Chapter Four

"Y ou, you there, stop at once!"

Jacob lengthened his stride across the lawn, ignoring the wild summons behind him.

"I said, stop!" the shrill voice continued. "I know you hear me. Lord, you walk fast," it muttered. "I command you to stop!"

As if he'd run into a brick wall, Jacob slammed to a halt. And turned very, very slowly to face the arrogant woman. The incredibly attractive , arrogant woman.

Jacob feigned a bored expression as he waited for Miss Smythe to catch up to him. He needed her to hear his cutting words loud and clear so she would retreat to the house and out of his life forever. She'd stolen too much of his attention this evening as it was, and any more would not be tolerated.

The outrageous woman was visibly panting when she stood in front of him. "Your legs are much too long," she wheezed, planting a hand on her bare and heaving chest.

"Maybe yours are too short," he quipped, before shaking his head at his asinine comment. Why had he said that? Oh, yes, because he couldn't drag his gaze from the woman's creamy, ample breasts, and his mind had turned into a mound of pudding. "Why are you traipsing outside in this weather without a cloak? You should be inside with your family."

Anna glanced down at her gown as if just realizing her predicament. Silly woman. It had been a mild autumn thus far, but this November night was chilly enough to make Jacob wish he'd thrown on his coat before venturing to his cottage. Like him, Anna was still dressed for dinner. It was a respectable enough gown that shouldn't have affected him, and yet it managed to do just that. Every rustle of crimson silk at the dinner table had made him lose his train of thought and pull his focus back to her. That hadn't been the plan. Anna Smythe hadn't been the plan.

She hastened to fold her arms in front of her, blocking his view of her glorious endowments. Damn . Be careful what you wish for . "You, my lord , do not get to tell me how to dress, nor do you get to bark orders at me. I am not a child. I am your guest. And, by the way, I am not cold at all. Anything is warmer than the atmosphere you created in that dining room."

My lord. My lord. This wasn't the first time she'd addressed him in that way, all sarcastic and derisive. This daughter of a baronet was just like the others, thinking him a second-rate viscount who'd fallen arse-backward into a title.

Jacob mirrored her combative stance, folding his arms. He crept closer, taking advantage of his height. The brat's head barely made it up to his clavicle, even with her chin jutting so high and proud. "I was merely asking questions. I thought that's what this little visit was for… getting to know one another."

Anna's eyes narrowed. They were as vibrant and cold as emeralds. Added to the shortness of her black hair, it reminded Jacob of the fairy stories his aunts had told him before bed each night. Tales of the tiny, dangerous creatures who appeared harmless and enchanting, but were always ready to lie and play tricks for their amusement.

But as much as he wanted to, Jacob couldn't match those tales of deceit with the women standing so commandingly in front of him. It was true, he didn't trust her family, but there was something about Anna Smythe that made him curious. For starters, the only women he knew with short hair had either sold it for money or had it cut off due to illness. Anna appeared healthy enough to him. More than enough. He had an insane urge to skim those short curls that ran rampant against her crown, see if they felt as silky as they appeared. Jacob had always been attracted to long hair, loved running his fingers through rivulets of tendrils. But the way Anna's short hair highlighted the curve of her neck, the indecent way it showcased every indentation and pulse of tendon… It moved him.

Could Anna sense his eyes on that swathe of skin? Because she unlocked her arms and placed her hands against her neck, seeming to hold it in frustration. "You know very well what you were doing at dinner," Anna replied. "I know your game."

"My game?"

"Yes, your game," she said, stepping forward. Challenging him. "You plan to make my father look like a fool in front of your mother. You're trying to ruin their relationship before it even starts."

"I think your father already did that when he dropped my mother like a used handkerchief years ago."

Anna gasped. At this vantage point, Jacob could make out every crease in her lips, especially the prominent one down the middle of her bottom lip that made it look abnormally sumptuous, like the kind of pillow that Jacob could rest his head on for the remainder of his life.

He shook his head, trying to rid his mind of the unhealthy thoughts. "Face it, my dear Miss Smythe. Your father was a blackguard. He used my mother cruelly in their youth, and now, for some reason I am still trying to fathom, he's back to finish the job. Well, I wasn't there before, but I'm here now, and I will not let it happen."

Anna's face mottled with hurt. A tinge of regret ate at him, but Jacob told himself it was for the best. It was anathema for him to hurt women—any woman. But this woman only had her father to blame.

Her voice wobbled. "My father is the best man I have ever known. He loved your mother, and he loves her still. You will not come between them."

If Anna burst into tears, he'd be done for. Jacob couldn't wait around for that. He was a cold bastard, but he wasn't completely heartless. "I'm done with this conversation," he said, spinning swiftly. His legs ate up the ground again, but Anna's footsteps weren't far behind.

