Chapter Twenty-Six

J acob glued himself to the wall, allowing his mother the space to move. She hadn't stopped clucking and worrying ever since Jacob had carried Sir John to his bedroom, nor administering to him with encouraging words, wet towels, and cold water to his parched lips.

He'd hit the floor like a cannonball after Phillip left. At first, Jacob had thought the worst. He'd seen his father do something similar before his death. Thankfully, Anna had kept her head, rousing the older man quickly, and after the shock subsided, Sir John convinced Jacob that a doctor wasn't necessary. He just needed to rest, he'd said. And then they would leave.

Leave. Sir John and his children.

Anna.

Jacob hadn't the heart to argue with an ailing man who spoke with a quivering mouth and whose face had turned the color of ash; however, as he pressed himself to the wall, watching the comings and goings of servants, he had to repress his mounting anger—his fear. Anna wasn't going anywhere. She was his now. It had finally been determined. No one—not Phillip, not Sir John—was going to take her from him.

He yearned to whisk Anna away, but she was as hellbent on nursing Sir John as his mother. The aunts understood the futility of interfering. They lurked in the corridor, whispering while attempting to listen in on the paltry conversation. Beatrice, like Jacob, clung to the periphery, anxiously waiting for someone to ask her to help.

David… Jacob had no idea where he'd gone. After the young man had checked on his father, he left the room in a hurry, not giving an inkling as to his destination.

"Stop it, stop it, please," Sir John begged, gently pushing the glass of water Mrs. Wright held up for him. "I can't drink any more. I'm fine, truly," he said, softening his words with a wan smile. "Please, dearest. I need you to stop fussing and listen to me."

Jacob's mother placed the glass on the side table with a demonstrative thud . "If it has anything to do with your leaving this afternoon, I don't want to hear it," she stated firmly. "You're not fit to travel. It's preposterous."

Sir John reached for her hand. "I have to, my dear. You have no idea what's about to happen. I can't put your family in jeopardy."

"Father, please," Anna said. She sat down on the side of his bed. "Let's speak in private. Then we can decide what to do together."

"No, Anna. She deserves to know. I will tell her of my mistakes—"

" My mistakes."

"No," Sir John snapped. "These are my mistakes. You did nothing wrong."

Anna's head fell. She buried her face in her hands.

Jacob had seen enough. With two swift steps, he came behind her. Just as he was about to scoop her up and carry her from the room, Sir John turned to him with a deadly stare, one meant to stop a man in his tracks. Jacob wasn't an ordinary man, but he wasn't used to this behavior from Sir John; frankly, he hadn't known the baronet had it in him.

"You will wait and listen," Sir John said.

Jacob's arms stopped in midair. For a moment, he thought to challenge the gentleman, but decided against it, returning to his place along the wall. Anna had been through enough. She didn't need theatrics from him.

Sir John turned back to his daughter. He put his hand under Anna's chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. "Always so sad, my dead girl," he said gently, brushing her hair off her forehead. "These past years have been difficult for you—for all of us. I realize now that I relied too much on you after your mother died. You took over so willingly, so efficiently, looking after David… raising Beatrice—"

"Oh, Father—"

"No." Sir John put up a hand. "Let me get it out."

Anna nodded.

Sir John's Adam's apple bobbed in the sagging skin under his collar. "When Phillip came to stay with us that summer, you started to smile again. You were so happy, and I didn't have the heart to question it. I should have watched him more and kept you closer, but I was just so relieved to be done worrying. I thought I could trust him with you. I thought he could give you what you needed." Sir John's face darkened like thunder clouds. "But all he did was take. And now he wants more."

Jacob couldn't see Anna's face, but he could feel the tension radiating from her back, the rigidity that had taken her body captive. "What will he do now?"

Sir John sighed. He laid his head on the pillow, a man resigned to his fate. "He said if I do not give him Beatrice, he will tell everyone about your liaison. He will ruin you. Ruin the family. We will be ostracized, cut off, ignored by everyone we know."

Jacob's mother sat on Sir John's other side, a bookend to match Anna. With her hand on his cheek, she forced him to look her way. "But, my love, those are just rumors and lies. We can withstand them. People will think he is just a jilted man, angry and vindictive."

