Her cousin stared at her, and Anna must have imagined his crumbled expression held a note of regret.
He shuffled toward the door, defeat in his shoulders.
A last thread of pity pulled tight. “Elise is well,” Anna called.
Alexander stilled.
Anna went on, “She’s as facetious as ever, but healthy. Content.” Refusing to answer any of Anna’s letters since her return to London, but that could very well mean Elise was lying low, probably having realized Alexander was in town before Anna had.
This time, when Alexander glanced back, there was a glassy quality to his eyes. He said nothing, but the nod he gave was grateful. He continued toward the door...
Where Jackson stepped aside without comment. He’d remained silent through their entire exchange.
Of course, she could hardly expect her protective husband to abandon his nature entirely.
Jackson’s eyes were on her, piercing, searching, so beautiful, her chest ached. Without looking away, he held up a single hand to stop her cousin’s exit. “You will never address my duchess by her given name ever again. She is and forever will beYour Grace.”
Alexander paused.
Anna did too. Jackson’s tone was so cold, so emotionless.
Alexander nodded again. A jerky gesture.
But Jackson wasn’t finished. This time, Jackson’s attention zeroed in on Alexander’s face, and whatever her cousin saw there had him taking a step backward. “Hear me well, Sir Alexander: insult my wifeever again, and I will dispose of you.”
Silence.
One second. Two.
Alexander continued to stay rooted to the floor.
“Leave, you insufferable rodent, before I sic the dogs on you and let them make a feast of your innards,” Jackson said. In the same tone a gentleman may have made a passing remark on the weather or a certain horse’s chances at winning the next race. And all the more terrifying.
Alexander scrambled out.
Something in the foyer crashed.
Anna didn’t look. Her eyes were on her husband. On the hard set to his jaw, and the stiffness of his shoulders. A man who stood there, body humming with restrained want. A man of action. A man who’d stayed his hand. Barely controlling his anger.
For her.
Always for her.
He’d lied by omission, but words had never been their first language.
Unsteady after facing her cousin, Anna stumbled the few remaining steps between them and stopped, her body sparking. Alive. On fire.
For him.
The man she loved. Had always loved.
A man she’d been afraid to let in.
The same man who’d never left her heart for a single second.
She grabbed him by the lapels, her nails digging into the supple fabric. “Husband,” she said.
His throat worked, the heat of anger in his eyes banking with uncertainty.
