A Rogue No More - Lana Williams Page 0,47
suddenly contracted the plague. Obviously the topic of marriage unsettled her. He dearly wanted to know if it was marriage in general or to a man like him that bothered her.
“Good day.” Thomas bowed to Sir Reginald and his wife and followed Annabelle out the door, noting how she closed it firmly behind her.
“I’m terribly sorry.” Her cheeks had yet to return to a normal shade. “He says the oddest things sometimes. You can see why we have to be careful who we allow to see him.”
“I’m sure it can be a challenge.”
“Please forgive him.” She shook her head. “Those remarks about your father were inappropriate.”
“Believe me. Sir Reginald didn’t say anything I didn’t already know.” He liked to think he was beyond the pain his father’s remarks had caused. Yet this was a reminder that some injuries never healed but remained painful for a lifetime.
They reached the entrance hall, and Annabelle slowed her steps to a stop. Thomas couldn’t help but place a finger beneath her chin so she’d at last meet his gaze. “It’s truly fine. All is well.”
The light of temper in her gaze took him aback. “No, it’s not. Not for my father, but especially not for yours. No child should hear they are worthless, regardless of their age.”
Her anger on his behalf warmed him. “There were reasons my father believed it.”
“That doesn’t matter.” Her mouth firmed with resolve. “Everyone makes mistakes. That doesn’t make them worthless. It’s a terrible word that should be removed from the English language.”
The rigid band that encircled his heart loosened at her words. “My father wouldn’t have agreed with you, but he would’ve admired your spirit.”
“I don’t mean to speak ill of the dead, but what was wrong with that man? How could he not feel blessed to have a son?”
“Because he didn’t think I was his.” The words escaped before he could think twice. How could he have shared that with Annabelle when he had yet to do so with his brothers?
“Well if he said those things to his wife as well, is it any wonder that she sought solace elsewhere?” She bit her lip as if realizing what she’d said too late, her cheeks flushing becomingly once again. “My apologies. My tongue and temper occasionally get the best of me.”
“I believe they are two of your many admirable traits.” Thomas couldn’t help but smile at her passionate defense of him. Having someone outraged on his behalf was a new experience. One he rather liked.
“My family wouldn’t agree.” She glanced down the hall toward the library then reached out to smooth his lapel as her gaze captured his once again. “I can’t thank you enough for saving us today. I shudder to think what might’ve happened if you hadn’t arrived when you did.”
The heat of her hand on his chest caused him to draw a deep breath, making him long for more of her touch. “You are welcome. I only wish I had arrived sooner.”
“Then he might not have acted. He would still be an unknown threat.”
“Excellent point.” The delicate rose of her lips drew him, causing desire to rise. Yet her mother and father were nearby, and he didn’t dare risk taking a kiss. The knowledge did little make resisting easier.
“Thank you again.” To his surprise and pleasure, she lifted to kiss him, her mouth lingering on his for the briefest moment. “Please send word if you hear anything more.”
“Of course.” His thoughts spinning, he retrieved his top hat and with a bow, left the beguiling lady.
What was he going to do about Miss Annabelle Gold and his increasing feelings for her?
~*~
Annabelle sighed as she looked over the crush of guests at the Bolton ball two days later. Sir Alexander Bolton and his wife were fabulously wealthy. As a former British diplomat and now a director of The East India Company, he knew nearly everyone, and the crowd reflected that.
But her mind was not on the guests or who might ask her to dance or what refreshments might be served. Instead, they remained on the murder. Thomas had sent word that Pickford insisted he wasn’t behind Smead’s death. Without a confession, the police had no proof and were no closer to finding the killer than before.
Was the nightmare over or had it just begun?
She hoped she was overreacting, but she’d reviewed A Murder Most Unusual and realized exactly nine days passed between the first two murders in her book. If the murderer wasn’t Pickford and whoever it was