saw her coat. But he would have violated all the rules of propriety by giving her such a gift directly, making it impossible for her to accept.
She ran her fingers over one soft fur cuff.
This went beyond politeness. Which raised the question: what did Montgomery want?
Chapter 14
A few days earlier, after the greenhouse, it had seemed perfectly reasonable to order her a coat—hers was useless, and he was in a position to fix that, so he had. He quickened his pace, his boot heels pounding the stable’s flagstone floor. He had been deluding himself; he’d known it the moment he had wanted to take Marsden outside last night. The truth was, he wanted Annabelle Archer, commoner, bluestocking, and suffragist, in his bed, under him, with a carnal urgency he hadn’t felt since . . . he couldn’t remember.
He rounded the corner to the horse stall and stopped dead, for there she stood as if he had conjured her up. The morning light from the window behind her cast a fiery halo around her hair, and she looked tall and radiant in a hunter-green coat.
A tide of primal satisfaction filled his chest. He liked seeing her wear something he had picked, and he hadn’t been sure she would. Sure enough, she was observing him warily.
Apollo whinnied, shrill and unabashed in a bid for his attention.
“Shh.” He placed a hand on the horse’s nose without taking his eyes off her.
Only when her expression turned bemused did he realize he had not yet said a word.
“Good morning, miss.”
She curtsied. “Merry Christmas, Your Grace.”
“Ah. Yes.” Very eloquent, that. He cleared his throat. “What brings you to the stable this early?”
Somehow, they had drifted closer together, and he could smell her now, her warm floral essence that edged out dust and leather and horse. His blood began to buzz like last night in the carriage, when her sleepy smile had gone straight to his cock . . . when he had nearly made a grab for her like a Neanderthal.
She took a small step back. “I received a Christmas gift from the staff.” She gestured over the coat.
“I see,” he said. “It suits you.”
She clasped her hands before her primly, but there was a heat in the depths of her eyes that warmed him all over.
“Would you please thank them on my behalf,” she said. “It’s too generous. It’s exactly what I need.”
He could give her so much more.
Except, he couldn’t.
It went against the very nature of his being to not go after what he wanted, but this was different. She was vastly below his station, and a guest under his roof. Manners, if not honor, demanded that he not bother her with his attentions, for how could she possibly refuse him if she wished?
A good thing their time alone together was at an end. He had filled the next two days with appointments in the city to avoid the last-minute madness leading up to the house party, which had been a reasonable plan before she had walked into his life.
“I’m going to London today,” he said, and she blinked at the sudden coolness of his voice. “And I had a missive from Lady Lingham. She suggests you take Mr. Peter Humphrys as your escort for the ball.”
The warmth he had been basking in faded from her eyes. “That’s very considerate of her ladyship, Your Grace,” she said. “I’m indeed in need of an escort.”
He stared after her as she left, unable to shake the impression that he had offended her in some way.
* * *
“You said emerald green.” Annabelle’s gaze flashed between Hattie and the open dress box on her bed.
“I know,” Hattie said, “but isn’t this much more exciting?”
“It’s . . .” She didn’t even know what this color was. Garish pink did not quite describe it.
“It’s magenta,” Hattie supplied. “It’s very modern.”
She breathed slowly through her nose. She’d stand out like a peacock tonight; there was no chance in Hades that she’d find another dress on time. House party guests had begun arriving shortly after breakfast; there was an endless stream of carriages pulling up below her windows. She could either wear magenta or not go to the ball at all.
“You dislike it.” Hattie sounded small.
“I’m sure you meant well.”
“Oh. Oh, no. You really are cross.” Hattie’s face flamed hot red like a torch. “I didn’t mean—it’s just that everyone with green eyes will wear emerald tonight, when magenta is the perfect foil for your coloring, a complementary color contrast if you