Chapter Fifteen

J acob stared at the blank piece of paper. Any longer and he might go cross-eyed. Was that even possible? Where had he heard that ridiculous fact?

He leaned back in his chair away from his desk, tossing his pen across the room. It couldn't be helped. Focus was not to be had this night. It wasn't to be had last night either.

Perhaps he should venture off to London. He could call on a few of his old friends from the newspaper and make a night of it. He hadn't done that in months. For good reason. The last time he'd tried, the occasion had been filled with uncomfortable silences and a never-ending chorus of "Apologies, Jacob—I mean, my lord." For some reason, his old friends couldn't get it into their thick skulls that he was still the same Jacob Wright despite his title. They kowtowed to him in an obsequious, pandering manner. They wouldn't even allow him to pay for his own drinks. The absurdity! He was an obscenely rich man and, apparently, too high and mighty to touch coins with his bare hands.

Jacob had left disgusted. Not with his friends. They couldn't be blamed. The social culture and hierarchy of the empire had been beaten into them all as lads along with their daily Latin. One must always recognize and respect one's betters. But Jacob was far from being anyone's better, and even a title wouldn't prove it to him.

The lords from history books and myth were handsome and dashing, debonair and courageous. Like the Duke of Wellington and William Marshal. If anyone had ever been blue-blooded, it was men like that, and it had everything to do with the ice in their veins. A man's actions gave him character, not his position on some ancient family tree.

Jacob could use some of that character and courage right about now. It might save him from making a complete ass out of himself and hiding for the second night in a row. His self-respect was at an all-time low, and staring at this blank paper wasn't helping.

Writing had always been a source of solace for him. A way to collect his rambling thoughts, make sense of the world. Now all it did was dredge up memories of a life he could never have again. Because he was a better .

Funny, he'd always thought rising in the ranks would make him feel better about himself. As always, life laughed at those who believed they had it pegged. Because the only thing that all of his homes and money had made Jacob feel was heavy.

For Christ's sake. Was he feeling sorry for himself? For being a peer?

Jesus wept!

Wait. What the hell?

A noise came from outside the cottage, loud and unrestrained, like an animal in pain. Jacob walked over to his dirty window, finding a shadowy figure huddled outside in the garden. It appeared that Jesus wasn't the only weeping that night.

He threw open the door. "What the hell are you doing out here? Without a cloak on… again!"

Anna jumped in surprise. Quickly, she used her gloved arms to sop up the tears that were threatening to drown her poor face.

"I… I just needed some air," she said, spinning away. Her voice wobbled terribly.

Jacob was so delighted to see her that he continued to yell. "What you need is a cloak."

Anna clenched her hands at her sides. "Well, I didn't bring a bloody cloak!"

"For fuck's sake." Jacob shook out of his coat and walked it over to her shivering figure. She didn't turn as he draped it softly onto her shoulders, though she did mutter a reluctant "thank you."

Jacob stood there watching her, waiting for her to acknowledge him once more. It gave him time to appreciate her in his environment. Save his mother, not many people ever ventured to this end of the estate. Jacob had always attested that that was the reason why he liked this garden so much, in addition to the hermit's cottage that it housed. However, he would have loved it regardless. Unlike the rest of the grounds, this portion was designed with a Chinese influence. A red and black pagoda, topped with two golden dragons, rested on stilts in the center of a tiny pond. One intrepid fellow could probably jump to it from the banks, but there was a bridge on either side for the sensible person. Small, Asian statues were stationed throughout the remainder of the garden, in between plants and hedges that were confoundedly English in origin. Clearly, the architect of this garden had never been to China, nor did he care to stay solely authentic in his design.

Jacob still considered the scene captivating. The pagoda, so different and blatant out there in the middle of the pond, was disrupting. Its presence was proud and exultant not despite its differences but because of it.

Having Anna in this space caused an intense rightness to tug at Jacob's chest.

Until she spoke. "Where have you been?" Soft and undeniably battered, her voice soaked into him like the cold chill against his linen shirt sleeves.

"Here. I've been here."

"Your mother is furious. You're being horribly rude, ignoring your guests."

"I'm sorry."

"You're not sorry." Anna whipped around to face him. Her eyes were glassy and round, as big as the moon's reflection in the pond. "If you were truly sorry then you wouldn't have run away, taking your responsibilities for granted."

Jacob took small steps toward her. Her eyes narrowed, but she didn't back away. "I understand you're upset, Anna, but blaming me won't help."

She seemed to wilt, her shoulders slumping away from her ears. "It might."

"Who made you cry?"

"I'm not crying," Anna lied, before adding, "No one. Me, I suppose."

Jacob's smile was gentle. "You?"

