Chapter Twenty-Two

Hatchards was crowded as Annabelle and Henry walked through the door together. He had called earlier, suggesting he take her out, and she knew this was his idea of a peace offering. Not that he had directly apologised for the way he had responded to the news she was engaged—but he had offered to buy her a book. Under any other circumstance, she would have been delighted.

Now, she was barely able to concentrate on her brother as he made aimless conversation. Her thoughts were taken up with Jacob. What had happened the last time they had met. What he had said.

You will be happier when you find another man. Better Cecil had lived and you had married him.

No doubt he hadn't intended to hurt her, but after he had touched her so intimately—with his mouth—his words had sunk into her skin. Painful. Barbed. Visiting him had been reckless, a necessity of sorts after seeing him at the tavern boxing, and to have him use her so summarily and insist she leave before, she was sure, he had received any pleasure, had stung. If it hadn't been for the darkness in his eyes, and the way he had kissed her after, with a touch of desperation he hadn't given voice to, she would have felt used and discarded.

As it was, she could not help thinking he had some strange notion in his head that either she would regret going further, or that he would contrive to destroy her the way he had ruined Madeline.

Henry looked down at her in mingled exasperation and amusement. "Are you listening to me?"

She blinked, coming back into her body, aware once more of her surroundings—shelves of books, the smell of ink and paper. Young ladies clustered in giggling groups; a young boy being dragged sullenly around by his mother.

"Yes?" she hazarded.

He sighed and pinched his nose. "I understand if you're still angry with me, but we should discuss this."

"Discuss . . . what, exactly?"

"Your betrothed," he said, levelling her a long look.

Well, that was a departure from life on the Continent, which was the last thing she'd registered him saying.

"Oh," she said.

"Firstly, as you clearly didn't hear me the first time, I wanted to apologise for my response to the news of your engagement." He said the words a little unwillingly, and Annabelle wondered if Theo had prodded him into it. Or perhaps it was his sense of duty. He always had been a stickler for duty—right until he had argued with his father and taken off to war.

She glanced up, noting the dark circles under his eyes. Was he sleeping at all? He did not look like it.

"I was displeased," he continued. An understatement. "His reputation is . . . unsavoury." Also an understatement. "I was concerned you would be hurt."

Annabelle paused by a particularly large copy of The Mysteries of Udolpho, one of Theo's favourite books, and couldn't resist running her finger down the spine. Without looking at her brother, she said, "Is that not my concern?"

"As your brother—"

"My engagement is none of your business."

His jaw clenched and she could see how urgently he longed to disagree with her. Their father had never been much involved in their lives, being too busy gambling away their fortune, and Henry had quickly assumed the role of heir and protector.

But this was Annabelle's concern. Once, she might have been perfectly happy to let Henry assume control of her life, purely because she did believe he had her best interests at heart. Things had changed since then, however—she had changed.

Jacob had changed her.

"I understand the circumstances behind your engagement now," he said. "And I want you to know something—you may feel as though you have no choice but to see it through, but you must know that I will support you if you decide to break it off."

"Henry." She finally dragged her gaze away from the book and to her brother's face. This was unexpectedly sweet. "I appreciate the offer, but—"

"As it happens, I know of some other gentlemen who might better take your fancy," he said, heedless of the way her face fell again. "They are more scholarly, like you, and I think you would like them."

"And if, Henry, I wished to end my engagement and not marry at all?"

He gave her a puzzled smile. "And do what, Anna? Live in Hardinge's house for the rest of your life? It's not a future you would enjoy, believe me. The spinster aunt?" He gave a short laugh and Annabelle pressed her lips together at the sudden wave of grim shame that overtook her.

As it happened, that had been her plan until recently. To live with either Theo or her mother and fill her days with reading and walking and the quiet joys of life.

But maybe Theo would not want her. Maybe her mother would not.

If she didn't marry, where would she go?

Her heart twisted at the thought of standing in a church with another gentleman, one who didn't have eyes like midnight sin and a mouth that could tempt even the pure to his unholy ways. How could she ever commit her life to a gentleman who didn't box with his bare fists, who didn't drink to drown whatever pain she still didn't understand, and who didn't touch her as though she was the most precious thing he had ever held?

