"....but I fear
I have nothing to give
I have so much to lose here in this lonely place,
tangled up in our embrace
there's nothing I'd like better than to fall,
but I fear
I have nothing to give
We have so much to lose..."

Fear by Sarah McLachlan

Chapter Eight

Annabelle gasped and pressed a clammy palm against the tree. The softness in his words tortured each of her pores as if calling for her soul to abandon her body and fall at his feet. Mentally groaning, she forced herself to think, but in stealing a shy glance at Nathaniel's strong yet gentle masculinity, she realized it would be impossible to be around him. Not without losing all sense.

Between the thunderous beatings of her heart, she heard the faint whisper of her conscience finally awakening.

Run, it told her.

But how on earth could she possibly run when he was so close and reaching for her? She shut her eyes. He couldn't step closer. If he did, he she would be within reach and he would touch her. Annabelle shivered with a shameful need. One touch would be the end. One single whisper of a touch and she would not be able to run away again.

She needed to think. She weighed her options, and her stomach instantly clenched as the most obvious choice floated to the surface of her thoughts. Perhaps if she told him who she was, he would—

“Reject you,”  her conscience offered. Annabelle paused. Would he? No, maybe he would be surprised at first but then—then he would,

“Pity you.”'

She gulped. Maybe he would. But at least he would move away and she could regain some control over her body. The thought of him moving away made her ill. Biting her under lip, she lowered her face thinking of his feather light touch. Never would her body survive without feeling those hands again.

Too enthralled in the constant battle between her cowardly conscience and wanton body, Annabelle failed to see Nathaniel step closer.

He reached for her again. "Martha…"

She gasped, and holding a quivering hand between their bodies, she shifted back. “Please, don’t!” Could he not see how he stirred her? Could he not give her a minute to gather a reasonable thought?

Nathaniel blinked. He lowered his hand, and his brows gathered.  "Martha, unlike the vile creatures that inhabit this place, I have no intentions of harming you."

Her heart shattered. Is that what he thought? Goodness, never. If there was but one truth, Annabelle held it to be that whether it be Nathaniel or Lord Hamilton, he would never hurt her physically. On the contrary, the thought of him inflicting anything physical upon her only sent her mind racing to the prior night. Didn't the gentleness he displayed, all the while inebriated, not testify to this? The sheer thought of his firm hands delicately smoothing down her robe while feather soft kisses rained on her bare back sent cold shivers rippling through her. Her coat instantly offered no warmth.

Suddenly feeling naked, she adjusted her coat to cover what bare skin remained exposed. "That's not what I'm afraid of, my lord," she spoke softly.  Wrapping her arms around her body tightly, she walked around the hanging vines.

Silent, Nathaniel watched her with a blank face and mouth set in a hard, thin line. Praying that her erratic behavior hadn't sent the wheels in his head turning, Annabelle gazed over her shoulder and realized the wheels spun full steam. Her head shot back towards the forest as beads of sweat collected in her pores. Doubling her prayers, she shut her eyes tightly.

A sharp scoff pulled Annabelle from  thought. Turning, she found a flabbergasted Nathaniel scowling.

"Is that what you think?" he asked almost pained.

Annabelle paused. What was he thinking? Echoing her thoughts, she asked "W-what are you..."she began, but his cold eyes berated her, stealing all words.

"You don't think I'm, I'm hoping to seduce you?"

“No, no, I—"

"Let me clarify something, girl," he cut her off bitterly. "Do not mistake my manners for anything but. The only reason I came out here was to make sure you were still well enough to watch over my only son. I am sure in your position you encounter many men of status who have less than noble intentions, and perhaps you expect the same of me. But let me assure you that I'd rather be caught dead before tarnishing my name for a meaningless toss with a simple servant. I have mistresses for that Martha. Women of beauty, class—experience. I am not in need of you. I'm almost appalled you'd think me to be so. What I did for you I would do for anyone. Do not mistake my intentions."

The world stopped. It was worse, much worse than she could have ever imagined.

Annabelle begged for anger to possess her. Maybe the anger could tame the pain, but her conscience triumphed over both as it reminded her of how stupid she had been. Stumbling back, eleven years of foolishness crashed down on her frail shoulders.

"That's not…" she began, but her voice failed her. Holding his gaze, the essence of his words seared her: I am not in need of you.

Holding her breath, Annabelle decided that Martha could withstand his rejection. She could stand his disgust, his hurtful words, and his broken promise. Had she not lived the past eleven years in vain wait? Yes, Martha could endure the rejection. But Annabelle... Annabelle would die.

It was then settled: He would never know and couldn't ever know who she really was lest she lose her life entirely.

Hauling in a shallow breath, Annabelle resumed, "That's not what I meant either, but thank you for clarifying, my lord. God knows that my being such a simple maidservant rendered me brainless as well.”

Nathaniel's eyes narrowed. "What did you just say?"

Clutching her hands tightly she opened her mouth, ready to toss the rest of their relationship to Hades when—

"Martha, look, another one!" Logan halted her approaching rant, holding up another frog.

"Logan," Nathaniel growled. "Would you release that dreaded thing already!".

Logan stiffened, his small hands tucking into his chest as if wanting to disappear. He sat and released the plump amphibian while tears moistened his cheeks.

Clenching her fists, Annabelle cursed inwardly, fighting to hold her tongue and promising not to utter another word—

"Oh, would you let him be," she exploded, pounding an imaginary gavel. "Since when did you become such a brute?"

