Chapter Ten

Jacob didn't like Annabelle.

That was what he told himself after he delivered her to her party, disappearing into the crowd before any of said party could see him. He didn't like her and he had absolutely no intention of being married to her. Not even to save her reputation.

She was bookish. She had been Cecil's first choice, and he had become involved with Cecil's choice before—and look how well that had turned out. All excellent reasons he had made the right choice in refusing to honour this ridiculous engagement. Who had done this, anyway?

Maybe it was her mother after all. Someone with a stake in matters surely had to be responsible.

Regardless, it was better for them all if he remained uninvolved. Madeline would have been better off if she had stayed away from him, and Annabelle was no different.

He reminded himself of this—apparently it transpired he still had a kernel of conscience left, and it was exclusively directed at young, unmarried women in danger of ruination—as he left his lodgings in Albany shortly before noon the next day.

And there, opposite him, was Annabelle, emerging from Hatchards with packages in her hands. There was a footman, similarly loaded down, just behind her, and her face was pale and pinched, a line between her brows.

The rush of anger and desire hit him like a boot to the gut.

She glanced up, seeing him, and the colour fled from her cheeks. One of her books tumbled from her arms onto the pavement, and she bent to pick it up, scarlet replacing the unnatural white.

"Lord Sunderland," she said breathlessly, retrieving her book. He briefly entertained the idea of walking away. "I was hoping we would see each other today."

"You were?" He raised an eyebrow. The first time he'd seen her, in Cecil's arms, she hadn't struck him as being especially pretty. Too small and pale for his liking. But that had been before he had kissed her, and before he had been tempted to kiss her again on multiple occasions.

Lust was an emotion easily overcome, in his experience, but only if one stopped encountering the object of their lust in dark, private spaces.

The thought irritated him still more, so he gave her a sensual smile. "I can only imagine for what, seeing as I expressly told you I would not be marrying you."

The irritation in her sigh matched his. "How many times must I tell you, I have no desire to be married?"

"Then we are done here."

"No, my lord, we are not."

This was bold for a lady who could not look at a gentleman without blushing. "Ah, so you are intrigued by what I can do for you?"

"It must be trialling, I know, but I do ask that you at least try not to be obnoxious."

He raised his eyebrows. "But I'm so good at it?"

Annabelle clicked her tongue, her little mouth pursing as she looked at him. There didn't seem to be any admiration in her gaze, which was frankly unusual for a woman who looked him up and down. Perhaps she really did hate him, after all.

Well, it would make throwing her to the wolves more palatable.

Until he remembered Madeline. Echoes of grief, mindless in its intensity, pounded in his head.

Hehad been the reason she had died. Because of him, she had been ruined, and she lost everything. If he abandoned this lady to her fate, would it be the same? Would the rumours spread in the same way they had with Madeline?

Would he ruin her as thoroughly?

He cursed under his breath as those last dregs of conscience came to life.

"Let us walk," he said, taking the books from her arms. Damn his conscience, and damn the girl for reminding him of Madeline.

Damn Madeline for ever allowing him to seduce her. She should have known better. Even then, before his course had been set, he was the vilified younger brother of a marquess who despised him.

"Do you know who put the engagement in the paper?" he asked.

"No, not yet." She bit her lip, and he decided it would be better for his sanity if he didn't look at her mouth. "Nathanial—that is to say, the Duke, is going to make enquiries."

"Not that it really matters now," he muttered. If Helmsley had been spreading rumours about them in order to ruin her, the damage was already done to her reputation.

"No," she agreed. "I suppose it does not."

"What outcome are you hoping for?" he asked her abruptly. "You've already said you don't want to marry me, but if people believe you were in the gardens with me, marriage is your only solution to avoid scandal. And I have already told you I am not the marrying sort."

"At least give us more time." She cast him a pleading glance. "Say nothing to contradict the engagement so we have longer to discover a way out."

The way out for him was simple: he would not marry her and to hell with the consequences.

"A way out?" He gestured impatiently. "You say you do not want to marry, but marriage is your only solution."

Her jaw set, but to his surprise, she said nothing to argue with him.

"What, precisely, are your objections to marriage?" he asked. "Do you dislike the institution, dislike men, or merely find yourself unable to form meaningful attachments?"

Her mouth fell open with a pop. "I am not incapable of forming meaningful attachments."

"Then why?"

"My objection is that I have yet to find a gentleman who might offer me the life I want."

"And what is that?" he pressed.

She sent him a dour look. "I doubt you are that gentleman."

He flashed her a sharp smile. "I never claimed to be a gentleman. Now, the question?"

He could see her reluctance in the way she looked at the ground. They strolled slowly along the road, looking for all the world like a promenading couple. Given their engagement, and the presence of her footman walking just behind, no one would think anything amiss.