"Maybe so," Anna whispered. "But he isn't wrong. They aren't lies."

"And rumors are always enough in our world," Sir John finished.

"Even so," Mrs. Wright went on, not able to accept defeat, "this doesn't mean you have to leave us. Leave me . I want to be your wife. I will stand by you as we weather this together."

"I can't let you do that, Violet," Sir John said. "I'm sorry I've let you down yet again. But you don't know what's coming." He propped himself up on his forearms, searching for Jacob. When he found him across the room, he said, "You were right, young man. You said your family was too good for ours. I wanted to prove you right, but I'm afraid I can't."

Mrs. Wright reached across Sir John's body to touch Anna's shoulder. "You don't deserve this," she said kindly. "People make mistakes. They shouldn't have to pay for them for the rest of their lives."

Anna laughed mirthlessly. "Some people's mistakes are bigger than others."

Jacob's mother shook her head. "I don't understand—"

"Is that all?" Anna asked her father sharply. "Or is there more?"

Sir John nodded. His eyes became glassy, his skin once more turning gray. "He will tell everyone about the baby. You must brace yourself, my child. This is only the beginning."

*

"Anna, wait," Jacob called out, but her feet didn't falter. She kept going, her steps determined as she climbed the stairs. When she reached the top, she went straight toward her room, not acknowledging any of Jacob's calls.

"Goddammit, Anna," he growled when she opened her door then closed it before he could follow her inside. He grabbed the handle and shoved his shoulder against the wood. It flew open, and he nearly crashed to the floor as he sailed through. Apparently she hadn't thought to lock him out.

Hands on his hips, Jacob hesitated, utterly perplexed as Anna paced around her room, throwing her clothes and personal items into a pile on her bed. Her maid sidled past Jacob into the space and bobbed when Anna instructed her to bring up her luggage from downstairs.

The resourceful maid vanished before Jacob had a chance to tell her to ignore the command.

Words felt anemic, useless.

In desperation, Jacob closed in on Anna, clutching her shoulders in his hands, forcing her to stop. But he couldn't force her to look at him. And she wouldn't.

"Anna, please," he said, compelling her to meet his gaze. She wouldn't raise her eyes above the fifth button of his linen shirt. "Talk to me. Tell me what's going on? What did your father mean? What…" His voice caught. "What baby?"

Jacob watched her struggle. Emotions cycled over her face, ranging from despair and heartache to steely resolve. Anna attempted to struggle out of his grip, but he refused to let go. Somewhere inside him, he believed that if he released her now, he would never hold her again.

Finally, Anna's shoulders fell. All her life and vitality appeared to vanish. Now Jacob's hands were doing more than restraining her—they were keeping her on her feet.

She lifted her lids slowly. "I lost a baby. That was why I was sick. The doctors told me it was childbed fever." She shrugged hopelessly. "I didn't even know I was pregnant. It happened a month after David and Phillip left. I was walking on the lawn, and all of a sudden I felt this pain, almost like something was ripping me in half. And then I started to bleed… and it didn't stop."

Jacob resolved to keep his expression blank. He couldn't risk Anna stopping. As much as it killed him to hear about her trauma, he needed to know everything. How could he save her—save them—if he didn't?

Anna went on. Her voice was flat and dull, as if she were no longer inhabiting her body. Instead, she was somewhere safe, protecting herself until the moment passed. "Father called for the doctor right away. He knew what was happening before we did. He cut my hair; he informed my father to send for the priest." Anna shuddered as she was brought back to that terrible day. "And he's the one who told us about all the damage that had occurred." She placed her hands on her abdomen. "The damage that would guarantee that I can never have a child."

Jacob's control snapped; his face crumpled in anguish. Anna's head fell as if her slender neck had lost all power. His heart bled for this woman—his woman. She'd had to face so much on her own. So much had been taken from her… her innocence… her girlhood… motherhood. It was no wonder she ran from love. Ran from him. No one had ever protected her heart above their own.

"My love…" Jacob began, a million words cascading into one another in his mind. But he needed the perfect word. The magic one that would solve everything. However, nothing came. Jacob couldn't understand his failure. As a writer, he believed that there was a perfect word for every situation. Only now, he came up dismally short.

