“Annabelle,” came her mother’s voice from the doorway, as she carefully packed the boxes of new gloves into a valise, “I have a question, and you must answer it honestly.”

“I am always honest with you, Mama,” Annabelle replied, looking up from her task. Guilt swept over her as she beheld Philippa’s lovely, careworn face. Dear God, she was tired of Philippa’s guilt, and her own. She felt pity and despair for the sacrifice that her mother had made in sleeping with Lord Hodgeham. And yet, in the back of Annabelle’s mind, the unseemly thought occurred to her that if Philippa had chosen to do such a thing, why couldn’t she have at least set herself up properly as a real mistress instead of settling for the petty little wads of cash that Lord Hodgeham gave her?

“Where did those clothes come from?” Philippa asked, pale but earnest as she stared directly into Annabelle’s eyes.

Annabelle frowned. “I’ve already told you, Mama—they came from Lillian Bowman. Why are you staring at me like that?”

“Did these clothes come from a man? Perhaps from Mr. Hunt?”

Annabelle’s mouth fell open. “You’re actually asking if I…with him? Good Lord, Mama! Even if I had the inclination, I haven’t had the slightest opportunity. How in heaven’s name did you come up with such an idea?”

Her mother met her gaze without blinking. “You’ve mentioned Mr. Hunt quite often this season. Far more than any other gentlemen. And these gowns are obviously quite costly…”

“They are not from him,” Annabelle said firmly.

Philippa seemed to relax, but a question remained in her eyes. Unaccustomed to having anyone look at her with suspicion, Annabelle picked up a hat and set it at a smart angle over her forehead. “They’re not,” she repeated.

Simon Hunt’s mistress…Turning toward the looking glass, Annabelle saw an oddly frozen expression on her face. She supposed that her mother was right—she had mentioned Hunt quite often of late. There was something about him that made thoughts of him linger in Annabelle’s mind long after they had seen each other. No other man of her acquaintance possessed Hunt’s charismatic, wicked appeal, nor had any man ever been so openly interested in her. And now, in the last few weeks of a failed season, she found herself contemplating things that no decent young woman should ever think about. She knew that without much effort, she could become Hunt’s mistress, and all her troubles would be over. He was a wealthy man—he would give her whatever she wanted, pay her family’s debts, and provide her with beautiful clothes, jewels, her own carriage, her own house…all that in return for sleeping with him.

The thought sent a sharp quiver through her abdomen. She tried to imagine being in bed with Simon Hunt, what things he might demand of her, his hands on her body, his mouth—

Flushing deeply, she forced the image aside and toyed with the silk rose adornments on the corded band of her hat. If she became Simon Hunt’s mistress, he would own her completely, in bed and out of it, and the thought of being so completely at his mercy was appalling. A mocking voice in her head asked, “Is your honor so important to you? More important than your family’s welfare? Or even your own survival?”

“Yes,” Annabelle said under her breath, staring at her own pale, purposeful reflection. “Right now it is.” She couldn’t answer for later. But until every last hope was exhausted, she still had her self-respect…and she would fight to keep it.

CHAPTER 5

It was easy to see why the name of Hampshire was derived from the Old English word “hamm,” referring to a water meadow. The county was rich with such meadows, not to mention heath and lush woodland that had once been earmarked as royal hunting grounds. With its contrast of dramatic scarps and deep green vales, and rivers flush with trout, Hampshire offered activities for every sportsman. The earl of Westcliff’s estate, Stony Cross Park, was set like a jewel in a fertile river valley that scored gently through acres of forest. It seemed that there were always guests at Stony Cross Park, for Westcliff was an accomplished host as well as an avid hunter.

From all appearances, Lord Westcliff deserved his reputation of immaculate honor and high principles. He was not the sort to be involved in scandal, as he seemed to have little tolerance for the intrigues and slippery morality of London society. Instead, he spent much of his time in the country, shouldering his responsibilities and caring for his tenants. On occasion he traveled to London to further his business interests or involve himself in a political matter that demanded his attention.

It was on one of these trips that Annabelle had met the earl, when they had been introduced at a soiree. Although he was not classically handsome, Westcliff was not without attractions. He was only of medium height, but he possessed the powerful form of a seasoned sportsman and an air of unmistakable virility. All that, combined with an immense personal fortune and one of the oldest earldoms in the peerage, made him the most desirable matrimonial catch in England. Naturally, Annabelle had wasted no time in beginning a determined flirtation with him when they had first met. However, Westcliff was inured to such attentions from eager young women and had immediately labeled her as a husband hunter—which had stung, even though it had been the truth.

Ever since Annabelle had been rebuffed by Westcliff, she had made an effort to avoid him. She did happen to like his younger sister, Lady Olivia, a softhearted girl who was of an age with Annabelle and had been tainted by scandal in her past. And it was thanks to Lady Olivia’s kindness that Annabelle and Evie had been invited to this party. For the next three weeks, both the four-legged and the two-legged varieties of prey would be under siege at Stony Cross Park.