Roberts’s humor dulled at that. “As which man?”
“Either?”
“Hmm. Charm half the ladies before catching the bouquet and then charm the other half?” Roberts seemed to give his delusions some thought. “Tempting, but no. If I’m going to witness a man clapped in irons, I prefer to be the one handling the restraints.”
“No sense of adventure, Roberts.”Or reality. “I’ll be returning to London tomorrow after the ceremony.”
“Not much of a wedding night,” Roberts teased.
Jackson ignored him. The shorter the honeymoon, the less likely his bride would skewer him with a dinner fork.
“I don’t trust you.”
And the panic he’d seen in her gaze at the creek. He’d thought—not that she’d forgiven him yet, but—that she’d softened toward him in the last fortnight.
“There’s work to be done,” Jackson said, misery like a knife to his chest.
“I best get to it, then.” Roberts’s grin was cruel. “So you can give the necessary attention to your marriage bed. Heirs don’t make themselves, I’m told.”
“Do you know the best thing about my relationship with the Home Secretary?” Jackson threw his own razor smile. “Carte blanchefor disposing of idiots who meddle in my affairs.”
“What a comfort that will bring you when your duchess sees fit to throw you out of her chambers.” Roberts slapped Jackson on the back. “Word of advice from this meddlesome idiot: don’t rush.”
“Rush what?”
“Her.” This time, Roberts’s expression turned uncharacteristically somber. “A smart man doesn’t approach a wildcat.”
Jackson snorted. “I’ll be old and gray before this particular wildcat comes of her own volition.”
“Then you wait.”
The sober words had Jackson searching his friend’s face in the low lamp light. There was truth—experience—in Roberts’s voice, and Jackson reminded himself there was a lot he didn’t know about the second son of the Earl of Barnes.
He’d never rushed Anna. Hers was a will of iron; it was a waste of time to try. Except—
Hadn’t his actions at the creek spoken of desperation? Impatience? He’d kissed her, pushed her, and she’d pulled away when he’d asked for too much too soon. Then she’dapologized, as if he hadn’t been the complete bounder.
Jackson scowled. “Where was that advice twenty-four hours ago?”
Roberts pressed a hand to his chest. “I am here for you, dear Jackson, whenever you have need of my faultless wisdom. You have but to whisper my name, and I will appear out of fire and smoke.”
Like a demon.
A demon with a fanged smile.
“Arsehole,” Jackson said.
He wasn’t truly angry with Roberts; he was mad at himself.
Roberts knew it too, because the man swung one leg over the windowsill, saluted, and called a congenial, “See you in London,” before he disappeared into the night.
Jackson went to the window to watch the man’s figure slip between the shadows before disappearing altogether.
A demon, indeed.
Jackson pressed his forearm on the cold window glass and dropped his head to the same pane.
“Don’t rush.”
