Secrets of a Summer Night (Wallflowers #1)(65)

Her subdued manner at breakfast seemed to attract Kendall all the more. Assuming that her docile facade was an act, Lillian Bowman had surreptitiously whispered near her ear, “Good job, Annabelle. He’s eating out of your hand.”

Excusing herself from the breakfast table on the pretext of needing to rest, Annabelle wandered alone through the manor, until she reached the blue parlor. The chess table lured her, and she approached it slowly, wondering if a housemaid had finally replaced the pieces in the box, or if someone had interfered with the game. No, it was exactly as she had left it…with one minor change. Simon Hunt had moved a pawn into a defensive position, which allowed her the opportunity either to shore up her own defense, or move aggressively to pursue his queen. It was not a move that she would have expected of him. She would have thought he would attempt something more ambitious. More contentious. Studying the board, she strove to understand his strategy. Had his move been made out of indecision, or carelessness? Or was there some hidden purpose she could not discern?

Annabelle reached for one of her pieces, hesitated, and withdrew her hand. It was just a game, she told herself. She was ascribing far too much importance to every move, as if some momentous prize hung in the balance. Nevertheless, she reconsidered her decision carefully before reaching out once again. She slid her queen forward and captured the pawn, experiencing a thrill of satisfaction as the pieces clicked together, ivory on onyx. Clasping the pawn in her palm, she tested the weight of it before setting it carefully beside the board.

As the week unfolded, it turned out that the one moment at the chessboard had been Annabelle’s solitary flicker of enjoyment. She had never felt this way before…not happy, nor sad, nor even worry-bitten about the future. She was simply numb, her senses and emotions dulled until she began to think she might never care about anything again. The sense of detachment was so thorough that she sometimes had the sense of standing outside herself, watching a mechanical doll move stiffly through each day.

Lord Kendall partnered Annabelle with increasing frequency…they danced together at a ball, sat side by side at a musical evening, and walked through the garden with Philippa meandering at a discreet distance behind them. Kendall was pleasant, respectful, and quietly charming. He was so tolerant, in fact, that Annabelle began to think that when she and the wallflowers sprung their final trap on him, he might not even resent it so terribly, being forced to marry a girl he had inadvertently compromised. He would get used to it eventually, and, being a philosophical man, he would find some way to accept the situation.

As for Hodgeham, it was clear that Philippa was managing to keep him away from Annabelle. Moreover, Philippa had somehow convinced him not to carry out his threat to expose their secret to Lord Kendall, though she would not discuss the details of the conversation. Concerned about the effect that such constant distress must be having on her mother, Annabelle tentatively brought up the possibility of leaving Stony Cross Park. However, Philippa would not hear of it. “I will manage Hodgeham,” she said firmly. “You just continue on with Lord Kendall. It is clear to everyone that Kendall is taken with you.”

If only Annabelle could obliterate the memory of the music room alcove from her mind…she dreamed of it with startling clarity and awoke in stewing torment, with the sheets tangled around her legs and her skin burning fever-hot. She was bedeviled by thoughts of Simon Hunt, the memory of his scent and warmth and his provoking kisses…the hardness of the body beneath the elegant black evening suit.

Despite the wallflowers’ promise to tell each other everything about their romantic adventures, Annabelle could not bring herself to confide in any of them. What had happened with Hunt had been too private and too personal. It was not something to be scrutinized by eager friends who knew no more about men than she did. And had she tried to explain the experience to them, she knew they would not have understood. There were no words to describe such soul-stealing intimacy and the devastating confusion that had followed.

How in God’s name could she feel this way about a man she had always despised? For two years she had dreaded seeing him at social events—she had considered him to be the most unpleasant companion imaginable. And now…and now…

Shoving aside the unwanted thoughts, Annabelle retreated to the Marsden parlor one day, hoping to divert her churning mind with some reading material. Under her arm, she carried a heavy tome inscribed with gilded letters on the front: Royal Horticultural Society—Findings and Conclusions of Reports Submitted by Our Respected Members in the Year 1843. The book was as heavy as an anvil, and Annabelle wondered grimly how anyone could find so much to say about plants. Setting the book on a small table, Annabelle began to lower herself to the settee by the window, when something about the chessboard in the corner caught her attention. Was it her imagination, or…

Eyes narrowing in curiosity, Annabelle strode to the table and stared at the configuration of chessmen, which had remained undisturbed all week long. Yes…something was different. She had used her queen to capture Simon’s pawn. Now her queen had been taken from the board, and set precisely to the side.

He’s come back, she thought with a sudden blaze of feeling that went all through her body. She felt certain that Simon Hunt was the only one who would have touched the chessboard. He was there, at Stony Cross. Her face turned paper white except for the flags of heat that scorched the crests of her cheeks. Realizing that her reaction was all out of proportion, she struggled to calm herself. His return meant nothing—she did not want him, could not have him, and must avoid him at all cost. Closing her eyes, she breathed deeply and concentrated on governing her pulse, willing her rampaging heart to slow its recalcitrant beat.