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“I got myself into that mess, but you managed to rescue me nonetheless. First getting me out of London safely, later secreting me out of Femsworth Manor, and now, garnering Bolton’s promise to release me from my sham of a marriage.”

Hope lit her eyes. “What are you saying, Anna?”

“You’re my grandmother, my only living relative, and perhaps the only person in the world who cares if I live or die.” She paused. “Aside from Caden.”

The sparkle of unshed tears shone in Lady Wentworth’s eyes. “The gift of of claiming you as my granddaughter is more than I ever thought possible. What now?”

Anna crossed back to the sofa. “I don’t know, exactly.” She took the older woman’s hands in hers and sent her a cautious smile. “But I want to find out.”

“I want nothing more in the world.” She looked down at their clasped hands. “Anna, I said some rash things concerning the status of yours and Caden’s relationship.”

Anna released her hands and arched a brow. “That’s putting it mildly.”

“I thought, if I could arrange a meet between you and Caden—”

“—You arranged that?”

“Well, why else would I subject myself to a house party?” She shuddered with dramatic zeal.

“He was the only male from your past you’d ever taken an interest in as far as I and my sources could tell.

Too, I knew he and his family had the wherewithal to protect you from Bolton should anything happen to me. But now…”

A sudden feeling of falling off a cliff upended her stomach. She did not want to hear what the woman would say next.

“…I could retract my previous statement. You could come home with me. If you want me to, that is. Anna, what do you want me to do?”

***

Caden paced the edge of the portico and glared up at the stalled morning sun, refusing to budge an inch in the cloud-dappled blue sky. Rain would be preferable to this infernal good weather.

His stomach growled, mocking his decision to eschew the breakfast hall while Anna and Lady W—her grandmother— talked. His need to be alone, to calm his growing disquiet, had won out over hunger.

He gripped the stone balustrade ’til his fingers turned white, and stared out at the thick glade of forest before him.

He ought to be content as the cat who stole the cream. Less than two hours ago, he’d escorted Anna through those woods, into the secret garden beyond. They’d made love. She’d all but agreed to marry him.

The arrival of Lady Wentworth, together with her blithe announcement that he had debauched Anna at a roadside inn, had only cemented his claim on her hand .

Lady Wentworth had, purportedly, cleared the one tangible obstacle to their marriage, namely Anna’s previous marriage to Bolton.

His family approved the chit. Everything was set for a post-haste wedding. Everything was fine. Better than fine.

So why did he feel all he’d ever wanted—and when exactly had Anna become that to him?—slipping through his fingers?

Damn it all to hell. His mind was playing tricks, plain and simple. Anna was, for all practical purposes, his.

His life finally made sense. He’d mended fences with his family, brought home a bride, and, for the first time in his life, he saw a clear path ahead of him. One he’d chosen, rather than stumbled onto—unless he counted finding Anna again.

Calmer now, he shoved his hands into his trouser pockets and wandered toward the corner of the portico.

He took in the evergreens separating Chissington Hall from the rest of the world, and blocking his view of the hallowed ground of the riverbank where he'd escaped his reality as a child more times than he could count.

In his mind's eye, he saw the root-knotted grassy knolls where he and Anna had so often tarried as children. Where he'd kissed her that day before she left, never to be seen by him again—until Harrison knocked him face down in the muck.

Little did he know, his would-be rescuer, a woman with exotic, enthralling, and somehow familiar amber eyes would reshape his entire future.

He closed his eyes, and recalled to mind their recent interlude. He could feel her pliant body, hear her excited breathing, even smell her tantalizing scent .

And he was getting hard again. God's teeth, the woman had him well and truly ensnared in a fog of perfect lust. Once he had her in their marital bed, he intended to keep her there a solid week.

He laughed under his breath, opening his eyes and inhaling deeply of the oddly fragrant air. Similar to Anna’s unique scent, come to think of it.

The hair on his nape stirred. The last time he’d imagined smelling her perfume…Anticipation flooding his senses, he pivoted on his heel--and found her standing not five feet away.

