Page 65 of A Spinster for the Cold Duke

That was as good a confirmation of his victory as her admitting it outright.

He rose slowly, gathering her trembling form against his chest and pressing gentle kisses to her temple as she fought to catch her breath.

“Beautiful,” he murmured. “So beautiful.”

A sharp knock at the door shattered the intimate moment, causing them both to freeze.

“Marchwood?”

Everett.

His voice carried clearly through the wooden barrier. “You will have to pardon the intrusion, but many of our guests are very interested in your whereabouts.”

Annabelle’s eyes flew wide with panic. “Oh God,” she whispered. “They’ll know. They’ll see us together and?—”

“Shh.” Henry’s hands were steady and efficient as he helped her adjust her clothing. “I’ll handle this.”

Her gaze dropped to his crotch. “You…”

Henry grinned and whispered, “I’ll be alright, sweetheart.”

Annabelle, spitfire and confident, looked scandalized and curious at the same time.

“Henry, you have to go,” she urged, her voice barely above a whisper. Urgent. “If anyone sees us together like this?—”

“I know.” He pressed a quick, hard kiss to her lips. “But this isn’t over, Annabelle. This is far from over.”

He took deep breaths, causing his arousal to slowly abate, as he moved to the door and paused to ensure she was hidden behind it before opening it just wide enough to slip through.

“Southall, you bastard.” He growled as soon as he met his friend’s cheeky grin. “Since when have you become my watchdog?”

The Marquess chuckled. “You should be thanking me for saving your behind. Now, make yourself look presentable and come back to the ballroom with me.”

He nodded once and slipped out of the room, closing the door behind him.

CHAPTER 23

“Aunt Annabelle!”

The chorus of young voices greeted her before she had even properly stepped through the threshold of the Knightley townhouse. Three small bodies launched themselves at her skirts with the enthusiasm that only children possessed, their faces bright with the joy of unexpected company.

“My darlings,” Annabelle laughed, steadying herself against their collective embrace. “Have you grown taller since I last saw you? Surely you cannot be the same children I left in the countryside.”

“We are! We are!” chorused little Clara, her golden curls bouncing as she nodded vigorously. “Papa says we’re getting quite grown up now that we’re in London.”

“Indeed, you are,” Annabelle agreed, ruffling the girl’s hair before turning her attention to Theodore and Rose.

“Aunt Annabelle,” Theodore began, his tone serious despite his tender years, “Papa received something quite extraordinary in the post yesterday.”

“Did he indeed?” She glanced over their heads to where Nathaniel stood in the doorway of his study. His expression was warm with paternal pride and genuine affection for her.

“Victor sent a postcard,” Nathaniel explained, moving forward to embrace her properly. “From wherever he and Emma have taken themselves off to this time. The Mediterranean, I believe. Emma painted a rather charming miniature of a beach scene on the back.”

“How perfectly like her,” Annabelle smiled, accepting his kiss on both cheeks. “I do hope they are enjoying their extended honeymoon phase.”

“Eternally, it would seem,” The Marquess of Knightley chuckled. “Though I suspect you’ll find a similar correspondence waiting for you at home. Westmere mentioned sending one to each of his favorite ladies.”

The warmth that spread through her chest at being included in such a category was both comforting and bittersweet. These connections, these bonds of chosen family, had become more precious to her than any of the formal relationships dictated by society.

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