“I promised you the truth.” She would not plead for reason, and she would not run like a frightened deer. One was out of the question, and the other would make her prey. “You have it.”

“And your father? Have you guaranteed his security?”

Annabel’s gut twisted. She hated the heat that rose to her cheeks at the insinuation that she had bargained her body in exchange for her father’s vowels. “My father has the ability to rescue himself, should he choose to do so. I will not tell a lie to save him.”

“But to save yourself? If Ramsbury were to learn of your purpose in his house, his…generosity would end.”

Annabel ignored the skip in her heart and tore a page from Mr. Collins’s book. “If you expose me, you expose yourself. You will not take that risk.”

Mrs. Riordan finally arrived with a tray, providing an avenue for escape. Annabel took it, sweeping past Spencer and into the hall, toward the door. Henderson already held it open.

Annabel was to the end of the block before she slowed her pace. The sunshine warmed her hair through her hat, and, though the air carried the acrid scents of town, it helped clear the dread and fear from her lungs. Though her skin still crawled as though someone was watching her.

She suspected this discovery somehow tied to her original, horrible assignment, and her first impulse was to tell Jasper everything. However, the risk was not just to her. She would be placing him in the path of a murderer. She needed to learn more before she confessed.

“Lady Ramsbury!”

She quickened her pace, not looking to see who was behind her.

“Lady Ramsbury! Annabel!”

Fiona Allen. Annabel shaped her mouth into a smile and forced her feet to stay in one place. Turning to wait for Fiona to join her, she had a chance to scan the crowd. Though she had no idea what Collins looked like, she paid close attention to any man walking alone with a cane.

“It is a pleasure to see you out this morning,” Fiona said. “What is your next destination?”

“Home.” Annabel slowed her pace to match Fiona’s, who kept a watchful eye on Mrs. Linden’s position in the crowd. “I’ve had quite enough of town this morning.”

“Nonsense.” Fiona looped her arm through Annabel’s and opened her parasol. “Let’s take a turn in the park and enjoy the flowers. I have so many questions about what I’m missing in ballrooms this Season, and Jasper will tell me nothing. It’s up to you, I’m afraid.”

Despite herself, Annabel grinned. Fiona’s good humor and spring flowers might be the best cure for the drama from the morning. She was also fairly certain Mrs. Linden could fend off a murderer with her glare alone. She turned with Fiona toward the park. “Very well, and then I insist you both come for tea.”

“Please, no tea. There’s only so much one lady can drink when it’s her only social outlet,” Fiona said. “Let’s stop at Gunter’s for ices instead.”

Chapter Sixteen

“I found the tigers fascinating, didn’t you?”

Not nearly as fascinating as her new hairstyle.

“A nine-foot-long, thirty-five-stone cat who loves water. What’s not to love?” Jasper teased. “The illustrations of its habitat were intriguing as well.”

“Hacking through a thick forest full of snakes and spiders and having my blood sucked by insects I can’t see?” Annabel asked. “I can’t wait to go.”

She’d hung on every word of the lecture, judging by the way she’d squeezed his hand throughout. He couldn’t blame her. Five minutes after the speaker had begun, Jasper had forgotten to glare at the stodgy attendees who were staring at his wife either in outrage or with frank interest.

Not that he could blame the latter ones. Two weeks of waking with Annabel in his arms had done nothing but make him hungrier for her. Even now, on the road toward Ramsbury, every rock and sway made him think about sex in a carriage.

He swung across to sit beside her and smiled when she made room for him, but just enough that their bodies touched. He draped his arm around her shoulders, and her head fell to his shoulder.

“Have you been?” she asked.

“To India? No.” He’d never been farther than Paris, because heirs were packed with feathers and straw. “Kit is better traveled than me.” Stapleton and Travis were better traveled than he was. “One meager benefit of serving queen and country.”

“Memories of the jungle are poor substitutions for the losses they risk.”

“I agree.” Jasper pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “The country should treat them better.”

“You are the country, you know?”

The landscape rocked past the window, dusted in silver moonlight and topped with stars. The quiet gave her words weight. Giving Kit a home, helping Gareth’s widow, solving the young man’s murder—these were all small steps. He had the capability and the connections to do more.

But not tonight. He was on holiday, and his wife was warm in his arms.

“How go your redecorating plans?” he whispered in her ear, and enjoyed the shiver that went through her.

“Are you anxious to be rid of me?” Annabel tilted her head, not to escape him, but to give him access to her neck.

He was happy to take advantage. Her skin was soft, but strong muscles flexed against his tongue. “Never. You can leave it pink, frilly, and vacant for all I care.”

“Now that I’ve begun, I should finish.”

“Mm-hmm.” He slid his hand along the curve of her knee and the inside of her thigh. “You definitely should.”

She put a firm hand on his wrist. “No, Jasper. Not now.”

“I owe you something for refilling my gin.” He nipped her earlobe. “I damn near coughed myself to death.”

Now, as then, her giggle unraveled him. He tangled his fingers in her skirts and pulled. She insisted on pushing them back to the floor.

“I’ve finally realized your mother cannot hear us, but I draw the line at male staff in the quiet countryside.”

“Fine.” Not to be completely deterred, he kissed her and groaned in relief when she opened for him eagerly. Her hum of anticipation tickled his tongue. “If you’re certain.”

“I am,” Annabel panted as she tangled her fingers in his hair.

Her collarbone gave him a path to the hollow in her throat and down her sternum. She arched into the caress, putting her breast in his hand. Jasper could swear his world was speeding to match the hammering of her heart.

“Highwaymen!”

Lawrence’s cry pulled Jasper back to reality, but it took a moment to clear his head. All he could see was a lantern, but the longer he stared, the clearer the shapes became. One rider in a dark coat on a black horse—a fast one.

“Blast.”

“There’s one on this side as well,” Annabel said. Her words were rushed, but her voice was steady. “Closing fast.”

He pulled her from the window as he extinguished the lantern. “Get on the floor.”