What else? She drummed her fingers against her leg as she thought. Oh! She needed to know if Fanny would even consent to marry Rutledge, though it sounded as if she would.
“Fanny, I know you don’t love Lord Rutledge, but what if he requested your hand, would you be agreeable to the match?”
“Yes!” Fanny exclaimed, her cheeks instantly reddening. “To salvage my reputation, that is,” she finished, darting a glance at Mary.
Anne beamed. It was as she had thought. Fanny did actually have a secret liking for Lord Rutledge. That was probably how the man had so easily convinced Fanny to follow him to the library!
“He’d never ask me, though,” Fanny said glumly.
“One never knows,” Anne said evasively, then stood. “I’m afraid I forgot that I told Jemma that I’d visit today. I need to adjourn our meeting.”
“I can continue it,” Mary said. “The Sisterhood is the most important thing to me.” She gave Anne a smug look.
Anne gritted her teeth while forcing a smile to her lips. Now that she knew what made Mary so dour, she would try to be more forgiving of the woman’s abrasive ways. “The Sisterhood is important to all of us.”
“Yes, of course,” Mary replied, sounding disingenuous to Anne. “I simply meant you could go about your business. We will let you know what we decide.”
Anne would have argued that they should all decide things together, but if she was going to accomplish all she intended today, she needed to see Harthorne and then return Simon’s coat.
Her heart skipped several beats at the thought of seeing Simon, and it was most disconcerting. He was a conniving scoundrel. She needed to keep her wits about her whenever he was near.
Six
Anne sat in her brother-in-law Harthorne’s study, besieged by jealousy of the cozy picture of marital bliss Jemma and her husband presented. Jemma stood beside Harthorne, who sat at his desk. Her hand rested on his shoulder while he had his arm around Jemma’s waist. Every now and then as they talked, Anne saw him brush a finger across Jemma’s hip. His immense love for Jemma was obvious.
An empty feeling filled Anne after her initial horrid surge of envy. Jemma was the sort of gorgeous creature that inspired a love for the ages. Anne self-consciously touched her shorter leg. She, on the other hand, was the sort of woman who inspired rogues to think she was easy prey.
“I wish I could help you, Anne, but we are only just now digging out of the mess my father left for me,” Harthorne replied to Anne’s request of offering a position to Rutledge. “Perhaps in a year or so.”
A year would be far too late for poor Fanny, but Anne simply nodded, not wanting to make her brother-in-law feel bad.
Jemma’s eyes widened, a smile coming to her face. “Anne, dearest!” Jemma exclaimed, leaning toward her sister. “I have an idea of who might be able to aid you. I happen to know he’s friends with Lord Rutledge…the Duke of Kilmartin! I met him last night when Lord Rutledge introduced him as one of his oldest friends.”
Anne’s stomach knotted at the mention of Simon’s name. “I met the man, as well,” she confessed, though she refused to give more particulars regarding their meeting than that. Her brother-in-law and her sister would likely worry if they thought Anne might be falling prey to a rogue once more.
“Isn’t he divine?” Jemma asked.
“Do I need to set up a duel?” Harthorne joked, amusement skittering across his face.
Jemma winked at Anne, her blue-green eyes twinkling. “You will have to get in line behind Scarsdale. It seems Sophia is smitten with Kilmartin, as well, as the man helped her dislodge her carriage from the mud.”
Hmph. Anne shifted in her chair. Of course the rogue had everyone smitten with him, except her. She was most certainly not overcome by his charm.
“I will book my appointment for dawn,” Harthorne teased. Then his expression sobered. “Anne, do be careful, yes? We jest, but if Kilmartin is truly a rogue…”
She waved a hand at her brother-in-law, who, with Jemma, had once retrieved Anne from the clutches of possible public disgrace by stopping her attempt to run off to Gretna Green with Lord Cad. Harthorne, unfortunately, knew how foolish she’d been and exactly what it had cost her, but he kept her secret and had never made mention of anything that would even remind her of it until now. His worry for her warmed her heart.
