Love's Misadventure (The Mason Siblings Series Book 1) (19 page)

Anna wiped at her cheeks once more, holding back a fresh wave of tears. Her heart pounded with dread, and her stomach was in knots.

She would find a way out of this, and then she could confess her love for Lane. But for now, she would save his life, even if it tore her apart inside to do so.

“I thought I might find you here.” Anna’s heart skipped a beat as Lane’s deep timbre rumbled behind her.

She spun to face him just as Lane’s mouth closed in on hers.
No, Anna! You must stick…to the…plan…

He smelled of soap and sweet cigars. Anna melted.

Lane’s lips were hot and delicious. For a moment Anna let herself be immersed in his embrace, the way his tongue played with hers, the way his arms held her tight… But it needed to stop.

She pulled back. “No. Stop, Lane.”

His heavy-lidded gaze met hers, but slowly his countenance changed. He unwound his arms from around her, holding her shoulders with his hot palms as he watched her carefully.

“What has happened, Anna?”

“Nothing at all. Everything is perfectly well.” Remembering her falsehood, Anna smiled. “Better
than well, as a matter of fact.”

He brushed her claims aside with a tilt of his head. “Your eyes are red, Anna. You have been crying.”

She waved a hand through the air between them. “It is merely the wind; my eyes have become dry.”

Ordinarily, she would turn her face away to avoid further scrutiny, but he mustn’t see through her lie. She would face him directly, meet his gaze, and dare him to refute her.

He withdrew further, seemingly nonplussed by their encounter. “I understood from your missive that you wished to, er, enjoy some moments alone. I had not anticipated a sombre discussion.”

“Our conversation will be quite the contrary, I assure you,” she lied. “The letter was meant to tease; I wrote it on a whim, though I did
wish to see you.”

She didn’t miss his flinch. Her chest tightened as she smiled brightly at him.

“Truthfully, my reason for requesting this rendezvous was to impart some rather exciting news!”

A frown touched his brow as he waited for her to speak. She was about to destroy something beautiful, turn it foul and unrecognizable. She only hoped that she could turn it back once this was all done.

“Anthony came to call on me this morning.” She did her best to sound cheerful as she bounced on her toes. “I wanted you to be the first to know… He proposed marriage—”

“
No!
”

“—and I have accepted.”

Anna fought back the desire to weep at the sight of Lane’s blanched countenance, to tell him that it was all a lie, that she loved him…

“
Have you lost your bloody mind
?” he growled. “How could you consent to a marriage to that—that damned whoreson?”

* * *

Lane’s chest ached with a pain akin to the fiery depths of Lucifer’s lair. He had not known this level of pain was possible.

“Anthony is a gentleman.” She notched her chin defiantly high as she toyed with the ribbon that circled her waist.

Anthony
was a blackguard for taking his Annabel away from him. He couldn’t let that happen.

“Marry me instead, Anna.” He gripped her hands in desperation. “We have been friends since we were on leading strings. We are so good for each other. Break off your engagement. Marry me.”

Her lips thinned into a hard line as she watched him pityingly. Damn it, he did not want her pity.

“I cannot.” She pulled her hands from his and stepped back. “I am engaged to Anthony. I will not break my promise to him.”

This must be what a breaking heart feels like
. The ache spread to his limbs, his heart thundered while simultaneously being shattered into pieces. He gasped for breath, his soul struggling for purchase as he watched Anna’s stoic countenance.

How could she be so calm when he felt as though his world just crashed around him?

Anger slowly crept inside him, protecting his heart from further pain while lashing out at the one who had hurt him. Anna’s lemon scent wafted toward him on the chilled breeze, and he grit his teeth against its lure.

He growled. “Does your
fiancé
know that you well-nigh begged
me to take your maidenhead? Does he know how you screamed my name when you found your pleasure in my arms?” Lane tried to stop the flow of hurtful words from leaving his lips, but his pain and anger controlled his mouth. “Does he know that you—”

“Yes.” Her softly uttered interruption halted his hateful speech.

To Lane’s mortification, his eyes began to sting with the threat of tears.
Hell and blazes
. He hadn’t cried since his father died eleven years ago.

