Chapter Fourteen

Fluttering her eyes open, Annabelle was greatly confused.  Comforting warmth and softness enveloped her, as did the singular soothing sound of crackling fire.  Wriggling her toes, she snuggled further into the bed that molded her sore body, knowing one thing with absolute certainty; she was not in her own bed chamber. Her own were much darker and swamped by a bitter dampness. And heavens, the bed. Burrowing further into the cloud she lay on, Annabelle clearly remembered the bag of rocks her old mattress exemplified as it offended her body each and every night.

Drawing in a slow breath, the fresh scent of lavender filled her nose. Turning toward the soothing smell, a lovely arrangement of lavender and hydrangeas adorned the side table which ushered in added detail; she was not at Melbourne House.  Mrs. Melbourne wouldn't ever permit fresh flowers be spent on the likes of a servant, especially not Annabelle. But that being the obvious case, where in heavens was she? The last she could remember was-

Lord! Her breathing hitched. Shrouded memories floated about her head, some of dark carriages and cliff sides and-and running through the woods in the dark and...Nathaniel, Yes! Nathaniel had saved her from Lockley...Hadn't he?  Perhaps it had all been a dream? Yes, because if indeed all her recollections were of a sound mind, then that meant that Lockley was dead. Moreover, it also determined Nathaniel knew fully well who she truly was...

Annabelle groaned, irritably closing her eyes once more; all the questions being entirely too much on such a weary mind. There were other details to be sorted first, most importantly being, where on bloody earth was she?

Supporting her weary frame on one elbow, Annabelle attempted sitting up.  A sharp piercing pain stabbed her side, thrusting her back upon the bed, a loud cry penetrating the stillness.

 The door opened-

"Miss!" an exasperated voice shrieked, "Are you mad?!"

Gripping the bed linens in excruciating pain, Annabelle closed her eyes waiting for the paralyzing pain to subside. Little by little it diminished until but a blistering tenderness remained pulsing under her right breast. Surfacing once more, she noted an unfamiliar flushed face fussing above her.

"You mustn't move in your condition miss!" the older woman with bulging brown eyes reprimanded. Lifting the tussled blankets back over Annabelle, she adjusted the pillows beneath her head to encourage a more lifted position, "Doctor says you mustn't be allowed to move till he's had a proper look at you-"

Annabelle inwardly sighed, not having any disputes with the Doctor's orders. Her last attempt at sitting left her head whirling in the foulest of ways, an accompanying nausea looming near.

The strange gray haired woman continued, "Wish to get me dismissed do you? It was clearly stated you were to want for nothing."

"Clearly stated?" Annabelle echoed confused, her spinning head finally finding center, "Stated by whom? And where am I? And-and who are you? And what happened--" the abundance of questions leaving her winded.

"Now, now dear," the maid shook a frail hand in the air dismissively, "you'll tire yourself before you've even given a proper breath." Walking around the bed, she poured Annabelle a glass of water from the pitcher beside the lavender vase, "My name is Clara," she smiled kindly, "and I've been your nurse for the past two weeks."

Bloody hell, two weeks?! Annabelle's eyes widened but before voicing her shock, Clara shook her head solemnly and continued, "Dreaded condition you were in. Bruises and gashes everywhere," she shuddered "Oh the horrors you must have suffered you poor child. But no harm will befall you again." She smiled compassionately, patting Annabelle's crossed hands, "You're quite safe here." 

Here, right. But where exactly was 'here'? Taking a much needed sip, Annabelle handed a waiting Clara her glass, "It is a pleasure to meet you Miss Clara and I am very much grateful for the care you've granted me and I must beg your pardon in my persistence in asking once more, where am I?"

Clara, who after depositing Annabelle's glass at the side table, nervously fussed about the room concealing evidence of leisurely knitting, turned, "You're in Hamilton Hall of course. Greatest house in all London if I say so myself."

What? Hamilton Hall?! No, it couldn't be--

"Lord Hamilton brought you here just last week after you were well enough to travel," she drew the barely open velvet curtains a tad bit wider, singular rays breaking into the room, "Kind hearted man his lordship is. Not an evening passes in which he doesn't sit with you, right there in that chair," she motioned to a high backed chair just beside the bed, "Sits with you each morning as well. Surely he'd take his afternoon tea here if not for the constant demands on his time."

