Annabelle smiled wryly and snuggled back into the crook of his shoulder. “Then if Jeremy agrees…so will I.”

CHAPTER 25

Annabelle had not asked Simon how Bertha and Meredith Hunt had received the news of their additional traveling companions, and she had certainly not been eager to hear the answer. All that mattered was that Philippa would be far away from London and all reminders of Lord Hodgeham. Annabelle hoped that when her mother returned, she would be refreshed and at ease, and ready to make a new beginning. The trip might even hold some enjoyment for Jeremy, who was looking forward to seeing some of the foreign places he had learned about at school.

With less than a week before their departure, Annabelle threw herself into the project of packing for her mother and brother, trying to anticipate their needs for a six-week journey. Openly amused by the quantity of supplies that Annabelle had purchased for them, Simon remarked that one would think her family was forging through regions of unexplored wilderness rather than lodging in a succession of inns and pensiones.

“Foreign travel can be uncomfortable at times,” Annabelle replied, busily stuffing tins of tea and biscuits into a leather satchel. A stack of boxes and parcels towered beside their bed, where she was sorting various articles into organized piles. Among other things, she had collected compounds from the apothecary shop, a pair of down pillows and extra linens, a box of reading material, and a collection of packaged edibles. Holding up a glass jar of preserves, she examined it critically. “The food is different on the Continent—”

“Yes,” Simon said gravely. “Unlike ours, it’s been known to have flavor.”

“And the climate can be unseasonable.”

“Blue sky and sunshine? Oh, they’ll want to avoid that at all cost.”

She responded to his mockery with an arch glance. “Surely you must have better things to do, other than to watch me open boxes.”

“Not when you’re doing it in the bedroom.”

Straightening, Annabelle folded her arms across her chest and regarded him with flirtatious challenge. “I’m afraid you’ll have to control your baser urges, Mr. Hunt. Perhaps you hadn’t noticed, but the honeymoon has ended.”

“The honeymoon doesn’t end until I say so,” Simon informed her, reaching out to snatch her before she could evade him. He crushed her lips with a dominating kiss and tossed her onto the bed. “Which means there’s no hope for you.”

Giggling, Annabelle flailed in the tangle of her skirts until she found herself pinned on the mattress with his body lying over hers. “I have more packing to do,” she protested, as he settled between her thighs. “Simon—”

“Did I ever happen to mention that I can unfasten buttons with my teeth?”

A breathless laugh escaped her, and she squirmed as his head lowered to the front of her bodice. “That’s not a very practical skill, is it?”

“It’s useful in certain situations. Let me show you…”

Very little packing was done for the rest of the day.

Eventually, however, Annabelle found herself standing at the door of her family’s town house, watching as her mother and brother left in a carriage bound for Dover, where they would meet with the Hunts and cross to Calais.

Simon stood with her, his hand resting comfortingly on her back as the carriage rounded the corner and headed along the main thoroughfare. She waved forlornly after them, wondering how they would manage without her.

Drawing her into the house, Simon closed the door. “This is for the best,” he assured her.

“For them or for us?”

“For all parties concerned.” Smiling slightly, he turned her to face him. “I predict the next few weeks will pass quickly. And in the meantime you’re going to be very busy, Mrs. Hunt. To start with, this morning we’re going to meet with an architect about the house plans, then you’ll have to decide between two lots that our agent has found in Mayfair.”

Annabelle dropped her head on his chest. “Thank God. I’ve begun to despair of ever leaving the Rutledge. Not that I haven’t enjoyed it, mind you, but every woman wants a home of her own, and…” She paused as she felt him playing with her pinned-up hair. “Simon,” she warned, “don’t pull out my pins. It’s too much trouble to put my hair back up, and…” She sighed and frowned at him as she felt her coiffure loosening and heard the plink of crimped wire pins hitting the floor.

“I can’t help it.” His fingers worked greedily in her unraveling braid. “You have such beautiful hair.” He brought a handful of the slippery silk to his face and rubbed his cheek against it. “It’s so soft. And it smells like flowers. How do you make it smell this good?”

“Soap,” Annabelle replied dryly, hiding a smile against his chest. “Bowman’s soap, actually. Daisy gave some to me—their father sends cases from New York.”

“Mmmn. No wonder he’s a millionaire. Every woman should smell like this.” He strained her hair through his fingers and bent to nuzzle her throat. “Where else do you use it?” he whispered.

“I would invite you to find out,” she said, “but we’re going to meet with the architect, remember?”

“He can wait.”

“So can you,” Annabelle said severely, though a laugh was working upward in her throat. “Good Lord, Simon, it’s not as if you’ve been deprived. I’ve expended a great deal of effort to satisfy—”