She inhaled deeply, but the familiar scent of freshly printed books didn't calm her the way it usually did.

The answer was she couldn't. If he continued not to want to marry her, then she would have to find another way through life that didn't involve marriage.

"Are you certain you want to marry him?" Henry asked when she didn't speak. "Is he pressuring you into the match?"

"Pressuring me?"

"I understand Nathanial gave you a generous dowry."

"And you think Lord Sunderland is after me for my money?"

Henry shrugged. "Stranger things have happened. The more money he has, the more he can waste at card tables."

And here she had been thinking Henry was trying to support her. "And if I told you he had no interest in my dowry?"

The corner of Henry's mouth curled in distaste. "You mean to tell me he's in love with you?"

No.

If he loved her the way he had loved Madeline, he would already have married her. Instead, he was doing his best to marry her off to another gentleman.

Her stomach turned and she swallowed back the sour taste.

"I just want you to be happy," Henry said. "And I know what that man is capable of. The lives he's ruined."

"That's enough," Annabelle snapped, unable to listen to him any longer. "If I require your advice, you may be sure I will ask for it."

Henry's brows drew together. "Annabelle, I—"

"Jacob has been kind to me and yes, I'm sure he has done some terrible things in his past, but he has not been terrible to me, and I will not be persuaded to change my mind about marrying him or anyone else."

Not that there would be anyone else.

The next time they met, she would ask him once and for all if he would ever marry her, and if he would not, she would end the engagement. Reputation be damned. Now Henry was back, he could keep the family afloat, maybe marry a nice girl, and she could go back to her quiet life in the country. If no one wanted her, she would take an occupation somewhere. A governess, perhaps. Or a companion. That would be enough of what she wanted to be happy.

She would be happy.

Henry's face set, but he said nothing as she stalked forward and bought herself a new book with her pin money. But even that didn't soothe the emotions roiling in her chest.

The next time Annabelle saw Jacob was two days later at the theatre. Unfortunately, her entire family except for Theo, who was claiming illness, was in attendance, so there was little potential for privacy.

The first time she had come to the theatre in a box, she had been captivated by the opera below. Every tiny detail had held her attention, and she had felt her heart soar with the music.

Now, she was achingly aware of Jacob's muscular thigh inches from her own, radiating heat. The last time they had been together, he had done unspeakable things to her, and now she wanted him to do them to her again.

Her cheeks burned and she tried her best to focus on the elaborate staging, her opera glasses fixed to her eyes, her gaze unfixed and mindless.

With him this close, all she could think about was the sight of his head between her legs, and how she wanted him.

This kind of want wasn't pretty—it was a raw, visceral thing that had her fisting her hands until her knuckles whitened.

He glanced across at her; the tiniest movement of his head, one she wouldn't have seen if it weren't for the fact her attention was wholly on him. "Annabelle," he murmured, so low no one else could hear. He took her hand, straightening out her fingers. She was wearing little kitten gloves, and the grooves from her nails were visible in the fleshy part of her thumb. He smoothed over the material the way he might have smoothed over her skin.

She felt it all over.

What she desperately wanted was for the eyes behind them to vanish. In particular, she felt Henry's glare boring into the back of her head. Before they'd left, she'd made him promise he would say nothing, but there was no need for words when his eyes told a story all of their own.

Jacob retained her hand a heartbeat too long before replacing it on her lap, his eyes down on the opera below.

Look at me, she silently begged as she too pretended to watch the opera.

A muscle in his jaw flexed, but he made no other movement. He could have been a fallen angel in all his dark perfection, and had they been alone, she might have given into her temptation to look at him. Just look, just watch, just wonder what it might be like between them if they were to come together again.

A new ache started between her legs at the thought and she pressed her thighs together. This was a new sensation and not an entirely welcome one.

His gaze darted down to the way her skirts had shifted, and he inhaled. His body tensed for a second, and she half thought he was going to run from the box. Then, the motion looking like a physical effort, he exhaled and relaxed.

