Chapter Six #2
Even with his lips sealed and hands tied, Jackson wasn’t without his wits.
To keep Anna from learning of his involvement with the Home Office, he’d need wit, luck, and divine intervention.
His eyes narrowed. “That’s why you made me promise you would not be parted from your brother.
” Fat chance she hadn’t been caught in Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s clutches looking into William’s last known locations.
Jackson shook his head. “You’re investigating your brother’s disappearance. ”
He could hardly blame her. He’d have done the same if it were Figaro missing.
“I won’t stop,” she said.
That defensive tone.
“Stop insulting me,” he got out, the easy comfort of their past ruined by prickly tempers of their present. “You used to condemn the judgements of others.”
She stepped around the desk, her lemon scent filling his nose as her sharp words dug the thorns deeper. “Stop bringing up the past. I’m not that person any longer.”
“Your bitterness has made that perfectly clear.”
She laughed, a sound devoid of humor. “Is that supposed to be a slight?” Another step closer.
He but had to exhale and their chests would touch. Tantalizingly close, and yet oceans away.
“You’ve no idea what I’ve faced. What I’ve had to overcome,” she said, that coldness in her expression spreading to the lines around her mouth. “If surviving all that I have means I have matured from being the sweet, na?ve girl you knew, all the better.”
I’m not here for you.
The underlying subtext was there. And it stung.
His hands shook at his sides with the need to rage, to fume, to snatch everything she held back. “And I am not the mild-mannered boy who had no grasp of his future any longer.”
She raised her chin, and the look in her eye was cruel. “Very well, Duke. I will do my utmost to keep from ruining what must be a grand future in your eyes.”
He hated the distance of her words. “That’s all?” They were to remain adversaries.
“What more did you expect?” she asked. “I am a lost wager, and you—”
“I am a means to clear your brother’s debt.”
Jackson faltered. The coldness in her gaze—it was like a stranger stared back at him. Nothing like the Anna he’d known.
The muscle in his chest panged. Ached.
If his Anna was gone . . . She turned away.
“No!”
He snatched her back and crushed his mouth to hers.
Curse it all! He shouldn’t touch her. Not in anger. Not like this.
He’d meant to make amends, to show her he wouldn’t walk away this time. That she was safe with him. Being a brute hadn’t been part of the plan.
He’d pull back. Set her aside. Be rational.
But then her fingers fisted in his hair, and she kissed him back.
Soft, demanding lips, nails scraping his scalp. Electrifying. Like a lightning bolt to the head.
And sizzling heat straight to his groin.
Rational, be damned.
He threaded his fingers through her uncovered hair, scattering the few pins across the floor. The mass of fiery curls was heavy silk in his hands. His thumb found the base of her hairline and rubbed light circles.
Her responding moan parted her lips under his.
He flicked his tongue against her lip.
Another moan, this one throaty, wanton.
His Anna wasn’t gone.
He smiled, his teeth scraping along her plump, lower lip. No, his Anna was alive, kicking, and biting.
He pulled back, the sting to his lip not diminishing a single, blasted second of pleasure seeing the high color in her cheeks, the swollen flesh of her mouth.
Lovely. Wild.
And more dangerous than ever, for them both.
There was no stopping their marriage now. To do so would be to ruin her honor irrevocably. But he would do as promised and find her brother. And when he did, there would be no need for her to stay in London.
He’d send her away, where she could be safe from any backlash from the Home Office. Where Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s hopes of distracting him would come to naught.
He wouldn’t send Anna to Grandfellow Hall, of course. Forcing her to live side by side with his mother and brother would be far too cruel. He had five other houses across England. She’d have her pick.
She swayed toward him, her gaze on his mouth.
Jackson groaned and stepped back, wrangling his desire with Herculean strength. “I will help you find your brother.”
She blinked, his words seemingly setting in. Then her eyes narrowed because not even a kiss of mythic proportion would dull that sharp mind. “How? By using your title to demand answers? I told you William’s disappearance needs to be kept quiet.”
He snorted. “Contrary to your belief, I can be subtle.” He hesitated. Offering the barest truth couldn’t hurt. “I do, in fact, know of someone who could help. An investigator, but not with Bow Street.”
“Who?”
“A man who enjoys his privacy.”
Her responding frown said she didn’t like that. But desperation could make the strongest will fold, it would seem. “Will he hear you out?”
He mocked surprise. “You doubt my omnipotent persuasion as a duke?” He dropped the act because the worry lines around her mouth after mentioning William hadn’t smoothed. “The man is the best investigator in England, Anna. He will see to your brother. In this, I have no doubt.”
There was the barest softening around her eyes. “Thank you,” she said, as if the words were sour fruit in her mouth.
He grinned. “Are you well? I’m told the first taste of humility can be quite bitter.”
As he’d hoped, the melancholy turning down her lips lifted.
“Not to worry, Duke. I’ve come to know revenge as sweet compensation.”
“Not before I enjoy the dish first,” he said.