Taking advantage of his paralysis, Anna shrugged out of his hold. She went back to the bed, staring down at her things, wiping the back of her arm over her eyes. "It's fine," she said stoically. "I'm fine. It's my fault, really. I thought… Well, I don't know what I thought. I came here and everything became muddled, but I've been brought back to my reality. My father was right. The best decision is to leave. If Phillip is intent on revenge, then we can't put your family in the middle."

"I don't give a fuck about Phillip!"

Anna closed her eyes. "But I do!" she said, voice breaking. "You've taken such pains to be the viscount you want to be. You're trying to do everything right for your family and its future. I won't allow you to put that in jeopardy… not for me."

"And do I have a say in this?"

Anna opened her eyes. The green shade that had bewitched him and enticed him these last few weeks had become murky and faded. Hopeless.

"This isn't right, Anna," Jacob said. "What you are doing isn't right. You can fight for me, fight for us."

"I'm so tired, Jacob. I'm so tired of believing that if I can only climb to the top of the mountain that there will be a reward at the end. But there never is! There are just more mountains to climb! I need to go home."

"You are home," he growled. Jacob could feel the rope in his hands. It was slipping away, and he couldn't find his grip. It burned and ripped his palms the more he tried to hold on.

She picked up a gauzy chemise on the bed and let it drop from her fingers. "No. This is your home. To me, it was a dream. And now I have to wake up."

"For fuck's sake," Jacob muttered. He raked a hand through his hair, trying to come up with anything that would convince her to stay. None of his arguments had any effect. His passion was falling on deaf ears. Anna had an answer for everything, as if she'd practiced this conversation, knowing one day that it would come.

And then he realized he didn't need words.

Ignoring her yelps, he gathered her in his embrace once more. He walked her backward to the door and draped himself over her, caging her from all but him. Jacob captured her mouth, plundering her sweet depths with relentless intention. He allowed her to pound his chest, kick at his thighs, but it didn't matter. Kissing Anna was the only answer. Loving her was his only hope.

When he felt the tension in her drain, Jacob relaxed his onslaught. Tenderly, he swept inside her mouth, caressing her tongue, stroking the heart of her. Tears fell into their mouth. Her or his, Jacob didn't know. Nothing was held back; nothing was restrained. With parted lips, their kisses became more measured, more skillful, each knowing what the other liked and wanted. Jacob's hands stayed fixed on her hips. He didn't need to explore. All focus, all intention was on their mouths as he said the words over and over again to her with his kiss.

I love you.

I love you.

And Jacob knew she heard him. Because when their legs went out, they went out together. As one they crumpled to the floor, landing on their knees, pelvises pressed together in a holy communion.

Jacob refused to let up. He tasted and sipped from her mouth, taking only as much as Anna was willing to give. And, as ever, gifting her more in return. He poured his soul into that embrace, begging Anna to drink. And, like the Holy Grail, Jacob hoped that this exchange would heal their present, fulfill their future.

Anna stroked the length of his back, around his shoulder, over his neck. Her fingers were like satin as they skimmed over his skin, up his jaw to his lips. She broke away from him to stare at his mouth while her fingers explored it in a languid, meandering motion that he felt down to the soles of his feet.

Her features were inscrutable. And even though Jacob could feel the fire raging inside of her, he remained worried. He held her closer, melding their bodies even more, hoping that as they burned, they might fuse as one.

"I want to kiss you all night, Anna," he said. "And not just your lips, but your whole body. And then I want to do it tomorrow and then the day after that. Can you accept that?"

Anna's gaze stayed on his mouth. A mournful smile emerged, and it terrified him.

"I love you, Jacob," she said gently, the words bussing his lips in tandem with the pads of her fingers. "I will always love you. And I can't thank you enough for showing me what real love is. I will treasure it forever."

"I don't want to live without you," Jacob said.

Anna attempted to stand, but Jacob's hold wouldn't break. Neither did her resolve. She took his face in her hands, staring into his eyes.

"If I'm strong enough to withstand it, so are you. Goodbye, my love."