Secrets of a Summer Night (Wallflowers, #1)

by Lisa Kleypas

those who choose to be masters of their own fate and those who wait in chairs while others dance.

The passionate interest being shown to a man of Kendall’s timid demeanor proved that there was no aphrodisiac more effective than end-of-season bachelorhood.

“We’re hideously rich, Annabelle—and we have three older brothers, all unmarried. If you like, I’ll have one shipped across the Atlantic for your inspection.”

“Perhaps he’s waiting to meet someone. If so, it would hardly do Annabelle any good to go dashing up to him like a bitch in heat.”

“Oh, I don’t have regrets, either.” A wicked glint appeared in his dark eyes. “Not for the lack of trying, of course. I keep doing unspeakable things in the hopes that I’ll be sorry for them later. But so far . . . nothing.”

“How sweet,” Annabelle mumbled sickly, her eyes closed. “Every woman dreams of being told that she’s preferable to a dead cow.”

She had always thought of him as somewhat piratical, and now seeing him in his shirtsleeves with a knife in hand, the image was strongly reinforced.

Only Simon Hunt could manage to give her something so pragmatic and yet so inappropriately personal.

“I’ll have you know that my offer was made in a spirit of purest altruism. I would had taken no illicit pleasure at the sight of your exposed leg. Well, perhaps a small thrill, but I would have concealed it fairly well.”

“It’s been said that you can never really know someone until you play chess with him.”

“The truth is, you can never really know a man until you’ve loaned him money.”

“I’m not going to become your mistress.” Simon’s eyes narrowed. “If you can stand to be Hodgeham’s mistress, God knows you can stand to become mine. Don’t claim you’re not attracted to me—we both know you’d be lying. Name any sum, Annabelle. Do you want a house of your own? Done. A carriage and matched team? A yacht? Done. Tell me your price—I’m tired of waiting for you.”

“For God’s sake,” Westcliff muttered, “let’s save this for amateur theatrical night, shall we? If you’re so bloody bent on having her, Hunt, then you may as well spare us all any further exhibitions. I’ll gladly bear witness from here to London about your fiancée’s besmirched honor, if only to have some peace around here.

“I’ve never heard of a man being so eager to confess to the parent of a girl he’s just ruined,” he said sourly.

The fact that Westcliff was completely indifferent to her younger daughter, and actively disdainful of the elder, was a minor hindrance that Mrs. Bowman was certain could be overcome.

Letting the cravat hang on either side of his neck, Annabelle smiled at the compliment. She jumped a little in her seat as she felt his hand close around hers. His mouth curved slightly as he gave her a quizzical glance. “You’re nervous?” Annabelle nodded, her fingers unresisting in his as he held and chafed them gently. Simon spoke quietly, seeming to choose his words with unusual care. “Sweetheart . . . I assume that your experiences with Lord Hodgeham were not pleasant. But I hope you’ll trust me when I say that it doesn’t have to be like that. Whatever your fears are—” “Simon,” she interrupted with an apprehensive croak, and cleared her throat. “That is very kind of you. A-And the fact that you are prepared to be so understanding about it . . . well . . . I appreciate that. But . . . I’m afraid I wasn’t entirely forthcoming about my relationship with Hodgeham.” Seeing his sudden curious stillness, and the way his expression had been wiped clean of emotion, Annabelle took a deep, steadying breath. “The truth is, Hodgeham did indeed come to our house some evenings, and he did pay some of our bills in return for . . . for . . .” Pausing, she felt her throat contract until it was hard to force the words through. “But . . . I wasn’t actually the one that he was visiting.”

“How do you know so many people?” Annabelle had asked Simon in bewilderment, when he was hailed by several strangers at the first party they attended. Simon had laughed and gently mocked that one would think that she had never realized that there was a world outside of the British peerage. And the truth was, she hadn’t. She had never thought to look outside the narrow confines of that rarefied society until now.

“Heaven forbid that we should spend an evening with people who are not exactly the same as ourselves. We might learn something. Or worse, we might even enjoy it . . . oh, the shame!”

They say that Westcliff’s title is the oldest one in England. Blood doesn’t get any bluer than his.” “And well he knows it,” Lillian said sourly.

Pasting a thin smile on her face, she spent the rest of the evening thinking what a pity it was that a wife could not choose her husband’s friends for him.

“I realized something,” she said huskily, “when I was standing outside the foundry, watching it burn and knowing you were inside.” She swallowed hard against the thickness in her throat. “I would rather have died in your arms, Simon, than face a lifetime without you. All those endless years . . . all those winters, summers . . . a hundred seasons of wanting you and never having you. Growing old, while you stayed eternally young in my memories.” She bit her lip and shook her head, while her eyes flooded. “I was wrong when I told you that I didn’t know where I belonged. I do. With you, Simon. Nothing matters except being with you. You’re stuck with me forever, and I’ll never listen when you tell me to go.” She managed a tremulous smile. “So you may as well stop complaining and resign yourself to it.”

“My God, I can’t stand this! I can’t let you go out every day, fearing every minute that something might happen to you, knowing that every ounce of sanity I’ve got left is hinged on your well-being. I can’t feel this way . . . it’s too strong . . . oh, hell. I’ll turn into a raving lunatic. I’ll never be of use to anyone again. If I could just reduce it somehow . . . love you only half this much . . . I might be able to live with it.”

“I love you, dammit.” She brushed her lips teasingly against his. “How much?” He made a slight sound, as if the soft kiss had affected him intensely. “Without limit. Beyond forever.”