If the Duke Demands by Anna Harrington (18)

Well, well—what have we here?”

Spinning around, Annabelle Greene gasped with surprise at the sound of the man’s deep voice. Her arms flew up to cover her bare breasts, and she dropped down until the cold water came up to her chin.

She stared at the tall stranger standing at the edge of the pond, right beside the pile of her clothes where she’d undressed, where she placed them most summer evenings when she took a quick dip before dinner. But on all those other evenings, not once had her swim been interrupted. Certainly not by a man.

She swallowed back both her startled fear and her mortification that he’d come upon her like this, naked and vulnerable. And anger took over.

“Who are you?” she demanded in her sternest possible voice, which dripped with irony given the weakness of her current position. Heavens, she couldn’t even run away! “What do you want?”

She didn’t recognize him in the shadows as he stood silhouetted against the sunset. But surely, he wasn’t one of Sir Harold’s men from the neighboring estate, certainly not dressed as he was, like a gentleman out for a ride. And he wasn’t one of her own tenants, not in that expensive maroon redingote and tall beaver hat. Yet Castle Glenarvon was isolated enough in the wilderness of the Scottish borderlands that few people wandered onto the estate by mistake, and just as few on purpose. And from the look of him, with his broad shoulders confidently squared beneath his jacket and his head held high, he wasn’t making a mistake.

An impish grin blossomed on his face. “Belle,” he called out, a laughing lilt to his rich voice, “is that you?”

Oh no. Her shoulders sagged beneath the surface of the pond. Now she knew!

God help her, she would know that grin anywhere. That overly smooth, charming smile could persuade the king to surrender his crown.

“Quinton Carlisle,” she called out tersely, peeved that he picked here and now of all times to arrive. Typical Quinn. Always showing up at the most inconvenient moments. And incidentally—as if he had some sort of sixth sense for it—where currently stood a naked woman.

Even the last time she’d seen him, when he was just twenty-one and fresh out of Oxford, he was well on his way to becoming a rake. He and his two older brothers had cut a swathe through London’s most notorious venues that season, as if in competition to outdo each other with drunken debauchery. The three had been the foremost topic of gossip, as if the quality couldn’t quite believe that the Carlisle brothers actually belonged to their hallowed ranks. But while the ladies scorned them in public, privately they swarmed to them, and especially to Quinton, whose charming smile had them eagerly surrendering their hearts…and other body parts.

No wonder he hadn’t paid Annabelle much notice that spring. Why would he give any mind to a shy, country gel who felt more at home in bookshops than in ballrooms when he had the sophisticated ladies of the ton vying for his attention? Such a foolish cake she’d been! She should have known when he charmed her into surrendering her first kiss in the Earl of St James’s garden that it meant nothing to him.

“So it is you.” With an amused glimmer in his blue eyes, obviously thrilled that he’d caught her in such an embarrassing situation, he lowered himself onto his heels and closer to her level. “Up to your neck in it as ever, I see.”

“And you as ever a bother,” she muttered, goaded into the same bickering they’d engaged in when they were children, just because he enjoyed tormenting her.

He gave a short laugh. A lock of blond hair fell across his forehead as he removed his hat and ran his fingers through the thick waves, which were just as golden as she remembered. His charmingly crooked grin grew impossibly brighter.

Oh, she knew that look! And she knew the effect it had on women. Even now, having experienced the devilishness that lurked behind that angelic face, that same grin once again swirled through her, curling her toes into the muck at the bottom of the pond.

He pulled off his leather riding gloves and slapped them against his hard thigh as if finding her in such an embarrassing—and increasingly colder—position was a humorous joke. And clearly at her expense. “I wasn’t certain if it was you,” he taunted, “or if mermaids had come to Scotland.”

“We’re in England,” she shot back. “But if you’d like to travel on to Scotland, it’s just ten miles that way.” She gave a jerk of her head toward the mountains in the distance. “Safe travels!”

The cut flew out before she could stop herself. And instantly she regretted it. If he were offended—worse, if he left…what on earth would she do? The pest aggravated the daylights out of her—he always had, blast him—but the last thing she needed in her desperate straits over Glenarvon was to make him ride off before she even had the chance to put her plan into motion.