"You're missing it, little bird," he muttered when she didn't immediately look away from the tension in his hands.

Frustrated, she stared back at the stage, not taking anything in. A soprano was singing an aria, her voice rising and swelling in accents of agony that reflected in Annabelle's chest. Jacob had insisted on meeting them at the opera house instead of accompanying them there, and now, he looked as though he did not want to be there at all.

Cautiously, for she knew her family were just behind, she reached out a hand and wrapped it around one of his.

Without so much as looking at her, he freed himself from her grip and placed her hand back on her lap.

The wave of disappointment was crushing. She told herself it was nothing, that he merely would not want to show her affection in public, but it brought back the memory of how he had sent her away immediately after . . . well, after everything they had done.

If that was the case, she already knew what his answer would be when she asked if he would marry her. Her throat thickened. Somehow, inexplicably, things had changed for her, but nothing appeared to have changed for him. She was just his personal history repeating itself, and he was not prepared, it seemed, to let that happen.

Her breath caught on its way out and Jacob's jaw clenched.

A few torturous moments later, the curtain descended for the interval, and Annabelle gathered what tattered remnants of her courage remained. Now was her moment.

"Stay a moment," she said as Jacob made to leave. Behind them, Henry hesitated, then remained with them. She sucked in a sharp breath of frustration. Unmarried, with her family around her, it was impossible to find privacy.

"I must speak with you," she whispered, putting her hand on his arm. His eyes flickered down to the contact. "Please."

"And say what?" His jaw worked. "If you want me to apologise for the last time we met, I—"

"No!" The word was little more than a hiss, but some of the tension seeped from his body. He sighed.

"Then what is it?"

She could hardly tell him here with Henry's eyes on them. "Can I call on you?"

"That's not a good idea, little bird." Jacob tossed a glance behind them at her brother. "Your guard dog might not approve."

"He does not control me."

"Perhaps not, but it would be unwise to provoke him."

He was being infuriating and she set her jaw. "Very well. Be like that."

Jacob offered her a mocking bow, but she noticed his eyes were bleak. "Shall we find the Duke?"

Annabelle had no choice but to accept his arm and let him lead her away, Henry following close on their heels. Evidently now was not the right time to ask him if he would marry her.

The rest of the opera passed in a blur, Jacob still distant for all he played the role of attentive fiance, and by the time she returned home with Nathanial, her head ached and she wanted nothing more than to go to bed.

As soon as they stepped inside Norfolk House, however, she knew something was wrong. The silence was a little too profound, as though the house and all its occupants were holding their breaths.

"Theo?" Nathanial called, his voice echoing in the cavernous space.

One of the footmen stepped forward, his face impassive. "Her Grace was taken to bed earlier, Your Grace."

"To bed?" Nathanial frowned, already taking off his hat and gloves. "What happened?"

"Nothing too extreme, Your Grace, but she expressed a wish to see you as soon as you are home."

"Of course." Without waiting for Annabelle, Nathanial strode for the stairs. Annabelle handed her bonnet to William, the footman, and hurried after him. Theo had looked ill for the past couple of weeks, but she rarely allowed herself to be put to bed.

In fact, the last time she had been, she had been poisoned.

Annabelle broke into a run.

Her fear was entirely unjustified; she knew that even as she hurried through Theo's ajar bedroom door.

Theo looked up, exasperated, from where she was reclining on the bed. "You too? Really, the both of you. I am not dying."

Nathanial folded his arms from where he stood by her side. "Forgive me for my concern over the condition of my wife."

Annabelle said nothing, but she could still remember Theo's waxy face and uncontrollable way she had vomited, body shuddering, delirious with fever. She did not think she would ever forget.

"You do not usually take to your bed," Nathanial reminded her.

Theo looked into his face with such soft adoration, Annabelle felt as though she was intruding on something deeply personal. The pain in her chest heightened, reminding her that Jacob had, briefly, looked at her like that, shortly before he had insisted she leave his house.

She made to leave the room but Theo threw out a hand. "Wait, Anna. Stay. This concerns you too, a little."

"How so?"

Theo took a deep breath, glanced at Nathanial, and said, "I'm with child."