Chapter Four

Steady rhythmic breathing filled the spaces of Logan’s darkened chambers. Unmoving, Annabelle watched the steady rise and fall of Logan's chest as his closed eyes fluttered with dream. Pressing soft lips upon his cool forehead, she shook her head with a soft laugh. A cookie always solved the world’s problems for a boy Logan’s age, but, Annabelle’s smile withered. His problems were never meant to be experienced so young.

In the few words Logan shared, Annabelle gathered many things. Despite her prayers, Beatrice’s revelations had been sound and not that of unfounded gossip heard under the stairs. Sadly, Logan's mother had indeed been Lord Hamilton's mistress. Logan being but a boy knew not of this arrangement. He merely explained to Annabelle that while living with his mother, their home was in the country where Lord Hamilton would seldom visit. Annabelle was aware of the common practice for mistresses to live in the country. The fear of a wife coming into any contact with the mistress usually sent the mistresses 'to pasture’ in country homes.

Logan hardly spoke of Lord Hamilton, mentioning him only visiting during the spring but absent for most of the year. Further saddening Annabelle was watching Logan count on his small hands the number of times his father paid a visit. Annabelle angered knowing those visits were not being paid to Logan.  He was just a consequential part of the package. After his mother’s passing the prior summer, Logan spoke of seeing more of his father, though not much more.

Annabelle made sure to refrain from asking questions not warranted by their conversation, but there was one that she could not refuse. In earnest she had hoped the answer would ease the vile feelings she held for his lordship. But most importantly, it would have proved to her doubtful half that Nathaniel, the boy from her youth, remained somewhere in the man whose son she held.

Decidedly, Annabelle had asked, "And does he treat you well?” to which Logan shrugged and answered, "He doesn't talk to me much, only when I'm in trouble."

Gazing down at Logan, Annabelle wondered how any man, regardless of title could willingly spend countless months away from a beauty such as Logan. His ebony lashes nestled gently upon plump, rosy cheeks stained with the same freckles as his father...

His father.

Annabelle rose slowly from the bed, confusion accompanying her as she paced the room in dreamlike confusion. What had happened? Who was this man that employed mistresses who bore him children? Who was this Lord Hamilton, and where along the way did her Nathaniel get lost?

She shook her head, refusing to believe this. How could Nathaniel possibly be lost when she could still see him....could still feel him, needing him so much closer? Surrendering to the black of her closed eyes, Annabelle stretched longing fingers into the silvery moonlight. Tracing the open air, she imagined Nathaniel standing there before her, his smile casting away the void that plagued her for eleven years. Retracting her hands, Annabelle brought them gently to her own face, retracing the path Nathaniel’s fingers had once taken but would never again. Hollow truth tore at her, ripping the last bit of hope that remained.

Conceding to reality, Annabelle’s hands fell lifeless to her sides. She shivered as the last grains of truth settled in her veins like poison. Nathaniel was gone. Annabelle was gone. Only Lord Hamilton and maidservant Martha remained watching their house of promises burn into the night.

Annabelle gripped her robe for strength to keep from screaming, and fled from the room. She opened the door.

“Oh!” she gasped as a shadowy figure tumbled down on her. The weight of a frame much taller and heavier than hers, pinned her to the cold floor. Refusing to move, the strangers weight forbid her a proper breath with which to scream. The masculine figure groaned and gargled, and Annabelle could smell the singular scent of liquor seeping through his pores.

Struggling to pry herself from the falling figure, Annabelle wiggled and pushed. With one final breath, she rolled him off, sending the culprit tumbling to the floor with a hushed thump. Shocked, Annabelle rushed to her feet and attempted to run when the stranger’s hand grabbed at her ankle. Losing balance, the crimson rug cushioned her fall, but the collapse left her winded. Horrified, Annabelle turned to kick away her assailant. She went cold all over.

"Nathaniel!"  she gasped, but quickly covered her mouth for her fatal slip of words. Her eyes widened as he went to speak, but before the first word, his hand fell to the floor, his body quickly following.

**

Sitting for what seemed like hours, Annabelle stared at the father just as she had the son. Confusion swirled inside, as did painful bliss. There was no denying it. He was beautiful. Against all anger and despite the years of his absence, Annabelle still thought him brutally breathtaking. She would continue hating him in the morning, but for those few moments, she would forget his lordship and remember her love.

Braving her fear, Annabelle inched closer, bringing her face close to Nathaniel’s. Warm steady breaths tickled her lips. She didn't dare touch him, lest he wake up, but that did not mean she couldn't caress him with her gaze. For those long moments she could keep him to herself regarding him not as his lordship, but simply as Nathaniel.

Slowing her breaths and falling into his rhythm, Annabelle found heaven. Taking in every hair and every delicate line, a soft smile escaped her. How he hated his long black lashes when younger. Suppressing a laugh, she recalled her girlish comments on how precious and feminine they were all to cause a rouse. Such comments would leave them not speaking for days, but the silent moments they shared were Annabelle’s favorite. Not because she was free of him, but on the contrary. During those silent times, there would still be a knock at her window in the early morning calling her out. There would still be a Nathaniel Hawkins standing outside, ready to begin another day together. Though cross, they were together. Silent, but together.

Searching his face, her quiet laugh simmered to a longing sigh. “Where are you my love?” Annabelle whispered onto his lips.  Allowing herself one touch, Annabelle lifted one finger and brushed away one hair, one last time. Retracting her hand, she settled back onto her knees and back to the confusion.

Had he heard her call him by his name? Surely he did, but most importantly, would he remember? The sheer thought of it kept Annabelle sitting in wait. After long moments of sleeping stillness, Annabelle decided perhaps she too should attempt sleep. Of course it would be impossible to rest knowing what the following morning would bring. But she would try for the sole comfort of one last night of wishful dreaming. Yes, once morning dawned and Nathaniel remembered, there would be the devil to pay. She had that night however, that very night to dream away her present nightmare before beginning the treacherous journey to Hades coming that dawn.

Forcing her aching muscles to stand, Annabelle halted. She couldn't very well leave Lord Hamilton lying in the middle of Logan’s bed chamber. Goodness no! What if Logan woke first and found his father on the floor. He would be so scared. Annabelle decided she had to move Nathaniel. Problem was there was no way she could carry him all the way back to his bed chamber. Not only was he much heavier than any sack she'd ever been forced to carry, but if anyone saw her enter with or even worse, exit his bedchamber alone—she shuddered. It was settled. There was but one solution.

Annabelle clasped her hands around his chest and paced back, pulling Nathaniel towards the settee nearest the fire. If Logan woke, he would think his father simply fell asleep while sitting by the fire. As for Lord Hamilton, well he wouldn't even remember getting there in the first place.

Taking a moment, Annabelle wiped the sweat from her brow. Curse it all! Maybe she should leave him there. Eyeing the settee she reinforced her resolve. She was almost there. Inhaling deeply, Annabelle clasped her hands around his chest once more and continued her heaves and pull until finally, finally reaching the settee! Partially climbing on the narrow couch as leverage, Annabelle pulled until his limp body sat evenly on the settee. Lifting his feet, she laid him down.  

Breathless, Annabelle stood back admiring her hard work. She threw her head back with a hefty sigh—

Annabelle choked when her hand was taken from her. Startled, she lowered sights to see Lord Hamilton's blue eyes black with a lustful intensity. It was a look that should have sent her running...