A Rogue No More - Lana Williams Page 0,57
he’d asked her father for her hand. She missed his dimples.
“Annabelle.” Caroline moved to stand beside her and placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m the one who should apologize. Not you.” A lump formed in Annabelle’s throat at her older sister’s quiet words of comfort. She reached up to cover Caroline’s hand with her own but still couldn’t meet her gaze. “I didn’t intend for this to happen.”
“I know. This is one thing I didn’t want us to have in common.”
“Nor I.” Annabelle drew a trembling breath. In the dark of the night, fear choked her, making it impossible to sleep. If her freedom and independence were about to come to an end, she intended to complete as much writing as possible beforehand. Would she be able to finish the book she was plotting? She hoped so but already doubts assailed her. Certainty of anything had vanished with her betrothal.
“I realize his terrible reputation as a rogue is of concern, but do you care for Mr. Raybourne in any way?”
“Yes.” Annabelle’s heart fluttered at the question. Or perhaps at her confident answer. There was so much more to their relationship than mere affection. He was handsome, caring, and his enthusiasm for her work brought her such joy. Did that mean he might not mind if she continued writing? The hints of vulnerability she saw in him tugged at her heart. Then there was the physical attraction to consider. The thought of a wedding night shared with him made her breathless and tingly, all at once. Even thinking about it made her warm, her body pulsing in unmentionable areas. “It’s just...”
“What?”
“I never intended to marry.” She met her sister’s gaze at last. “I don’t think I’ll make a good wife. How can I when I’d rather be with my characters than with a husband?”
“Your imagination is part of who you are.” Caroline tilted her head as she studied Annabelle. “Mr. Raybourne will be lucky to have you. Surely he’ll encourage you to continue writing since he’s now in charge of Artemis Press.”
Annabelle raised a brow. “I don’t think any man wants his wife to be preoccupied with something other than him, do you? Look at Father or our uncle.”
“Times are different now.” But Caroline’s protest sounded far from positive. She frowned as if realizing it. “Richard is a perfect example. He would never ask me to give up the things I enjoy.”
Annabelle rose and paced the length of the room to curb the restlessness that filled her. “With luck, all the fervor about this will fade. A long betrothal will allow for that, and we can eventually break it off without much harm. Then we can continue with our separate lives and forget all of this.”
“Richard told me Mr. Raybourne wants to marry as soon as possible.”
Annabelle gasped. “He never mentioned anything of the sort to me.” She pressed a hand to her chest, realizing she couldn’t catch her breath. Becoming accustomed to a betrothal was one thing, but an impending marriage was another thing entirely. “This is a disaster.” Her entire being trembled at the idea of marrying so quickly.
“Or a clever twist of fate.” Caroline smiled. “You just said you liked him. Friendship is a nice way to begin. Who knows what might grow from there?”
“I don’t want to begin anything.” She bit her lip as the memory of their kiss washed through her. The idea of exploring that sensation further, in-depth, caused her pulse to thrum. As tempting as it was, she wasn’t willing to give up writing for it. Was she? She spun away, angry at herself for allowing the question to enter her mind. They’d only been betrothed a matter of days and already he was changing everything in her world. “My life was fine as it was.”
“I don’t know if you remember,” Caroline said, “but when I expressed doubt about my betrothal, Margaret made an excellent observation.”
“What was that?”
“That ship has sailed.” The sympathetic smile Caroline offered was less than comforting.
Annabelle stared at Caroline as a wave of nerves nearly took her under. Could it be true? Was she truly going to marry Thomas soon?
~*~
Thomas settled into his chair at the dining room table for breakfast, the familiar scent of the steaming coffee at his elbow oddly reassuring. The normalcy of the moment was much appreciated. This was the first day he’d woke with some semblance of peace and purpose since he’d called on Sir Reginald three days ago. He couldn’t say that