She softly cleared her throat, her pitying gaze meeting his through a haze of his unshed tears.

“Anthony knows of my lack of virtue, Lane.”

He couldn’t catch his breath. He couldn’t slow the painful hammering of his heart. He couldn’t have the woman he loved.

“Very well,” he croaked. “I will not importune you further.”

“Lane.” She reached for him, but he pulled away. He couldn’t have her touch him. He would either grovel at her feet or shout tearful profanities at her. He didn’t relish the thought of doing either.

He turned, ignoring the basket he’d set upon the grass, and tramped back toward his town house. He could not stand there any longer. He could not turn back. He needed to be alone, to escape the crushing pain assailing him.

With a low rumble, the skies opened, raining droplets over the grand expanse of London. It suited his mood impeccably.

Tears flowed freely down his cheeks, mingling with the warm spring rain, while his feet drove him home.

Chapter 22

Reading books allowed Anna to escape into a life not her own. She’d wanted to escape the past eight weeks in their entirety.

The moment Lane had turned his back to her and the skies had wept, despondency had swept her. She’d lost her very closest friend; the man she’d grown up with. The man she loved.

Anna shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Any spare moment in which her time was not consumed with Anthony, she spent in this chair in her bedchamber, reading.

She was terribly lonely without Lane. They used to share their feelings with each other, go for walks, play chess, read aloud to one another… When she’d found her newest favourite novel,
Pride and Prejudice
by Miss Jane Austen, Anna had had no one with which to share it. With whom would she discuss Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy’s obstacles, Lydia’s foolish decisions, and the dastardly Mr. Wickham? With whom would she joke? With whom would she share her deepest desires and fears?

She sighed. Her heart hurt when she thought of Lane. She was haunted by the image of his pale, distraught features from when last she saw him. She despised herself for what she’d done that day. And she was beginning to fear that it was all for naught, for she had yet to concoct a plan to free her from Anthony’s clutches.

She had thought of—and quickly dismissed—several plans, from abandoning him at the altar, running away from home, or pretending a dire illness, to feigning death or poisoning Anthony. None seemed possible.

With a sigh, Anna put a ribbon between the open pages of her book to mark her place, then pressed it closed. This was the first day since they had announced their engagement in which Anna had not seen Lord Boxton, and she could not enjoy it. She was exhausted from the countless carriage rides through Hyde Park, the evenings at the theatre or balls, the musicales… And at every opportunity, Anthony made certain to remind her of what would happen if she spoke a word or broke their engagement.

He would murder her family.

She could scarcely imagine that someone could do such an odious thing. She had often wondered how a man could be so despicable and volatile in character as Lord Boxton, but she had yet to find an answer other than madness.

A yawn caught her by surprise, and she quickly covered it with the back of her hand. She had been dreadfully tired of late, for she slept very poorly, scarcely for more than two or three hours at a time. Being exhausted, and her predicament with Lord Boxton, had diminished her appetite significantly. She feared she was beginning to waste away.

How did Lane fare? She had learned from Bridget that he had travelled to their country estate in Hertfordshire and had not been seen or heard from since. Did he think of her as often as she thought of him? The letters she had sent him had all been returned unopened, each one deepening the ache in her heart.

She sighed once more. The season was in full swing, and tonight would be another performance. She was due to attend the second Merrington ball of the season on Anthony’s arm. How she loathed the façade of happiness that she displayed to the world. She smiled prettily, laughed at humourless jests, danced all the dances… Acted the dutiful fiancée.

A knock sounded at her bedchamber door, and she called out a welcome.

Charles’ head appeared from around the door. “Anna? Would you care to come down to luncheon?”

She glanced at her mantle clock as he stepped into the room. “Is it that time, already?”

“It is.” He nodded, holding his elbow out to her. “Shall we?”

Anna placed her book on the window’s sill and stood, but stumbled. Her vision went blurry, and her head swam dizzily before the room went black.

Charles was suddenly at her side.
How had he gotten here so quickly?
What was she doing on the ground?

She put a hand to her head. “Goodness! What happened?”