“No need to concern yourself, Harthorne. I’m not as naive as I once was.” Or at least she’d like to think she wasn’t. She focused on her sister. “I could not possibly ask His Grace to offer a position to his friend.”
“Whyever not?” Jemma, her very impractical sister, demanded.
“Your sister hardly knows the man, for one thing,” Harthorne said, smiling up at his wife, even as she frowned at him.
“I don’t see how that is a concern. The man would surely want to aid his friend by setting right the situation that Lord Rutledge himself created.”
“I doubt he would,” Anne replied. “Either His Grace has been lied to by Lord Rutledge or His Grace simply does not care what his friend did to Fanny, because the duke tried to convince me last night that his friend was innocent.”
“Why would the duke be trying to convince you of anything after only just meeting you?” her sister demanded in her usual overprotective way.
“It’s a rather complicated tale,” Anne said, not wanting to tell Jemma about the Sisterhood in front of her brother-in-law. Anne feared he would not approve of their meddling in others’ personal affairs, and she did not much care to endure a well-meaning lecture today.
Jemma looked at Anne suspiciously. “You will share it with me later when we are alone?” Jemma pressed.
“You ladies and your secrets,” Harthorne said with a shake of his head and a half smile.
Jemma blew her husband a kiss while keeping her gaze focused on Anne. “I happen to know that His Grace has two sisters of marriageable age that he wishes to find matches for this Season. Perhaps you could offer a trade of sorts. You will help the duke ensure his sisters don’t fall prey to rogues while pointing out eligible gentlemen, if he will find it in his heart to offer a position to Rutledge, and persuade the man to take it and do the honorable thing by Lady Fanny.”
She realized with a start that her sister’s idea—or a version of it—might be Fanny’s best hope. But could she convince Simon to aid her? And could he, in turn, persuade Rutledge to marry Fanny? English aristocrats generally held the ludicrous belief that working for one’s money was beneath them. Clearly, none of them understood what it meant to be hungry. She had a gut feeling that Rutledge would be more inclined to accept discreet aid from Simon, a friend, than he would from Harthorne anyway.
Additionally, if she and Simon struck a bargain, then she would be around him and his sisters and in the position to ensure the duke did not practice his roguish ways on some other poor, unsuspecting young lady.
Simon sat at his desk in his study and stared at the papers before him, forcing himself to reread the paragraph. It was no use, though. He could have read it a thousand times, and still he would need to do so again on another day. Doing business today was hopeless. He hadn’t experienced a day like this since starting his company, but his thoughts would not stay on what they needed to. His mind was on Anne—her lovely smile, her entrancing eyes, her delectable curves, and her spiked rejoinders. He could feel his lips pulling into a grin. He wondered at his own state of mind to so anticipate seeing a woman who might very well still be intent on ruining Rutledge and who Simon himself intended to use for revenge.
He glanced at the clock for what must have been the hundredth time and frowned. It was now three o’clock. She was not coming. He’d been certain she would, but it seemed he’d been overly confident. Frustration lodged in his chest. It was not all born of his need for revenge, however. He’d enjoyed talking with Anne last night. She was obviously very intelligent, and it was a rare lady who stood her own ground in a conversation with him. He appreciated her boldness, even as
it was the source of Rutledge’s current dilemma.
Simon had no notion how to set his seduction in motion while avoiding being detected by Rowan if the lovely Anne did not come to see him. He sighed. He needed some fresh air. Perhaps a hard ride and the outdoors would give him some new ideas. He pushed back from his desk and stood, yanking on his cravat as he went. He detested the thing. It made him feel confined, as had the tiny room where he’d lived while starting his company in Edinburgh. Once the cloth was loose, he slid it from his neck and slung it over his shoulder. He strode out of his office and toward the front door, but his sister, Elizabeth, came down the stairs just as he was passing them.
She gazed at his shirt, now gaping open at his neck, and sighed in a maternal way that made his chest tighten with memories of their mother. Elizabeth was but eight and ten so she did not remember their mother, but she looked just like her. “If ye’re going out dressed indecently, please stay on the grounds.”
