She raised an eyebrow at him. “You presume you come first.”
“You informed me only the other day that you prefer me to books.”
“I saidI think, and my opinion can quickly change. Especially when you’re arrogant and obnoxious.”
He gave her a hooded, lazy smile and her heart quickened in anticipation. Really, she was insatiable when it came to him, and although it wasn’t precisely unwelcome, it wasn’t alwaysconvenient. “Ah but, little bird, I amalwaysarrogant and obnoxious. I have it on the best of authority.”
“Then I suppose I prefer books,” she said tartly, twinkling up at him. Past the pretence at indifference, his eyes glowed back, all heat and seduction and something deeper, warmer.
“A timely conclusion.” They turned a corner to see a small stone cottage overlooking a lake. Havercroft was beautiful, but here, Jacob’s estate embraced the land, wilderness and all, and Annabelle loved it with a fervour she’d thought she’d saved exclusively for Jacob.
Apparently it extended to all of his worldly possessions, too.
“It’s beautiful,” she said, taking in the white wooden porch and the curving wall that overlooked the lake. The windows on that side were especially large and would catch the afternoon sun. “Is this the summerhouse you’ve been building?”
“It is and it isn’t.”
She frowned. “Then whatisit?”
“You’ll see.” There was an enigmatic smile on his face as he strolled forward, apparently in no rush to explore the building he had kept from her the entire duration of her stay. He pulled a key from his pocket and handed it to her. “This is for you,” he said. “Consider it yours hereafter.”
“Mine?” With slightly shaking hands, she put the key in the lock and turned. There was aclunkand the door slowly opened. Annabelle stepped inside, into a . . .
Alibrary.
The entire building was one large library, a curved wall with two enormous windows, complete with window seats and towering bookcases on every wall. The shelves were not yet filled, but there were many books here already. Some she recognised—her favourites.
“Jacob.” She turned to him with tears in her eyes. “Jacob, what is the meaning of this?”
“I’m sorry it’s not yet fully stocked; I have to be mindful of my debts.” He shifted a little uncomfortably. “And I confess I had to write to your sister to discover all your favourites. I know you particularly like my London library—and I confess I dislike the room far less now, for some unaccountable reason—but we’ll be spending a great deal of the year here. So I thought you should have a library of your own that you can make into whatever you wish.”
Annabelle mouthed the wordslibrary of my own. She’d thought she’d been happy before, but this transcended everything.
“You love me,” she said in wonder, turning back to look at his beautiful face. “Youloveme.”
“If I’d known the library was what it would take for you to believe me, I would have bribed the workmen to build it faster.” He laughed down at her, cupping her face in his hands. Then his smile pressed softly to hers, and her heart was so full of adoration that it hurt. A sweet, indefinable pain she would spend a lifetime untangling. None of the books she’d read had prepared for the tumultuous reality of loving a man more than the rest of the world put together.
“I love you,” she said, needing to say it aloud. Around them, the library was silent and cool, and she took his hand, dragging him to the window, from which the lake glittered under the stone-grey sky.
He cradled the back of her head as he kissed her the way he had done that first time, with the lazy arrogance of a man confident his kisses would be well-received. Annabelle held on tight, certain she would never need anything else.
Their story was in motion, the pages turning, and she was loving every single word.
He pulled away, looking at her with that ferocious hunger in his eyes. Oh, the way he wanted her; she would never be used to it.
“You,” he said, his voice a midnight purr that made desire coil in her belly, “are Annabelle Barrington.”
Annabelle Barrington. Her name sounded impossibly good in his mouth.
“And you,” she said, reaching up to kiss him back, “are mine.”
THE END
Epilogue
The autumn light glowed in softly through the windows as Annabelle woke in her husband’s bed.
Herhusband’s. That would take some getting used to—but in the delicious, decadent way one accustomed oneself to a rich dessert. Chocolate. Jacob Barrington, Lord Sunderland, was chocolate to her unsophisticated palette, and she found herself taking great delight in savouring it. And him. Frequently.
