She looked up and down the sidewalk again. No one met her eye.
Something in her gut had her raising her head, had her gaze shooting across the street... to a figure.
A man in a dark coat leaned against the side of a building.
His eyes were concealed under the brim of a, likewise, dark hat, but Anna felt that gaze. Could imagine the flare of familiar blue eyes.
The blood in her veins iced over.
“Alexander,” she whispered.
A large, covered wagon rolled down the street, blocking her view of the other side of the thoroughfare.
She darted around a couple making their way along the walk, needing another look at the man. Needing reassurance her eyes were playing tricks on her mind.
The crush of vehicles broke at last, and Anna’s view cleared.
Her gaze shot up and down the street, along the shops.
No sign of any man.
Anna’s heart raced, a shuddering gallop in her chest, and she willed it to slow.
It couldn’t have been Alexander. Her cousin rarely left the country. There was no reason he’d be here in London.
Of course, that would change once word of William’s disappearance got out.
Her cousin and uncle could smell opportunity towns away. If Sir Daniel showed up now, when William was missing... could he legally take over Brixby House?
Not that it mattered in her case.
She was betrothed. She’d never have to stay under the same roof as that monster ever again.
Relief eased the yawning hole in her gut.
Perhaps Mrs. Dove-Lyon had done her a favor in securing her a husband. The baronet would have no influence over her choices. The same could not be said for her brother’s estate.
Cold slithered along her spine. What happened to titles and property when a lord went missing? Did all rights temporarily pass to the heir apparent upon attendance?
Uneasiness flared anew as her neck hair spiked. Eyes on her again.
Anna swallowed hard and continued walking, her stride awkward as panic turned her legs to wood beneath her. What if her family contested the marriage? Her uncle couldn’t use disownment to force her into breaking with Jackson. There were far simpler ways; her uncle had no problem resorting to violence to impose his will.
She was running now, her booted feet aching from the hard impact of the cobblestones underfoot.
Startled couples parted and stared as she raced past.
Anna didn’t stop. Not when the past nipped at her heels.
The path divided up ahead. The right followed the street toward a row of Grecian styled townhouses. The left led to a small, wooded park.
Anna’s feet took her left without thought and straight into a copse of thickly leafed maples, where she took shelter from prying eyes.
One gulp of air. Two.
Her lungs worked hard to regain control of her breathing.
“Anna,” a voice said behind her.
