Owen knocked on the door to Jack Hadley’s Mayfair mansion. He glanced down the street. One block over sat Bloodsworth’s mansion. She had lived so close to that bastard. He closed his eyes in a pained blink, recalling how close he had come to losing her.
Owen exhaled. The man was dead. He’d not give him another thought. He had enough demons in his past. Bloodsworth would not be added to their numbers. His only thoughts were for Annalise now. For being strong, good enough for her. For both of them. If she would let him.
He’d told himself to stay away. Her father and sister had swept in, and he just slipped from the room. What did she need him for anymore? Bloodsworth was dead. She had her family. Her freedom.
He’d told himself this for the last three days. He’d told himself to stay away. That he was nothing she deserved. That he couldn’t be the kind of man she needed. He might not be Bloodsworth, but neither was he good enough for her.
She’d placed herself in danger. For him. He didn’t want that kind of sacrifice from her, but she had gone and done it anyway. That kind of goodness and—he hoped—love, flowed through her. He would not be a fool to let her depart his life.
The front door opened and he presented his card. The butler led him to the drawing room. He waited impatiently for her, sitting for only a moment before rising and pacing the length of the room.
“Owen?”
He swung around. She stood in the doorway, garbed in a gown that once again did not fit her properly.
He couldn’t help smiling. “I should have sent your new wardrobe over.”
Her expression clouded over and he immediately regretted the words. He didn’t want to send her clothes here. He wanted them to stay in his house. Just as he wanted her in his house.
Her chin lifted a notch. “Is that why you came? To discuss my clothes?”
He dragged a hand through his hair. He was fumbling this. “I came to see how you are faring.”
“I’ve been home three days. You are only concerned with my welfare now?”
“I knew you were out of danger.”
She nodded and advanced into the room. Lowering herself to a settee, she smoothed her hand over her lap. “Yes. I am quite safe now. Thank you, Lord McDowell.”
He stiffened at the proper use of his title. He did not want that chilly reserve between them.
In two strides he was beside her. “Owen,” he growled, taking her hands from her lap and folding them in his own.
With wide eyes, she tried to pull them free. He clung tightly.
“Why are you here?” she demanded, her brown eyes gleaming with anger.
His gaze devoured her face. “I’m here for you.”
She ceased tugging her hands away. She moistened her lips. “I appreciate your concern,” she began, her voice trembling. “It would have been more timely three days ago, but it’s nice to know you care.” She uttered this last with such derision that he knew she did not believe he cared.
Her hands slid free then and she was on her feet, moving for the drawing room doors. “You can find your way out.”
He reached her in two strides, grabbing her arms and swinging her around, his voice rough as gravel even to his own ears. “Damn it, I’m not going anywhere until you listen to me.”
Annalise blinked up at him, quite certain if she stood before him another moment and endured his extended sympathies she would break down and cry.
Three days. Three days had passed and he had not come. She had wept herself to sleep. It seemed absurd now that she had vowed to never be vulnerable again because she’d never in her whole life felt like this. And it was because she loved this man. She was raw and exposed before him, her heart in his hands, and he did not even realize . . . did not even care. Did not even want her.
She jerked her arms, trying to pull free, almost panicked to escape him before he realized how utterly at his mercy she was . . . that her heart was already his hostage.
“Let me go!”
“Annalise,” he growled, wrapping his arms around her and hauling her close. “Why won’t you listen to me?”
She shook her head, feeling the desperate burn of tears in her eyes. “No.”
“I can’t let you go . . .”
“Why?” she choked.
Something akin to panic crossed his face. She had never seen that look before. “Because I’m in love with you.”
She stilled, her mouth sagging in a small O of surprise.
“God knows I’ve tried to let you go ever since I found you,” he said hoarsely. “I can’t. God, I can’t. I don’t want to.” He dropped his forehead to rest against hers. “But if you ask it, I will.”
His strong body shuddered against hers with the release of his confession. She brought her hands up to frame his face, holding him as if he were some bit of magic that might vanish into air.
She pressed her open mouth to his. He sighed, and she slid her tongue to meet his, kissing him greedily until they were both panting. Until his hardness prodded at her belly.
He lifted his lips. “I love you, Annalise.” The words fanned her lips and her heart lifted, swelled until it ached.
“You . . .”
“I love you,” he repeated. “I want to marry you. Today. I know that’s not possible, but we can have the banns posted within the week.” He stopped for breath, searching her face. “Say something.” He drew a ragged breath. “Say yes.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Yes!”
He crushed her in a hug and lifted her off her feet.
“I love you, Owen.”
His hand smoothed over the hair at the back of her head.
“Just promise me no honeymoon cruises in the country,” she added with a gasping laugh, trapped in the tightness of his hug.
“Oh, Annalise, we won’t be leaving our bedchamber for a great long time.” His voice rumbled huskily beside her ear. “I might keep you there for the rest of your life, in fact.”
She giggled as he pressed a kiss to her neck. “Indeed. That will be adventure enough.”