she’d retreated to Hartshaven, withdrawing from society a little more each year until it had been ages since she’d set foot in London and longer still since she’d taken an interest in anyone or anyone in her.
It was a lonely way to live. What she did have, however, was a beautiful estate in the country and piles of money to keep her company. What she lacked in social currency, she more than made up for financially. In terms of creature comforts, she had everything a woman could want, except a man. That was about to change. In a few moments, a man was going to come down the drive. She’d ordered him from London much as one orders a gown, and if she had misgivings about such a process it was too late now.
Annorah mentally went over the carefully drafted letter she’d sent one last time, every word committed to memory.
Dear Sirs,
I am looking for a discreet association with a man of breeding and manners. Must be clean and well-kept, an informed conversationalist—in other words, educated—and enjoy the quiet of the countryside. Will pay handsomely for five nights of companionship.
She’d taken three days to draft those few lines. It seemed like the letter should be longer for her efforts. She hoped the agency would know exactly what she meant. The small advertisement she’d seen in a magazine suggested the agency was very good at reading between the lines and knowing precisely what was required in any given situation. Still, those meagre four lines were the most audacious words she’d ever written.
‘It’s time, Annorah. Stop being such a goose.’ She felt her courage start to flag. If not now, when? She knew the answer to that. Never. If she wanted to know the mysteries of passion before it was too late, she had to take matters into her own hands. So here she was, waiting for her birthday present to arrive; the perfect man—one who wouldn’t break her heart, who wouldn’t pretend to love her for her money, one who would understand what she wanted was a temporary liaison in which she could experience the joys of the flesh without the regrets.
Five nights of pleasure should be enough. Then she would reconcile herself to her fate, a fate the best of England’s legal minds had assured her she could not avoid: Marry by her thirty-third birthday and keep her estate and wealth intact, or should that fail and she remain single, the estate and much of her fortune was forfeit to the church and other charities. The house would become a school and she’d be left with a cottage and a comfortable portion to live simply, but not grandly. Gone would be the days of fine gowns and the option to do anything she wanted.
Either way, she stood to lose her life the way she knew it. Marriage meant her fabulous wealth went to her husband. Remaining unwed meant it went to the church. Last time she checked, neither of those parties was her. In response to her demise, she’d gone shopping and purchased an outrageous number of dresses and all the necessary accessories, including a man to go with them.
Gravel crunched on the drive and her pulse quickened. Out of the window, Annorah caught sight of a chaise pulling up in front of the steps before it was lost from view, blocked by the large semicircular stairs leading to the front door. One could only see the drive fully if one was standing at the window and Annorah did not want to be that obvious.
Her butler, Plumsby, appeared at the doorway. ‘Miss, your guest is here. May I say he is quite handsome for a librarian?’ She’d not been able to admit the truth to her staff for fear of disappointing them. Instead, she’d professed a desire to catalogue the library one last time, an inventory list of sorts should she opt to leave everything to the school.
‘Thank you, Plumsby. I will be right out to meet him.’ Her pulse began to race, her thoughts latching on to Plumsby’s last words: He was handsome. She played out how she wanted to greet him in her mind. She would be modern and sophisticated. Annorah took a final look in the mirror on the wall to make sure her hair was in place, her face free of any errant smudges. She took a deep breath and stepped out into the hall, suddenly feeling overly bright in her jonquil muslin against the muted blues and Italian marble of the hall. But there was no time to change now, no time to slip away on the backstairs unnoticed. He’d seen her.
Annorah smiled and swept forwards. ‘You’re here. I trust you had a pleasant journey?’ She clasped her hands tightly at her waist, hoping to hide her nerves, but she could feel a blush creeping up her cheeks. Handsome didn’t even begin to cover it and she was already at a loss for words. He’d think she was a bumbling idiot. One minute into their association and her power of speech had failed her.
Tea! Her mind grabbed the idea. ‘Plumbsby, have tea brought to the drawing room. I can see to our guest from here.’ As soon as the words left her mouth, she knew she had erred. ‘Forgive me, I’m getting ahead of myself. Here I am ordering tea before we’ve even had introductions. I’m Annorah Price-Ellis.’
She stuck her hand out for him to shake in a businesslike manner, but he took that hand and bent over it instead, lips skimming knuckles, eyes holding hers as he took her gesture and turned it into something more than a greeting. Under his touch it became a prologue, a promise. ‘Nicholas D’Arcy at your service.’
At her service. Annorah swallowed hard. He was here and he was gorgeous! Dark-blue eyes looked up at her over her hand, riveting and intense in their regard; black hair roguishly pulled back to reveal high-set cheekbones and the most perfect mouth she’d ever seen on a man; a thin, strong upper lip, a slightly fuller lower lip, full enough to invoke a certain sensual quality, full enough to make a woman want to trace that mouth with her finger.
Good lord, her thoughts were running fast! They’d barely met and she was already tracing his mouth in her mind. Annorah recalled her manners soon enough to fumble through an awkward curtsy, only to wonder if that was the correct response. Did one curtsy to such a man? But that was just it. What sort of man was he? A gentleman down on his luck or a bounder in fine clothing merely apeing his betters? Perhaps she should curtsy simply to preserve the façade and why not? This was her fantasy. She could play it any way she wanted.
What she couldn’t do was stand around the hall, staring like a looby. Years of good breeding finally caught up with her in a single thought: now she could get them in to tea and everything would resolve itself. Tea would take some of the edge off her nerves. There would be a natural progression of questions to ask: Did he take cream? Did he prefer sugar? Would he like a cake or a sandwich? It would ease the transition into conversation and give her a sense of starting to know him.
Annorah gestured towards the wide doorway on her left and said in what she hoped were sophisticated tones, even if the message was slightly repetitious, ‘Plumsby will have tea set up for us in the drawing room. You can take refreshment and we can discuss business.’ Surely that was the appropriate next step. It would be best to get the particulars out of the way before things progressed much further.
Nicholas D’Arcy’s blue eyes twinkled, the edges crinkling up delightfully as he smiled. He leaned in with a conspiratorial air, his body close enough for her to catch the scent of him—the sweet hay of a fougère mixed with the tang of lemons, quintessential summer. ‘This is business?’
Suddenly it was hard to think. She was vaguely aware she was rambling on about clients and contractors and negotiating the parameters of association for both their sakes. A gentle finger pressed against her lips.
‘There’s a lovely summer day waiting for us outside, Annorah. Why don’t you show me the gardens? We can talk while we stroll.’
‘Will it be private enough?’ Annorah hedged politely. Talk about their arrangement outside where they might be overheard? She hadn’t exactly been truthful with the staff when she’d told them about her visitor.
‘We’ll