She let out a short laugh, a pathetic and paltry thing, void of life. "I knew better. I knew better . But against my better judgment, I let myself believe that it wasn't all for nothing. I let myself think that what I went through was an act of love… commitment… devotion."

"And what was it?"

Anna's lips quivered; her face was impossibly young and pale. Jacob wanted to scoop her into his arms and carry her into the little pagoda on the pond and live there forever, away from pain and heartbreak and responsibility.

"It was a childish folly." She pulled his jacket tighter around her. "It was… I don't know. I suppose it was what I deserved. All of it." Overcome with emotion, Anna burst into silent tears, and Jacob couldn't hold himself back any further. He went to her, enveloping her in his arms, holding her captive against his chest.

Anna's tears soaked through his shirt as she sobbed. "Shh," Jacob said, swaying back and forth like his mother used to do when she held him. He remembered how hypnotizing that simple motion used to be, how it utterly soothed his breaking heart. "I have you now. You don't deserve anything bad to ever happen to you."

"I do. You have no idea," Anna whispered. She pulled at his waistcoat on his back, gripping it in her fists in her unrelenting grief. "I am a bad woman."

"You are not. Hush now," he replied. "You've been hurt."

Jacob could barely contain himself. He wanted to find Phillip Williams and beat him to a bloody pulp. He wanted to pound his fist into that pretty mouth so the blackguard would never be able to show off those dazzling teeth again.

But he wouldn't. Because Anna needed him. And he wouldn't let her down. Holding her, rocking her, providing her solace was his job, and he would do it for as long as she'd let him.

Anna trembled. "I've been stupid."

Jacob rested his chin on the top of her head. "You were young."

"I was ridiculous."

"You were na?ve."

Her scoff was muffled against his shirt. "You don't even know what happened. You don't know the full story."

"I don't need to know it." He backed away, lowering his forehead so she could see him clearly. "I know you ."

Anna stared at him wide-eyed, stuck in a daze. Jacob used the time to his advantage, wiping away the tears on her face with the rough pads of his thumbs. When they traveled to her lips, he lingered for a few seconds too long before eventually falling away.

Her mouth began to move but nothing came out. She tried again. "Jacob… I…" She grabbed his wrists, wrapping her hands around them—not pushing him away but keeping him in place.

"What is it, Anna?"

She blinked and more tears fell. They reminded him of diamonds. "I… I need to tell you… something."

Jacob widened his stance, fighting for composure. He kept his expression still and open. "Anything. You can tell me anything. I want you to know that about me. I will always be here for you. Whenever you need."

She pressed her lips together so tightly it seemed painful. The lovely lines and grooves in her lips were lost in the tension. "You're a good and decent man, Jacob Wright."

Jacob chuckled, bending over to brush a kiss against her forehead. He shouldn't have done that. All he could taste was their time in the carriage. All he could taste was the gluttonous need for more. "Is that all?" he teased.

Anna frowned, flicking her head slightly in an exasperated motion. "I… I…" Her shoulders fell again as if she'd lost her nerve. "I'm cold."

*

Anna worried that Jacob was walking her straight into a giant shrub. Was this a mystical garden, where plants and flowers opened their leaves, allowing you to get lost in their flowers, sleep on their petals until the magic faded and you were restored?

She laughed to herself. What fanciful nonsense. But her mind was scattered, her concentration limp and decayed. She might have believed anything that night, with the moonlight streaking down on them, a bizarre Asian house held up on stilts at the center of a pond. What was this place? And how, after the last few chaotic days, was it here that she had finally found Jacob?

He held her hand, surely and solidly as he guided her toward the giant shrub. On closer inspection, Anna realized it wasn't, in fact, a large bush, though the thick emerald moss covering the exterior gave it the appearance of something living, something wild. Jacob stopped in front of the odd structure, using his arm to push a bundle of gangly vines out of the way to locate a handle.

A door. To a tiny cottage hidden in the labyrinthine enclosure of the garden. Anna had heard of these hermit's cottages, though she'd never seen one before. Her father had never included one on his estate, despite the fad. Perhaps the old viscount had been eccentric, she thought as Jacob escorted her inside.

Anna hugged Jacob's coat around her frame and surveyed the minuscule space. To call it a cottage might be an overstatement. He left her at the entrance and added another log to the fire. Anna took her time reading the room, which held a skeletal set of belongings that just hinted at life. A rudimentary desk and chair took up the majority of the space, along with a single bed wedged against the far stone wall. A cup of tea sat on the desk next to an oil lamp, along with a single sheet of paper and a pen.

Despite the austere surroundings, Anna was infused with contentment.