She stared at him, an inscrutable expression on her face. A gentle breeze riffled her skirts, stirring the soft chestnut tendrils of hair she hadn't yet combed into submission following their lovemaking, and imbuing the air with a fresh wave of her intoxicating scent.

He could pick her out of a crowd, blind-folded. A helpless smile tugged at his lips and he started toward her, needing to close the distance. “How did you leave things? Did you invite Lady Wentworth to stay with us a while, or…?”

“How did you know? About her being my...being related to me?"

He stopped an arm span from her. She had hedged. Rather than answering his question, she’d asked one of her own. Maybe it meant nothing. Maybe.

“I’d love to tell you I worked it out before today.

Alas, I merely put together a story Harrison told me in passing with all the other oddities--her obvious affection for you, secreting you away, the clothing she acquired for you, the ruby, and finally, showing up here and going on the offensive like someone's angry, well, grandmother.”

He studied her. She had a distracted look, as if she only half-listened.

“You’d have come to the same conclusion eventually,” he said.

She nodded, brows furrowed .

“Are you well? Following the unveiling, so-to-speak? Did she give you any explanation for why she hadn't come forward in the last twenty plus years?”

“She did. It was...is...a lot to take in.”

He waited for her to elaborate.

She didn’t. Instead, her expression grew resolute, as if she braced for opposition.

The feeling of dread he'd talked himself out of moments ago returned with a vengeance. A trickle of sweat coursed down the center of his back, though the temperate breeze on the shady portico belied the summer season.

“You never said how—”

“Lady Wentworth has—”

They stopped speaking in unison. Smiled at each other in awkward apology.

Caden gestured for her to continue. “Please.”

She cleared her throat. “I simply wished to share with you that, following our discussion, Lady Wentworth deemed it proper to recant her previous accusation.”

“That was kind of her--but completely unnecessary, in light of the obvious.”

Her questioning look annoyed him.

“The fact we were—are—already betrothed?”

“Ah.” She ducked her head “You heard her say she took care of the Bolton problem?”

“I did. Your point?” he asked through set teeth.

“As I'm no longer in danger, we no longer have to keep up the pretense of a…fake engagement.”

Fake engagement ? “Anna, there was nothing fake about it, and well you know it. ”

Pressing her lips together, she pushed past him to stand at the stone railing, facing out. She heaved a visible sigh. “I’m not doing a good job of this, am I?”

He moved to stand beside her. He glared at her profile. “Depends. What exactly are you trying to do?”

She shifted to face him, her expression devoid of any discernible emotion. She, who had no poker face. The lack thereof said it all.

Meanwhile he employed every ounce of will he possessed to hide the feelings running roughshod through him.

Fear. Anger. A gut-wrenching need for her to give him one shred of evidence she had ever actually cared for him.

And disgust—at his own weakness. When had he become this pathetic excuse for a man?

If he wasn't so bloody miserable, he'd laugh at the caricature he’d made of himself.

“Your reason for offering for me, if you can call it that, no longer exists. You wanted to keep me safe. Well, now I'm safe.”

“There is also the small matter of our having lain together--on multiple occasions. There could be consequences.”

She lowered her lashes, and a muscle ticked in her jaw. So she did feel something .

“You refer to the possibility I am with child?”

“Obviously.”

“In light of…” She hesitated, her cheeks turning a furious shade of pink, “…your actions at the time of our…your, er…”

Her show of vulnerability, however minute, cut through his veneer of icy calm. He couldn't stop his impulse to trace his fingertips over her jawline.

“That's not a fool-proof method, darling. And that was only the once. This morning, I spilled my seed inside of you. Or don’t you recall? ”

She closed her eyes briefly, then took an unsteady step backward, recoiling from his touch. “In any case, I can deal with such an eventuality, I'm sure, should the need arise."

His stomach pitched. “Like hell. As if I would ever shirk responsibility for my own child.”