He chuckled. It had taken Elizabeth precisely one week in Town to become completely aware of the rules in London and decide they all better follow them or risk being socially ostracized. He wanted to indulge her, as he wanted to give her everything she had ever wanted, but he did detest the cravat.
“I will stay on the grounds,” he promised.
“Why are ye promising to stay on the grounds?” his other sister, Caitlin, who was three and twenty, asked as she came around the corner from the parlor.
He motioned to his cravat. “Elizabeth is afraid I’ll shock someone if I encounter them in my indecent state.”
Caitlin rolled her eyes. She, like Simon, only abided the English rules for Elizabeth’s sake. Caitlin remembered their mother and knew that their grandfather had refused to help Simon, which had led to their mother’s death. She despised the English and had only come here because Simon did not like allowing his sisters out of his sight. They were under his care until they were married, and he’d not fail them as he had their mother.
The butler, Perceval, stepped forward as Simon continued toward the door. “Have an excellent ride, Your Grace,” Perceval said, proving once again that while the man may be ancient, there were no problems with his hearing. Simon had yet to have a conversation in this house that Perceval had not made an offhanded comment about. Perceval opened the door as Simon started to depart, but on the other side of the door stood Anne, holding her hand poised to knock and looking as gut-wrenchingly lovely as she had the previous night.
Her eyes widened and her lips parted as she slowly lowered her gloved hand. Her gaze went to his neck and then flew to his face as she sucked in her lower lip. Simon drank in her beauty. She wore a pelisse that looked to be made of blue velvet. The color enhanced her fair skin and flaxen curls. The cut, fastened tightly below her breasts, made Simon keenly aware of her generous curves. Her left hand was stuck inside a dark fur muff, and draped over her arm was his topcoat.
Her pinked cheeks appeared touched with cold, and Simon found himself looking past her for her carriage. When he saw none, he glanced from her, to her slippers, to the snow. “Do ye mean to tell me that ye walked here?”
“I’d say that is f-fairly obvious,” she said, shivering.
“Might I say who’s calling?” Perceval asked, as if Anne and Simon had not been standing there having a conversation.
Simon locked gazes with Anne, and they both burst out laughing, at which Perceval frowned severely. Behind Simon, he felt his sisters suddenly hovering.
“Who is this?” Caitlin demanded.
“Caitlin,” Elizabeth scolded. “Simon’s friend will think us without manners.” Elizabeth pushed through him and Perceval to stop directly in front of Anne. When his sister gave an awkward curtsy, Simon watched Anne to see if she smirked or gave any such derogatory expression. Instead, she smiled sweetly.
Elizabeth beamed as she came to her full height once more. “I’m Elizabeth Sedgwick.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Elizabeth. I’m Anne Adair—Miss Adair, if you are a rule follower, which I typically am not, or you can call me Anne.”
“Oh, I couldn’t, but you must call me Elizabeth, not Lady Elizabeth!” Elizabeth gushed as she looked longingly at Anne’s pelisse. He needed to rectify both his sisters’ wardrobe situations. He’d not even realized he’d been remiss, until they’d arrived in London and seen all the clothing the ladies of the ton wore.
“I insist you call me Anne, if I am to be less formal with you,” Anne replied. “And might I request entry into your home?” She turned her large blue eyes on Simon.
Instantly aware that they’d been forcing her to stand in the cold and that he was blocking her path, he moved to allow her entry, as did Elizabeth and Perceval, who mumbled his apologies while shuffling backward at his usual snail’s pace.
“Perceval, fetch Miss Adair a blanket please.” He caught Anne’s eye and saw her smile at his use of her proper name. His chest tightened strangely.
“Or I could use this topcoat I found discarded on the road,” she offered, her words kind but a wicked gleam in her eye.
The woman was daring. Simon rather liked that. She was also foolish to have walked here in the cold. Simon held out his hand for his coat while struggling to keep a straight face. “I must have dropped that. Thank ye for returning it. It’s lucky I was home.”
“Was it?” She cocked her eyebrows.