Annabelle could hardly breathe. Nathaniel brought her to his home and sat with her each morning and evening? No. Clara must be mistaken. Surely he only sat with her in wait for when she woke, he could properly kill her for losing sight of Logan. As the fog within her mind cleared more, Annabelle instantly recalled the tragedy surrounding Logan. Goodness, was he all right? Readily prepared to ask the question, the door burst open-

"Martha!"

The world stopped entirely.  A vibrant and very much alive Logan burst into the room, practically jumping from the door and into Annabelle's arms. His crushing speed against Annabelle's sore ribs left her gasping painfully but the flooding relief at seeing him alive and well countered all hurt.

Despite her best efforts to speak, Annabelle found herself in instant blubbering sobs.  Holding the boy close and inhaling his sweet scent, she struggled to speak through tears, "Oh my dear Logan," she pressed him closer. Clara moved quickly toward the bed intending on removing Logan but Annabelle held a palm in strict forbiddance. No one would ever pull him from her again. Lowering the hand back to Logan's head, she smoothed down his hair, granting kisses to his mane now dampened by her tears.

Logan pulled back, his bright blue bemused, "Martha, why do you cry? Are you not happy to see me?"

Her heart quivered, "Oh my love, on the contrary. These tears are because I am so utterly overcome with joy."  God, how she missed him. Struggling to recover, she pressed him back to her chest, every inch of her bursting with life at seeing him, touching him, smelling him. If blood were cast aside and it was all based on the love she already felt for the small child, Annabelle was sure he would be considered her own son under heaven, before God. Indeed, she already considered him fully hers.

"Logan," Clara whispered harshly, stealing  nervous glances at the closed door, "If your father hears of you bursting in here-"

The door opened-

Lord in heaven.

"Logan, what did I-"Nathaniel started gruffly when his blue eyes instantly met with the shocked gaze of an unmoving Annabelle.

Logan instantly withdrew from her hold and ran to his father, "Father! It's Martha! She is all well!" Logan took hold of Nathaniel's hand, pulling him toward the bed. Utterly frozen, Annabelle watched in a painful mixture of awe and longing as Nathaniel allowed himself to be drawn by the tugs of a sweet five year old, until towering beside her. All the while, Annabelle still debated if it was all real.

Then, Nathaniel spoke, "Good morning, Annabelle."

Christ. It was real and he knew!  But that being so, why was he not livid? Why was he not opening the nearest window in preparation to thrust her from it for having lost his son who though now alive, at one point was far from? And most of all, knowing who she was and what she'd done and most regrettably who she'd become, why did he still look at her with such wonder and enchantment and...could it possibly be-joy? No. Surely they were the concoctions of a clouded mind and tear blurred eyes, Annabelle settled. Still, she was completely bewitched.

"Nathan." The name escaped her lips like a soft whisper. Lord, how could he possibly be any more devastatingly beautiful? The dark vest he wore shamelessly intensified his eyes to the point where Annabelle considered falling into them a realistic possibility.  His disheveled hair tickled his cravat-less collar adding to his imperfect perfectibility.  But in noting his obvious flawlessness, Annabelle couldn't endure thinking of her own appearance which undeniably comprised of ravaged hair, paled and bruised skin and what on earth was she wearing?  Only owning a handful of tattered sleep dresses, Annabelle refused to glance down.  No salt was needed on an already wounded self-esteem.

Clara's voice echoed into hearing, "Nathan? No, no dear. This is the master of the house.  His lordship, Lord Hamilton. "

Locking gazes for what seemed like an eternity, Nathaniel smiled softly, his eyes never leaving Annabelle's, "Do not trouble yourself Clara." He spoke quietly, "Miss Annabelle and I are long acquainted."

Baffled, Logan curiously glanced at his father, then at Annabelle, then back at Nathaniel, "But I thought her name was Martha."

Nathaniel sighed, "While I am sure Miss Annabelle will explain the confusion, I am afraid the mystery must remain for a bit longer as she must rest now."

Disregarding his father's words, Logan leapt from Nathaniel's side, once again jumping into Annabelle's unprepared arms. A cry of pain escaped her as the sharp pain impaled her.

Nathaniel reached for him, "Logan!"

