Chapter Eleven
Anna had been stuck in this over-frescoed mausoleum for twelve days.
Twelve days of questions over flower bouquets, seating arrangements, and menu items. Of incessant rain.
Not even the vainglorious dowager duchess had done her a favor and taken over the tasks.
Oh, the lady had certainly given her opinion, loudly and with the poised disdain of a queen giving court to vermin, but after the duke’s scolding—a magnificent lecture, if Anna were being honest—the lady couldn’t even be of use to engage Anna’s temper for distraction.
Jackson’s friend must have uncovered something else about William by now. How she longed to track her intended down and cross mental swords with him again—foolishness!
She sighed and leaned against the bench in the covered gazebo—the rain at last finished, leaving the air heavy with moisture—and the book in her lap open and unread.
Only a fool would forget the circumstances that had prompted her to leave Grandfellow Hall six years ago, of the words he’d said to her.
But words had never been hard for them. Even now, with so much pain between them, her mind came alive at his antagonism, his wit.
She’d be a bigger fool to go to him, to give into the temptation to verbally spar. If she was to maintain the distance, to keep him at arm’s length, then physical distance was her best option.
But the quiet was driving her mad!
Not even the Mary Shelley novel with her story of a monster come to life could hold her attention.
There must have been some word of William.
Her gaze went to the house beyond the gardens, to the second floor where the ducal chambers were, a mere locked door away from her own bedroom.
Had she not passed the last few nights staring at the polished wood, wondering if his shadow would appear through the gap at the bottom of the door?
Had she not sought refuge as far from the house this morning as possible to be free of wondering?
She scowled at her own dwelling thoughts. This whole charade was far easier to digest when the plan had demanded but a short few days. Now, she’d been stuck here nearly two weeks while her brother was still missing.
Guilt ate at her insides. Instead of holding mental vigil over concerns for her brother’s welfare, she’d been picking between lace and linens and growing a small sisterly regard for Lord Figaro.
Soon, she’d be one of them.
In name only, she promised herself.
She was a Greene: stubborn but loyal. She wouldn’t forfeit the connection to her brother, especially now, when Will was counting on her to be his advocate.
She looked down at the cotton printed day dress she’d chosen this morning. A simple, white high-waisted dress with intricate floral patterns sewn in black embroidery. She grinned. Well, not the only thing sewn onto the fabric.
She sighed. Her silent rebellion was hardly worth the effort now.
Guests were to arrive at any moment. For an engagement breakfast. Anna had refused any such idiotic expectation of a wedding breakfast. As soon as the wedding vows were said, she would force Jackson to ship her back to London, where she could continue her search for her brother.
Anna would have refused the breakfast as well, if only the Widows hadn’t stepped in and threatened her again with a proper engagement.
Her gaze returned to the house, to the curtains drawn in the southern window.
The duke can’t still be sleeping? Not when a houseful of people was imminent? More importantly, word of William could arrive at any moment. That was, if the duke ever planned to keep his word to share the information in the first place.
Twelve days the man had been holed up in his study, barely leaving the room for evening meals. As if the great Duke of Grandfellow were of such importance that he must be a ghost in his own home. No man was that important.
Anna slammed her book closed and stood. She would hear the latest news of the investigation. If need be, she’d pry the slothful man from his four-poster bed.
As she marched down the flower-lined path from the gazebo into one of the topiary gardens, she mentally added one more trait to the Greene name, one she would harness with every ounce of her will—to not lose her brother, to not lose herself.
Determination.
Jackson had been up most of the night, sending instructions to Roberts and the team and waiting for replies so he wouldn’t miss any missives that needed immediate direction. To no avail. Nothing of note to report. The missives may as well have been blank.
Of course, the special license had arrived without fail not ten hours after he’d arrived in the country twelve days ago, accompanied by a short note in Roberts’s hand that jeered: His holiness looks forward to his jaunt to the country.
If only counterfeiters were as easily led as the archbishop. A good thing Jackson had had the mind to pass on the tidbit about the wedding’s extension, an afterthought Jackson had sent along with his instructions in the wee hours right before dawn that first night in the country.
Too many hours awake last night. He’d do best to retire early tonight.