“Indeed,” he said somberly, aware Perceval and his sisters were standing there silently listening to his and Anne’s exchange. Just then Elizabeth started chattering about the cold, and Simon used the diversion to motion Perceval close. When Perceval stood directly in front of him, Simon handed the man his coat and whispered, “have Donnelly ready the carriage for Miss Adair’s eventual departure.” When Perceval looked confused about Simon’s orders for the coachman, Simon said, “So she does not have to once again walk in the cold.”
Perceval nodded, smiled, and immediately departed. As Simon turned his attention to Anne and his sisters once more, Elizabeth fell silent. Anne cocked her eyebrows once more. “Why was it lucky you were home?” she asked, deftly picking up on where their conversation had stopped.
“I was supposed to have an appointment by two—” he gave her a hard stare “—but alas, they did not come. If they had, I might have been out showing them the gardens or some such.”
“In the snow?” She gave him a disbelieving look that was tinged with humor.
“Ye walked here in the snow,” he pointed out.
“More the fool I am for doing so!” She held her foot out and wiggled her toes in her slippers. “My feet are sopping wet!”
“I’ll fetch ye a foot warmer,” Elizabeth offered and scurried off.
Simon gave Caitlin a look that he hoped conveyed his desire for privacy. He was certain it did when his sister simply smirked at him and crossed her arms over her chest before sweeping a critical eye over Anne. “Isn’t it improper for ladies to go traipsing about without a chaperone? Especially to a bachelor’s home.”
“Indeed, it is,” Anne said cheerily. When Caitlin gave her a quizzical look, Anne went on. “No one knows I’m here. I went to see my brother-in-law and sister first, and then I walked here. Our homes are quite close.” Her gaze darted to Simon once more.
Anne was a most definite bold rule breaker, and Simon quite liked it too much.
“Would ye not risk ruination if ye are discovered?” Caitlin prodded.
“Caitlin,” Simon felt obliged to chide, though he hoped Anne would answer. He was very curious to hear what she would say.
“Yes,” she said in an unconcerned manner that baffled him. “I suppose I would. But I’m an heiress, you see, so…” She shrugged.
Simon thought he understood. “So the ton would forgive ye yer transgressions?”
Her gaze bored into his. “Perhaps not all in the ton, but I find that lately, I simply don’t care whether the ton accepts me or not.”
That was why they clamored at her feet. Or one of t
he reasons, anyway. She was beautiful, wealthy, and bold. “Ye have the luxury not to care, but many do not,” he said, thinking upon Rutledge.
“It is a luxury, yes,” she agreed, “but one wrapped in thorns.”
“What sort of thorns?” Caitlin asked, all wide-eyed curiosity. It warmed Simon to see his sister eager to speak to another. She’d been sullen and unsocial since they’d come to England.
“Oh, the sort who wear cravats,” Anne replied, her gaze straying to Simon’s neck. His body hummed with a keen awareness of her.
“Cravats?” Caitlin asked.
Anne did not move her gaze from Simon’s neck as she answered. “Yes, perfectly knotted ones made of expensive silk in hopes that the rogue wearing it may secure an heiress to fill their chests and plan their parties, all the while looking pretty and only speaking of the weather.”
“That sounds extremely dull and lacking,” Simon said.
Slowly, she brought her gaze to meet his once more. “Yes, it does,” she murmured.
Without taking his gaze off her, Simon said, “Caitlin, go practice the pianoforte.”
“But—”
“Now,” he added in a tone that allowed no disagreement. Caitlin grunted, but then the sound of retreating footsteps filled the air. Simon and Anne did not move. They stood face-to-face, staring at each other until Simon was sure that he would not tug her to him and seal his mouth over hers. “I would think an heiress could choose a husband who did not bore her.”
“One would think that,” Anne agreed, “but one can only choose from the offerings.”
His blood seemed to thicken in his veins as he held her gaze. “Do ye mean to tell me that ye’re not interested in anyone who has offered for ye?”
“I don’t mean to tell you anything,” she said. “Yet I find myself standing here revealing things, regardless of my intentions.”
My Daring Duchess Page 6
