The Young and the Ruined - Annabelle Anders Page 0,2

her with luscious black curls that were highlighted by her white dress trimmed in royal blue ribbon. For a moment, all the noise and the bustle surrounding them melted. Valentina looked up at her father and delivered a smile that would melt any curmudgeon’s heart. James slipped her hand into his. Nell gasped silently at the sight of such affection.

A child of her own was the one thing that Nell had never received from her marriage to the Marquess of Whitton. Though he was nearly thirty years her senior, the marquess had been a kind man and had given her everything she’d ever wanted, and then some.

But the one thing she desired above all else, he never gave her—a child.

The beautiful little girl executed a curtsey, then looked adoringly at Nell. “I’m so glad you’re here. I’ve been waiting for you—”

“Enough of the idle chat, my darling. I’m sure Lady Whitton is anxious to be on her way.” James put his arm around Valentina and pulled her close.

“Indeed,” Nell answered. “Our carriage broke down in front of Redmond Hall.”

One of James’s brows arched. “How convenient for you. As you can see, we’re entertaining guests. We shouldn’t tarry. I’ll leave you in Tipton’s capable hands.”

Valentina scowled her father’s way.

“As you can see, we’re entertaining guests,” James repeated himself.

“You already told her that.” Valentina turned her attention to Nell. “And you’re invited to join us.”

“Well, I...” Nell fumbled for a second.

Christa blinked. “Harry...I mean, Mr. Knollwood has invited us to luncheon. I’m famished.” She tilted her gaze to Mr. Knollwood and blushed prettily, then turned back to her. “Please, Nell.”

James slid his hardened gaze to his cousin. “Did you, now? How thoughtful. Two more...for luncheon.”

Harry scoffed lightly. “Miss Ellison is tired and hungry. I dare say that Lady Whitton is also. One of their carriage axles broke right outside the manse. Isn’t it fortuitous that they arrived here?”

“Indeed. I’m practically giddy over that fact,” James drawled then exhaled sharply. He turned to Nell. “My lady, if I might have a word with you...privately.”

She nodded brusquely and then took his extended arm. Best to get the confrontation over with quickly, then be on their way. The faster she could leave Redmond Hall the better for all their sakes.

Without a word being spoken, he escorted her to a small sitting room off the entry. As soon as they were through the door, he shut it with more force than was necessary, then turned to face her. Since Nell hadn’t moved very far into the room, they collided chest-to-chest.

Taken off-guard, Nell took an awkward step backward.

“Pardon me,” he said, taking her elbow to steady her. His eyes flashed with concern. When he realized she wasn’t going to fall, his earlier hostility returned. “I don’t know what you’re doing here, but if it’s to throw your hat in the ring, you’re too late. You already had your chance.”

“What are you talking about?” He still wore the same fragrance, a spicy sandalwood mixed with bergamot. Heat, the kind that told too much, bludgeoned her cheeks.

“My aunt’s guests.”

Nell tilted her head and furrowed her brow.

“Potential matrimonial prospects for me.” He narrowed his eyes. “You don’t know?”

She shook her head. “Enlighten me.”

“I’m ready to remarry...my daughter needs....” He ran a hand through the short black locks of hair on his head.

Nell had always loved to run her fingers through his hair, especially after they kissed. The thick, silky strands appeared as soft as when… Best to leave the memories in the past.

“It’s just...rather ironic that the day the house party is to start, you magically arrive.” His gaze traveled down her body to her feet, then back. He was clearly accessing her, and by the mulish look on his face, he found her lacking.

Enough of the stroll down memory lane. She straightened her shoulders. “I had no idea that my carriage would break down today.”

He lifted one eyebrow in mocking confrontation.

“Nor did I plan for this to happen in front of Redmond Hall.” Her anger rose like a loaf of bread, slow and steady, but just as hot. “You”—she pointed right at the middle of his chest where his hardened heart probably laid in a shrunken shrivel—“and only you would believe that this was planned as some great conspiracy.”

He grabbed her finger, and they both hissed simultaneously.

The heat of his hand clenching hers made every particle of her being sit up at attention. With traitorous ease, her body leaned closer like a flower deprived of its much-needed sun.

Damn him!