Thankfully, instead of being offended, he laughed, his eyes sparkling brightly. That, too, was typical of him…boundless energy and magnetic personality. “Your loyalty to crown and country is admirable, Belle, but I don’t think Rule Britannia applies to duck ponds.”

Oh, the devil take the man! Pressing her lips together, she glared murderously at him, not trusting herself to respond without saying something else she would regret.

He was just as aggravating as she remembered, despite being six years older, more mature—if only physically, certainly not intellectually—and definitely broader and more muscular. A sinking dread fell through her that perhaps she’d made a mistake by inviting him here.

But she’d had no choice. She was quickly running out of options, and her desperation had driven her to it.

Yet she certainly hadn’t expected him to arrive like this, with her naked in the water and her clothes lying on the bank beside him. But leave it to Quinn to do just that. The man always did have terrible timing.

They’d known each other since they were children. As distant relations to the late Viscount Ainsley and his wife, she and Quinn had met often at estate parties and on the rare occasions when Annabelle accompanied Lord and Lady Ainsley to London. They had raised her since her own parents died when she was just a little girl, and now she remained at Glenarvon as a companion to Lady Ainsley. Quinn’s great-aunt Agatha. And a woman Annabelle was beginning to believe was mad as a hatter.

But her primary concern at the moment wasn’t his aunt and how on earth she was going to resolve the mess that the late viscount had created in her life—it was getting out of the pond and over to her clothes without Quinn seeing her naked. And judging from the relaxed way he rested back on his boot heels, his forearm lying casually across his thigh, he didn’t plan on being a gentleman and leaving.

“Lady Ainsley is up at the house,” she informed him, goose bumps forming on her skin. Good Lord, the water was freezing! A few minutes more, and her teeth would chatter.

He crooked a challenging brow, knowing exactly what he was doing in keeping her there. “But it’s so much more fun here with you.”

Beneath the pond’s surface, she clenched her hands into fists.

“The groom said you were out here,” he explained, “and I thought I’d say hello before greeting Aunt Agatha and settling in at the house. So…hello.” Even in the dim light of the fading sunset his eyes sparkled like the devil’s own. “This feels like old times.”

Old times she very much wanted to forget. Inviting him here was turning into a terrible mistake.

Her eyes darted longingly to her clothes at his feet.

He followed her glance. “Are you really…?” He gasped in feigned shock as he reached down to hook a finger in her dress and lift it from the ground. “Goodness, Belle! You all truly do live wild here in the borderlands, don’t you?”

Despite the chill of the water, her face flushed hot. Leave it to Quinn to so cavalierly point out that she was naked.

But of course, he couldn’t have cared less about her humiliation. And he certainly wasn’t flirting with her, most likely thinking nothing more of her uncomfortable situation than of the opportunity it gave him to torment her, just as he’d done when they were children. After all, he would never see her as a woman. He would never see her as anything more than the skinny, stick-with-ears bluestocking she was when they were younger.

She sighed in aggravation. And shivered with cold. “Would you please—”

“My, my, how careless!” With a shake of his head, he clucked his tongue chastisingly. “Some wild animal could stumble upon your clothes and carry them off, or the wind might simply blow them—”

“Quinton James Carlisle, don’t you dare!” But her threat lacked all force, since she could do nothing to stop him. And drat him, he knew it, too.

Which only caused his grin to widen. She could see on his face how tempted he was to do just as she feared and walk away with her clothes, leaving her as naked as Eve in the garden. The deceitful snake!

“Same Belle I remember.” He laughed good-naturedly, as if he truly were happy to see her. And, of course, to tease her again. “Always too serious for her own good. Tell me, do you still prefer to spend your time with books rather than with people?”

“Certain people, yes,” she bit out. And especially you.

As if he could read her mind, he nearly doubled over, hooting with laughter. The rotten scoundrel actually laughed! When he should have had the decency to be remorseful about what he’d done to her all those years ago.

She grimaced with annoyance. Oh, why couldn’t he simply do as she’d hoped for once and minimize the discomfort for both of them? But of course not. Quinn never did anything to make her life easier. Not if he could get a good laugh out of it.

That much about him hadn’t changed during the past six years, although the rest of him was most definitely different…taller, broader, more solid. And impossibly more masculine. He’d matured from a lanky university student into a full-grown man, right down to the handsome line of his jaw. The tight fit of his buckskin breeches accentuated the hard muscles of his thighs and his narrow waist as much as the redingote stretching tight across his back exemplified the wide breadth of his shoulders. Since she’d last seen him, he’d transformed into a golden mountain of a man, just like his older brothers, yet retained the same charismatic grin he’d possessed since he was a boy.

