Chapter Twenty-Four

Under usual circumstances, Jacob was not one to cuddle, but when he opened his eyes again, the sun was setting and Annabelle was tucked against his chest, her breath flowering across his skin.

He could live a hundred lifetimes and never deserve her.

But he wanted to. And he closed his eyes against the strength of that desire, because it was crumbling his every resistance. The scars on his back ached, and he was reminded yet again that he had removed his shirt. She had seen all of him, even the unpleasant parts, and she hadn't run screaming from the room. She had wanted to defend him.

He pressed a kiss to her temple, waking her. She stirred sleepily, and then her eyes widened as she took in the passage of time. She sat, reaching to cover herself. He caught her wrist and kissed her shoulder.

"Don't be ashamed, little bird." And don't regret this.

He could bear her marrying another—he thought. That was the punishment he had chosen for himself, and he would find a way to endure her being happy with another gentleman. But if she looked at him with disgust now this was over, he didn't think he could ever endure that.

"No, I should just—I should return home."

"Let me send you back in a carriage," he said. That was one point he was determined to be firm on. History could not repeat itself. No matter what, he would protect her reputation.

And her reputation would be better protected by another man, one whom her brother didn't despise and actively speak out against.

She blinked several times, and he realised with belated horror that her eyes were glassy with tears. Helplessness swamped him, and he swiped under her cheeks with his thumb. "No, don't cry," he said softly. "Not over me."

"I just don't want to say goodbye." She shook her head and pushed away from him, finding her discarded clothes. "But we must."

"This doesn't change anything." He watched her, unable to look away although he knew he should. The imprint of her naked form would be forever etched in his mind. He would never be able to escape her, no matter how far he ran. "I will still find you a suitable husband."

She snorted, a not unreasonable response. "I don't want a suitable husband," she said, sliding her chemise over her head.

The temptation to ask her to marry him, damn the consequences, was almost overwhelming. He gritted his teeth. The Devil of St James didn't have a heart; everyone knew that. Annabelle had known that going in. He knew that.

Whatever obsession he was in the throes of, it would fade with time.

If he married her, they would have children. The Barrington line would continue despite his every effort to the contrary. The family he had grown up to hate would live on in their children, and that felt like a betrayal.

"What do you want?" he asked.

She gave him a sad smile as she turned, offering him her back. "Would you do up my stays and dress?"

His fingers were not as nimble as they should have been, and they fumbled with the laces. "What was your purpose in coming here?" he asked when he was done and she was fully clothed—and he was still naked.

"For two things." She looked into his face and he was startled to see heartbreak there. "To see if you would marry me as agreed at the end of the summer."

"We still have two months left."

"I don't want another husband, Jacob." Her bottom lip trembled and he fought the urge to smooth his thumb across it. "I would have married you, but I have no wish to marry anyone else."

The one thing Madeline had never said. And though Madeline had hurt him, it had never felt quite like this. That had been the dream of a boy who knew no better, who mistook attraction for love. This was something wholly sweeter, more obtainable, and yet he still felt her slipping through his fingers.

He knew he needed to let her go, but watching her leave was the hardest thing he had ever done.

"Annabelle—" he started, hardly knowing what he was going to say.

"Hush." She reached up and brushed her lips over his. "You don't want to marry me."

"I can't," he whispered, and something broke inside him.

"Then this is right." Her smile was sad, her eyes were shimmering with tears, and there was a crack in her voice, but her hand was soft as it lingered on his cheek. "You gave me this, and that is enough, Jacob."

It was a peculiar kind of pain, to watch her slip from the room knowing he had denied her. But though she wanted him, it was only because he had been the one to touch her first. One day, and one day soon, that would not be the case.

The thought made him want to hurt something—or perhaps just himself. His heart ached in a way he had thought it could not, and it was agony. He was agony. But this was for the best. Even if, in the aftermath of a joining that had shaken him to the core, it did not feel like it.

Jacob,

My sister is with child and by the time you receive this, I will have left London. After our meeting, I think it's only fitting I end our arrangement and engagement now. Fear not: no one will think you mistreated me or behaved dishonourably.

Thank you for teaching me what it meant to be wanted. I will treasure that all my days.

Yours,

Annabelle

Jacob stared at the missive in his hands with unarticulated shock, his gaze lingering on the small scrawled ‘yours' for far too long. She had messy handwriting, elegant despite the chaos of her uneven letters and the blotches of ink she'd left at the bottom of the page. There was a thumbprint on the back from when she had folded it up.

She was leaving.

This was everything he had been looking for, the escape he had been searching for. And it had come at very little cost to him; she was the one to break their agreement and she would announce she had ended their engagement. People would whisper, because they always did, but his reputation would not be significantly damaged.

She was leaving.

He should be celebrating. What a painless end to an engagement he had never intended to uphold.

She was leaving.

Blindly, he sank into a chair, an iron ball in the pit of his stomach. Yesterday, she had come to him for pleasure, and now she was gone. Absurdly, he felt used and discarded, though he had been the one to insist he could not marry her. Shock punched a hole straight through him, and the resulting emptiness made him dizzy.

With every loss he suffered, he thought he would grow accustomed to the bottomless sink of it. The way grief clawed up his insides and raked bloody gashes across his emotions until he bled out.

Empty.

But no, this was not grief. He had not loved her. He did not love—that was the nature of the devil. That was everything he had promised himself all those years ago when Madeline had ripped out his heart and replaced it with the blackened, ruined thing he'd carried in his chest all that time. This could not be heartbreak.

She had come to say goodbye. When she had cried, it had been over leaving him forever, but he had just thought she hadn't wanted to leave him then.

Unbidden, he looked at the couch where they had slept together after he had taken her virginity, the very thing he had sworn he would never do.

He cursed, but nothing eased the heavy weight that was sinking him further into the chair.

Thank you for teaching me what it meant to be wanted. I will treasure that all my days.

She wrote as though she would never see him again. Whatever they had shared was over.

He did his best to convince himself it was better this way. Mere hours ago he had held her and never wanted to let go, but he told himself that he did not care for her.

He cared for nothing.

And he never would again.