“You fainted. You are fortunate I was here, Anna, or you would have hit your head.” He tilted his head toward the tea table several feet away.

These dizzy spells were terribly bothersome. “I am grateful for your aid, Charles. I believe I am much improved now.” She moved to sit up, but Charles put a hand to her shoulder.

“I disagree. You have been experiencing moments of faintness far too frequently of late. I will have a physician called.”

Anna waved a hand. “Oh pish. There is no need to go to the trouble. It is merely a lack of sleep, and I am rather hungry, as well.”

She rose to her feet with Charles’ grudging assistance.

He eyed her disapprovingly, his blue eyes glinting. “I warn you, dear sister,” he pointed a finger at her, “if I see you take so much as one more faltering step, I will summon a doctor to examine you.”

Charles’ eyes were lined with worry, and as much as Anna found his overprotective nature irksome, she did not wish to be a burden on his nerves. “Very well,” she agreed. “I will submit to a doctor’s examination if, after I get some rest and have eaten, I still have dizzy spells.”

Her brother nodded his head in satisfaction, holding his elbow out to her once more. Anna accepted with a smile, and they both strolled from the room.

The dining room was bright with midday sunlight, where it cast its glow on Mama through the grand windows.

Their mother looked up from her seat to the right of the table’s head. “I see you have been torn from your books, Annabel, dear.”

“Yes, Mama.”

Charles walked her to her seat across from their mother before he rounded the table and took his own seat. The footmen arrived with their meal and plates and placed them upon the table. Anna’s stomach roiled as the scent of herring wafting from beneath one of the silver domes. Her appetite fled.

“Lady Kipling informed me that her nephew is returned from war,” Mama said conversationally. “The poor man lost most of one arm and is dreadfully scarred.” She sat forward eagerly. “He was a dear, sweet boy the last I saw him. Do you recall, Annabel?” She continued without waiting for a response, “At the ball Lord Kipling had held in her ladyship’s honour? He was but a boy, then, but as Lady Kipling informs me, he is eight-and-twenty and quite grown now.” She looked at Charles. “Did you happen to see him while you were in battle, dear?”

Charles’ jaw tightened. “I did. But I do not believe that it is fit conversation for a lady’s ears, Mama.”

“Ah yes, you once more refuse to reveal any information about your time overseas.” She sniffed delicately. “Very well.” She took a small bite of herring and chewed daintily.

Anna watched her plate, a perpetual grimace of distaste on her lips. Charles cleared his throat, and Anna knew he was watching her. She skewered a small potato with her fork and brought it to her mouth.

She fought a gag. It had been soaking in fish-flavoured sauce. Her stomach roiled, but she managed to swallow.

“My dear Charles,” Mama cooed, “how fares your search for Annabel’s abductors?”

Anna’s fork clattered to her plate, catching the attention of the room’s occupants. “Please excuse me,” she murmured as she stood.

“You have scarcely touched your meal, Anna.” Charles stood as she did.

“I have lost my appetite,” she uttered lamely before fleeing the dining room.

A walk out of doors would benefit her—truly,
anywhere
away from that dreadful fish smell would do—but the beautiful June day warranted a stroll in the gardens.

* * *

Lane grunted as he stared sightlessly out his estate’s study window. The sun heated him through the glass, but pain clutched his heart.
Anna would have loved this day
.

He puffed on the last bit of his cigar and ground it out on a dish, blowing the smoke against his reflection in the window.

The past seven and a half weeks had been among the worst of his life. He had little appetite and few hours of sleep. He’d made the excuse to himself that he was required to be at the estate to oversee several agricultural projects, but in truth, he simply could not see Anna go about town with Lord
sodding
Boxton.

She’d refused him. His chest tightened, and he took a sip of his brandy. He still could not quite accept that she was gone, out of his life, as quickly as all that. One moment he had been ready to make love to her—marry her—and then, as quick as a flash of lightning…

With a groan, he slumped in the chair behind his desk. He had not shaved or bathed in nearly a sennight. He’d missed several appointments with fencing partners, nor had he been riding. He felt distinctly sloth-like.