Hearing the words come from her mouth, Annabelle paled, her hand quickly flying to her mouth. She turned, closing her eyes in desperate pleading. She'd surely done herself in! How would she explain her knowing him being otherwise?

"Brute?" he echoed. A wave of relief flushed through Annabelle as a slight smirk threatened her lips. Of all things 'Lord Hamilton' decided to keep of Nathaniel, his blinding temper was one of them.

He continued, his voice coming out as a hard whisper. "If I am a brute then you're nothing but a senseless maid with a loose mouth. A loose mouth that would undoubtedly save you loads of trouble if you learned to tame it. Brute," he repeated bitterly. "You dare call me a brute after I saved you from a thrashing. How about a simple thank you?"

Beside herself, Annabelle didn't answer. Her mouth wound in search of suitable words until he cut her off.

"Right, now that you're forced to say something sensible, you're speechless. Let me save you the trouble: You're welcome!"

"Thank you? You—you wretched man! Had it not been for you and your loose mouth, Mrs. Melbourne never would have known we'd met. So no, I don't owe you a thing, but what do I know? I'm nothing but—what was it you said again? Oh, right, I'm nothing but a stupid maid! "

Crossing his arms over his chest, he stood firm, though the look in his eyes shifted from shock to a surprising amusement.

Annabelle blinked, the teasing smirk in his eyes leaving her puzzled. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

He didn't answer, though the look remained. Irritably, she turned towards the golden forest unable to stand the stare. Not because it confused her, but because it was purely intoxicating.

Nathaniel cleared his throat. "Because," his voice softened again, tinged with a gentle smile, "and perhaps due to sheer desperation as she wouldn't ever be found in this horrid place as a maidservant of all things, but, you remind me of someone I knew long ago."

Suddenly footsteps crunched leaves underfoot. He  was getting closer. Glancing over her shoulder briefly, Annabelle saw him approach. Her heart boomed, drowning out her already faulty conscience whose last audible words were once again Run…

Stepping behind her, Nathaniel in leaned closer, and the scent of sandalwood and pine entranced her.

"But also because aside from having a loose mouth," he said, his warm breath tickling her ear, "you also have terrible hearing. I never said you were a stupid maid. I distinctly remember saying senseless maid."

Annabelle gasped and spun to him. "You beast of a man!"

Her dainty fist rose with all intentions of pushing him away, but Nathaniel grabbed her wrist with ease. She lifted her other fist, but he took hold of that as well, until her wrists lay pinned on his chest. Though he held her firmly, his touch was as gentle and cold as the passing breeze. Warmth overtook Annabelle’s stomach and pulsed to all parts of her body, leaving her desperate for air…and for him.

Gazing up, she found gentle eyes looking down at her. Rogue black strands tickled his lashes, accentuating the blue topaz that burned down into her eyes. How would she ever survive?

Never, without him.

Fishing for words, Annabelle went to speak when a whipping wind tore her already loosened bun from its binds, sending lifeless curls whipping all around them. Strand after strand whipped around Nathaniel's face, reeling a shocking awareness to his eyes. Though looking at her, his mind was far away as if each strand reeled in a distant memory.

He loosened his grip on her hands and shook his head. Parting his lips to speak, his mouth closed once more. Annabelle squeezed her thin fingers into his chest as she pierced his distant eyes with pleading eyes of her own. Was he remembering? Could it be?

Stiffening under her fingertips, he opened his mouth to speak when an arched voice pulled him from his trance.

"Martha!" Madeline shrieked. "What on earth?”

Hauling in a breath, Annabelle dropped her hands and moved away from Nathaniel. She turned and found a seething Madeline right behind her.

Madeline's masculine brow arched, further accentuating her seedy black eyes and hunched nose, "You useless wench! How dare you!" She raised a palm determinedly, but before it lowered, Nathaniel grabbed the dainty gloved hand with lightning speed.

Annabelle gasped, as did a shocked Madeline.

Forcing her hand down with a gentlemanly ease, he stepped from behind Annabelle. "Miss Madeline," he spoke slowly but firmly, "I believe you are mistaken.” He released her wrist. "Martha lost her balance, and I caught her."

Annabelle's blood went cold. Fighting the shock from claiming her face, she lowered her head. What on earth was he doing? Surely he sought to keep her from getting in more trouble maybe even thinking she would get fired. Though Annabelle knew that wouldn't ever happen she couldn't help but wonder why he cared.

Madeline giggled uncomfortably, massaging her newly freed wrist. "Oh bless your noble heart, but women of her sort use all kinds of tricks to suggest themselves. No need to defend her, I could clearly see her insinuating herself."

Her gaze sharpened at Annabelle. "And Mother will hear of this."

Annabelle could care less. All she could see was Nathaniel's rigid figure before her, protecting her, again. Her mind swirled into a paralyzing confusion.

Madeline turned to Nathaniel. "Please, my lord," she batted her lashes, "Father is waiting for you by the stables. Allow me to walk with you lest another wanton maid corner you,”  she said tightly, looping her arm around his.

Stealing a glance, Annabelle found a perturbed Nathaniel stiffen upon feeling Madeline's touch, his jaw clenching. Briefly locking eyes, he offered her an apologetic glance, and with a weak nod allowed Madeline to pull him away.