More Than a Duke (Heart of a Duke Book 2) (4 page)

And Rutland wouldn’t hesitate to
assist
Lady Anne and introduce her to the art of seduction.

“Good evening, my lord,” Anne’s parting greeting, yanked him back from the hell of his past. The click of the door opening sounded like a shot in the night.

He imagined her slim body stretched out, bound to that bastard’s four-poster bed. A cold chill snaked through him. “Stop,” he said quietly. He must be going mad. There was no other explaining the fact that he now seriously contemplated her proposal.

She spun around yet again and all but sprinted across the expertly manicured grounds. “Have you reconsidered, my lord?” Hope danced in her eyes.

“Quiet. I’m thinking.” He stared out at the Lord Essex’s meticulous grounds. He fixed his gaze on the massive rendering at the farthest corner—a life-size stone Hercules with his spear thrust toward two lions reared in battle. Harry would be wise to seek out Lady Katherine and let her know just what request her sister had put to him. And yet… He glanced at Anne.

She studied him with a somber expression.

Perhaps it was boredom on his part. He looked back at the vicious stone lions. Or perhaps he and Rutland were not unlike those primitive beasts. He’d be damned if he allowed Rutland the upper hand in this matter. Not when it affected Katherine’s sister. 

Something compelled him to help her. To protect her from not just Lord Rutland but also any of the other reprehensible rogues who would gladly take advantage of her naiveté. Yes, if he were any kind of friend to Katherine, he’d throw Anne his support.

Her blue eyes sparkled. “You’ll do it,” she breathed, having clearly followed the silent direction his thoughts had traveled. She excitedly clapped her hands. “You must—”

He held a hand up and effectively silenced her. “Let us be clear, Lady Anne, I’m doing this merely to protect you from yourself.”

Her mouth formed a small moue of displeasure.

He took a step toward her. “I’ve no intentions of touching you.” Did she appear crestfallen? “I’ll help until he makes you that offer.” And Harry had little doubt under his tutelage, the haughty duke would be offering for the infuriating Lady Anne well before the end of the Season. “I’ll instruct you on how to entice a gentleman but beyond that, do not expect anything else of me.”

She spoke on a rush. “Of course not, my lord.” A golden ringlet fell over her eye.

Harry brushed the silken tendril back. “Harry,” he corrected. For many years, he’d detested the nickname. It held reminders of the empty promises on Margaret’s lips as she’d breathed his name. He lowered his lips close to Anne’s ear. “If I’m to teach you the art of seduction, then I imagine you should use my Christian name.” Now he embraced the sobriquet for it reminded him of the perils in loving another.

With their closeness, he detected the audible inhalation of breath, the rapid rise and fall of her chest. She trailed her tongue over her lips. So the minx
wasn’t
immune to him. Harry reveled in that slight attestation of her feminine interest. Harry dropped his gaze lower as he once again appreciated the creamy expanse of her full breasts. He nearly choked. What in hell was he doing ogling Lady Anne’s charms? Hadn’t he just stated in no uncertain terms he’d not, in any way, touch her?

She squared her shoulders as if bracing for battle and said, “Very well, then.” She paused. “Harry.” All antipathy for that name, Harry momentarily lifted. There was a husky, almost sultry quality to Anne’s voice. It filled him with a sudden urge to hear it upon her plump, red lips once more.

She stuck a hand out. “Then you must call me Anne.”

He stared blankly down at her outstretched fingers. “What in hell is that?”

“What is what?” She looked around and then followed his gaze to her hand. “This?” She waggled her fingers. “This is a hand, my lord.” Confusion tinged her reply.

“Harry,” he corrected and sent a prayer skyward in search of patience. “And what are you doing with your hand, Anne?”

“I’m offering you my hand, Harry.” She smiled.

He counted to five. “For what purpose?”

“Well,” she screwed her mouth up as if pondering his question. “It seemed like a kind of an introduction between us and then I thought we might shake hands to seal our agreement.”

The young lady intended to enlist his tutelage in the art of seduction and she thought to seal that with a bloody handshake? His lips twitched.

