Chapter Six

U gh, courtship is intolerable.

If it wasn't for the vexing back-and-forth with Anna, Jacob would have escaped the couple hours ago. The constant flutter of inane conversation threatened to do him in. How many times could people remark on the fineness of the weather? Or the fineness of the knickknacks in the shops? Or the fineness of the crowd on the road? Was that what love did to a person? Make everything seem perpetually fine? Well, count him out, then.

On an intellectual level, Jacob understood that one day he would have to settle down with a wife, especially since he held a title now and his seed was, apparently, too important not to spread. Nevertheless, if it meant spending countless hours remarking on the fineness of the world, then he could afford to wait a few years. His sanity depended on it.

Not that he was asserting this decrepit suitor, Sir John, held such strong affections for his mother. No, Jacob was still not sold on the baronet's genuine devotion, but he had to hand it to the man—Sir John Smythe played a very good game. Almost as well as his daughter.

True to her word, Anna continued to be the fly in Jacob's ointment. In her ladylike, graceful way she outmaneuvered Jacob throughout the morning, pulling and prodding him so that he was never quite where he wanted to be, namely in between his mother and Sir John. In each shop she stuck to him, finding new and advantageous ways to keep their parents' attention on one another and not his sulky comments. It would have infuriated him to no end, if not for the fact that it meant he had her glued to his side for the majority of their time. Jacob found that he rather liked that… liked it all too well.

Even now as the foursome gathered around the table at the Naughty Monk, Anna spun her magic on the situation, orchestrating the seating arrangements, dictating that Jacob sat next to her and across from his mother—as far away from Sir John as possible.

What he would have given for a rich, dark ale, not this worthless, limp tea that managed to make him more parched the more he forced it down his defeated gullet.

Anna's smugness didn't help matters. She was positively giddy as Sir John and his mother retreated to the bar to converse with the tavern owner, a barrel-chested man who liked to gossip more than a sewing circle.

"Sulking doesn't become you," she teased, handing Jacob an oval biscuit from the tray at the center of the table. "If you put your pride aside, you might realize that you've had a fine day." Her emphasis on the word managed to bring a resistant smile to his face. Fine. So she'd noticed the overuse of the banal word as well.

Jacob accepted the peace offering, shoving the buttery treat into his mouth. It didn't taste as good as Anna—nothing ever would—but the little sweetness was better than nothing. He washed it down with the remainder of his tea and grimaced. "I'm never going through with it," Jacob stated firmly. "All of this cloying ‘yes, please' and ‘oh, thank you' and ‘isn't that lovely' nonsense. It's too much."

Tiny lines fanned out from the sides of Anna's eyes even as she pursed her lips in disappointment. "You will forsake the marital yoke, will you? Brave man."

"Not at all. Marriage is a business arrangement, no more so than in the peerage. I will merely find a wife and make my intentions known. If she's agreeable, then that will be that."

The adorable little creases evaporated from Anna's face—the disappointment, however, did not. "That will be that?" she spat. "How romantic of you. You better be ready, my lord, because with words such as those, all the available young ladies of good breeding all be swarming you in no time."

"Don't give me that look," Jacob said, reaching for another biscuit. He was hungry; he'd missed breakfast this morning when he found out about the excursion. He'd had to hurry to catch up to the couple before they left. "You think it's ridiculous too, all this nonsensical talk. It's offensive."

"I think no such… thing." Anna's words dropped off as if she regretted them the second that they left her mouth. Jacob waited for her to continue, though she seemed perfectly content to twirl her teacup around on the table, fixated on the little blue flowers painted on the side. "Well… maybe it is a tad dull, but they're new to this—new to each other. They're trying to see how they fit together without bashing around too much. It's lovely. It's how love is."

"Ugh, please. There's that word again." Jacob shoved himself away from the table so he could stare at the woman without putting a crick in his neck. "You seem well versed on the subject—is there something you're not telling me? Is there a man at home just biding his time until he whisks you off to his castle?"

Anna's brow furrowed. Jacob almost muttered a curse. Stupid man. He wasn't sure if her reaction was due to his comment or the harsh way he'd said it. Where had all this emotion come from? Still, his shoulders strained as he waited for her answer.

When she began to shake her head, Jacob barely had the strength to stifle the relief in his breath. Anna Smythe wasn't his woman. But he didn't want her to be anyone else's either. Especially since he planned on kissing her many more times during this fateful little visit.

