“What does that mean?”
“It means,” Lady Bolton said with a grim satisfaction, “you are the first person he has cared about in five years, whether he admits it or not.”
Chapter Nineteen
Jacob won the next round with a burst of aggression Annabelle had never seen from him—or anyone—before. The violence grated, but something else stood out in vivid relief. When he fought, there was something quiet about him. Even when the room erupted into cheers, he was still and quiet, as though he had found some inner peace she could not access.
Lady Bolton rose, brushing down her skirts. “Just as disagreeably noisy as I remember these events being,” she said. “And he will be disagreeable too, so we should head him off before he attempts to escape without us.”
Annabelle nodded and followed Lady Bolton as she made her way to the edge of the ring just as Jacob, a towel around his neck and his shirt in his hands, emerged. She did her best not to stare at his exposed torso close up, but it was a battle quickly lost; her gaze traced over the curves and dips of his stomach and hipbones. She hadn’t known there could be so much power and elegance in a male body. Sculptures, for all they were lifelike, did not capture the way they shifted as he moved, or the tantalising gleam of sweat in the candlelight.
She felt a little lightheaded.
Jacob glowered at them both, taking hold of the towel and running it through his hair. “You shouldn’t be here. This is no place for a lady.”
“Oh tosh,” Lady Bolton said dismissively. Jacob pulled his shirt over his head and Annabelle told herself it was a good thing he was covering up. Just as it was a bad thing the material clung to his damp skin, the bronzed colour visible through the white cotton.
“Excellent game,” a man said to Jacob, and he winked—winked—at Annabelle. “You’ve got some swell supporters. My wife never comes to see me fight.”
Jacob grunted and took Annabelle’s elbow. “Go,” he said tersely.
“She knows about Madeline,” Lady Bolton said, and Jacob froze. Emotions flitted across his face, too fast and too many to note, before he settled into a blank expression that hurt to look at.
“My brother told me,” Annabelle said quickly. Behind them, a bunch of men began singing a loud and rather bawdy song. “About . . . the gist of it.”
Beside her, Lady Bolton also froze. “Your brother was the one to tell you?”
“He returned home today and discovered the engagement and was . . .” Annabelle winced. “Displeased.”
“Is that so,” Lady Bolton said with a hard note to her voice. “Just as high-handed as ever, then?”
Annabelle frowned. “You know him?”
“She knew him before he went to war,” Jacob said, his hand still on Annabelle’s elbow. She felt his fingers flex. Someone stumbled into them and he scowled, pulling her closer. “For God’s sake, Louisa, you should have known better than to bring her here. Leave and I’ll follow as soon as I’ve concluded my business.”
“You need to explain,” Lady Bolton said. “She deserves to know.”
Jacob ran a hand through his damp hair. “Very well, I will explain, but you shouldgobefore one or both of you get trampled. These men have been drinking for hours.”
But it’s only mid-afternoon, Annabelle wanted to protest. It would have been futile; there was no denying the crowd was increasingly boisterous, and they were the only two ladies she could see.
“Never mind,” Jacob muttered, striding through the laughing men and pulling Annabelle in his wake. “I’ll escort you out. What were you thinking, sneaking off to see me today of all days?”
“I hardly knew you were going to behere,” Annabelle said, fisting her hand in the loose shirt on his back to steady herself. “And what does it matter? We can look after ourselves.”
“Not in a place like this,” he said grimly. “You’re a walking target.”
“It was an excellent way to ensure you paid us heed,” Lady Bolton said from behind them.
“It was an excellent way of putting yourselves in danger. I have enough on my plate without worrying about the two of you.”
“Heavens, Jacob,” Lady Bolton said in mock surprise. “Are you telling me our wellbeing is of your concern?”
They climbed a set of rickety stairs and Annabelle corrected herself, because here there were other ladies, but they wore provocative dresses and too much rouge, holding themselves as though they knew they were a prize to be won.
“Congratulations on your victory,” one said to Jacob, running her tongue along her top lip. She was sultriness personified, and Annabelle disliked her immediately. “Visit me later if you want to celebrate in style.”
Annabelle was aware of a violent, and hitherto unknown, desire to do harm to a fellow woman.