If he were anyone else, she would have said he was attractive. Perhaps even handsome. Unfortunately, she knew the Carlisle brothers too well, and she knew what lurked beneath their captivating exteriors. Sebastian was the serious one, Robert was the risk-taker, and Quinton…Well, Quinn made his way through the world by his charm.

But his charisma no longer worked on her. She’d gained immunity. The hard way.

“A gentleman would say his good-byes and leave me in privacy to get dressed.” Her teeth began to chatter, and as she shook from cold, she prayed he couldn’t see it. Or anything else she didn’t want him to see.

“Then it’s a very good thing I’m not a gentleman,” he replied with mock earnestness. He dangled her dress higher, as if taunting a dog with a bone. “If you want your clothes, Belle,” he coaxed devilishly, “you can always come out and get them.”

For a fleeting moment, she was tempted. Oh, so very tempted! And just to see the startled look on his face, because she was certain he thought her incapable of ever doing anything so daring. Perhaps the girl he knew from before wouldn’t, but the woman Annabelle had become might just do something exactly as bold as that.

She trembled at the idea, and despite the cold from the chilling water, an odd yearning of excitement fluttered up from low in her belly. As if she just might possibly be as daring and wild as he suspected she wasn’t—

She sneezed.

“God bless you,” he offered solemnly, then trailed his hand into the water at the edge. “Brrr! That is rather cold, isn’t it?”

Her eyes narrowed to slits, and she distrusted herself to speak, knowing this time she really would say something indelicate enough to drive the pest away.

“Better come out now, Belle.” He continued to toy with her, using her dress as bait. “You’re turning blue.”

Her breath caught in her throat. Blue. Her eyes stung with sudden tears at his thoughtless words. To be that inconsiderate, that unkind to her even now after all these years as to bring up that horrible prank—but he only smiled at her, oblivious to the cruelty of his offhanded comment.

Of course, Quinn wouldn’t think anything of it. His reputation hadn’t been ruined because of a bucket of blue paint and a sweet old book buyer who had only been trying to help her after it came crashing down on her head that day in the library, leaving all kinds of blue handprints all over her dress. And just in time for the ladies attending Lady Ainsley’s garden party to come rushing inside at the commotion and find them together.

His life hadn’t been destroyed. But hers had. All because of his childish joke.

Although she could hide her body beneath the water, she couldn’t hide the dark humiliation gathering on her face like storm clouds or the agonizing mix of anger and utter wretchedness swelling up inside her at the reminder of what he’d done to her all those years ago. The same cruel joke that might yet cost her Glenarvon.

From the puzzled expression in Quinn’s eyes, he noted the sudden change in her but didn’t yet realize the full implication of what he’d said, and she didn’t dare speak past the tight knot in her throat to explain for fear she might cry. Because she would never allow herself to cry in front of him, never allow him to see how much his teasing had hurt her.

“Belle, are you— Oh Christ.” He lowered the dress to the grass as the stupidity of what he’d so thoughtlessly said sank over him, and his grin faded. His eyes softened apologetically. “I’m sorry…It was so long ago that I’d forgotten all about it.”

But she hadn’t, and doubted she ever would.

“Here.” He placed the dress back onto its neat pile where she’d left it and rose to his full height, then turned his back to her and walked off a few paces to give her privacy. “Come out whenever you’re ready.”

With his back turned and his eyes focused on the darkening shadows painted across the countryside by the fading sunset, Quinn heard the soft splash of water behind him as Belle moved quickly toward the bank.

He smiled. Annabelle Greene. Quick-tempered, defensive, serious…exactly as he remembered. Easy to excite and irritate. And a helluva lot of fun to torment.

When they were children, he’d loved to spend his time thinking up ways to goad her to frustration. After all, she’d been an easy target. As a bluestocking whose nose was forever pressed into one book or another, she was always painfully proper and prim even as a child, impossibly shy, and never let herself have any real fun. So he’d nicknamed her Bluebell, a combination of her name and bluestocking, just to antagonize her. The name stuck.