"No, no.  Leave him," Annabelle readily replied through shallow breaths.

Ignoring her plea, Nathaniel reached for Logan who had instantly curled comfortably in Annabelle's arms, "Nonsense my love, you're hurt," he lifted a reluctant Logan into his arms. Annabelle's chest caved within her. God, not only was he impossibly beautiful, but he'd called her love. His love.

Seeming not to have noticed his tender word, Nathaniel's eternal blue eyes danced with joy and uncertainty as he regarded Logan, "I know you're thrilled to see her awake, as I too am,"

Aware of the rapid blush overtaking her face, Annabelle lowered her head as he continued, "But we must allow her to rest so she can properly recover. "

Crossly, Logan freely protested "But she's slept for two bloody weeks-"

Miss Clara gasped and in meeting Nathaniel's widened eyes at his son's outburst, Annabelle burst into painful giggles. Raising a brow, Nathaniel grinned and with a slight embarrassed shrug looked away as his own flush spread.  "I can assure you his manners are normally far better than this." A bashful grin tingeing his words.

Annabelle remained silent, letting an uncomfortable silence settle between them. What on earth was happening? Was he not supposed to hate her? Yet, he stood beside her bed as charming as could possibly be. Noting Clara's perplexed stare, Annabelle gathered that in addition to Nathaniel's tender tone and constant use of her Christian name, his gentle demeanor was most unusual.

"Clara," Nathaniel startled the confused woman, "Would you please take Logan to the nursery. His governess should be arriving at any moment."

Annabelle's breathing hitched. If Clara were to take Logan to the nursery then that would mean...

"My lord," Clara arched a questioning brow, "Surely you don't mean for me to leave you alone with the young miss? Not only is she weakened but--"

Nathaniel scoffed, "Dear God woman! Do I look the type of man to prey on innocent souls, especially that of a girl having experienced as much as she? Save your offenses for another for I can assure you I've no ill intent."

"Forgive me my lord, I meant no offense," Clara expanded, "But, and not that it is at all of my concern, I speak in regard of the young miss' reputation and yours.  Won't it be considered immensely improper for you to remain alone with her not suitably dressed? The tattle it will undoubtedly produce. They will think her a wanton and you a rake-" Clara shook her head, her blaring disapproval obvious.

To Annabelle, her reputation meant little but for someone of Nathaniel status, Annabelle acknowledged its vast influence. It being immensely clear to her that whether he cared or not about the slithering gossip, her presence in his home was wholly inappropriate as it was scandalous. Perhaps, for his best interest and for the sake of her broken heart, she should find alternate arrangements. After all, nothing had changed. Yes, he had rescued her from Lockley's devilish hands but that meant little to his true affections. The one's he openly voiced that dreaded day in the gardens,

'I am not in need of you'

Perhaps he was, though not for reasons of the heart. Of necessity, yes. The most he would need her for would be to care for Logan which sadly, Annabelle inwardly confessed, regardless of her broken soul she would accept instantly...Or would she? Was there not also the issue of his mother?

'If you dare weasel your way into my son's life I guarantee I will make it so he hates you with a passion that will send you to your death '

Damned woman. Had she not indeed tried...and almost succeeded? Christ, what to do? While Nathaniel deserved to know about the treacherous woman he called mother, her conscience whispered an added thought,

It is your word, against that of his very mother

Indeed it was. As it stood, they were mere strangers regardless of their past. She was but a woman, who lied about her name, allowed herself to be nearly seduced then lost sight of his only son whom nearly perished. Now she was to dare and accuse his mother of attempted murder and conspiracy with no proof but the words of her mouth? No. Perhaps his mother had been right. He wouldn't ever believe her. And perhaps alternate living arrangements proved best.

Seeming to sense her inner turmoil, Nathaniel raised a knowing brow, "Don't even consider it Ann. You're mad if for one moment you think I'll let you from my sights again." He said sternly but with a passion that left her gasping inwardly.

Regarding Clara, he replied with a careful rigidness, "While I am sure my father did not mind your meddling, I in fact find it increasingly disturbing. With that said, whether or not these old, unsatisfied, so called dignified women decide to tattle is of little importance to me. Whoever has any questions regarding who I choose to keep in private company can take it up with me to which I will then damn them to hell. Now, please take Logan to the nursery and spare my anger." Nathaniel snipped, opening the door with a controlled calm.

