Chapter Thirty-One

Jacob's ancestral seat, Belcourt Hall, was located in Cheshire, and after securing Annabelle's hand in marriage, he travelled there for the first time since his father had died. While Annabelle kept her sister company in Kent, he set about the task of setting his estate in order.

He flung open the windows to let light and air into the musty rooms; he ordered everything to be cleaned in preparation for the new marchioness; he spoke with the groundskeepers and the steward to establish what he would need to do to revive the land.

If they were going to spend the majority of their time here in the future, as Annabelle preferred the quiet of the country to the bustle of the city, he had every intention of learning how best to run his estate.

This was the role his father had never thought him capable of. Even Cecil had never believed he could make anything of himself, for all he had wished it. But Jacob found himself enjoying being a landowner. Politics was not something he was cut out for, but he could do this, at least.

And he took great pleasure in ordering all his father's portraits to be burnt.

Then, he turned his attention to the paperwork that had mounted during his inaction.

The door to his study creaked open and Annabelle crept in, shutting the door carefully behind her. She had arrived a few days ago with Louisa on a visit that was, on the surface, largely above board. He had suggested she see her future home before they married, and Louisa had offered to act as chaperone.

Sometimes, when he was alone, the memories of what had been done to him in this room were overwhelming, but when Annabelle was with him, all the darkness within him gave way to her light.

"You really do have a lot of debts," she said, peering over his shoulder at the papers.

He laughed under his breath and snaked an arm around her waist. "That is hardly the surprising part."

"Then what is?"

"The fact I'm going to pay them off." He tapped the end of her nose. "As soon as you marry me, that is."

"I knew you were only marrying me for my dowry," she said mock-teasingly.

"Guilty as charged."

She laughed, a slow unfurling of sound that made his stomach tighten. He wasn't sure why—probably because he'd heard her laugh so rarely over the course of their acquaintance. Now, she was laughing freely and without restraint, and he would never tire of hearing it.

"Where's Louisa?" he asked, tugging Annabelle onto his lap.

"Distracting your housekeeper." Annabelle wiggled against him with deliberate provocativeness, and he hardened against her backside. "She requested a tour of the gardens and I claimed a headache."

"Little minx," he said affectionately, holding her in place. His teeth grazed her earlobe and she bit back a gasp. "I suppose you came here looking for polite conversation."

"I thought we might discuss your investments." She arched against him as he splayed his hand against her stomach.

"Well that's an offer I can't refuse," he murmured, drawing her more firmly against him. "Although why is it you always find me when there's no bed?"

"There are very few opportunities to find you when there is a bed." Her voice dissolved into a sigh, and he smiled against her neck. "It will be a relief when we are finally married."

"Only one more week." The thought filled him with an almost possessive pride. "I'm sure you can hold out that long." He slid his fingers through her hair, gripping the silky strands and tugging her head back. She made a low noise of approval, and he reached up to cup her breast.

She was tinder; he was a match. The conflagration was inevitable.

"Are you nervous?" she asked, her head tilted back to his shoulder.

"About marrying you?"

"About the concept of marriage."

"To anyone else I would be." He licked up the column of her throat. "Then again, I wouldn't be marrying anyone else."

"No, nor would I." She let out a long, shuddering breath. "I thought I would be nervous."

"Of what, love?"

"Marrying the Devil of St James."

"I do have a terrible reputation," he said, taking hold of her earlobe with his teeth and tugging.

"People will whisper." She took his hand and guided it to her throat, which she bared as an offering. Trust—he had never had anyone trust him the way she did. "But I don't think I mind."

"Let them whisper. Let them envy our happiness from afar."

She twisted so she was facing him, her summer eyes now the violet of approaching autumn. "I have never cared less what other people think."

"Long may that continue." He leant forward and kissed her, drawing her bottom lip into his mouth and sucking. "Although for what it's worth, I shall comport myself with the utmost dignity when we are in Society together. No one shall be able to fault my behaviour."

"Liar," she said, laughing, her cheeks rosy pink. "You'll shock all of the matrons with your outlandish comments."

"Well, I will flirt with you outrageously."

"That's not done," she said primly, but a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "A husband and wife should not show each other undue affection in public."

"Then I take it back: I shall not comport myself with dignity. I shall be slavishly devoted to my wife and break every rule of convention."

"The world will be amazed."

"The world can go hang. I want what will make you happiest."

"You," she whispered, looping her arms around his neck. "You, Jacob. That's all."

He kissed her forehead. "And books."

"Well, yes. Of course."

"I would expect nothing else."

"But they do come second," she said, considering. "I think."

"I'm flattered."

Her laugh was low but it still tingled up his spine as though she had put her finger to his skin. "I hope you are. That is a concession I never thought I would make."

"Then I'm not only flattered but honoured," he said, kissing her again because he could not quite help himself. "How long do we have?"

"Until dinner, I think."

He rose, lifting her and placing her on the desk. To hell with his paperwork. "Wait there," he instructed as he strode to the windows and shut the curtains. There was no point offending the staff when Annabelle would soon be their mistress.

