The Unofficial Suitor by Charlotte Louise Dolan Page B

She forced the bag shut and with Annie’s help, fastened the straps. Pausing in the doorway as if she were going to say something more, the cook only shook her head sadly before she departed.
    Left behind, Annie threw herself down on the bed and contemplated the unfortunate situation in which she now found herself. The cook was not the only servant leaving the household. In fact, only a mere handful were intending to stay.
    Annie’s reason for not leaving was as valid as any. Married at sixteen to her childhood sweetheart, she had left the Highlands to follow the drum in Portugal and Spain, only to lose her husband at the Battle of Waterloo.
    Since then she had lived a precarious, hand-to-mouth existence in London, the small number of sewing jobs she was able to take in only slowing down the gradual process of starving to death. The position here as an upstairs maid had seemed an incredible piece of good luck, and she had thought it meant her worries were over.
    Unfortunately, Lord Parkhurst had gambled her future away. With no letters of recommendation from previous employers, she could not, like most of the others, simply apply for another position. And having worked here only a fortnight, she could not impress any potential employer with her vast experience.
    The same thoughts kept going around and around in her head, as she tried to think of some way out of the mess she was in. Finally she drifted off into a light doze.
    She was not sure what woke her, but when she opened her eyes a strange man was smiling down at her. It did not take the cook’s description of him for Annie to recognize the wicked earl, for his depravity was clearly written on his face.
    “Well, well, what a delicious morsel Lord Parkhurst has left behind for me. I am only surprised he did not see fit to take you with him. I, on the other hand, have never been one to resist temptation, and I have always had a particular weakness for red hair. Yours is an especially enticing color, my sweet. Tell me, have you a temper to suit your fiery locks?”
    He reached out a hand to touch her hair, but Annie was up off the bed in a flash. Unfortunately, the earl managed to keep himself positioned between her and the door, blocking her escape. When he took a step toward her, she immediately made a feint to the right, then darted to the left.
    The room was too small and the earl was too quick for her, and he easily caught her around the waist. “You may struggle all you wish, my sweet. It just makes the pleasure sweeter.”
    Annie had no intention of struggling ineffectually. Her husband had taught her a better means of defense, which she had used on several occasions since his death.
    In a second the knife she always carried concealed upon her person was in her hand, the tip pressing against the earl’s ribs.
    Shock and surprise intermingled on his face when he jerked away from her. He looked down at the slash in his jacket, as if not believing the blood that oozed out. Then he began to curse dispassionately.
    Holding the knife the way her husband had taught her, Annie waited for his next move.
    “You should not have cut me,” he said, cold anger replacing the hot lust in his eyes.
    “It is nothing, a mere scratch. But you may consider it a warning. The next time I shall not hesitate to drive it home.” Annie forced her voice to be as cold as his.
    “Do you think I cannot take that knife away from you?”
    “Perhaps. You may try, in any case. Do you think I cannot come into your room some night and slip a knife between your ribs while you are sleeping?”
    Unexpectedly, he smiled. “We are more alike than I had realized, my sweet. I think we will do very well in bed, once you are over your girlish reluctance. It is fortunate I am a patient man. I can wait a while until you realize we are two of a kind.”
    To her relief, he took his departure, holding one hand to his ribs to stop the bleeding.
    Without hesitation she rushed to bolt the door behind