Tomorrow was his wedding day, after all.
He glanced at the clock and sighed at the late hour.
He’d slept far too long, without any real rest. The sleep deprivation messed with his mind, because he stared down at himself, the light from the fire flickering over his naked skin in golden hues and his mind fixating on the silliest of things.
The door opened.
Jackson called over his shoulder, “Stevens, come and tell me if my toe looks oddly shaped to you.” Feet were quite unsettling appendages. Why articulated toes? Why not flippers? Or claws?
Clipped footsteps across the rug. A slight breeze at his elbow.
“No odder than any other toe, I’d imagine,” she said.
Jackson wouldn’t acknowledge the “eegah” that escaped as he snatched the nearest article of clothing—a white linen shirt—that covered little more than his privates.
He whirled around, conscious of his bare arse. “Anna!” He flailed a moment with his other hand. How did one hold themselves when they’d been cornered and naked? “You shouldn’t charge into a man’s chambers without thought.”
“I hardly charged.” Her eyes were bright, the soft, white day dress the perfect complement to the sardonic lift of her lips. “I didn’t even need to pick the lock.”
But she would have.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” she accused.
Of course he had been. It was easy to lie about one’s connection to the Home Office when one didn’t leave one’s study.
“What a ridiculous notion,” he said. Thank heavens, he had. Being in her presence without touching her was torture. To think she’d go so far as to beard the lion . . . in his chambers.
But his lovely general was single-minded in her pursuits. That was what made her so special. And dangerous.
“Has your man any information on Will?”
She was here for her brother. Jackson shouldn’t have been surprised, or so disappointed.
Best get this over with before he let something crucial slip.
“The latest report stated nothing new, I’m afraid.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Since when do peers of the realm receive reports?”
Damn.
Jackson shifted back, certain to keep his shirt squarely in front of his hips. Evade. Distract. “I meant note. Barely more than a sentence. I can show you later.”
“What’s wrong with now?” She crossed her arms over her chest and planted her feet. “Unless you have something to hide?”
Evade. Distract.
“I am disrobed,” he said, kicking himself for stating the obvious.
A pause. “I hadn’t noticed,” was her acerbic reply. Except . . . color dusted her cheeks, and her gaze kept flicking to his chest.
She liked what she saw.
Confidence returning, Jackson leaned his free arm on the nearest bedpost and smiled.
Perhaps sleeping so late wasn’t such a waste, if his embarrassed betrothed would personally see to his wakeup call.
“So hasty to see your charming betrothed, you could not wait until my morning ablutions were done.” He wouldn’t dare to hope. “Truly, my dear, I am touched.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Touched in the head.”
“No need to play coy. You need not use your concern for your brother as an excuse to barge into my room at this hour.” He ran his hand through his hair, adding a bit more of a flex into the action than necessary.
Her gaze followed his movements before she said, “Late hour? It is nearly one in the afternoon.”
“Yet you knew I was still abed.”
“I find surprise the best way to set an adversary off-balance.”
A general through and through. He was beginning to see the appeal of her kind of war. In that case.
Jackson smirked and dropped the shirt.
Of course, his Anna didn’t squeal and turn away at his abrupt nudity. Her gaze snapped to his face, her expression settling into one of determination.
His smirk widened. “You’re welcome to look, General. I am to be yours, after all.”
A tease. A challenge.
And good Lord above, she dropped her gaze, the defiant glint in her eyes turning him instantly hard.
Her attention didn’t return immediately; he was no cherub under his smalls.
When her eyes returned to his, they were decidedly brighter, with a slight haze. Desire.
He knew the feeling. “Looked your fill already?” he asked, his voice gruff.
“There are more important things than your inflated . . . ego.”
He shuddered at the huskiness in her own voice. “Shall we discuss those oh-so-important things here? Now?” He stepped closer. “Or should we save the talking for later?”
“I promised I would not lock my door to you, not that I would attend to my wifely duty before our vows. And certainly not here.”
He leaned closer still, the delicious smell of her fraying his will. “Saved by semantics,” he whispered, lowering his mouth to her ear. “Be careful, General, your chambers are but a handful of steps away, and I am already dressed for the occasion.”
She shivered under his touch.