Speaking of kissing …

"No?" he asked when no comment followed. "Huh. I figured that was the reason you almost slaughtered me last night after our kiss."

Anna's eyes snapped up from the teacup, brimming with anger and… hunger? Either worked for Jacob.

"You shouldn't have done that," she said, making sure to twist the knife when she added, "and it will never happen again."

Jacob grinned. He skimmed the top of her hand with her finger, laughing when she pulled away. "Why? I know you liked it."

"You do not."

"Oh, yes, I do," he continued, resting his forearms on his knees. Jacob bent toward Anna, his head perched just about her shoulder. "By the way, what did you mean when you said that my kiss wasn't lustful? I can assure you that it most definitely was."

Anna's gaze shot to their parents at the bar. They were still out of earshot and happily engaged with the owner. "From my experience, kisses are not a form of lust; they are beautiful, poetic symbols of love."

"Christ," Jacob scoffed, falling back into his seat. "You've been kissing the wrong people."

Anna raised her chin, her round face serious and resolute. "Not at all. The kisses I've experienced have been quite perfect, actually. And I feel sorry for you. Sorry that you will never encounter anything like it."

"Who was he?"

"No one," Anna squeaked, answering much too quickly.

"He wasn't no one," Jacob pressed. "Tell me."

She was back to staring at her damn teacup. "No one that you know."

"Yes, because I was a filthy newspaperman, I understand," he said with a mirthless laugh. He sobered instantly. "And he's gone now?"

"I'm not talking about this with you." Anna sighed. "I only mention it now to prove to you that I have life experiences. I'm not some sheltered little girl of the ton . I've tasted love, felt it, lived it, which makes me adept at seeing it now. Life isn't a game. Rarely does one have second chances at happiness. The fact that my father and your mother have this possibility is something to be celebrated, not derided."

Jacob had an insatiable urge to kiss her again, if only to wipe the sad, wistful look off her face. He wished that they'd never broached this ridiculous subject in the first place. The last thing he wanted to hear about was Anna's first love. The man had obviously died or jilted her, and she was still hung up on the dreamy devil. "Do you honestly think I want to hold my mother back? I want her to be happy."

"But?"

Jacob rolled his eyes. "I want it to be with someone who isn't trying to fleece her."

Anna flopped her hands on the table. Good. That forlorn expression was gone and replaced with irritation. He preferred that any day. "How many times do I have to tell you? My father's intentions are pure. You must think your mother a pathetic, weak woman if you believe she would fall for a con man."

"Certainly not," Jacob scoffed.

Anna went on, speaking over him. "All those years she kept food in your belly and a roof over your head after your father passed must have been a happy accident, then. She must have been lucky that providence was looking out for her so well to be able to take care of not only her son but her sisters."

"Oh, stop being so dramatic," he said, his spine popping as he straightened in his seat. "You know very well how highly I regard my mother. She is one of the strongest women I've ever met."

"But you don't trust her to know her own mind. You don't trust that she can guide and shield her own heart."

Jacob granted the vixen an appraising smile. He'd walked right into that one. His father would have adored Anna—her debating skills were unparalleled. Nevertheless, Jacob was down, not beaten.

He'd started to issue his retort when the sound of his mother's laughter cut him off. It was girlish and effervescent and still managed to delight him despite the situation. Anna sent him a winning grin, as if the laughter was actually proving her point. It was not.

"I do trust my mother," he explained in a measured, condescending tone. "But women are…" How could he put this without the dangerous chit breaking her teacup over his head? "Women are soft."

"Soft?"

"Weak.

" Weak! "

"In affairs of the heart," Jacob rushed out. He planted his boots firmly on the floor as he watched Anna's knuckles glow white around the cup. "It's nothing to be ashamed of; it's just the way they are—the fairer, more delicate sex and whatnot."

Anna's mouth puckered up as if she'd just eaten an entire raw lemon. The action served to make her bottom lip look even more ripe for the tasting. "Ridiculous," she muttered. "Absolutely ridiculous. I should have known."

"Known what?" Sir John asked. Jacob had been so wrapped up in Anna that he hadn't noticed that their parents had meandered back to the table. "Anna?" her father asked, eyeing her carefully. "What should you have known?"

Anna closed her eyes, inhaling deeply before she reopened them. She issued a fake smile that fooled no one. "Oh, it's nothing, Father."

Jacob's mother tittered nervously. "It doesn't seem like nothing, my dear. Jacob? What did you say to the poor girl? Apologize at once."

