‘Stupid, stupid, stupid!’ she whispered, breaking free of his arms.
‘Anna, what’s wrong?’ he asked huskily.
‘What’s wrong? I’m wrong,’ she whispered. ‘This is wrong. Because right now, I’m no better than the foolish young women whose reputations I fight to protect.’
‘That’s ridiculous!’
‘Is it? You just told me you have no intention of marrying, yet I allowed myself to be held in your arms and kissed like any cheap whore. What is that if not the height of stupidity?’
Anna flung at him. ‘At least Mercy Banks was hopeful of a marriage resulting from her liaison with Lieutenant Blokker! You’ve made it clear there is no such happy ending in sight.’
His face darkened, his breathing heavy and uneven. ‘I said that because I don’t want you harbouring false hope. But it doesn’t change the way I feel about you.’
‘And is that supposed to make me feel better? Am I supposed to be comforted by the knowledge that you desire me, yet have no intention of offering marriage?’ Anna shook her head. ‘There is a word for that kind of relationship, Sir Barrington, and it is not flattering.’
‘It was never my intention to compromise you, Anna,’ he said quietly. ‘I care too much for you.’
‘My name is Lady Annabelle. And if you care so much for me, leave me alone!’
Without waiting for his answer, Anna picked up her skirts and fled. Angry tears blurred her vision as she ran down the length of the balcony. Idiot! She’d made a fool of herself again, allowing herself to be held and kissed as though she were a naïve young schoolgirl. She, who prided herself on knowing all the games and all the excuses, had let herself be taken in. And by doing so, Barrington had undermined everything she believed in. When she had allowed him to kiss her, she had wanted to believe that it meant something. But it was obvious to anyone with an iota of sense that it meant absolutely nothing. Sophisticated Barrington might be, but he was still a man, and when it came right down to it, he wanted the same thing as every other man. Pleasure without commitment. Love without obligation. The very things she kept warning her young ladies to avoid.
The breeze came up and, once again, Anna felt chilled. She hadn’t stopped to fetch her wrap before venturing outside, but neither was she about to run back into the drawing room now.
Observant eyes would see the evidence of her tears, recognise the flush in her cheeks and put their own interpretation on the events—and nothing on earth was going to persuade her to tell anyone what had really happened.
She glanced back over her shoulder, wondering if Barrington had followed her. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed when she saw that he hadn’t. All right, so she’d made a mistake. It wasn’t the first time she’d done so, but at least this time she was old enough to recognise it for herself. Barrington had made his feelings for her clear. The episode would not be repeated. From now on, she would treat him exactly the same way he treated everyone else. Coolly. Professionally. Without emotion. He would never make her cry again.
It was a good ten minutes before Anna felt calm enough to venture back into the house. Not by the drawing room through which she’d left. That would be far too embarrassing, especially knowing that Barrington had gone back in only a short time ago. Instead, she walked to the end of the balcony and, finding another set of glass doors, tried the handle. Thankfully, it was unlocked and pushing it open, she walked into a small study—only to stop and gasp in shock.
Her brother and Julia’s maid were standing by the door, locked together in a passionate embrace. ‘Edward!’
At once, the pair sprang apart, but it was too late to disguise what they had been doing. The maid’s dark hair had come down around her shoulders, her gown was in disarray and her lips were red and swollen.
Embarrassed, Anna looked away. Obviously, her brother wasn’t above seducing pretty housemaids, whether they be his own or someone else’s. Refusing to meet his eyes, she murmured, ‘Excuse me’, and then immediately made her way to the door. Edward said nothing, but she heard his mocking laughter following her through the door. She supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised. Her brother had once again proven himself the immoral creature she believed him to be.
And what about you? the little voice nagged. Are you so much better? So much more virtuous?
Anna felt her face burn with humiliation. No, perhaps she wasn’t. She kept remembering the passionate encounter she’d just shared with Barrington, the shameless manner in which she had allowed him to kiss her. Oh, yes, she’d let him kiss her. She wasn’t about to lay the blame for what had happened entirely at his door. He was gentleman enough that if she had asked him to stop, he would have—but she hadn’t done that. She’d wanted to know how it would feel to kiss him. To watch his head bend slowly towards her, and to feel his mouth close intimately over hers.
It had been everything she’d expected—and more.
But Barrington was no more likely to become her husband than Julia’s maid was to become Edward’s wife. They had both been indulging in impossible fantasies.
‘Let he who is without sin cast the first stone …’
A sobering thought. As Anna made her way back to the drawing room, she realised that the proverbial stone would never find its way to her hand.
For the next few days, Barrington went around like a bear with a sore head. Unable to forget what had happened between Anna and himself at the baroness’s dinner party, he was quick to anger and slow to unwind, because he knew he’d hurt her. And hurting her was the last thing he’d ever wanted to do.
He’d still been in the drawing room when Anna had finally returned, but she hadn’t approached him again. She had remained coldly aloof, treating him as though he wasn’t there. He wasn’t surprised that she had left shortly after.
He’d left early as well, all pleasure in the evening gone. Upon returning home, he’d made for his study and downed a stiff glass of brandy, followed in quick succession by two more. But the potent liquor had done nothing to assuage his guilt, or to help him find escape in sleep. When the morning had come, he’d been as tired and as irritable as when he’d gone to bed.
Much as he was this morning, three days later, as he made his way to Angelo’s Haymarket rooms for his ten o’clock appointment with the Marquess of Yew’s son.
Barrington deeply regretted having made the appointment.
The last thing he felt like doing was teaching the finer points of fencing to the gangly nineteen-year-old son of a man he neither liked nor respected. However, he had given Yew his promise that he would show the boy a few things and he was a man who kept his word. All he could do now was hope the hour passed quickly and that he didn’t do the boy an unintentional injury.
Unfortunately, Lord Bessmel was right when he’d said that word of the lesson—or demonstration—had spread. By the time Barrington arrived, the room was filled to overflowing with gentlemen of all ages, some carrying swords, some just there to observe. It was worse than he’d expected.
‘Ah, Parker,’ Lord Yew greeted him with a smile. ‘Good to see you. Quite the turnout, eh? I vow you draw a larger crowd than Prinnie.’
‘Perhaps because you put it about that this was to be a demonstration, rather than the private lesson we agreed to,’ Barrington said.
‘Really?’