Jacob straightened from his crouch near the hearth, dusting his hands on the back of his trousers. He glanced around the room, a shy expression on his face. "Would you like tea?" he asked, his eyes falling on the teakettle that was hanging above the hearth. "Wait… Do I have any tea left?" He went to his desk and looked inside the bottom drawer. "Yes! I have a little left. I'll have to remember to bring more from the house. Oh, damn. I only have the one teacup." Finally, he looked at Anna, his features comically anxious. He lifted the single cup off his desk. "You don't mind, do you?"

Anna didn't have the heart to tell him no. She had no desire for tea, but Jacob seemed to need something to do, something that would help her in some way. She nodded and let him get to his work pouring water into the teakettle from a jug that sat near the only window of the cottage, a dirty thing that was in desperate need of cleaning.

Anna meandered about the area, taking small steps to make the journey last longer. When she made it to the bed, she noticed the sheets were ruffled. "Do you live here?"

Jacob paused from dropping tea leaves into the kettle. "Sometimes," he answered. "Though I wouldn't say live . I come here when I need to think… when I need to be alone."

An overcoat was hanging from a hook on the wall, a robe next to it. "And how often is that?"

Jacob smiled wryly, hanging the teakettle back over the flames. "Enough."

She wandered away from the bed. As Jacob continued to fuss, they kept up a companionable fa?ade. She didn't know it at first, but it was exactly what she'd needed. After the conversation she'd just shared with Phillip, she craved something different—a lack of confusion, of always wondering what something truly meant. Anna was tired of reading into words, searching for hidden messages. She needed something true and real. She needed Jacob.

Anna picked up the blank piece of paper from his desk, holding it up for him to see. "Was the muse not here for you tonight?" she asked, lifting an impish brow. "I hope I didn't interrupt anything."

He wiped his hands on his pants once more and smirked bashfully, two spots of pink on his cheeks. She hadn't meant to embarrass him, though she'd be lying to herself if she said she didn't enjoy the charming effect.

"I thought I would try to write something, and… well… you can see how that went."

Anna placed the paper gently back on the table. "Why is it difficult?"

Jacob frowned, moving over to the opposite wall—as far away from Anna as he could find. He leaned against it, crossing his arms. As always, he was uncomfortable speaking about himself, but he was the one who'd brought her here. This entire cottage was an extension of him, and Anna couldn't leave without attempting to understand more.

"I thought I would try my hand at writing… fiction," he explained. "I've been told it isn't proper for a viscount to have a profession, but it's perfectly fine for them to dabble in the arts. However"—his face screwed up in distaste—"would it shock you to hear that I'm not terribly artistic?"

A bark of laughter escaped her. Anna's hand flew to her mouth to stifle any more. Jacob's brow rose at her response.

"But you were a writer for a newspaper. Surely you had to be artistic in that endeavor."

He shrugged. "I can't say, really. I never thought about it; it came so easily. I don't enjoy making up stories. I like telling them. I liked reporting on the world and all the changes and events. London is such a captivating city, enthralling. Anything and everything can happen here. Everything is happening here. I liked being a part of that."

Anna had never seen Jacob like this before. How beguiling it was to watch his eyes light up as he spoke. The passion flowed through his body, electrifying the very core of him. Anna was impressed… and jealous. She wondered if she would ever feel that way about anything again.

She ran the tip of her hand over the wood, leaving no mark. No dust. Someone must come to clean it, but then, why was the window still so dirty? "Is it really such a crime for a viscount to work?"

"You tell me."

Anna bobbed her shoulders, and then it came to her. She grinned at Jacob, and for the first time tonight, it didn't hurt to do so. Because she wasn't pretending. "I thought being different wasn't such a bad thing."

Jacob sighed as if he'd had this argument with himself a million times before. He leaned his head against the stone. "You're right, I know you are, but… having all this… It just feels like I have so much more to lose now. And it's not just me. I want to make sure my family never needs anything ever again. I want them to have calm, safe, pain-free lives. I need to keep my focus here. Besides," he added with a sheepish grin, "my children will grow up in this life, so different from the one that I did. I don't want to ruin it for them, make it more difficult by being… eccentric."

It was like Helga Bitterman had reached into Anna's stomach and twisted it with both hands. Children. Yes, of course Jacob would want children— need children. Every viscount desired an heir. But why did that fact make her want to lie down on the floor and hug her knees until she fell asleep?

"What's wrong?" Jacob asked. "Are you all right?" The kettle whistled, and he hastened to remove it from the heat. He poured the liquid into the cup but left it on the table.

"Anna?" he said, coming toward her. Without hesitating, he wound his arms around her waist. "What did I say? Tell me."

Lord, how could she be crying again? But she could feel the vexing tears coming, feel them building along her bottom lid. "It's nothing." She placed her palms on his chest. His heartbeat steadied her enough to hold back the tears. "I'll be fine, I promise."

