Romancing the Rogue (146 page)

~~~~

Jon’s hands still
shook as he reset the crystal stopper into the decanter. If he saw Dawes again, he’d kill him for laying hands on Annabella. He closed his eyes, but the memory of the way she’d watched him shooting at her was still too strong. She’d literally trusted him with her life.

He’d been unable to trust her with the secret of his inheritance. An irony existed in there someplace, Jon was certain. Drawing a deep, fortifying breath, he picked up the two glasses of port and carried them over to where Stowe and Annabella sat deep in conversation.

Although he wanted desperately to sit next to Annabella and take her into his arms, he chose instead to sit in the chair opposite Stowe. The investigator accepted the glass of port with a murmur of thanks.

“When you found the banknotes, you had no idea they belonged to his grace?” Stowe sipped his wine, watching Annabella over the rim of the glass.

“I saw his name on some of them.” Annabella’s fingers worked at the black lace on her dress as she spoke.

Stowe nodded. “It has come to light that Mr. Dawes has been skimming funds from Wyndham Green for years. Probably since shortly after the old duke’s death. His grace had no idea.”

“Maybe he should have visited,” Annabella muttered under her breath. “Mother and I always felt Mark— my stepbrother was responsible for the dire straits in which we found ourselves.”

“Why did you bring the banknotes with you when you left Wyndham Green?” Stowe sipped his port as though on a social call. “Why not leave them there?”

Annabella stared hard at her hands, laced together in her lap. “I figured out the duke hadn’t put them in the wall, but it was obvious they belonged to him, so I didn’t feel I should leave them there, and then… certain matters arose…” She spared a fleeting glance for Jon but then returned her attention to Stowe. “…and… circumstances changed. I didn’t know any other way to keep them safe.”

Circumstances such as being rushed into marriage and bundled across the countryside. “Excuse me.” No longer able to endure the burning ache of sitting so near Annabella without touching her, holding her, and never letting her go, Jon abruptly set his port on the drum table and rose. “I’ve a matter to see to. I trust we may rely upon you to see that the Duke of Wyndham’s funds are returned to him.”

Without waiting for an answer, he stalked across the carpet and left Annabella to answer Stowe’s questions.

Restless, Annabella paced
from the vanity to the window, then to the fire, over to the door that led to Jon’s bedchamber. She paused and laid her fingers against the cool wood. They’d never had the chance to speak about their affairs, and the words hung between them unsaid.

Would he come to her anyway? Even with things unsettled? Her skin began to tingle at the memory of his masterful touch — how was it possible to be so gentle and yet so exciting?

She dropped her hand and pushed the thoughts away. It wouldn’t do to think of him that way. Not until she and her husband had worked things out.

And that might not happen as long as her mother was in the home and behaving so dreadfully. What had happened to her? Had Regina thrown her venison and glazed carrots against the wall, Annabella would have been less shocked.

All through the meal, her mother had answered in curt words and clipped syllables. She did little more than push the fare around on her plate. That and consume no less than three glasses of wine in quick succession.

A chill rolled over Annabella, and she picked her way over the soft carpet back to the fire. Mother seldom drank more than one glass of wine with dinner. No, something was definitely amiss.

The hostility emanating from Regina most certainly had a focus. Delbert Stowe. Even Gran had sat in stunned silence, not uttering a word, when Mother snapped and asked Mr. Stowe if he could stop chewing so loudly. Annabella was quite certain that even as obscene as her own behavior had been during her first meal at Blackmoor Hall, it hadn’t been nearly as bad.

“The dowager probably thinks I learned my poor manners from my mother,” Annabella muttered, kicking at the edge of the hearth. Thank heavens Jon, ever the peacemaker, had requested a private meeting with Mr. Stowe that he claimed couldn’t wait, and the men had departed before the pudding was served.

A soft knock made her heart thump faster.
Jon.
“Come in.” The door opened slowly, and her spirits plummeted. “Mother. Is something wrong?”

Still garbed in the gray silk gown she’d worn to dinner, Regina closed the door and walked into the room with measured steps. “No, darling. I just needed to make sure you’re well.” A smiled played across her lips as she sat on the edge of the bed, but it didn’t reach her eyes. They were sad, faraway… and tears glistened in the green pools, threatening to spill any second.

Annabella sat next to her and squeezed her mother’s hand. “I’m fine. Really. I only have a scratch. No real harm done.”

Regina tilted her head. “I wasn’t speaking of Mr. Dawes.” A tear trickled down her cheek. “I’m referring to your forced marriage. I swore I’d never — that my daughter wouldn’t—” She averted her face as she wiped her tears.

She must be jesting. She’s upset because I was forced to marry?
