendall had foolishly told someone of their plans, or else the marriage frenzy had reached such a pitch that he could not venture out of his room without attracting a mob of women, no matter what the hour.

“Well, don’t just stand there,” Philippa urged. “Go and join the group, and try to attract his attention.”

Annabelle gave her a doubtful glance. “Some of those girls look feral. I should hate to get bitten.”

Distracted by a muffled laugh from nearby, she turned toward the sound. As she might have expected, Simon Hunt was lounging at the terrace balcony, a china cup nearly engulfed in his broad hand as he leisurely drank coffee. He was dressed in rugged garments similar to those of the other fishermen, made of tweed and rough twill, with a worn linen shirt left open at the throat. The mocking gleam in his eyes made no secret of his interest in the situation.

Without making a conscious decision to do so, Annabelle found herself drifting nearer to him. Coming to stand a few feet away from him, she leaned both her elbows on the balcony, gazing out at the mistshrouded morning. Hunt rested his back against it, facing the manor wall.

Feeling the need to jab at his irritating self-confidence, Annabelle murmured, “Lord Kendall and Lord Westcliff aren’t the only bachelors at Stony Cross, Mr. Hunt. One wonders why you are not pursued to the degree that they are.”

“That’s obvious,” he said pleasantly, lifting the cup to his lips and draining its contents. “I’m not a peer, and I would make a devil of a husband.” He gave her a shrewd sideways glance. “As for you…despite my sympathy for your cause, I wouldn’t advise making a play for Kendall.”

“My cause?” Annabelle repeated, taking immediate offense to the word. “What do you define as my cause, Mr. Hunt?”

“Why, yourself, of course,” he said softly. “You want what is best for Annabelle Peyton. But Kendall doesn’t fall in that category. A match between you and him would be a disaster.”

She turned her head to stare at him with slitted eyes. “Why?”

“Because he’s much too nice for you.” Hunt grinned at her expression. “That wasn’t meant as an insult. I wouldn’t like you half so much if you were a nice woman. All the same, you’re no good for Kendall—nor would he be of much use to you, ultimately. You’d run roughshod over him until his gentlemanly soul was left in a battered pile at your feet.”

Annabelle itched to knock the superior smile from his face—she, who had never before contemplated inflicting physical harm to anyone. Her anger was hardly mitigated by the fact that he was right. She knew quite well that she was far too spirited for a man as docile and civilized as Kendall. But that was none of Simon Hunt’s business…and it wasn’t as if Hunt or any other man was going to offer her a better alternative!

“Mr. Hunt,” she said sweetly, her gaze poisonous, “why don’t you go and—”

“Miss Peyton!” A faint exclamation came from several yards away, and Annabelle saw Lord Kendall’s slight form emerging from the mass of females. He looked disheveled and vaguely harassed as he pushed his way over to her. “Good morning, Miss Peyton.” He paused to straighten the knot of his cravat and adjust his skewed spectacles. “It seems that we were not the only ones who had taken it in our heads to walk this morning.” Giving Annabelle a sheepish glance, he asked, “Shall we make an attempt nonetheless?”

Annabelle hesitated, inwardly groaning. There was little she could accomplish on a walk with Kendall when they would be accompanied by at least two dozen women. One might as well try to have a quiet conversation in the midst of a flock of screaming magpies. On the other hand, she could not very well refuse Kendall’s invitation…even a minor rejection could be off-putting to him, and as a result he might never ask again.

She gave him a bright smile. “I would be delighted, my lord.”

“Excellent. There are some fascinating species of flora and fauna that I would like to show you. Being an amateur horticulturist, I have made a careful study of the vegetation that is native to Hampshire…”

His following words were drowned out as enthusiastic girls surrounded him.

“How I love plants,” one of them gushed. “There isn’t a single plant that I don’t find absolutely charming.”