Marriage wasn’t a burden as long as it was with the right woman.

  Roderick may be a rake, but he’d been certain all his life that Anne was his woman. He just had to prove it to her. Marriage would inevitably follow, but after seeing his brother’s abject happiness with Violet, he no longer feared the wedded state. What else was he supposed to do with his life?

  A man couldn’t chase skirts forever. Gambling was never a favorite pastime, but he had enjoyed other aspects of being a wealthy unattached gentleman. But lately, or rather, since the house party a few weeks ago in which his brother had been brought low by love, Roderick had changed. The delights of London didn’t call to him as they used to. The idea of brothels, opera dancers, private parties in Covent Garden… They’d lost their shine.

  He had a new interest, and it was wholly focused on Anne Marsden.

  He scoured his mind again, a spark of guilt growing as he tried to remember the events after their kiss. He sniffed his clothing for traces of perfume, but the smell of whisky overpowered everything. He was sweating out last evening’s drinks, which had been many.

  But he had the sense he had been with someone, and even though he’d yet not made any promises to Anne, he felt like he’d betrayed her in some way.

  It didn’t sit well. He wanted to be a better man for her. He would have to be if he wanted her devotion.

  Roderick’s single greatest fear was that she would always see him as a rake, and he wouldn’t ever prove otherwise. If last night’s events proved true, and he had kissed Anne and then bedded another woman, his fear was warranted. He was a scoundrel. And that wasn’t likely to change.

  Chapter 8

  May 30, 1825 One week later…

  Anne didn’t know what to expect. They’d been home for a week, and she had seen no evidence of Roderick. She hadn’t a good reason to visit Selbourne until now. The duchess had lent Josie some books, and Georgie was going to return them. Anne had offered to go with her and help her carry the books, even though there were only four. Georgie hadn’t questioned her, luckily, and gladly accepted her company.

  It was a warm day, but the wind coming from the ocean tempered the sun’s rays as the afternoon waned.

  “We’ll have to stay for tea, Her Grace always insists I do so, and then she recommends more books for me. It won’t be a short visit,” Georgie said.

  Wonderful.

  Anne bit back an anxious smile.

  “I don’t mind,” Anne said, but her heart took off like a rabbit. Would he be there? What would he say? What would she say? For a week, she’d imagined different encounters, some sweet, some argumentative. But the terrible truth was she didn’t know what to expect of him. After such a momentous event, she’d expected an immediate reaction, but a week? A week of nothing from him, not a letter, not a visit, was torture.

  Half of her seethed, half of her worried. What if he’d been truly ill? She’d left him there, thinking he’d only drunk himself to sleep, but what if it was worse than that?

  She hugged herself as they climbed up the hill to Selbourne, the castle rising above them like a giant, so familiar and yet so daunting. She’d grown up with a view of the castle from her bedroom window but never had she felt familiar with it, comfortable enough to feel as though she could one day live there, belong there, welcome among the intricate carvings and centuries of history. She was a gentlewoman, but poor as a church mouse in comparison to everything in Selbourne Castle. Even the suits of armor had more value than Anne. Roderick’s station in life had always felt so far above her.

  What would the duchess think if she and Roderick married?

  The Duchess was so kind, the utter opposite of her deceased husband. The old Duke of Selbourne had scorned her family for their poverty, despite being their closest neighbor. He’d made it clear he viewed she and her sisters as undesirable for his sons. But Roderick and Weirick had rarely listened, and many summers had been passed in their company while the duke was away.

  Out of breath as they reached the castle, Anne steeled her nerves as she and Georgie entered the Kings Hall and were led to the drawing room. They were divested of their books by a footman and soon sat across the duchess with teacups in hand.

  “So nice of you to visit,” Her Grace said. “The castle feels empty now that the house party is over, and Weirick and Violet are away for their honeymoon.”

  “Has Roderick returned? Bernie said he missed their planned return home,” Georgie asked.

  “Oh yes, he did return the following day, but as a bachelor I can never pin him down. No doubt he is relieved Weirick has married and will return to London to do as bachelors do.”

  Anne set her cup down swiftly and folded her shaking hands in her lap. “Oh?” She managed to say. “He has not yet returned to London then? I thought he would have as soon as he was able.”

  “Oh, he will in time. I’m surprised he hasn’t, but he seems content here for the moment. Intriguing, isn’t it? He was never one to enjoy the country, which I won’t say he’s doing now, though he has been riding his horse.”

  Anne smiled tightly.

  At least he wasn’t ill when she left him in the garden. She was relieved of that guilt. Now all that remained was seething anger, mixed with bitter hurt. She remained quiet while the duchess and Georgie discussed books. Once tea was finished they moved to the library, but Anne begged to be excused to the retiring room, and they happily carried on without her.

  Anne wasn’t sure where she might find him, but if he did soon return to London, this may be her only chance to corner him and make him speak to her.

  She passed down a familiar hall and the clack of billiard balls caught her attention. She hurried closer and peeked inside the room.

  There he was, cast in the glow of a waning afternoon sun, hip set on the table as he leaned over to make a shot.

  Anne slipped inside and closed the door.