“Are you all right?” he called out over his shoulder as he heard her emerge from the water, partially turning his head. Then he added, just to taunt her, “Bluebell.” He couldn’t say what it was about her that fueled his puckish side, but Quinn enjoyed taunting her, far more than he should.

“I-I’m fine!”

He heard her teeth chatter when she answered, and fleeting guilt stabbed him for keeping her in the cold water just because teasing her amused him. Or perhaps her answer was forced out between clenched teeth in anger at the use of her nickname. That would certainly be the Annabelle he knew.

Good Lord, had it really been six years since he’d seen her?

The last time had been in London when she was starting her first season. As a young lady not quite grown into womanhood, she’d been at that age when her curves were just beginning to blossom and soften. The stick-with-ears she’d been all her life had suddenly grown into her long legs and big honey-hazel eyes, her previous gawkiness turning graceful and her shyness mellowing into a natural demureness that other ladies only pretended to possess. The Bluebell had suddenly turned interesting, even to the jaded buck he’d already become.

And then, somehow, without quite knowing how it happened…he’d kissed her.

Even now, after all these years and countless intimate encounters with experienced ladies, he remembered that innocent kiss. All fumbles and eager awkwardness, hidden from sight beneath the rose bower at St James House in the middle of the countess’s annual ball. He couldn’t remember what possessed him to go into the shadows with her, or what exactly led to having his arms around her, his mouth on hers, her willing body pressed hard against his. But he remembered the sweet tang of honey on her lips, the wild scent of heather that clung to her skin, the pliant softness of her curves…the utter confusion that gripped him afterward.

She was the Bluebell, for God’s sake. Aunt Agatha’s companion. Innocent and inexperienced. And wholly intriguing for all of it. She’d left him wanting to steal away with her again.

Until his brothers ruined everything, including the rest of his London season.

He’d foolishly confided in Robert, who thought it hilarious that he’d kissed a bluestocking. So hilarious, in fact, that Robert devised a practical joke to drop a bucket of blue paint over his head when he went to meet Annabelle in the library of Ainsley House. But Belle arrived first. By the time Quinn entered, she was already gone, with only a puddle of paint and a very red-faced, blue-handed octogenarian book buyer left behind, surrounded by a gaggle of society ladies all snickering behind their flitting fans as if something more than book buying had been going on.

Of course, it hadn’t. Belle would never…but it was exactly the kind of incident that the busybody gossips of the ton loved to seize on and cruelly spread. Especially to someone like Annabelle, who had never been accepted into their ranks in the first place.

In the aftermath, Annabelle and Aunt Agatha suddenly left London, putting an abrupt end to her season. And Quinn pummeled Robert, which made their parents send both of them immediately back to Chestnut Hill.

Six years had passed, and he hadn’t seen her since. Although based upon the barbs they’d just exchanged, she hadn’t changed. And oddly enough, he was more relieved than he wanted to admit that she hadn’t.

He offered affably, unable to stop himself, “Need any help with your stockings?”

“Just stay right where you are!”

“But I’m very good with ladies’ stockings.”

“Oh,” she muttered beneath her breath, “I’m certain you are.”

He chuckled. Same old Annabelle, all right.

It was good to know that some things hadn’t changed, especially when everything else in his life was turning on end. Including the unexpected invitation to visit Glenarvon, which had nearly knocked him flat. So did its implications. Because Aunt Agatha had implied in her letter that she had financial matters to settle, which only boded well for him.

To say his prospects as a third son were limited was a grand understatement. Oh, certainly he’d proven himself successful in managing the family’s estate, assisting Sebastian after he’d inherited when their father died so unexpectedly. More successful, in fact, than anyone who knew of his wild reputation would ever have imagined. In just two years, he’d increased profits by over fifteen percent.

But it was Sebastian’s estate, not his. Proving himself on his own merits meant that he had to find another path for himself, where being the brother of the Duke of Trent meant nothing, where his own capabilities decided his success. He also knew he wasn’t the church or military type, neither desiring to end men’s lives nor save their souls.

So he’d set his sights on America. Several thousand acres already awaited him with a land broker in Charleston, where he planned to create not only his own American estate but also a trade business. He had ten thousand pounds in savings and a decent allowance that would see him settled into a fine living there for himself. An allowance that Sebastian kept threatening to take away if he didn’t start to behave, although Quinn knew the threat was empty, especially since Sebastian was now happily married and…well, happy. It was hard to fear a growling dog when the animal had lost its bite.