Quickly curtsying, Clara took hold of Logan's hand and ushered him reluctantly from the room.

The door then closed with a controlled click and Annabelle felt her world wobble to a stop.

**

Left alone with Annabelle, Nathaniel could hardly breathe, a deafening quiet roaring between them. Unable to free his hand from the door knob, he cursed. Christ. Certainly it wasn't the first time he was alone with a woman in a chamber. But, to his defense, it was his first time alone with her, sobered and conscious. He squeezed the knob tighter, his white knuckles a testament to his waning control. If his hand dared leave the door, controlling it would be harder than taming the seas. On their own volition they would reach for her, caress her, admire every space of her glorious body. He gripped the knob tighter. Damn you body!

But heavens, he couldn't face the door forever. A trembling sigh from behind him reminded him of such. But what to do with his bloody hands....

Smoothing down his coat to keep them otherwise occupied, Nathaniel stiffly turned and his soul shattered.

Looking utterly vulnerable and lost, Annabelle sat with a lowered head, hands clasped tightly on her blanketed lap. Rogues of sunlight cast all around her, yet she remained darkened by the shadows in between their spaces. Nathaniel's stomach clenched at the sight.  What little remained of his little Annabelle, the auburn curly haired girl with shining eyes and flushed face. That was not the Annabelle he expected. He shook his head solemnly. What terrors had she endured to leave her in such a state? Anger increased within him, instantly remembering her on the floor, at the mercy of Mrs. Melbourne.  How many times had Mrs. Melbourne struck her? And Madeline, kicked her? How many nights had she lain, alone crying as she did that day under the willow tree?

His heart clenched as he lowered his head, the sight entirely too much to bear; anger, guilt and a storming need to comfort her overwhelming all his senses.

Cupping his mouth in painful frustrations, he remained planted at the door. What could he possibly say? What possible words under heaven were the suitable first words to tell the girl-the woman that haunted his dreams each night? The woman he loved to the point of a blind obsession? But also the woman of which he was too blind, too proud to realize had been standing before him for days, yet he never once recognized her, unwittingly refusing to look beyond status? His throat swelled.  There was nothing he could say. He shouldn't be allowed to say anything. His punishment should consist of sitting before her, close enough to smell her yet forbidden to touch her. His soul pained at the thought. Even death would be gentler.

He stepped from the door only to notice her flinch, her hands releasing one another and clenching the bed linens tightly in their stead; knuckles white from pure terror. Christ, he needed to calm her, to reassure her, but how on earth was he to do that when he still could not trust his hands. Last thing she needed was his self-control failing and him rushing beside her, pulling her to him like a blubbering idiot.

Gazing about the room, a lidded bowl sat atop a silver tray. Of course! After having slept for so long, surely she must be starved. In two short strides, Nathaniel reached her bedside, refusing to look at her for sheer lack of willpower. Unlidding the bowl of untouched broth, he cleared his throat, "Perhaps-"he gulped," Perhaps you are a bit hungry." He spoke awfully harsh.

Was that not supposed to be a question?

Dammit! Squeezing his eyes, Nathaniel went to rephrase the question, when-

"No thank you...my lord." She said so softly he could have mistaken it for a thought. Looking to her, she didn't meet his eyes, rather looked to her hands tightly grasping the blanket.

He nodded. What then?

Just about to lose the last of his resolve, Nathaniel's conscience, which under normal circumstance only served to reprimand and scold, whispered a reasonable offer,

Light.

Precisely! All be damned if she would ever again find herself sitting in shadows. Striding to the windows, Nathaniel pulled the curtains aside, an ocean of light flooding the room. Startled by the light, Annabelle lifted her eyes, Nathaniel finding them instantly as the golden hue saturated her delicate skin, taking his breath away.  He couldn't deny it. Though she was not the Annabelle he expected, he loved her more than his very existence.

"Better?" his softer tone permeating the silence, allowing a soft smile to his lips. Trailing his eyes over her, he saw her fingers release the linens from its deathly grip. Thank God.

Lowering her eyes once more, she nodded, "Yes. Thank you, my lord."

