Page 49 of A Rogue at Stonecliffe

He took a step back, his voice clipped as he said, “I am glad you’re marrying Nathan.”

“What? That’s certainly a change.” She should have been glad, she supposed, but somehow his words annoyed her.

As if swallowing a bitter pill, Sloane went on, “I—whatever I say about Nathan, I know that he is a far better man for you than I. You deserve a happy life, and he would do anything to make you happy.”

“Whereas you would not.” She couldn’t keep the sting out of her words.

“I obviously did not,” he replied.

“Obviously.” Annabeth knew this was the moment to tell him that she was no longer engaged to Nathan. But if she said it right now, it might seem as if she was inviting Sloane to make advances, and she didn’t want that. It felt safer to keep that barrier between them, however false it might be.

“Nathan might be as boring as they come—though perhaps Carlisle could win that dubious honor away from him,” Sloane went on. “But he will be a good husband.” For a second Sloane stopped speaking, and Annabeth thought he was done until he cleared his throat and finished in low tones, “He’ll be a good father. The truth is, you belong with him.”

Even though it was precisely what Annabeth herself had thought, it set off a spark of anger in her chest to hear Sloane say it. “I am so glad that everyone feels free to decide what’s best for me. Apparently you think I am too dim-witted to manage my life myself. So weak of will or sense that I will immediately fall into your arms if you make advances to me. I’m not sure whether it’s how high your opinion of yourself is or how low your opinion is of me.”

“Neither,” he shot back, grinding his teeth.

“Both, more likely. You were always arrogant. You believe you’re a better rider than anyone else. A better sailor. Faster. More agile of wit. More handsome.” She wasn’t about to add that he had had good reason to think such things.

“Blast it, Annabeth.” He set down the lantern with a thud. “Why are you always so bloody sweet and biddable with everyone else in the world and so argumentative and hostile with me?”

“Because I don’t care for—” She stopped herself just in time. “That is, I don’t care for the way you try to control me.”

“Me? Control you? I haven’t the slightest control over you. I never did. I have no desire to. But I wouldn’t mind a pleasant word now and then.” He looked away for a long moment, then said, “Lady Lockwood runs your life, and you don’t say a word of protest. You just smile and bend like a willow. You never did that when we were younger. You’ve changed.”

The words gave her pause. She thought for a moment, then said, “Back then, I thought that I didn’t need to hide my emotions. That I didn’t have to please everyone.” She didn’t add that she had felt that way because she had been so secure in Sloane’s love, so certain of him and their future. When he had broken their engagement, it had been like the earth falling out from beneath her feet, leaving her clinging desperately to what she had left. She wouldn’t tell him that dullness had settled over her and she had followed the easiest path ever since.

“You don’t have to please anyone,” he told her. “Least of all me.”

“I know. I have no interest in pleasing you.” Thinking of the blue evening dress she had packed, Annabeth had a deep suspicion that she was lying.

He frowned at her, then sighed and relaxed. “What are we fighting about?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well.” He hesitated for a moment. “Then. Good night.” He started to leave, but at the door, he turned back and said, “There’s a lock on the door.” He pointed to the key sitting in the keyhole.

“I told you. I’m not afraid of you, Sloane,” she said tartly.

“No, you wouldn’t be.” He looked at her for a long moment, then gave her a sardonic smile. “Maybe it’s me that’s afraid.”

Annabeth crossed her arms and watched him leave, saying under her breath, “You’re not afraid of the devil.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

ANNABETH WAS AWAKENED hours later by a knock on her door. Sunlight was streaming through the small window. She sat up, feeling stiff all over. It had been a long time since she had ridden a horse. Sleeping on the narrow, unpadded cot had not helped.

The knock came again, and she snapped, “Yes, I’m up. Come in.”

The door opened and Sloane stuck his head in. “I’ve got—” He went still, his eyes sweeping down her, and his face softened, a faint smile touching his mouth.

Annabeth was certain that she looked a mess, her hair half tumbled down, dress wrinkled from sleeping in it. But it could have been worse—thank goodness she had been too tired to change into her nightgown.

Sloane cleared his throat. “I have breakfast.”

“Tea?” Annabeth asked hopefully.

“Sorry. No tea.” He opened the door wider and carried in a wicker hamper. “But I had Wright bring some provisions.”