At her narrowed gaze, he went on, “Tomorrow morning—er, this morning”—the light outside the window was coming brighter over the horizon—“I will leave for Grandfellow Hall to inform my family of our impending nuptials. I will have the carriage prepared for you to join me later, after you’ve packed your things and had them sent over to the house. ”
Her chin lifted, not yet seeing his trap. “I am hardly needed to oversee the instructions through. It would take a simple note, and I could ride with you to the country.”
He stepped back, knowing the quick right cross she possessed. “That will not do, my darling affianced. You’ve not thought this through. After the stop to the Brixby townhouse, you’ve a far more important meeting to keep.”
“The funeral parlor?” she said, no doubt taking his coffin measurements by eye.
“There won’t be time,” he said, dragging out the silence before he added, “not when I hear a bride is in need of a trousseau.”
Her expression went cold. Yes, it seemed her dislike of immovability hadn’t changed with age. To be forced to stand there for more than a minute—pinned and draped as a modiste took her measurements and adjusted—would be torture.
She cursed, colorfully and with vigor.
“Miss Greene,” Jackson admonished, the effect ruined by his smirk. “Hardly language I would expect from my betrothed.”
“You are a cruel, sadistic bounder.”
His smile widened. “Compliments will get you everywhere.”
He waited for her to refuse, to demand a promise that he would keep his word about asking for Roberts’s aid in exchange for the arduous task.
But Anna did nothing but flutter those lashes—causing sweat to break out down Jackson’s spine—and said, “Of course, Duke. I will see my bridal wardrobe commissioned with all haste so I may join you in the country.”
He may have gotten the first spoonful of revenge, but there was little doubt she would take the bowl if that glint in her eye was any indication.
There was audible rustling through the house; the servants were rousing and preparing for the day.
“I should go,” Anna said, her gaze on the window where the first rays of sun broke over the city. “If I leave now, there will be no rumors of untoward conduct.”
Jackson swallowed the unpleasant thought of her leaving his sight, like ash in his mouth.
He couldn’t help teasing her one last time.
“Are you sure you do not need another escort? I would hate for my lovely betrothed to lose her way before we take to the altar.” At least at this time of the morning, most ruffians and pickpockets would be abed, sleeping until the late-morning bustle to stretch their criminal muscles.
She cut him a glare, a look of fire that went a long way in assuaging his worry she would be easily washed away. “You know what they say about bad pennies, Duke.” She tightened her gloves at the wrists and bared her teeth. “They make excellent weapons against arrogant dukes.”
He grinned as she quit the room, and the sound of the front door opened and closed.
Annabeth Greene. Dulcetly featured with hellfire in her veins.
Not even six years apart had changed that.
He frowned, remembering her adamancy that her relatives not be informed of the wedding or William’s disappearance.
Something had escaped his notice, it seemed.
She’d gone to live with her uncle after her papa’s fall from grace. Gambling. Destitution. After the man had taken the coward’s way out and left his two children without a father.
Hadn’t that been the reason Jackson proposed? He’d been set on saving her. Willing to brave ostracization, disinheritance, his mother’s forked tongue.
“Marry me, Anna.”
“No.”
Old humiliation turned his neck and hands hot.
He hadn’t been able to save her. Or himself.
But he hadn’t been completely useless.
Even after she’d refused him, and knowing his own father’s wrath, Jackson had sent funds, in secret, to the uncle’s residence in hopes of curbing some of the hardships, but he’d never signed his name, never left a trail that would lead back to him.
He had no idea if Anna had used the money, or if she’d thrown it in the fire out of spite.
The heat slowly left his limbs.
He’d made further inquiries about the family when he’d come into his position at the Home Office, but there hadn’t been much to tell.
Sir Daniel Greene was not a man of good or bad standing in society.
A baronet with a decent reputation, but his position as a yeoman meant he was too low in societal standing to note.
How had the baronet felt when his lowly nephew had surpassed him in rank and wealth?
He’d have Roberts sniff out any areas of familial tension along with the rest.
Because there was more: the matter of their betrothal. In what world did Anna marrying the Duke of Grandfellow benefit the Widow of Whitehall? More than boasting rights had to be behind her motives.
There were more questions than answers. Yet Jackson’s investigative spirit reared its head.
If Mrs. Dove-Lyon had orchestrated their nuptials to mask her involvement with William Greene’s disappearance, then she’d all but ensured her downfall. For now, Jackson had the perfect excuse to remain close.
A quick wedding, a bit of time with his new bride, and he’d be right back to his investigation.
Jackson grabbed parchment and quill from his desk to leave coded instructions for Roberts. He folded and sealed the foolscap some minutes later with shaky hands, the charge of excitement in his veins having yet abated.
Forget a gentleman’s ennui. Too many more instances of Anna breaking into heavily secured gambling houses and being at the receiving end of those deliciously ruthless insults and Jackson may be at great risk of enjoying himself.
To be married to Anna. To have her share his name.
To have her hurl those barbed insults at him morning, noon, and night.
Especially at night.
New heat poured through his body, this time in pleasured anticipation.