My lord? No. All else regarded him as that, but not her. That would have to change instantly. Uprooting himself from the window, he walked to her bedside but noticed her take instant hold of the linens once more.

Sighing, he pulled a chair to her bedside and in sitting, his heart took instant control of the matter, "I hate this." He confessed.  Annabelle's eyes instantly lifted in alarming confusion.

Her lips parted but Nathaniel promptly spoke, "I hate what we've become, and that time has rendered us mere strangers despite our past-despite our promise. I despise that we're both obviously bound by secrets bigger than ourselves, yet can't even talk to one another, let alone confide in each other. Christ Annie," he paused. Unable to control his hands any longer, he reached for her.  Though her breathing hitched upon his contact, she did not move away, much to Nathaniel's relief.

Running a finger lightly along the course of her jaw, his body shivered as the awareness of her nearness burned in his veins.  God, it was real. She was really there, under his fingertips...finally. Inhaling through the suffocating knot in his throat, Nathaniel stroked her cheek again, watching in painful awe as her eyes closed gently, a soft trembling sigh escaping her lips. Watching his fingers journey towards the lips he dreamt of kissing a thousand nights, a warmth trickled his finger. Forcing his eyes from her mouth, a slow moving tear journeyed down her delicate face.

Abandoning the chair and throwing proprieties to hell, Nathaniel shifted quickly to the edge of the bed, "Please don't cry," his voice barely a whisper. Cupping her face in his hands, he rejected wiping the falling tears, instead moistening his lips as he kissed them away softly while murmuring apologies and confessions of stupidity and of love against her skin. Slowly, her silent sobs ceased, leaving behind only glistening cheeks.

Staring at her for a moment, Nathaniel continued, "Most of all, I detest that where once I was able to know exactly what you thought, I now find myself at a loss, unknowing whether you cry because my touch frightens you, or because, "he paused painfully, "or because in the essence of which I loathe what we've become, you in turn despise me." Allowing himself one last stroke of her skin, Nathaniel dropped his hands lifeless onto his lap, his own words scorching him.  Lowering his head, his breaths were instantly stolen as a cool, shaking hand whispered past his cheek. Lifting his sight, frightened and unsure green eyes met his, swirling with uncertainty,

"I am not frightened of you." Her voice wobbled, eyes sparkling with fresh tears.

Everything within him tightened, "But you hate me."   Though praying she didn't, Nathaniel almost wished she did because there was no force on earth, aside from her sheer hatred that could keep him from her lips. Drawing closer, his hand lifted, welcoming itself to the back of her neck, "Tell me you hate me Annabelle."

She shook her head softly, "Never."

Dear God.  Reining in the last of his self-will, he voiced the question that threatened to kill him,

"Do you still," he hesitated, unable to utter the next words but also realizing how much closer he had drawn. Close enough where her breaths lightly stroked his skin.

Bracing the answer, he asked, "Do you still love me?"  

Hearing the words leave him, Nathaniel admitted that whether or not she loved him still, it no longer mattered. He would love her all the same. She could grow to love him. Hell, and even if she didn't, he held enough love to carry them both!

In wait of the answer, his hands traveled from her neck, down her back, gently bringing her closer. Trembling in expectancy of her answer, Nathaniel focused on her mouth. Not because of how desperately he wished to kiss her, but because his heart thundered so bloody loud, it rendered all words inaudible.

Her breath suddenly warmed his lips, "Always."

Disarmed, Nathaniel closed the space between them, tenderly caressing her lips with his own in a gentle brief kiss that challenged what little control he possessed. Shivers rippled through him, the sudden shock at the feel of her mouth searing his veins and arresting him. Her breath instantly jerked, but within seconds Nathaniel felt her settle into his arms and welcome the ensuing kiss which he could not contain nor control.  Blindly overcome with passion and unable to regard her painful injury, he pressed her closer until their hearts beat wildly onto the others chest. Her arms linked timidly around his neck as she sighed pleasurably into their kiss. Seizing the moment, he deepened their passionate exchange, gently, continually; her shy and inexperienced kiss threatening to snap his chained desire.  How desperately his hands wanted to explore the curves that now formed the woman whom he knew as a girl. How frantically he wished for her to be his in name, body, soul and mind. But there would be time for that. For the time being, Nathaniel satisfied his urges by exploring the secrets of her mouth. Skillfully, he kissed her to the point pleasurable sighs and satisfied moans became music to their passion.

