The Worldly Widow by Thornton Elizabeth

Author:Thornton, Elizabeth [Thornton, Elizabeth]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Earl, Publishing, War Heroes, General, Romance, Historical, Fiction
ISBN: 9780821777145
Publisher: Zebra
Published: 2005-04-01T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

Annabelle did not break her engagement to the Earl. Though she had some misgivings about how she would manage such a strong-willed gentleman after their nuptials, she did not dwell on them. Her waking thoughts were filled with the vivid memories of the hours they had spent in the little house in Kensington. She remembered the texture of his hair and skin under her fingers; she thought of his whispered endearments as he had kissed every naked inch of her; and most of all she recalled the look in his eyes as they had blazed from tenderness to passion. Even the memories made her heart begin a rapid beat. She could not wait to repeat the experience and had no notion now of holding herself from her lover for the six or seven weeks that remained till they could be married by her father in York. In short, at thirty years old, Annabelle was a woman newly awakened to passion and, like a child offered carte blanche in a sweetshop, she was impatient to sample all of its delights.

Having admitted as much to herself, she waited for the first pangs of conscience to strike. Nothing happened. She delved a little deeper. Though she discovered her conscience to be as lively as ever it was in most matters, on the subject of Dalmar it was surprisingly (and thankfully) mute. She delved no further.

With Dalmar it was otherwise. His conscience scourged him. He'd taken Annabelle first in the Palais Royal when he had assumed she was fair game. There had been some excuse for his misconduct then. In the weeks since he had been courting her, however, it had been borne in upon him that in spite of her worldly airs and previous marriage, Annabelle was as unfledged and untried as a newly hatched nestling. And he had played on that inexperience, awakening her dormant sensuality with stolen kisses, bold caresses, and words that would have brought a blush to the cheeks of a hardened rake, till he had her panting for their marriage bed. He'd done it deliberately, exploiting the one hold he knew he had over her. Annabelle was attracted to him. He courted that attraction, fed it, fanned it, and counted on it to overcome any and every objection to the estate of matrimony his misguided lady might entertain. He'd never meant to go so far as to anticipate their wedding night.

Yet he'd seduced her. Worse he'd taken her in a house and on a bed where other females, not fit to touch the hem of Annabelle's gown, had played out their carnal lusts for monetary gain. Annabelle deserved so much better than that sordid little house in Kensington.

But he'd been helpless to stop himself once she had spoken the fatal words that would sever their relationship. Hurt, fury, desperation, and a host of other emotions had made him their victim. He'd felt compelled to reestablish his hold over her in a thoroughly primitive and masculine fashion. Lust had nothing to do with it.

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