  He jerked in surprise, missing his shot, which gave her no small measure of joy.

  She folded her arms and glared at him as he righted himself, his gaze wandering over her. He picked up his tumbler of some dark liquid and took a sip. “Well, I must say this is a surprise.”

  “Is it really? I can’t say I’m surprised to find you with a drink in your hand.”

  He set his drink down and scowled at her. “Well, it appears you are angry with me.”

  “Shouldn’t I be?”

  He gave her his profile, his brow furrowed. “I suppose the honorable thing to do would be apologize. But I won’t. I enjoyed it and you did too. Don’t deny it.”

  Anne’s hands went numb and her arms dropped to her sides. “I beg your pardon?”

  “It was a fabulous moment. One I’d love to repeat. But I think it’s clear that our relationship has been rather tumultuous, and I don’t know how to go about it.”

  “What in God’s name are you talking about, Roderick?”

  He turned to her. He must have heard the way her voice shook.

  Three strides and he was before her, and all Anne could do was pray she wouldn’t cry. He gently held her elbows, his gaze sympathetic.

  “It was just a kiss, Anne. What more could you want of me after the wretch I’ve been to you? I don’t deserve a girl like you, and you deserve far better than the man I am today.”

  He slid his hands down her arms to hold hers, and his thumb found the small stretch of skin between the cuff of her sleeve and her gloves.

  She felt like she was dreaming. Her mind was too slow to react to his words. She blinked once, ignoring the pleasant trace of tingles that radiated up her arms from his soft touch. She pulled her hands away.

  “The kiss?” she asked, completely baffled.

  “Christ, that was you, wasn’t it? I thought it was you I pulled from the ballroom and kissed. Was it not? I confess things got hazy in my mind after that. The next thing I remember is waking up in bed the next morning and Weirick lecturing me,” he said and then smiled crookedly.

  She couldn’t breathe. Her lungs had frozen, and she could feel her face turning pink with the fight to take a breath.

  He ran a hand through his hair and backed away. “Damn, it wasn’t. I thought… I suppose it was just wishful thinking.”

  “I was me.” Anne ground out.

  He stared at her, eyes wide, apparently dumbstruck.

  Anne sucked in a breath, her anger and pain turning into an inferno inside her. “Things got hazy, did they? I suppose you were drunk when you kissed me, and then what, you kept drinking and remember nothing?”

  “It’s quite common, I assure you.”

  “You have no memory at all about the rest of that evening?” About ravishing me? “About missing the coach in the morning?”

  He shrugged. And that single shrug was the most infuriating thing he could possibly do in that moment, on top of forgetting they had lain together in a garden during the first light of dawn, and he’d taken her virginity.

  He’d forgotten.

  She picked up his drink and threw it in his face.

  Despite her anger, she enjoyed his mask of disbelief as he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face.

  “I deserved that.”

  “You deserve far worse. If I were a man, I’d call you out.”

  “Don’t let your gender be an obstacle on that front. Violet didn’t and look where it got her? Happily married.”

  Anne seethed. Violet Everly, now Duchess of Selbourne, was a different woman than Anne. He had to know that, didn’t he? He’d known her all her life, and he couldn’t see that she and the duchess were as similar as fruits and vegetables.

  She should go. There was no use standing here and waiting for an outcome that was never to be. He didn’t remember their intimacies, and to have to remind him made her feel like the bottom of her boots after trekking through the muddy and foul-smelling marsh.

  Her pride would not allow her to do it.

  She pivoted on her heel and grabbed the doorknob.

  “Anne, wait.”

  She froze, her blasted hopes fluttering once more, damn them.

  “I truly am sorry. I’m… Well, I’m not at my best and should never have bothered you to begin with.”

  “Bothered me,” she muttered. Yes, she was very bothered.

  She slipped out of the billiard room without another word. He didn’t follow, he didn’t attempt to stop her at all, and why should he? Clearly the kiss had meant nothing, and neither did their intimacies that he couldn’t remember. She was only another conquest, one of his many faceless women.

  She stood in the hall and pressed her eyes closed, struggling to find her bearing, to put on a mask thick enough to hide her turmoil from her sister and Her Grace.

  The very worst thing that could happen was for anyone to find out the truth of that night.

  Chapter 9

  The click of the door closing was as hollow and clipped as Roderick felt inside. He’d really hurt her this time. The exact opposite of his intention toward her, and yet he continued to do it, over and over, without thought or effort. It was as if he were cursed. A thirsty man without water, a cold man without a blanket.

  She was right there, and yet miles away from him.

  He didn’t know what to do.

  He could give up, he supposed, as well give up on all pleasure, eating, and drinking. He refilled his glass and took a gulp—never drinking. But the other necessary things. Reading, breathing, even sex. He hadn’t wanted a woman since the morning after Weirick’s wedding. His mysterious paramour had not tried to contact him, which was as it should be. He had no interest in other women. Only one.

  The one that loathed him.

  He finished his brandy in another gulp and refilled his glass.

  What would he do without brandy to blunt the edge of life’s disappointments?

  Though to drink enough to forget Anne might kill him.

  He considered his glass.