He brushed his lips along her jaw, the taste of her more intoxicating than her smell, and the perfect way to evade more of her questions.
“I didn’t come here to be pawed at,” she said, her voice breathless.
“By all means, you are welcome to do the pawing.” Her nimble fingers tracing the lines of his body, finding all the ways to unlock him . . . Jackson swallowed with difficulty. “In fact, I believe I will insist upon it.”
“You, release the reins? Such obvious lies won’t work on me.”
He nuzzled the side of her neck. “I’d give up use of both arms to know what would work on you.” A nip at her collarbone.
She gasped, and her hands came up to clutch his arms. “Liar.”
He smiled against her skin, enjoying his choice of evasion more than any other before. “Your body doesn’t seem to mind.” She’d unconsciously pressed her hips forward, the soft cotton of her dress a tantalizing brush of fabric against his groin.
“I don’t want you,” she said feebly.
“Now who’s lying?”
She stilled. In a stronger voice, she said, “I don’t trust you.”
Ah.
Jackson pulled back, capturing the fierce gaze of those emerald eyes. “I wish to remedy that.” With more pressing need every day.
“To make me more compliant during the daylight hours or the nighttime ones?”
He shook his head. The woman was always ready for a row. “Both,” he said truthfully. “Though, in all fairness, seeing you bared and panting with ecstasy would be just as enjoyable in the sun as it would be in the dark.”
She raised a brow. “You’ve certainly a high opinion of your male prowess.”
He ducked his head until they were eye level. “I have a strong desire to see you pleased, in all aspects of our life together.”
Her expression pinched. “That is hardly playing fair.”
He chuckled. “I never said I would.”
She leaned in, that smell of hers tempting the senses yet again. “I do hope you are a patient man, then, Duke, because the day I surrender my pleasure to you will be the day hell freezes over.” Said in a voice sweet as treacle.
Jackson groaned, unable to dissipate the sudden fantasy of her naked skin covered in sticky syrup. He’d need to wrangle in his ardor, or he’d do more than shock his valet when the man finally arrived. If the man ever deigned to show his face.
“What I wish to discuss can wait until after you’ve been properly attired,” she said with a pointed look at his maleness. “I know how you are self-conscious of your odd shape.”
He barked a laugh as she closed the door. A tactful retreat, she’d claim. A retreat all the same. The pull to chase after her—bare arse and all—was strong. Running on full salute would be dangerous for everyone involved.
Jackson threw back his head and squeezed his eyes shut.
That bold stare, that stubborn set to her chin.
How she’d walked right into his chambers—his space—ready for a fight.
God, the combative woman knew just how to ignite his baser inhibitions.
Here he’d been avoiding her the past few days, content as long as she stayed on the grounds, knowing the more they interacted, the worse the tension in him would grow.
But then she’d come to him.
He took himself in hand, his grip tight, on the right side of pain. How he’d always imagined she’d enjoy pleasure. Quick, hard strokes.
There’d be gentler attentions too, a thorough investigation of her body. First, with his hands, then his mouth—
Jackson grabbed the flannel from beside the washbasin and cleaned his hand and body, sure if his duchess ever truly welcomed him into her bed, he’d be just as eager.
You cannot grow attached—but appreciating one’s wife wasn’t a hazard to his work with the Home Secretary.
And as soon as he was free from this awful, quiet country air, he would have more important things to engage his mind and keep him from obsessively wondering if she would ever allow him to kiss her again.
The door opened a second time to reveal a middle-aged man holding a shaving kit.
“Stevens, you are ten minutes too late,” Jackson said. He didn’t know if he was admonishing the man or thanking him.
Stevens was too seasoned a servant to balk at the tone.
Or the nudity. Moving about the room to prepare the lather for Jackson’s shave, the man said in an even tone, “I arrived some time ago, Your Grace. But when I heard voices in your chambers, I found I had forgotten the leather strap for the razor.”
Jackson’s life revolved around subtext: I did not wish to disturb you taking your betrothed to bed.
Jackson clapped the man on the back, his confidence in good men restored. “Remind me to give you a raise, Stevens.”
The older man didn’t so much as crack a smile. “Yes, Your Grace.”