Her scoffing laugh turned his blood to pure ice. “Your responsibility. Yes, of course. God forbid Caden Thurgood not step in as honor would demand.”

He jammed a hand through his hair. “You act as if honor is a bad thing."

“It's a fine thing. One of the traits about you I ado—” She broke off. “—admire most."

“Why do I hear a but at the end of your statement?” Coldness filled him, spreading to all his extremities.

She met his eyes with an unblinking stare. “A child may be reason enough for you to wed, but, for me, there needs to be...there ought to be, something more.” Her eyes pleaded with him to understand.

At once, her meaning hit home—and gutted him.

Her dismissal of his reason for marrying was mere camouflage.

The truth was as evident as the lack of emotion on her face.

She did not want him. It was all well and good to wed him when he offered safe harbor, when he was the lesser of two evils and came with the force of the Claybourne title behind him.

But now, with Bolton no longer a threat thanks to Lady Wentworth's machinations and her newly established financial means—she was the granddaughter of a dowager duchess after all—her reasons for marrying Caden had evaporated like mist. Unless she proved pregnant.

Even then, she seemed less than thrilled at the prospect of marriage to him.

She did not want him as her husband. He couldn’t blame her .

He straightened, linking his hands behind his back and looked anywhere but at her. “I see.”

“You...do?"

He forced a bland smile. “I apologize for my previous inability to grasp the obvious.”

“Which is?” she drew out, sounding suddenly wary.

You do not want me as your husband. Though the words burned through him, he could not bring himself to say them aloud.

“Your situation has changed," He said instead. "You no longer need rescuing. No reason to saddle yourself with a less than sterling husband when the wolves no longer breathe down your door, eh?”

“Less than— No . Caden, you’ve twisted my words.”

He nodded, still wearing his forced grin.

“The point is, I take your meaning. I shall, of course, accede to your wishes to end our arrangement. However”—He met her eyes, trying to impress the import of his words—“I must insist, should our indiscretions bear fruit, you contact me immediately. I will not abandon my child. No matter what.”

He’d cross that bridge if it came to that.

Whereas he’d previously imagined such an eventuality with an odd combination of awe and desire, he now didn’t know how he felt.

Imagining Anna carrying his babe while not belonging to him, body and soul, bloody hurt, like he imagined being kicked in the teeth by a horse might feel.

And whereas before he’d been disinclined to exact her promise to marry him based solely upon a happenstance pregnancy, he’d been more than willing to do so should the need occur. Now the thought of forcing her into marriage under any circumstances was more than he could stomach.

When at last she spoke, her words came out a mere whisper he had to strain to hear. “I will. ”

He arched his brows, his expression deliberately nonchalant. “What now? I assume you have a plan? I didn’t think to ask. Have you informed my family of your decision?”

She had the audacity to look affronted. “Informed your family? My decision?” she all but hissed. “I have not. If we are in agreement, we should tell them together...unless you’d rather have a private discussion with them?”

In agreement . Caden could only shake his head no.

She lifted her chin. “Very well. As to the rest, I expect Lady Wentworth and I will start for NorthUmberland this evening. Tomorrow morning at the latest."

He wanted to hurl something. One of the man-sized potted plants preferably. “In that case, we should make haste informing everyone. I wouldn’t want to delay your departure. As you say, we’ll tell them together. You can say your goodbyes at the same time. Two birds with one stone and all that."

All color drained from her face. Likely fearing the reaction of the earl and Zeke. As if he’d let anyone rebuke her.

He wanted to shake her. To kiss her. Hell, he wanted to drop to his knees and beg her not to leave him. What kind of a fool did that make him?

He had never experienced this conflagration of need and ire and tenderness and lust. Except.

..maybe he'd had some of these feelings before, for her, all those years ago.

Hell, maybe Zeke had the right of it and he had fallen for the chit way back when.

And as she had then, she would walk out of his life without a second look.

At least his pride remained intact. He would never, ever, beg for the affections of a woman who obviously wanted nothing to do with him. No one, least of all her, need never know how deeply her rejection cut him.