But he had only twelve weeks to make his way to Charleston before the contract was voided and the land went to another buyer. Given that deadline, this trip to the borderlands wasn’t convenient, but he wasn’t too proud to pass up any additional blunt he could get his hands on.

Of course, he also knew that the visit to Glenarvon included seeing Annabelle Greene and that they hadn’t parted under the best of circumstances. But he’d assumed that they’d been good enough friends once that they could tolerate each other for a few days before he rode on to the coast. Then his new life would begin. And not a moment too soon.

“Quinton! You got dirt in my stockings!”

He rolled his eyes at her angry grumble and grinned. Yep. Exactly the Bluebell he remembered.

Unless…

How much exactly had the Bluebell changed during the past six years?

The temptation to satisfy his curiosity about her was too great to ignore. And who could really fault him for taking a quick glance? After all, any man would be curious about a woman he hadn’t seen since she was eighteen, since the night she let him kiss her beneath a rose bower and stole his breath away. A now naked woman standing right behind him…

“And grass all over my dress.”

The last time he’d seen her she’d been on the cusp of womanhood. Would she be the same gangly girl he remembered? Would she still be nothing but skin and bones, sharp angles, and big feet? Fate would undoubtedly make him pay for this, but he couldn’t help himself—

He glanced over his shoulder.

His breath hitched in his throat when he caught sight of her in the fading golden-purple sunset, all curvy naked and dripping wet, her body half turned toward him as she hurried into her clothes. Sweet Lucifer. Full breasts with dusky-pink nipples drawn taut from the cold water, round hips and long legs that stretched all the way up from her toes to her…Well. She’d certainly grown into her feet, all right, along with the rest of her.

He swallowed. Hard. No, not a single sign left of the stick-with-ears.

The Bluebell had become a woman.

And God help him, he wasn’t prepared for that, or for the visceral reaction in his tightening gut. Good Lord, for the Bluebell. And when she turned to drop her shift over her head, unknowingly teasing him with another angle of her ripe body, the new view was just as breathtaking.

He was wrong. Fate wasn’t making him simply pay for this stolen glimpse of her. Fate had just punched him in the gut for it.

He turned around before she caught him drooling after her like some green pup. Clenched at his sides, his hands trembled, and he inhaled deep, slow breaths to steady himself.

Well, things had certainly changed in the past six years. In all kinds of new and interesting ways.

Coming to Glenarvon was proving to be a grand idea.

“Just one moment more,” she called out. “I can’t quite reach…”

More fabric rustled behind him, and Quinn imagined her lissome body twisting to reach to fasten up her dress, her breasts straining tantalizingly against her low-cut bodice as her back arched. One long leg half exposed by a raised skirt revealing the lacy edge of her stocking, which he could slowly roll down her thigh and follow along in its wake with his mouth—

“I’m almost through.”

Squeezing his eyes closed, he tried not to think of how round and full her derriere was as she bent over to slip on her half-boots. He blew out a harsh breath of aggravation that she of all women could elicit such a response from him that even now his cock tingled.

“Hurry up, will you?” he prodded irritably. Because he wasn’t certain how much longer he could stand there, not looking.

“There,” she announced. “I’m dressed.”

Thank God. He turned.

And froze beneath the full force of her smile.

Sweet and genuinely enchanting—and far more beguiling than he remembered—Belle gazed up at him through long, lowered lashes. In her sprigged muslin dress, with her damp, caramel-brown hair now pinned into place, she looked perfectly proper, as if she hadn’t just been caught swimming naked. She barely came up to his shoulder, yet packed the punch of an Amazon with her quiet allure and natural grace. Gone was her insecurity, replaced by a shining confidence he remembered seeing in her only once before, right as she’d wrapped her arms around his neck to kiss him.

And that surprised him nearly as much as seeing her naked.

“It’s good to see you again, Quinton,” she admitted quietly.

She held her hand out to him, and he caught the scent of heather wafting on the air. The same wild, floral scent he remembered from six years ago.

“Welcome to Castle Glenarvon. I’m so very glad you’re here.” Her cheeks pinked delicately, and the tingle in his cock turned into an ache that swirled up his spine as she added, “So much more than you know.”