The idea came to him in a flash: a ludicrous, preposterous idea. One that, though he tried to shake it off, followed him with the tenacity of a shadow.

It would both ensure history did not play out again and that he would not end up having to marry this girl.

"How about another question," he said when she didn't answer. "What if I were able to find you a gentleman you preferred? That would hardly be a difficult task, I think. Would you marry him then?"

Annabelle gaped at the Marquess. When she had asked for his help finding a solution, she had hoped said solution would involve no husbands.

"Another gentleman?" she repeated.

"Well, I have no intention of marrying you."

The very thing she had been trying to avoid all Season. But if the Marquess, whose hobbies included ruination, gambling and quite possibly murder, could think of no other alternative, it struck her there probably was none.

"Here's my suggestion," he said as though coming to a decision. "I will not say anything against the engagement. In fact, I will actively court you. If nothing else, that will pique Helmsley. No doubt he never thought I would actually marry you."

Annabelle gave a wry smile, though the thought of Helmsley brought back the nausea. "If someone had not written to The Times, you would not have done."

"Nuance." He had the gall to wave a dismissive hand. "So, I will allow the engagement to proceed. At the same time, I will teach you how to flirt, and deliver you into the waiting arms of a gentleman who would better suit you."

There was a lot to digest in that sentence, but one word alone jumped out at her. "You will teach me to flirt?"

"It strikes me you are singularly poor at it."

She wasn't sure if she was more offended or amused. "Why would I be good at it?"

"Why, to attract gentlemen, of course." He waggled his eyebrows at her. "And because it's fun."

Fun for him, perhaps. Fun for anyone who didn't feel cripplingly anxious whenever they were in public. The only time she didn't, for a reason she couldn't articulate, was when she was with the Marquess. Probably because, as far as bad opinion went, he soaked it all up.

He, like her, was an outsider.

"You will have to learn how to be coquettish," he went on. "I know you have no experience in that."

"That is because I have no interest in it."

"Plenty other girls your age do." There was a wry expression in his eyes, as though he knew something she didn't—or had been on the receiving end of that coquettishness. Considering he was the rakish Devil of St James, she suspected he had. "It's a useful skill to have in your arsenal, believe me."

She blinked at him. Then, when his expression didn't change, she blinked again. "How long do you suppose it will take for you to find me another husband?" she asked doubtfully. "My sister will want me to marry by the end of the month."

He only paused for a second. "Then I suppose it is lucky my brother died not three months ago," he said. "It would not be seemly to marry too soon after his death. Six months would be more appropriate. Three months from now."

The Marquess did not appear to be overly concerned with what was seemly. He had barely taken any time to grieve his brother at all, wearing only the minimal amount of black and almost immediately kicking up such hell around London, it was a surprise he was ever invited anywhere.

Then again, he had plenty of older ladies who enjoyed his company. Annabelle wasn't privy to those conversations, but it seemed as though he had become somewhat of a trophy to be won. A prize to be flouted on the arm of one lady or another, a claim that they had tamed the devil. Annabelle wondered what he felt about it. Then she reminded herself she didn't care.

"Three months," she said, tasting the words. Three months did not seem very long. "Very well. You have until the end of the summer to find me another husband. Then I will officially break our engagement. But only if I am assured the other gentleman will propose."

The Marquess's eyes glittered dangerously. "Or what, little bird? Do you think you will succeed in dragging me to the altar? I assure you, you are mistaken."

Panic flared across her senses and she forced it back. Although she did not like the Marquess, she would need a husband if everything went wrong. There was no guarantee that he could find another gentleman prepared to offer for her in that time-frame, and she needed to know her reputation would be safe.

Or rather, for her family's sake she needed to do this.

But she could not persuade the Marquess the ordinary way; he would not marry her from duty alone. Already she knew that. He had killed a man and left him lifeless on the road behind him.

She would have to appeal to the one thing that could control him now: his ego.

"Why," she asked, tilting her head to look at him assessingly, "do you believe it's impossible?"

He smirked. "I could render even you desirable, little bird, and your dowry is an added boon."

"Then you will have no issue making a deal with me," she said, heart racing. "If you believe there is no chance of you succeeding."

His eyes gleamed before he could shut down the expression, and she knew she had chosen well. Perhaps the only thing that could inspire him to make a deal with her was a challenge. She had learnt how much he liked that when she had informed him that she did not like kissing—or kissing him.

"You are very bold, little bird," he murmured, leaning in closer. "Why should I agree?"

"I'll do what is necessary. Learn to flirt, be coquettish, whatever it is you need from me." Her words were too fast, a torrent tumbling from her but she could not have stopped them if she had desired. This was a deal she needed. Theo needed her to make it. "And you guarantee that if, by some miracle, you do not find me a husband I am willing to marry in three months . . ." She held her breath. "You must marry me yourself."