“Isn’t that why you were sending me to London?” Annabella winced at the coldness in her voice and softened her tone. “To find a husband?”

Regina jerked her head around. Anguish marred her beautiful face. “So you could find a husband of your
choosing
. A man you’d be happy with. I never wanted you to marry someone against your will.” Her words came out broken, filled with emotion.

Anger shot through Annabella and clenched around her middle like a vise. Her mother truly must have had the shortest memory in the world.
Didn’t want to force me to marry someone against my will, indeed. What did she think threatening to make me marry Vicar Hamilton if I didn’t go to London was, if not forcing me to marry against my will?
She opened her mouth to tell her mother just that. But a memory long forgotten crossed her mind. A memory of her father… his sadness. No. Not sadness…

“Your mother had no choice but to marry me, you see. I didn’t give her one, her father didn’t give her one. And… I suppose you could say fate stole her choice as well.”

She’d always thought the pain etched across Papa’s face had been sadness, and she had blamed her mother for it. But for some reason, he’d been consumed with guilt. Because he’d made Regina sad?

Her mother bowed her head and began crying softly. All those years, Annabella had resented her mother. Blamed Regina for the lost time with Papa.
And Mother let me. Because she loves me enough to let me blame her rather than tarnish Papa’s memory.

Annabella scooted forward and wrapped her arms around her mother. “None of this was your doing. I deserve the prison I created with my childish behavior.”

Regina tightened her hold. “My darling Annabella. I shall never forgive myself.”

Annabella offered a weak smile. “At least Juliet got her prince. That’s worth any pain I’ve endured.”

“If only that were true. You don’t know, Annabella. You don’t know the misery and heartbreak of an unwanted marriage.”

Yes I do. I lived it with you and Papa.
“I understand better than you think.” Agonizing pain gripped her chest, and she began to tremble.
Was
her marriage to Jon unwanted? Unplanned, yes. But had it truly been against her will? Worse still, would Jon come to feel about her the way Mother had about Papa because he’d been forced to marry her? Would they end up unhappy, living separate lives, hating each other? She couldn’t bear to spend her life in a loveless marriage like that of her parents.
He’s never said he loves me.

“It’s not too late for you.” Regina dashed at her tears. “The good thing is, very few people are aware of your marriage. Grey has enough influence to see it quietly annulled.”

Annulled? Leave my husband?

Wasn’t that what she’d wanted? She’d been furious at Jon for letting her believe they were going to London, only for him to bring her to Coventry. And now it made sense. He had to prove he was married to collect his inheritance.

“…Juliet is worried about you as well. And I know you don’t want to miss her wedding. Please, darling, come with me to London. Let’s put all this behind us.”

A pang of sadness squeezed her heart.
Would
Jon now want to end their marriage? Want her to leave? Technically he’d fulfilled the requirements his grandfather had set out in his will, and so he didn’t have to stay married to her. In truth, she had no way of knowing if he wanted her as a wife.

And if I stay I’ll never know. He’s obligated to provide for me as his wife.
“I do need to make amends with Juliet. It would serve me right if she never spoke to me again.” Perhaps distance would put things in perspective. Maybe Jon would be able to use his inheritance to start the shipping company he’d dreamed about.

“We need to travel to London posthaste.” Regina brushed at a nonexistent spot on her gown. “I’d like to leave first thing in the morning.”

I’m supposed to practice shooting from the tower with Gran.
But she couldn’t let Juliet down. She’d been unfair to her dear friend. She had to make amends right away.

Annabella sighed. “I suppose that’s best.”

“Of course it is. This will all be but a memory before you know it. We’ll go home to Wyndham Green and forget this ever happened. That you ever had to marry against your will.”

“Very well, Mother.” Annabella released a sigh. She might leave, but she’d be leaving pieces of her heart behind. And she’d never forget any of it. Didn’t want to. “I owe it to Juliet
.” I owe it to Jon to offer him his freedom.

Regina kissed her on the cheek. “I think we both need to get some rest. We have a long journey ahead of us.”

Annabella nodded.

“What’s this?” Regina placed her hand under Annabella’s chin and lifted her face. “You aren’t fretting about facing the duke, are you?”

The duke?
Had Annabella not been so numb, she’d have laughed out loud. The duke was the last thing on her mind.
Jon…
“It’s been a long day, Mother. I’m just overtired. I’ll be fine once I get some sleep.”

Regina placed a soft kiss on Annabella’s forehead. “Sleep well, my darling.”

Annabella stared at the shadows the fire sent to play on the walls. A log cracked, spitting embers into the air. “Jon,” she whispered, wishing she dared call out to him and beg him to love her. Was she so unlovable that all she’d been good for was to gain his inheritance?

She touched his ring where it rested between her breasts. She should probably give it back to him.

