The door to his study creaked open and Annabelle crept in, shutting the door carefully behind her. She had arrived a few days ago with Louisa on a visit that was, on the surface, largely above board. He had suggested she see her future home before they married, and Louisa had offered to act as chaperone.
Sometimes, when he was alone, the memories of what had been done to him in this room were overwhelming, but when Annabelle was with him, all the darkness within him gave way to her light.
“You really do have a lot of debts,” she said, peering over his shoulder at the papers.
He laughed under his breath and snaked an arm around her waist. “That is hardly the surprising part.”
“Then what is?”
“The fact I’m going to pay them off.” He tapped the end of her nose. “As soon as you marry me, that is.”
“I knew you were only marrying me for my dowry,” she said mock-teasingly.
“Guilty as charged.”
She laughed, a slow unfurling of sound that made his stomach tighten. He wasn’t sure why—probably because he’d heard her laugh so rarely over the course of their acquaintance. Now, she was laughing freely and without restraint, and he would never tire of hearing it.
“Where’s Louisa?” he asked, tugging Annabelle onto his lap.
“Distracting your housekeeper.” Annabelle wiggled against him with deliberate provocativeness, and he hardened against her backside. “She requested a tour of the gardens and I claimed a headache.”
“Little minx,” he said affectionately, holding her in place. His teeth grazed her earlobe and she bit back a gasp. “I suppose you came here looking for polite conversation.”
“I thought we might discuss your investments.” She arched against him as he splayed his hand against her stomach.
“Wellthat’san offer I can’t refuse,” he murmured, drawing her more firmly against him. “Although why is it you always find me when there’s no bed?”
“There are very few opportunities to find you when thereisa bed.” Her voice dissolved into a sigh, and he smiled against her neck. “It will be a relief when we are finally married.”
“Only one more week.” The thought filled him with an almost possessive pride. “I’m sure you can hold out that long.” He slid his fingers through her hair, gripping the silky strands and tugging her head back. She made a low noise of approval, and he reached up to cup her breast.
She was tinder; he was a match. The conflagration was inevitable.
“Are you nervous?” she asked, her head tilted back to his shoulder.
“About marrying you?”
“About the concept of marriage.”
“To anyone else I would be.” He licked up the column of her throat. “Then again, I wouldn’t be marrying anyone else.”
“No, nor would I.” She let out a long, shuddering breath. “I thought I would be nervous.”
“Of what, love?”
“Marrying the Devil of St James.”
“Idohave a terrible reputation,” he said, taking hold of her earlobe with his teeth and tugging.
“People will whisper.” She took his hand and guided it to her throat, which she bared as an offering. Trust—he had never had anyone trust him the way she did. “But I don’t think I mind.”
“Let them whisper. Let them envy our happiness from afar.”
She twisted so she was facing him, her summer eyes now the violet of approaching autumn. “I have never cared less what other people think.”
“Long may that continue.” He leant forward and kissed her, drawing her bottom lip into his mouth and sucking. “Although for what it’s worth, I shall comport myself with theutmostdignity when we are in Society together. No one shall be able to fault my behaviour.”
“Liar,” she said, laughing, her cheeks rosy pink. “You’ll shock all of the matrons with your outlandish comments.”
