Secrets of a Summer Night (Wallflowers #1)(68)

“Miss Peyton,” he murmured, trying to make sense of her outburst, “I can’t begin to understand—”

“I’m not certain that I understand it, either. But I am sorry. I wish the best for you, my lord. And I wish…” Her breath came in irregular spurts, and she laughed suddenly. “Wishes are dangerous things, aren’t they,” she murmured, and left the clearing quickly.

CHAPTER 19

Railing at herself, Annabelle strode along the path that led back to the house. She couldn’t believe it. Right when everything she wanted had been within her grasp, she had thrown it all away. “Stupid,” she muttered to herself beneath her breath. “Stupid, stupid…” She couldn’t begin to imagine what she should tell her friends after they arrived at the clearing only to find it empty. Perhaps Lord Kendall would remain where she had left him, looking like a horse whose feed bag had been yanked from his jaws before he had the chance to eat.

Annabelle vowed that she would not ask the other wallflowers to help her find another potential husband—not when she had just thrown away the opportunity that had been handed to her. She deserved whatever happened to her now. Her pace increased to a near run as she headed to her room. She was so intent on her frantic retreat that she nearly plowed into a man who was walking slowly along the path behind the drystone wall. Stopping suddenly, she murmured “I beg your pardon,” and would have rushed around him. However, his distinctive height and the sight of the large, tanned hands withdrawing from his coat pockets immediately betrayed his identity. Stunned, she staggered backward as Simon Hunt looked at her.

They regarded each other with identical blank stares.

Having just run from Lord Kendall, Annabelle could hardly fail to note the differences between them. Hunt looked positively swarthy in the gathering dusk, big and potently masculine, with the eyes of a pirate and the casually ruthless air of a pagan king. He was no less arrogant than he had ever been…no tamer, no more refined…and yet somehow he had become the object of such all-consuming desire that Annabelle was certain she had lost her mind. The air around them felt charged, crackling with passion and conflict.

“What is it?” Hunt asked without preliminaries, his eyes narrowing at the sight of her tumult.

The task of distilling her emotions into a few coherent sentences was impossible. Nevertheless, Annabelle tried. “You left Stony Cross without a word to me.”

His gaze was as hard and cold as ebony. “You put away the chess game.”

“I…” She looked away from him, biting her lip. “I couldn’t afford distractions.”

“No one’s distracting you now. You want Kendall?—Have at him.”

“Oh, thank you,” she said sarcastically. “It’s so kind of you to step aside gracefully, now that you’ve ruined everything.”

He glanced at her alertly. “Why do you say that?”

Annabelle felt absurdly cold in the swaddling of summer-warm evening air. A fine trembling began in her bones and rose upward through her skin. “The ankle boots I received when I was ill,” she said recklessly, “the ones I’m wearing right now—they were from you, weren’t they?”

“Does it matter?”

“Admit it,” she insisted.

“Yes, they were from me,” he said curtly. “What of it?”

“I was with Lord Kendall just a minute or two ago, and everything was going according to plan, and he was just about to…but I couldn’t. I couldn’t let him kiss me while I was wearing these blasted boots. No doubt he thinks that I’m deranged, after the way I left him. But you were right after all…he’s far too nice for me. And it would have been a terrible match.” She paused to inhale raggedly as she saw the sudden blaze in Hunt’s eyes. His body was predatory in its alert stillness.

“So,” he said softly, “now that you’ve thrown Kendall aside, what are your plans? Going back to Hodgeham?”

Goaded by the jeering question, Annabelle scowled. “If I do, it’s no business of yours.” She spun on her heel and began to walk away from him.

Hunt reached her in two strides. He whirled her around to face him, his hands closing around her upper arms. Giving her a soft shake, he bent his mouth to her ear. “No more games,” he said. “Tell me what you want. Now, before I lose what’s left of my patience.”

The smell of him, soapy and fresh and wonderfully male, made Annabelle dizzy. She wanted to crawl inside his clothes…she wanted him to kiss her until she fainted. She wanted the despicable, arrogant, mesmerizing, devilishly handsome Simon Hunt. But oh, he would be merciless. Her threatened pride asserted itself, clotting in her throat until she could hardly speak. “I can’t,” she said gruffly.

Drawing his head back, Hunt gazed down at her, his eyes glinting with wicked amusement. “You can have whatever you want, Annabelle…but only if you can bring yourself to ask for it.”

“You’re determined to humble me completely, aren’t you? You won’t allow me to retain one particle of dignity—”

“I, humble you?” He raised one brow in a sardonic slant. “After two years of receiving cuts and slights every time I asked you to dance—”

“Oh, all right,” she said balefully, beginning to shake all over. “I’ll admit it—I want you. There, are you satisfied? I want you.”