~~~~

Jon eased his
grip on the door latch and curled his fingers into his palm.
Prison… the prison she’d created…
That was it then. The end of things before they’d truly begun. So that was what loss felt like. The soul-searing pain that rippled through him left ice in its wake. Then… nothing. Why had he stood there eavesdropping on Annabella’s conversation with her mother? He should have stepped away from the door, not listened in.

How could he ask her to stay, to make their marriage work, when she only wanted to go home? When she considered marriage to him a
prison?

He couldn’t. He never should have forced her hand in the first place. The devil of it was, he’d finally found the one woman he’d looked for his entire life — and she was the one woman in the world who couldn’t seem to tolerate marriage to him.

After the night before, he’d hoped…

Three soft taps on the door between their bedchambers interrupted the silence. Jon stiffened. Before he could even answer, the door was pushed open.

“Jon?”

Her hair fell like a curtain around her shoulders. Her white nightdress was nearly sheer against the soft orange light streaming in from her room.
She looks like an angel… a beautiful, glowing angel.

Her face was shadowed — why had he not lit a lamp? — the dying fire provided too little illumination to see her expression. But the way she hesitated told him what was on her mind. Even if he hadn’t heard her answer to her mother’s pushing, he’d have known from her hesitation at his door.

He forced steadiness he didn’t feel into his words. “So… You’re leaving tomorrow, then.”

Her body jerked with the words as if each one was a bullet, and remorse for his chilly tone swamped him.

“It… seems best I do, yes.” She lowered her chin nearly to her chest and shuddered.

“Yes, the sooner affairs return to normal, the better.” He glanced at the brandy decanter on his sideboard, knowing he’d pay a visit to that later.

“Oh… yes… I suppose you’re right.” Her hands trembled as she moved them to the opening of her nightdress and drew out the ribbon around her neck. “I expect you’ll want this back, then.”

Her wedding ring. The air seemed to hang up in his lungs where his heart squeezed against them. “You’re still my wife… at least until—”
Until you’re not.
“You may find you have need of it.” He retreated a step. She was leaving by her choice. If he embraced her, however briefly, he’d go mad when it came time to let her go. “You should keep it.”

She inhaled sharply but then tucked the ring away. “Fair enough.”

“Annie… if it means anything, I’m…”
Sorry.
“I’ve enjoyed our time together.”

“I understand why you did it,” she said evenly, using one hand to push back the hair cascading over her shoulder. “Why you married for your inheritance. You have a dream and I was—” She thrust her chin forward. “I want you to know… you have a wife, you’ve fulfilled the terms so… I won’t upset your plans. I hope you’ll start that shipping company.”

Jon frowned. “Do you honestly believe I married you for my inheritance? If you believe nothing else, please believe that wasn’t my motivation — not in the least. I could have married any one of a number of eligible women at any time to receive my inheritance.” He shrugged and sent her a feeble smile. “You are the only woman I’ve ever met who made marriage seem a good idea.” The smile widened. “Most of the time.”

She closed the distance between them. Or perhaps he did. He only knew she was suddenly molded tightly against him, her warmth reaching out, twining through him. He inhaled, and the scent of citrus exploded, boiled through his senses. She’d rinsed her hair with lemon juice. He’d never again smell that fruit and not think of her.

She trailed kisses along his throat, pushed aside his shirt collar and used her tongue to toy with the sensitive skin just in front of his shoulder. With a groan, Jon combed his hands through her hair, tilted her head back, and sought her lips. She opened to him at once, and he wasted no time taking what she offered.

She’s still my wife,
he reminded himself as he lifted her and carried her to his bed. If they had but one more night, it would have to last him a lifetime.

Annabella wrapped her free arm around his neck and went on kissing him. Her gentle sighs settled over him like a soft blanket as he followed her down to the bed.

Sometime later, Jon pulled the covers over both of them, though he scarcely felt any chill. Annabella ran her foot along his leg. “We wasted so much time, you and I. And t
he irony of it all is that if I’d just gone to London as my mother requested, there would have been no deception between us, and we might have had a chance…”

The statement was so sad, perhaps even more so because he’d wondered what would have happened had she attended her own birthday dinner at Grey’s. “Or we might not have seen each other at all… not the way we did at the cottage. Or here. Can you honestly say you would have given me a second glance if you’d met me in London?” He picked up one of her curls and wound it around his finger. “Just two people politely greeting one another in passing… Besides…” He gave the curl a gentle tug. “Grey certainly wouldn’t be marrying Juliet—”

Annabella shifted slightly away from him, shaking her head. “Silly! We don’t know that.” She outlined his lips with her thumb and then flopped down again to rest her head on his chest with a sigh.

Jon kissed the top of her head.
Except we do.
“You will never lack for anything, Annie. I swear.”
I love you.

“Ummm,” she said, her body softening against him.

Jon lay still, listening to the steady whoosh of her deep breathing until he was certain she’d fallen asleep. Then he tossed back the covers, lifted her, and carried her back to her own room. His throat swelled, and his eyes burned, and everything in him pleaded for him to carry her off.

Because that had worked so well…

Instead he pressed a tender kiss to her forehead then drew up her bedclothes. He watched her for a long moment and then blew out the candle, turned, and walked slowly back to his own bedchamber.