"Well, I am not done with this conversation! Where are you even going? The house is back the other way."

"I'm not going to the house," he said over his shoulder. "I have work to do."

"No doubt your office is in the house. Will you stop? I don't want to keep talking to your back."

"Then stop talking."

Jacob thought he heard her growl. What an odd sound to come from a lady.

"I will not stop talking," she continued. "Not until you agree to quit meddling. You don't know all the facts—"

At once, Jacob whipped around, almost slamming into the termagant. On instinct, he reached out, grabbing Anna's shoulders to steady her. His hands skimmed the downy skin of her upper arms, and he instantly realized he wasn't as strong as he thought he was. Because when he told himself to release her, he couldn't. Instead, Jacob pulled her closer, lowering his head so they were at the same level.

"When did your mother die?" he asked, balancing the harsh question with a soft tone. "Five years ago, yes?"

Anna nodded, her eyes as open and clear as the moon above them. He'd shocked her with the question, but there was a point to be made.

"Right," Jacob went on. "My father passed when I was ten. Almost twenty years ago now. Attack of the heart. It was instant. Collapsed right over on the floor. Alive one minute. Gone the next. He was lucky."

Anna's skin was warm against his palms. An electricity of fellowship sparked between them. "My mother was not so lucky," she said thickly. "She died in childbirth. The baby was already gone when it came out; my mother followed it a week later."

Jacob increased the pressure of his fingers, soaking in the strength of Anna. The strength that he'd sensed from the beginning. Jacob had always been interested in people and their stories. That was why he'd gravitated to newspapers, even though his father had planned for Jacob to follow in his footsteps and be a solicitor. From years of experience, he could usually look at a person and know if there was something deeper lurking just below the surface. He'd noticed it the moment Anna walked into the room. Her younger sister may have been conventionally prettier with all the trappings of youth and expectation, but Jacob had barely given her a cursory glance. Anna was what he fixated on. As small as she was, fine-boned and doll-like, there was a thunder to her, a clash of life that hinted at loss and grief. A stony knowing to her countenance that spoke to wisdom. One could not fake that. And it was incredibly difficult to mask.

Jacob was glad that she didn't try to with him.

"I am sorry for your loss," he said genuinely. "But try to understand my point of view. Your father has been alone, just as my mother has been these last years, and yet he waited so long to reach out to her. Why? Is it a coincidence that he came calling after her son miraculously found out he was a viscount? She wasn't suitable before, but now she is?"

"That's not it. You mustn't think—"

"But it's my job as her son to think that! Wouldn't you? Why didn't he contact her before?"

Anna shrugged his arms from her shoulders; however, Jacob didn't retreat. Now that he was this close to her, creating more space seemed impossible. He liked the fire that roared within her, the way her flames flickered and mixed with his own.

"Our f-family has had hardship," Anna stammered, her lush lashes beating hectically against her cheek. "My father has had to deal with many things—things that are none of your concern."

Jacob's mouth curved into a merciless smile. Now they were getting somewhere. "But they are my concern. What is he hiding? Money troubles? Because if he thinks he's going to leech off my mother—and me—he is mistaken."

Anna scoffed. "Please."

"Then what?" he pressed. "It's your brother, isn't it? What scandal did your father help him run from? All you peers are the same. Iniquitous and flagrant."

"You have some nerve!" Anna screeched. "Aren't you a viscount?"

"Yes, but not a real one in your eyes. Isn't that right?"

Jacob knew he'd hit the mark when her cheeks burned the same shade as her dress. And that little piece of acknowledgment stung him. More than he cared to admit. Finally, he took a step back, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Well, that's beside the point. The fact is that your family once thought it was too good for ours, and now I must inform you that ours is much too good for yours. The sooner your father gets that into his skull, the sooner we can all move on. I will not let him drag my mother's good name into the muck."

Jacob attempted to leave again; however, his feet had a will of their own. They were stuck in place, just as his gaze was glued to the woman before him.

Anna stood there, squinting at him as if she couldn't understand a word he'd just spoken. She was naturally hurt, but entirely resolute. Taking a deep breath, she pulled her shoulders back. Her voice was low and hauntingly fierce. "I don't know what exactly happened thirty years ago between our parents." She threw up a hand, hushing Jacob before he could argue. "And neither do you. No one does except them. Coming here, I was wary at first. I didn't have stars in my eyes like my sister. To be honest, I didn't know what to expect. But the moment I saw your mother and my father look at one another, I knew. I saw love. Only a blind man could say any different. Are you blind, my lord ? Or are you just choosing to be?"

