“Marry me, Anna.”
“No.”
Old humiliation turned his neck and hands hot.
He hadn’t been able to save her. Or himself.
But he hadn’t been completely useless.
Even after she’d refused him, and knowing his own father’s wrath, Jackson had sent funds, in secret, to the uncle’s residence in hopes of curbing some of the hardships, but he’d never signed his name, never left a trail that would lead back to him. He had no idea if Anna had used the money, or if she’d thrown it in the fire out of spite.
The heat slowly left his limbs.
He’d made further inquiries about the family when he’d come into his position at the Home Office, but there hadn’t been much to tell. Sir Daniel Greene was not a man of good or bad standing in society. A baronet with a decent reputation, but his position as a yeoman meant he was too low in societal standing to note.
How had the baronet felt when his lowly nephew had surpassed him in rank and wealth?
He’d have Roberts sniff out any areas of familial tension along with the rest.
Because there was more: the matter of their betrothal. In what world did Anna marrying the Duke of Grandfellow benefit the Widow of Whitehall? More than boasting rights had to be behind her motives.
There were more questions than answers. Yet Jackson’s investigative spirit reared its head.
If Mrs. Dove-Lyon had orchestrated their nuptials to mask her involvement with William Greene’s disappearance, then she’d all but ensured her downfall. For now, Jackson had the perfect excuse to remain close.
A quick wedding, a bit of time with his new bride, and he’d be right back to his investigation.
Jackson grabbed parchment and quill from his desk to leave coded instructions for Roberts. He folded and sealed thefoolscap some minutes later with shaky hands, the charge of excitement in his veins having yet abated.
Forget a gentleman’s ennui. Too many more instances of Anna breaking into heavily secured gambling houses and being at the receiving end of those deliciously ruthless insults and Jackson may be at great risk of enjoying himself. To be married to Anna. To have her share his name. To have her hurl those barbed insults at him morning, noon, and night.
Especially at night.
New heat poured through his body, this time in pleasured anticipation.
Chapter Seven
The vendors werefully open and advertising their wares by the time Anna had left her brother’s townhouse with instructions to the entire staff. All staffexceptone would-be chaperone.
Elise had gone out early, the housekeeper had said. Meaning Elise had returned home last night after Anna had been soundly caught and maneuvered into what would be a battlefield of a marriage.
Anna cut across the thoroughfare, the roads growing more congested with early morning wagons and workmen on their way to the mills. And without a chaperone! Oh, how her tutors would bluster. Anna snorted. As if having some person trailing behind her didn’t mean there were two pockets to pick instead of one.
Jostled by a group of children dashing around the sidewalk, she nearly fell to the cobblestones. The next break in foot traffic, Anna positioned herself under the sign of a yeasty-smelling building—the basement floor most likely housing one of the local bakehouses—to catch her breath.
The metal sign above the door was in the shape of a plaited loaf. A sign that looked vaguely familiar. Anna craned her neckto see the street sign on the corner building. Too far to make out the words.
Anna huffed, once again struck by the idiocy of signage placement.
At this rate, she’d find her way to the modiste about the time the archbishop asked for her vows.
A prickly sensation shot across the back of her neck.
Anna turned her head. One direction. Then another. Then laughed at herself.
Of course there were eyes on her. Hundreds of people were on their way to one place or another in the city and she was standing around glaring at nothing.
But the uneasiness didn’t abate.
