“In a week.” Her voice was thin and thready; she didn’t seem happy. Gerald yearned to comfort her. “The last banns will be read then.”
His heart quickened in its beat, throbbing insistently against his chest. Everything in him yearned to reach out and snatch Annie to safety. His arms had never felt so empty. That space inside him, the one with her name on it, opened, as if to take her in.
She was not his. She would never be his.
A thought hammered at his brain. He’d forgotten their bargain about the house. She had not contacted him, and he’d let the matter drop. He had taken any choice away from her, forced her into Stephenson’s arms.
The least he could do was honor the agreement. Perhaps then—but no. He must not wish for what he could not have.
“I will offer you my congratulations after the event,” he said, keeping his voice low and smooth. “Not before. I have been the recipient of totally misguided congratulations myself recently.” He bowed. “Good day, sir, ma’am.”
With an effort he forced his feet to move and continued on his way.
***
Annie watched him pass, her eyes huge in her face. As he swept by her, a trace of his male scent invaded her nostrils, and longing invaded her body. With that brief contact he woke her senses, the ones she’d been working so hard to suppress. She wanted him so badly. Her nipples tensed, and grew sensitive, ready for his touch and the place between her legs dampened.
Nothing Joseph had done had gone even part way toward rousing her in this way, but this man did it effortlessly. She wanted to turn and watch him go, so she could bask in his presence one more time—one last time.
This could not happen, she could not spend more nights tossing and turning, trying to get an hour’s rest before the day started its relentless path once more. Closer to her wedding day.
Closer to her doom.
***
Four days before her wedding to Joseph Stephenson, Annie sat in her office opening her letters. Petit stood at his desk, scribing the latest orders. “Do you intend to go on a honeymoon, madam?” he asked.
She looked up and forced a smile. “No, I don’t believe so. I shall make arrangements to move to his house when I’ve dealt with matters here.” She had been putting the move off for weeks. Ever since she had realized what was missing. What she hadn’t seen lately.
Annie had done everything in her power to reconcile herself to the marriage. Joseph was a better prospect than John Cathcart had been, on paper at least. She would be making a solid marriage.
Her parents were delighted. They planned to come to town for the ceremony and the wedding breakfast. Even Matilda was reconciled to the prospect, particularly after Joseph took her on a tour of his fine house and showed her the room she would occupy. Her mind put at rest about her own future, Matilda set herself to helping Annie. But Annie was far from reconciled.
Her fears had solidified recently, and now she could not keep her secret to herself.
When she’d seen Gerald, her flagging spirits had taken a boost for the short time he’d spoken to them. He looked well, dressed modestly but finely in dark red, his powerful body shadowed by the fabric, but not completely hidden.
When he’d bowed she’d watched his hands, the hands that had taken her to paradise in that never-to-be forgotten night. Now she was in all likelihood to carry the results of that night.
Gerald walked away, forever a stranger. And yet—he was not to marry Lady Elizabeth? Or had his words meant something else? Annie had rummaged through the gossip sheets that were usually the purview of Matilda, and found nothing but innuendo and rumor. Gerald was still seen in company with Lady Elizabeth. He must have meant something else, or she was too dazed to take in what he was saying.
When the door clanged, she glanced up and suppressed a sigh, forcing a smile to take its place. Joseph nodded to Petit, who left the office, as he always did when Joseph arrived. Just as if he was taking orders from her betrothed instead of herself. Mild irritation rose in her breast. At least she was feeling something.
Her nervousness rose, too, until her throat tightened and her stomach churned. That was part of the problem, the stomach-churning. “May I speak to you in private, Joseph?”
His thin-lipped smile told her he thought she wanted kisses from him. He was delusional.
She rose and led him upstairs to the parlor. She could not talk to him anywhere she had a chance of being interrupted. Once there, she closed the door. The parlor door was only closed when the occupant did not wish to be interrupted. In a house this cramped, they had to have some signals, or they would be forever colliding with each other.