Jacob nodded, but his gaze said otherwise. His wariness and concern were etched in the lines bracketing his mouth. "Do you want the tea?" he asked gently.

Anna shook her head.

"Do you want me to take you back?"

She could tell he wanted that even less than she did, which gave her the courage to say what she said next.

"No." She played with a button on his shirt. It was mother-of-pearl, impossibly smooth. "Can I stay here tonight?" she asked quietly.

Time expanded and lengthened between them, providing an infinite number of possibilities and an infinite variety of lives. They could be anybody in this little cottage, any couple needing time and space to just be .

Jacob swallowed. He slid his hand down her body to take hers, then led her to the bed and flung back the covers. Without hesitation, Anna sat down on the surprisingly comfy mattress and scooted over to the far side to make room, but Jacob didn't follow.

"I'll sleep on the floor—"

"You will not," Anna replied at once, shocked by the vehemence in her voice. The man wasn't understanding. She didn't want to go back to the house—that was true—but what she truly wanted was him.

He released a mirthless laugh, rubbing the nape of his neck. "There's barely enough room for one person—"

"We'll manage," Anna said firmly. She patted the mattress. "Please, Jacob. Please."

He eyed the bed for a long moment. "You need to sleep."

"I plan to."

Jacob whistled as he released a long, defeated sigh. "If you wake up with a crick in your neck, don't say I didn't warn you."

Anna hid a smile as he situated himself on the mattress, hugging his side so gallantly that there was a good six inches between them. Half of his body hung off the bed. She chewed at the inside of her cheek, tapping her fingers on her belly.

"You know you're not comfortable," she said.

"I'm fine."

"You're not fine."

"Go to sleep."

Anna slipped to her side to face him. Jacob's broad back was to her, and just as she'd expected, one leg was hanging off the bed. "You can touch me, you know."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"What?"

Jacob turned on his back, staring at the ceiling. "I said I don't think it's a good idea. You need to rest."

She reached for the shiny button on his shirt again, but he captured her hand, flattening it upon his chest. "I can sleep with someone touching me. It can't be that hard."

Jacob's laugh came out of nowhere. He ran a hand over his face.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing. Go to sleep."

"I told you—"

He flipped on his side to face her. They were like two halves of a heart, broken in the middle. "Maybe you can go to sleep touching me, but I will have a damned hard time sleeping while touching you. You know this."

Anna opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off.

"You know this," Jacob repeated. His features softened. "I just want to take care of you."

"You are taking care of me," Anna said. She squeezed her hand out from under his and placed it on his cheek. His whiskers stabbed her skin. She adored the sensation. Anna had touched him so many other times, and yet this small brush of contact seemed so much more intimate. A conversation without words. An understanding. "I need more tonight, Jacob. I need you to hold me. I don't know why, and I'm sorry if this sounds needy and selfish, but I just do. I will never ask anything of you again, I promise. Just tonight. Just this."

Jacob's lips curved, though his eyes still held a degree of reserve. "And what if I don't want you to keep that promise?"

Anna traced his cheekbones, up between his eyes, following the shallow lines across his forehead before she skimmed her fingers across the pillowy expanse of his lips… back and forth… one, two, three times, before eventually breaking away.

There was an opening. Anna saw it on his face. An invitation, a hope for something more—but she couldn't take any more disappointment. She couldn't go to him knowing that nothing would come of it. She wouldn't take advantage of Jacob's good nature. She was not Phillip.

With a wistful smile, she turned to her other side, facing the wall. She reached back for Jacob's hand, draping it around her middle, encouraging him to mold his body to hers. It took a second for the coaxing to work, but she eventually heard him let out another strangled breath and follow suit.

When Jacob enveloped her, it felt so undeniably right. It was like lying on a warm patch of grass on a sunny day. He was the first sip of tea after coming in from the cold. He was the light that ships at sea searched for in the night. He was the ultimate. Jacob was abundance. Contentment. Peace.

Anna was the fraud. Her breath hitched as she attempted to hold back more tears, more disappointment.

Jacob must have heard her. He placed his head on top of hers. His arms maintained their gracious pressure.

"Now you know," she said weakly. "You know that I'm not as strong as I thought I was." Her maudlin thoughts traveled back to his cricket article that had incensed her. She thought about their silly excursions. Taking him to see strongwomen seemed worthless now. Anna wasn't anything like those women, and she would never be. She clasped his arms, holding them against her front. They were a life raft, and she was lost at sea.

"I told you. I was raised by women," Jacob whispered into the night. His body was the tiny cottage built to keep her safe. "And I know how strong they are. You are no different."