She lowered her hand back to her side. A frown chased away her cheerful smile. “Have I said something to amuse you, my lord?”

Why did he suddenly mourn the momentary camaraderie between them? The curl fell back over her brow. She blew it back. Harry caught the sun-kissed lock between his thumb and forefinger. “You have.”

She gave a flounce of her curls and spun on her heels. “Oh, do forget I ever mentioned anything. I don’t need your help. I’ll speak to Lord Rutland. I certainly don’t need—”

The hell she would.

She gasped when he settled his hands upon her shoulders and slowed her steps. He placed his lips a breath away from the long, graceful stretch of her neck. “Lies,” he breathed. “You do need me, sweet, or you wouldn’t have set aside your dislike, risked your reputation, and put such an offer to me.”

It didn’t escape his notice that she didn’t contradict his claim. It shouldn’t matter whether or not she disliked him. After all, the imp had hardly endeared herself to him this past year. Except, he loathed the idea of her seeking out Lord Rutland or any other nameless bounder. But especially Rutland.

Anne gasped and arched her head as though tickled. “S-stop,” she whispered. She didn’t make to pull away and he was encouraged.

He ran his hands from her shoulders, down her forearms and wrapped his fingers loosely about her wrists. “You mistook the reason for my amusement, sweet Anne,” he breathed.

“D-did I-I?” she angled her head and looked back up at him.

“I laughed at the idea of shaking on an agreement. I imagine our agreement would best be sealed with a kiss.” Only what had begun as a game in teasing now became something all too real. He dropped his gaze to her lush lips and groaned.

With the pink tip of her tongue, she traced the seam of her lips. She raised her gaze to his mouth and for a moment he believed the bold vixen intended to lean on tiptoe and brush her lips against his. “B-but I believed you’d said you had n-no intention of touching me.” Then, a slow, knowing smile wreathed her cheeks. “Oh.” She swatted at his hands. “You’re teasing me.”

No, no he hadn’t been. He really should let her go. They flirted with disaster. Someone would surely notice the young lady’s absence and if he were discovered with her… He shuddered at the prospect of being saddled with marriage to the insolent baggage.

Anne danced out of his arms on a small laugh. “It is settled then.” She placed her fingers in his and gave a firm shake.

It certainly wasn’t. “Not quite, sweet.”

“Don’t call me sweet.” She frowned with all the stern disapproval of a woman vastly older than her twenty years.

He propped his hip on the wrought-iron bench behind him. In his experience, ladies loved all manner of endearments. Sweet. Dear. Lovely. The only one he took care to avoid at all costs was love.

Anne took a step back toward him. She squinted as if trying to study his features in the moonlight. “What is it you want?” she said with a world-wise wariness. Perhaps the first sensible thought from the lady all night.

He shot his hand out and pulled her lazily toward him.

A squeak escaped her lips as she tumbled awkwardly into his arms. He righted her. “I’m to set the rules for your lessons. When I feel you’ve been successfully schooled in the art of seduction, I’ll end them. And at no point are you to fall in love with me.”

Laughter exploded from Anne’s lips. She laughed so hard, tears seeped from her closed eyes. She emitted little snorting sounds from her nose.

He didn’t know if he should be insulted or endeared by the unladylike noises escaping Anne’s too kissable lips
.
He folded his arms at his chest and glowered.

“Oh, that is rich,” she said on a gasp, when her laughter had subsided. She dashed a hand across her tear-stained cheeks. “You may rest assured, I’ve no intention of falling in love with you, my…Harry,” she said with mock-solemnity. She patted his hand like he was a small child. “What else do you require?”

Harry tightened his jaw, irked by the lady’s effortless promise. “Nothing.” Something of a rogue for a good many years now, he didn’t like to believe his charm was failing him. Even if it was only with the bothersome Lady Anne Adamson.

She gave a pleased nod. “Very well. You may begin courting me tomorrow, then.” Anne spun on her heel and stared back toward the front of the gardens.