He threw his mother an incredulous look. "I didn't do anything. I just said that—"

"Women are weak," Anna replied, beating him to it.

"In matters of the heart," he amended.

"Anna," Sir John drawled with no small hint of warning. His spindly auburn eyebrows reached up to the top of his hairline. "I told you not to go on about cricket."

Cricket?

"Oh, cricket!" Jacob's mother exclaimed, visibly relieved that the conversation wasn't as serious as she'd assumed. "Your father says you are quite the player, Anna. He says you've even joined a club. How fun that sounds, being able to get all that fresh air and express yourself in that physical way."

Anna pressed her fingers into the grooves of the table, following a split in the wood. "We weren't talking about cricket," she said, her voice low.

"Good," Sir John said.

Her head popped up and whipped toward Jacob. "But now that you mention it, maybe we should."

"Anna…" Sir John cautioned.

Jacob put up a hand. "No, no. I think I want to hear this. Go on, Miss Smythe. I'm all ears."

In an instant, Anna reached into her cloak and pulled out an old piece of paper. She took her time unfolding it, smoothing out the edges before placing it on the table in front of him.

"Do you actually keep that on you at all times?" Sir John said, cradling his head in his hands.

She gave him a blank stare. "Yes. It's not odd. Don't make it odd."

Jacob peered at the document. "This is a newspaper. My newspaper."

Anna nodded energetically. "Indeed." She tapped her fingertips on the bottom right side of the page. "You wrote this article, did you not? About the matrons versus singles cricket match that took place last summer?"

Jacob frowned. Why was the woman so incensed? "Yes."

"Please, Anna," Sir John implored. "Drop this at once."

"I will not," she replied icily. "The man just said that women are weak—"

" In affairs of the heart, " Jacob railed. Christ. They were like a carousel, going round and round in circles.

Anna wasn't listening. "I just wanted to ask Lord Newton how he could write this drivel when he watched talented women play cricket. With his own two eyes, he witnessed my team pummel the matrons. I hit for twenty-three runs! I smacked the ball so hard that my palms hurt the next day. And after all that, he still has the audacity to believe that women are soft and weak. It is beyond my comprehension."

Weak in matters of the heart! Jacob knew better than to say it this time. Instead, fool that he was, he tried to defend himself, because the woman obviously hadn't read the article properly. He'd praised the players. The match had been a resounding success. Thousands had come out to enjoy it. What more did she want? More recognition?

"Are you angry because I didn't mention you by name? I had no idea you were so hungry for fame," Jacob said dryly.

Anna sucked in a breath. "You said we were a fad. You said that because we couldn't hit as far or bowl as fast, people would eventually lose interest in us. You said there was no place for women's cricket."

Jacob shook his head before she finished speaking. "I said nothing of the sort. I said that people would probably lose interest. Probably. That's an important word. Because it's true. Women can't hit the ball as far or bowl as fast. It's just the way it is, and people spend their hard-earned money and time to watch a spectacle. They enjoy speed and dynamic feats in the field."

"And women can't provide that? Even if we practice and train and work harder than the men, you still don't think we have a chance at succeeding?"

Jacob shrugged, feeling cagey and out of his element. He was no stranger to confrontations; many a person had hounded him on the streets, hollering about something he'd written. It was a hazard of the trade. But the way Anna was regarding him, as if he'd ripped out her heart and stomped on it with his boot, made him reconsider ever picking up a pen again.

"I'm sorry," he said quickly, glancing at his mother for help. She wouldn't meet his eye; it was obvious whose side she was on. "I don't wish to dissuade you. If you enjoy playing, then play. What does it matter if you don't have the same number of spectators as the men?"

Anna's eyes narrowed viciously. "It's not about the crowds."

"Then what?"

Anna didn't answer. "I'd like to go now," she told her father, rising from her seat. "I didn't get much sleep last night. I'm… I'm very tired all of a sudden."

"Of course, my dear," Jacob's mother replied, gathering her things. "We'll go at once. What was I thinking keeping you out so long? You've only just arrived yesterday."

Jacob couldn't leave it at that. He simply had to know. "Then what, Anna?" he persisted as the others rose to their feet. "Tell me."

Her face was hauntingly baleful. "You wouldn't understand."

Jacob reached for her hand, ignoring Sir John's ferocious scowl. "Why wouldn't I understand?"

Gently, Anna extricated herself from his hold. "Because you've never had to."