Jacob gritted his teeth. Another my lord . "I see nothing of the sort. If anything, I see lust, which is another animal altogether. I can tolerate lust. I understand lust. I know lust. And your father is lusting after something he wants. But love…"

Anna flinched. "Lust?" The word dropped from her mouth like rotten meat. "Lust? Are you deliberately being obtuse? People said you were intelligent."

People? Was she talking to others about him? Jacob found that he liked that idea. "Obviously, you have an intelligent man before you," he returned dryly, lifting his arms at his sides. "Intelligent and worldly."

She snorted. "Not worldly enough if he mistakes lust with love. It's clear to me that you don't know the first thing about either."

And just like that, the audacious woman turned her back on him . Anna flung a hand over her shoulder. "Now, I'm done with this conversation. Good night, my lord ."

Once more, Jacob's feet wouldn't listen to him, because they actually ran after her. After. Her . Like a simpering puppy. "Oh no you don't. We're not finished yet."

"We are," Anna said. "I thought I was speaking to a real man, a man who understood things, who could be reasoned with, but I was wrong. Lust… Ha!" A rude sound came from the base of her throat while she continued to mutter to herself. "Lust is like a child who needs to be constantly fed and tended to. Love is infinitely stronger, more resilient. Only love has the strength to withstand years of loneliness and solitude. Lust might burn bright, but it fizzles quickly. It is sophomoric that you believe lust has kept our parents' hope alive all these years. Lust is a weak substitute—"

Jacob snatched her hand, twirling Anna back around. This time he didn't stop them from colliding into one another.

"What in the world do you think—?"

Jacob silenced her the best way he knew how. He took control of her mouth in one quick move, sweeping his mouth over hers in a thorough kiss that forced a blankness in his mind that he'd never experienced before. For once, his thoughts didn't swirl; his commitments didn't hammer him. He could only feel Anna—the softness of her full lips as they pressed against his, the way she sucked the breath from inside him and whimpered into his throat.

It was a gentle kiss, much gentler than Jacob would have preferred, considering the lady appeared to have firsthand knowledge of lust, and yet he experienced it down to the soles of his feet. Jacob would be ninety years old and he would never forget that Anna Smythe tasted like red grapes and rosemary and that that mixture was now as much a part of him as his soul.

He released the dip of her waist and hung his hands ready and willing near her head, poised to cradle her closer, waiting to dig into her velvety, dark curls. But something held him back. Intuition maybe, self-preservation most likely, because the time wasn't right. Yet. However, it would come. Jacob knew, as surely as he now knew the shape of her two front teeth as he ran his tongue over them, that their time would come.

It simply had to.

His momentary bliss was shattered when Anna yanked away, one hand covering her pillowy, swollen lips.

Silently, she considered him with an expression he couldn't read. Not condemning, but awfully close. Her eyes were heavy and troubled, with one lid hanging lower than the other.

"Was that weak?" Jacob asked, catching his breath, claiming his composure. He moved to take her into his embrace once more, but she grimaced out of his reach.

"Don't…" Anna pinned her gaze away from him, cradling her torso in her arms. "Don't ever do that again… kiss me." Jacob blanched at her flat, hollow tone. The lady that had responded so ardently to his kiss was no longer there. "I am fully aware that we are going to have to tolerate each other's company for the next month, but I will not be your plaything. I am not a new toy."

"I never thought you were—"

It was like she didn't hear him. Anna continued to stare just over his shoulder, like looking at him while speaking was too much of an effort. "And you will leave my father and your mother alone. If you cannot do that—if you cannot be a gentleman and must continue to thwart their progress—then rest assured that I will do everything in my ability to foil your efforts."

Anna rubbed her hands up and down her arms as if the bitter night air had finally registered. She nodded a few times to herself before she turned, gingerly making her way back to the house.

Numb, Jacob watched her go, not understanding what had just happened. Had he read her so wrong? Surely she'd felt the fervor between them as he had? Was he too aggressive? Too forward?

"I apologize, Anna," Jacob said before she ventured too far. "I shouldn't have done that. I was just…" He ran a hand through his hair before dropping it aimlessly at his side. He shrugged, knowing his words were pathetic before they even left his mouth. "I wanted to prove you wrong. That the lust erupting between us wasn't weak."

Anna's steps faded. Her face was shiny under the moonlight, incandescent, and he wondered if tears were the culprit. "Nothing is erupting between us," she returned quietly. "And that wasn't lust."

With that, she left Jacob alone on his lawn. Just as he'd wanted, though it felt infinitely different now.

Because being alone was how he usually liked it. It was how he could think and work out the puzzles of the day. But Anna had left him with one that nagged at him all night.

If their kiss wasn't lust, then what was it?