He stared unblinking at her swift-retreating back. He shoved himself off the bench. What in hell? He quickly and efficiently closed the distance between them then placed himself between her and the door, effectively blocking her exit.

“What?” Impatience threaded her one-word question.

“What did you say?”

“I asked, what.”

He scrubbed his hands over his face. “No. Before that.” He could practically see the wheels of her mind spinning.

“Oh, I merely said you may begin courting me tomorrow,” she said sunnily.

“There was no mention of courting you.” The last thing he required was Society believing he had honorable intentions for a proper, English lady—particularly
this
genteel, English lady. “Bloody hell,” he muttered to himself.

“You know you really shouldn’t curse, Harry. It’s not at all proper.”

“Nor is it proper to request a gentleman to school you in the art of seduction.”

She nodded. “Er, yes, I suppose you’re right.” She let out a beleaguered sigh. “But really, how else do you expect to begin instructing me? And,” she pressed. “I imagine the duke will become outrageously jealous when he sees you’re courting me.”

“You said he’s not even paid you any notice,” he said bluntly.

“That is rude of you to mention, but yes,” she said hurriedly before he could speak. “He hasn’t noticed me, but attention from you might make me…make me…”

He quirked an eyebrow.

“More desirable.” Another one of those becoming blushes stained her cheeks. “Do you see?”

The moonlight bathed the high planes of her cheekbones in a pale glow, giving her the look of a veritable Athena. He sucked in a breath. Bloody hell. He’d had too much of his host’s champagne. There was nothing else to account for this madness. But he did see something that until this very moment had escaped him. She really was quite lovely.

Anne touched a hand to her hair. “What is it?”

“I’ll pay you a visit tomorrow.” He thrust his finger toward the door. “Now, go.”

With a jaunty wave, she all but skipped toward the front of the gardens. “You’ll not regret this, my…Harry,” she whispered loudly.

He shook his head.
I already do.

Chapter 3

Anne bit her lip and stared down at the array of ribbons strewn about the table. The thin and thick strips of cloth covered her copy of
Lady Wilshow’s Midnight Danger
, a Gothic novel she’d borrowed from her sister, Aldora.

She leaned forward and picked up a black-striped pink ribbon. She laid it atop a small pile of other similar-colored ribbons. One. Two. Three. Four. Five pink satin ribbons in total. Anne reached for a dear orange satin ribbon. She held up the sole scrap she’d retained from her girlhood, during a time when every last shred of her ribbons, gowns, and everything in between had been carted off by merciless creditors.

She turned the ribbon over in her hands. The light reflected off the shiny strip, giving the prized scrap an almost iridescent effect. If she were permitted to wear a gown other than the pale hues insisted upon by Mother, she’d have the finest French modiste design her a gown to match this very shade.

The butler, entered. “My lady, you have a caller.”

Startled by the unexpected intrusion, the ribbon slipped from her fingers and fluttered in a whispery dance to the floor.

The older servant who’d been with them since she was just a girl cleared his throat. “The Earl of Stanhope,” he introduced, admitting Harry.

She leapt to her feet as he stepped into the room like Michelangelo’s David come to life. Impossibly tall and sinfully handsome with his thick, unfashionably long golden hair, he cut quite the figure. Anne dipped a curtsy.

He grinned. Then he glanced at her pile of ribbons.

Heat blazed in her cheeks. The butler ducked from the room. “Er…Mary,” she called softly. “Would you see to refreshments?”

Her maid hurried from the room.

Harry beat his hand against his large, muscular thigh. He sketched a deep bow. “My lady,” he drawled.

Anne motioned for him to sit. She sank into the gold-brocade sofa. “My lord,” she murmured as he sat in the giltwood open armchair beside her. He stretched his long legs out in front of him and hooked them at the ankles. Anne angled her head. Hmm. She’d never before noticed anything about the Earl of Stanhope other than the fact that he infuriated her with his roguish grin. After all, rogues were unreliable, and unreliable gentlemen did unreliable things. She’d learned as much after her father’s betrayal. Since then, she’d developed a new appreciation for staid, respectable gentlemen. And wealthy gentlemen; that mattered, too.