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“Mr. Hunt, you sound like the villain in a very bad play.” That elicited another grin, and he bowed with sardonic politeness before striding away.
She wondered if all American girls possessed such a plenitude of spirit . . . no doubt the Bowmans would terrify any proper British gentleman who dared to approach them.
All he knew was that sight of Annabelle in the glittering light of the chandeliers was very nearly knee-weakening.
“I mean that I will afflict the most acute kind of pain, mental, physical, and financial, on the first man who dares to trespass on my territory. And the next person who repeats any unsubstantiated rumors about Miss Peyton in my hearing will find it shoved right back in his throat—along with my fist.” Simon’s smile contained a tigerish menace as he beheld Burdick’s stunned face. “Tell that to anyone who may find it of interest,” he advised, and strode away from the pompous, gape-jawed little runt.
“Have you ever considered making at least a pretense of humility, Mr. Hunt? Just for the sake of politeness?” “I don’t believe in false modesty.” “People might like you more if you did.” “Would you?”
“Then they should take up needlework, or do whatever it is that proper women do to enjoy themselves,” the earl growled. “At least they should find a hobby that doesn’t involve running naked through the countryside.” “They weren’t naked,” Simon pointed out. “Much to my regret.”
“As you know, I’m not usually one to give advice when it isn’t asked for—” Simon interrupted with a bark of laughter. “Westcliff, I doubt that a day in your life has passed without you giving advice to someone about something.”
“Westcliff,” Simon asked conversationally, “does it ever occur to you that you might occasionally be wrong? About anything?” The earl looked perplexed by the question. “Actually, no.”
I’m hardly going to seduce you while you’re obviously too weak to defend yourself.” “That’s very gentlemanly of you.” “I’ll seduce you when you’re feeling better.”
“But marry me anyway, Annabelle. As I see things, it would solve most of your problems . . . and more than a few of mine.” His big hand slid gently down her spine, calming her tremors. “Let me spoil you,” he whispered. “Let me take care of you. You’ve never had anyone to lean on, have you? I’ve got strong shoulders, Annabelle.” A deep laugh rumbled in his chest. “And I may possibly be the only man of your acquaintance who’ll be able to afford you.”
“The food is different on the Continent—” “Yes,” Simon said gravely. “Unlike ours, it’s been known to have flavor.”
“Kiss me again.” “No, I’ll hurt you. I’m leaning on your leg.” “That’s not my leg,” came his roguish reply, making her laugh. “You perverse man.”