Annabelle was flushed, her eyes shining like stars, and he took a moment to appreciate her shy beauty. Pointed chin, full mouth, large eyes, soft freckles across her nose which she confessed to hating and he adored. Cheeks that were more frequently red than pale, as they were now. Sometimes with embarrassment, but more recently, with pleasure.

"You," he said hoarsely, "are a wonder."

She gave a shy smile. "High praise coming from a man who has brought Society to its knees."

"There's someone else I would like to see on their knees."

Her cheeks glowed a deeper red. "That would be scandalous, my lord."

"It would be delectable, sweetheart." He stepped closer, taking his time. "But that's not what you're here for."

"And what am I here for?"

He picked up a book from his desk and handed it to her. "Reading is your love, is it not? Open a page and begin."

She eyed him over the top of the pages, her flush sinking down her throat to her chest. "What will you do?"

He sank to his knees and pushed her skirts back. "Distract you."

Jacob's hand was warm on hers as he led her out through the gardens. July had eased into August, and the grass was dry underfoot. Tomorrow morning, they would travel to London for the wedding. Then, to her relief, instead of parading her to Society like she had feared a new husband might, Jacob seemed perfectly content to whisk her back off to the country. A honeymoon in Yorkshire then back to her new home.

Heaven.

Of course, now she was able to retreat from Society, she found she didn't fear it the same way she had. There were still expectations—rather alarming ones, given her forthcoming rank and consequence. But she had Jacob by her side, and although his reputation was not altogether savoury, he was at least now a rich and influential man, and he looked at her as though she had hung the moon and every single one of the stars.

"Given you already have me, body and soul," Jacob said, a languid drawl in his voice, "what do you want most in the world?"

She raised an eyebrow at him. "You presume you come first."

"You informed me only the other day that you prefer me to books."

"I said I think, and my opinion can quickly change. Especially when you're arrogant and obnoxious."

He gave her a hooded, lazy smile and her heart quickened in anticipation. Really, she was insatiable when it came to him, and although it wasn't precisely unwelcome, it wasn't always convenient. "Ah but, little bird, I am always arrogant and obnoxious. I have it on the best of authority."

"Then I suppose I prefer books," she said tartly, twinkling up at him. Past the pretence at indifference, his eyes glowed back, all heat and seduction and something deeper, warmer.

"A timely conclusion." They turned a corner to see a small stone cottage overlooking a lake. Havercroft was beautiful, but here, Jacob's estate embraced the land, wilderness and all, and Annabelle loved it with a fervour she'd thought she'd saved exclusively for Jacob.

Apparently it extended to all of his worldly possessions, too.

"It's beautiful," she said, taking in the white wooden porch and the curving wall that overlooked the lake. The windows on that side were especially large and would catch the afternoon sun. "Is this the summerhouse you've been building?"

"It is and it isn't."

She frowned. "Then what is it?"

"You'll see." There was an enigmatic smile on his face as he strolled forward, apparently in no rush to explore the building he had kept from her the entire duration of her stay. He pulled a key from his pocket and handed it to her. "This is for you," he said. "Consider it yours hereafter."

"Mine?" With slightly shaking hands, she put the key in the lock and turned. There was a clunk and the door slowly opened. Annabelle stepped inside, into a . . .

A library.

The entire building was one large library, a curved wall with two enormous windows, complete with window seats and towering bookcases on every wall. The shelves were not yet filled, but there were many books here already. Some she recognised—her favourites.

"Jacob." She turned to him with tears in her eyes. "Jacob, what is the meaning of this?"

"I'm sorry it's not yet fully stocked; I have to be mindful of my debts." He shifted a little uncomfortably. "And I confess I had to write to your sister to discover all your favourites. I know you particularly like my London library—and I confess I dislike the room far less now, for some unaccountable reason—but we'll be spending a great deal of the year here. So I thought you should have a library of your own that you can make into whatever you wish."

Annabelle mouthed the words library of my own. She'd thought she'd been happy before, but this transcended everything.

"You love me," she said in wonder, turning back to look at his beautiful face. "You love me."

"If I'd known the library was what it would take for you to believe me, I would have bribed the workmen to build it faster." He laughed down at her, cupping her face in his hands. Then his smile pressed softly to hers, and her heart was so full of adoration that it hurt. A sweet, indefinable pain she would spend a lifetime untangling. None of the books she'd read had prepared for the tumultuous reality of loving a man more than the rest of the world put together.

"I love you," she said, needing to say it aloud. Around them, the library was silent and cool, and she took his hand, dragging him to the window, from which the lake glittered under the stone-grey sky.

He cradled the back of her head as he kissed her the way he had done that first time, with the lazy arrogance of a man confident his kisses would be well-received. Annabelle held on tight, certain she would never need anything else.

Their story was in motion, the pages turning, and she was loving every single word.

He pulled away, looking at her with that ferocious hunger in his eyes. Oh, the way he wanted her; she would never be used to it.

"You," he said, his voice a midnight purr that made desire coil in her belly, "are Annabelle Barrington."

Annabelle Barrington. Her name sounded impossibly good in his mouth.

"And you," she said, reaching up to kiss him back, "are mine."

THE END