  Weirick was displeased with his consumption of alcohol, but Roderick had seen Weirick put down barrels of the stuff, and he seemed happy.

  Roderick sighed.

  Perhaps he wasn’t meant to be happy. Mayhap he’d done something to deserve unhappiness.

  Like torture a girl endlessly with frogs in her pockets and swipe her ribbons from her hair.

  He'd been an idiot, thinking his stupid antics would somehow impress her. He’d gotten her attention, earning himself set-downs and glares hot enough to singe his eyebrows. She looked damned gorgeous when in a fit of rage, cheeks flushed, eyes bright, and bodice heaving with heavy breaths as she delivered her scathing lectures.

  Just the way she said his name, half irritation, half challenge, he could almost believe she enjoyed their altercations. A delicate foreplay of words they often engaged in, and Roderick could only one day hope that instead of flinging her words at him she’d be so moved as to fling herself.

  If only she knew how easily he would bend to her will. He would crawl on hands and knees if she asked him to, if only for a kiss.

  But he’d stolen a kiss instead.

  Damn me.

  He could do nothing right it seemed.

  He deserved her hate.

  He set his glass down before he crushed it and reset the billiard balls.

  His hands shook, and he angrily scattered them across the felt. He abandoned the billiard room, stalking down the hall toward the back of the house. A blast of salty air struck his face, invigorating him. He strode down the sloping path to the stable, ordering his horse to be saddled. He mounted and rode right out of the stable at a gallop, his heart racing, blood pumping, and mind growing clearer. Cresting a hill, he reined to a halt, looking over the undulating grassy valley below the castle. There her house stood—quaint, but badly in need of repairs and painting.

  He could do so much for her and her family. He may not be the duke, but he had his own wealth. He and Weirick had learned to manage and grow money wisely, one of the few good things they’d learned from their father. And Weirick was not tightfisted with the family fortune. He would support Roderick in caring for Anne’s family.

  If they were married.

  Movement along the main road caught his eye. Two slender forms walked the side of the road, no bonnets, the sea breeze blowing their skirts and dark hair hither and yonder.

  His heart echoed with her name, but he knew without a doubt she would not marry him.

  She had no money, but she had her pride and her standards. He was beneath them. It was probably the only thing they both would agree on.

  She may have enjoyed their kiss—he knew she had—but that didn’t mean she’d marry him. She was too intelligent for that.

  As if she’d heard his thoughts, she turned toward him. He was too far to see her eyes, but he could feel her gaze. She’d spotted him. Georgie did as well and waved.

  Roderick waved back. He wasn’t about to take the coward’s way and pretend he didn’t see them.

  Anne turned away smartly, Georgie less so. It had been long ago accepted by everyone, his family and hers, that she disliked him.

  But Roderick couldn’t take it anymore.

  He had so much more to give her than his money.

  He sat rigid, staring at her back.

  He was going to win her.

  Whatever he had to do, whatever he had to say, he was going to do it.

  One day she would know what she meant to him, and she would beg him to kiss her again and more.

  Chapter 10

  June 13, 1825

  Two weeks flew by, and Anne woke with a surprise of the worst sort.

  Her father had come home again.

  Again, being the important word.

  He’d come home while Anne and Bernie had been away for Violet’s wedding, and this time he returned with what should have been a welcome sight.

  An unwed man.

  Anne had slept late, her body not wanting to be dragged from bed at her usual time.

  Then when she came down to breakfast, which Bernie had graciously seen to in Anne’s place, the smell of coffee assaulted her nose, and there at the table was an utter stranger.

  “My dear Annette!” Her father shouted gleefully as she entered the dining room.

  Anne halted in the doorway, instantly wanting to bolt.

  “Come meet my guest,” her father bid.

  Anne scanned the faces of her sisters seated around the table. They were unhelpfully blank.

  The strange man stood, forcing her to acknowledge him.

  At least he has manners.

  He did not look like a gentleman. His coat was worn with patches on the elbows, he wore no cravat, and his hair needed a cutting, but he appeared to have bathed.

  “My eldest daughter, Annette,” her father said. “My dear, I present Mr. Hart.”

  “How do you do, Mr. Hart?”

  “I am well, Miss Marsden. I am honored to meet you.”

  He spoke well, educated even if not a gentleman.

  Anne took her seat across from him.

  “What brings you to Northumberland?” Bernie asked.

  Anne was so grateful for her forthright sister. Bernie was never dissuaded from asking questions and ferreting out the truth.

  “I’m exploring opportunities, Miss Bernadette. I am a professor and looking for a school that has need of my experience.

  Teaching. A very honorable profession. But not nearly enough to support a wife and her family of ten.

  Anne regarded Mr. Hart while he spoke to Bernie. He wasn’t a bad-looking fellow. Did he even know why he was here? Did he know he was being served up as a husband to one of them—most likely her?

  She took a sip of her tea. She was in no place to refuse a husband. They would all have to marry, and at twenty-four, she had no cause to argue being presented to a young healthy male with an employable skill such as teaching.

  She put on a pleasant smile though her stomach grew heavy and knotted.

  She suddenly realized it was time for her monthly courses. That must be why she was feeling so off this morning and tender in her lower stomach.