Jackson sighed. When the authorities inevitably found his mangled body sometime after the wedding, he was pleased to know Anna would have a ready spot with the Widowed Widows.
“You will not race to the altar like fugitives fleeing the country,” Lady Tisway announced, laying down her first trick without so much as a whiff of self-consciousness for overstepping. “You will marry in two weeks, and no less.”
At last, Anna was roused into taking his side. “Lady Tisway, that is truly unnecessary. The duke and I are more than content with a small, intimate affair without any of the fuss.”
And a quick solution to her brother’s debts.
Jackson wouldn’t complain. The threat of Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s retaliation, should she deem the delay a way to undermine her wishes, wasn’t something he, or his investigation, could afford.
“A slight delay to the wedding and a small—but tasteful—wedding breakfast,” Lady Tisway reiterated. “And I’ll hear no more excuses.” The old woman’s gaze turned sharp. “Unless you’d rather a proper four weeks so the parish may read the banns?”
Jackson would applaud the woman’s ability to render Anna speechless, if he hadn’t been equally managed.
His lips pulled tight in the semblance of a smile. “No, thank you, my lady. Two weeks is more than reasonable.” He was an agent for Secretary Sidmouth; he knew when a situation was to be salvaged. He offered another smile to Anna. “Now, you may plan the proceedings as you see fit.”
Anna fluttered those dangerous lashes up at him. “Idohave so many ideas.”
Jackson sighed. “I can imagine.”Like her groom hogtied and roasted over an open fire.
“I knew you’d come to my way of thinking,” Lady Tisway said, rapping her knuckles on the table. “Now, let us play the game.”
Jackson placed his trick on the pile, thinking that the game had well and truly been played.
And he’d come out as the loser.
Two weeks stuck in the country. The trip to Whitehall was not so far from the estate, but a quick hour’s ride by horse on the rough road. But, should Roberts make a breakthrough—ineither case—he would receive the information delayed. Not ideal when the counterfeiters could make their move anytime.
He could simply leave the estate every morning—while the ladies did the wedding planning—and return by supper every evening.
Figaro stood behind Anna’s chair and laughed at something she said under her breath, to the lowered brows of his mother, the two soon-to-be-siblings sharing a look that spelled trouble.
Jackson dismissed his idea of daily travel without further thought. Should he leave his family and betrothed to their own devices, he very well may find Grandfellow Hall a pile of rubble upon his return... or his betrothed conveniently bound for the city.
Somehow, he’d make everything work out. Roberts’s men could take over surveillance of the Lyon’s Den, while the man himself could handle the information gathering part of the investigation. All while Jackson handed out orders by proxy—inboth cases.
He ran a hand through his hair, setting down his next trick without a thought for the cards. Persuading Anna to stay inthe country would take far more than a creative shuffling of assets. He’d have to see she was kept too busy to do something dangerous... like figure out Jackson’s far-reaching access was thanks to his position in the Home Office.
He laid down another card to the ire of his partner.
“Play the odds, boy!” Lady Febass said. “A gentleman should have a mind for cards.”
Anna placed her card on the pile, the queen taking the trick. “The duke is far too preoccupied with other things, it seems.” The look she gave him was knowing, calculating, too damn observant by half.
Jackson pasted a smile on his face and forced himself to pay attention to the cards. Annabeth Greene was a beguiling mix of fearlessness and strategy. A general one should not let their guard down around. Not with so many secrets at risk. While he led a decoy to occupy the opposing forces, she’d launch her own sneak attack into camp.
“Anything you wish to share?” Anna asked, her gaze hard. “Grievances you need to air?”
Truly, an opponent to fear.
“None at all,” Jackson lied, his gut churning with the same anxiety and elation at doing battle with her. “I am but rusty playing cards in pairs.”
A quick flick of her fingers on the tabletop, a gesture no one else would think twice about, and one that had Jackson gritting his teeth.
Liar.
She had him there.
It was going to be a long war.
