Jackson stirred from his spot, his eyes searching the road with discrimination.
Was she having second thoughts? Had something stopped her? Some-one?
The blade from his sleeve fell into his open palm, his instinct to bloody anyone who thought to lay a hand on her.
Then the footfalls resumed, growing louder.
Clip. Clip. Clip.
Anticipation squeezed his chest.
Then she was there, the intransigent woman herself. The lamp’s glow poured down around her, illuminating her striking figure under a dark-green pelisse.
Her hood was drawn up, but Jackson knew every curve, every freckle of her face. And when that hood turned in his direction as if she sensed his gaze, he knew how her green eyes would flash with intelligence... or temper. She had both to spare.
Through the low-lying black iron of the park’s fence, she stopped on the well-trod path not two feet from Jackson’s refuge.
Replacing his blade to his boot, Jackson stepped from his hiding place, whispering her name so as not to frighten her.
The blow to his nose had his head snapping back and his teeth rattling along his jaw.
Jackson warded off another perfectly aimed swing and stepped more fully into the light, his hands raised. “Anna, stop. It is me.”
Her hood had fallen back, revealing those lush lips of hers set in a hard line. “Iknow.”
Jackson stared at her until something dripped thick and dark from his nose. He pressed a finger to his wet upper lip andtipped his hand toward the light cast by the lamp. His skin was stained red.
She’d drawn his cork.
“Red,” she said. “The color becomes you.”
The insult was so natural, soher, Jackson barked a laugh. The unexpected action caused them both to startle. The ache along the bridge of his nose was muted—the bone hadn’t broken.
Small mercies.
More humor bubbled up from deep in his gut. He wiped his hand clean on his handkerchief and shook his head as he replaced the linen to his pocket.
“You haven’t changed,” he said.
Her fierce expression didn’t soften. “You deserved it.”
He did.
Her red hair was a riot of curls around her face. Wild. Strong.Lovely. He’d always thought so, even as a boy.
The years melted away, and Jackson was transported back to before the dukedom. Before he’d decided on a life of danger and secrecy. He’d been a marquess, true enough, but with Anna, he’d been less... and infinitely more. A boy, but also a friend, a partner, and much later in their relationship, a young man whose childish infatuation had grown into true manly feelings.
He cleared his throat and looked away. “Who taught you to land a facer?”
“Does it matter?”
Jackson shrugged. “I might wish to employ the man myself. Your positioning was perfect.”
“I would be more than happy to demonstrate my form a second time, Your Grace.”
Thatgot his attention. As did the sweet fluttering of her lashes that had Jackson shifting out of fist range.
He grinned.
