“And if you can never love me, at least let me protect you by marrying you,” he said. “I will give you space, give you books, everything you ever wanted, and I won’t disturb you if that’s truly what you want. Just let me do this one thing for you.”
Finally, she leaned her head back to look at him. His Annabelle, her face shiny with tears, her eyes red-rimmed, her eyelashes damp and clumped together, more beautiful than a fallen star.
“Tell me again,” she said, her voice thick. “Tell me you love me.”
He smiled and smoothed away the tears on her cheeks. “I love you with every broken piece of me. My heart is a blackened, imperfect thing, but it is yours to break if you wish. You have that power, Annabelle.” He searched her shimmering eyes, needing her to hear him, to understand him. “With just a word.”
“You love me,” she whispered, her fingers finding his lapel and holding him in place.
“I never stood a chance, darling.” He smiled down at her. “I did my best to hold out, but it was a fruitless effort.” Holding her gaze, he took both her hands, freeing them from his lapels so he could look down at her properly. “Marry me, Annabelle Beaumont, and save a man from a misery of his very own creation.”
Her answering smile was a little watery. “You might have saved us all this pain by coming to this conclusion earlier.”
Hope flared to life in his chest, and he bent his lips to brush against her damp, salty ones. “Am I to take that as a yes, sweetheart?”
“If I loved you any less, I would tell you to leave,” she said, her voice cracking. “I hate you almost as much as I love you, Jacob Barrington, and you are the only man on earth I could be prevailed upon to marry.”
No force in existence could have stopped him from kissing her then.
* * *
“I have a room,” Annabelle gasped out as soon as he gave her time to breathe. Privacy, they needed privacy—and as soon as possible.
He brushed his mouth against her forehead, then both cheeks. They were still wet from her flood of tears, but she could not bring herself to be embarrassed when he held her this tightly, as though one or both of them would shatter if he released her. “Not here,” he murmured. “Much as I would love to have you here—and in a bed, no less—I insist you find a more suitable establishment. Then we can claim to be married and share a room without fear of a maid walking in and disturbing us.” He kissed the top of her nose then took her mouth again as though he could not help himself.
“But it’s dark,” she said in surprise, drawing back. “Are you proposing we travel at night?”
“That is precisely what I am proposing, little bird. There is a remarkable invention—you might have heard of it—called the lantern, and it will suffice to cast a light that—”
She slapped his arm and he broke off with a smile that touched his eyes. One of the first she had seen since he had found her. The sight of it filled all the cracked places inside her.
How quickly hurt could be soothed when the right balm was found.
How ironic that her most effective balm was a man known for his violence, his carelessness, and his reckless seduction.
Nothing about him now seemed reckless, however. He was all tenderness as he kissed her once more, promised that he would hire them a coach, and bid her not to leave the room should something befall her.
There was nothing careless about the measures he took to ensure her safety. Despite the hour, he procured them a chaise and four, and settled matters with the innkeeper regarding dinner.
Before she had time to collect her wits, she was sitting opposite Jacob in the shabby carriage, a lantern swinging from the side, sending inconsistent light grazing over them both. The hour was late and although the days were warm, the nights were still cool enough he had requested a blanket to cover her knees.
She felt a little dazed at the speed by which everything had happened.
They were engaged. She had agreed to marry him. Jacob Barrington was in love with her—and not just that, but he was prepared to marry her. Prepared to fight for her.
Part of her had been tempted to make him fight to win her back. But while she was angry, there had been devastation in his voice, and he loved her.
There could be no fighting that.
“Does my brother know you had intended to propose?”
“He did,” Jacob confessed, the uneven light casting shadows across his face, gilding him in gold and night. “I think perhaps he might not have opened the conversation with his fists if he had known. Although,” he added with a wry grin that made her blood heat, “I can hardly blame him.”
“He should not have hurt you.” Staggering a little from the motion of the carriage, she moved to take the seat beside him, smoothing her fingers again over the bruise on his cheek. “He hit you.”
“In his defence, I provoked him.”
“How can you justify it?”