But as she shifted closer, arching into him in yearning, he suppressed a groan, his conscience quickly assuming its rightful place.

'You need to stop'

 The hell he does! How on earth could he pull away when her body molded so perfectly to his? When finally nothing else mattered, not his name nor hers? Not even the blasted world moving about, outside of their kiss mattered anymore.

But in noting how far their kiss had progressed in such little time, to where at some point he'd tossed aside her blankets and laid her back on the pillows, he himself lying half over her, Nathaniel employed all will power to stop. He had to because if he didn't...

Her arms tightened shyly around him-God! How could he possibly let her go when she held him, clearly not wanting him to go? But he had to. Dratted conscience!

Painfully pulling away, his body cringed in protest, threatening to shatter but his conscience reinforced his righteous decision. He would not take her. Not there. Not yet.

Her eyes remained closed bringing a soft smile to his lips, "My dear Annabelle."  he said quietly, granting himself one last kiss. Drawing away, her eyes fluttered open, a trusting gaze meeting his but instantly she lowered her eyes.

"Look at me Annie." He supplicated gently.

She wavered, but finally met his stare. He watched her, speechless for an eternal moment.  Tracing her lips with his finger, his soul confessed a truth it'd always known, yet never divulged, "God you're beautiful."

She smiled softly and Nathaniel's world stopped. He remembered that smile. The smile that brightened every day of his younger life.  It mercilessly sent a fire surging through him. There was no way he could stay there, beside her, not without losing his wits.

Not trusting his body, Nathaniel sat up offering her a reassuring smile as he allowed himself one last stroke of her face, "You must rest."

Her eyebrows joined in stubborn confusion. He found himself chuckle at the all too familiar flushness that accompanied the huff, "But-"

He pressed a finger to her lips, "I've no intentions of letting you from my sight ever again therefore time is of plenty to say whatever needs to be said. And said it will be, just not now." And summoning the last of his will, he rose from the bed, "For now, you must rest--"

"Please stay."

Nathaniel froze.  Good God, she was asking him to stay. But surely another kiss would be more than he could handle. His body wouldn't endure the torture. He had to leave. But in looking into her eyes, they screamed at him the words she didn't, 'I'm scared.'

Before Nathaniel could respond, she lowered her head and pulled the blanket shamefully under her chin, "Forgive me."

What? Why on earth was she apologizing?

She continued, "You wished to go and I shouldn't have asked you to stay. I've offended you, and no doubt embarrassed myself. It won't happen again."

The words pierced him. Offended?  Well what the hell could have possibly given her that notion?

His better half whispered past carrying familiar words,

I'd rather be caught dead before tarnishing my name for a meaningless toss with a simple servant!

No! Urgently, he sat beside her taking her hands into his, "Ann, my only motivation in leaving is I cannot trust my hands nor my body around you. It is not that I don't want you, silly girl." He chuckled, "I love you and want you to the point of an obsession that burns. You are mine in soul Annie. Soon, if you will have me, you will be mine under the eyes of God and law. And then," he kissed her with controlled passion, "I will make you mine in body--Christ, you will be mine in every way possible until the proof of our love swells with life within you." he smoothed his hand over her flattened stomach.  The thought of her carrying their child within her was more than he could bear.

Standing, to give himself a slight reprieve and to gather his fleeting strength, Nathaniel stripped off his coat and lay beside her. Drawing her into his arms, his heart nearly burst at the feeling of her soft curves against him. Though at first tense, she slowly eased as he gently stroked her back.

"You needn't be afraid anymore Annabelle. Nothing will ever hurt you again. You are safe. You are mine." He reassured her with an endless rain of kisses on her ravaged hair. And there he remained, until her breathing steadied into the sweet rhythm of sleep.

**

This was definitely a more subdued chapter but after so much action, I thought it was fitting for them to just be, with nothing extra, just them together... *sigh* But Mommy Dearest is looming near so...

Thank you for all the votes and amazing comments on the last chapter. I really appreciate every single last one.

Please continue to vote and comment and if you'd like, become a fan. I'd love to have you :)

<3Thanks for reading!