The earl cursed under his breath. “For the love of all that is holy.” And then, he kissed her. Hard.
Anne stiffened and leaned back a moment, eyes opened, studying his impossibly long golden lashes. She trembled under the heated intensity of his kiss, a kiss that drove back all logic. He slanted his lips over hers again and again and she moaned, but he only swallowed the desperate sound. He slipped his tongue between her lips and boldly explored the contours of her mouth.
The tension she carried inside slid down her body and seeped from the soles of her passion-weakened feet as she went limp. He caught her to him and cupped her buttocks in his hands, anchoring her body to his.
Then he stopped.
She blinked up, dazed, waiting for the world to right itself.
Goodness….
She tugged her hand free and fanned herself.
Goodness…
So this is what young ladies threw away their reputations for. It would appear it had nothing at all to do with the wicked smiles. Or even the forbidden champagne. She’d venture the champagne was merely a little extra sin for a lady’s troubles.
Anne stole a glance up at Lord Stanhope and her eyebrows knitted into a single line. The bounder had his gaze trained on the conservatory windows, looking…looking…wholly unaffected. Impossibly composed. And horribly disinterested. He released her so quickly, she stumbled backward, catching herself before she made a cake of herself and fell at his feet.
She frowned as he turned abruptly and walked away. “That really wasn’t well-done of you, my lord.”
He swung back around and took a step toward her. “Do you know what was not well-done, my lady?”
“Uh, well…” She retreated and then remembered herself, angling her chin up. After all, there could very well be any other number of offenses she might hold him responsible for. She ticked off on her fingers. “There was the hand over my mouth.” She shook her head. “Not at all well-done of you. Then there was the kiss.” Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. “Certainly not well-done of you.” Definitely pleasurable, however. “Or you setting me aside so—”
By the saints, he mouthed, appearing more and more religious. “I referred to your actions, my lady. It wasn’t well-done of you to drive away my company for the evening, Lady Adamson.”
Humph. “Oh.” She wrinkled her nose. That wasn’t at all gallant.
His golden lashes swooped downward as he peered at her through a narrow-eyed gaze. “Now, say whatever it is you’ve come to say so I might be rid of you.” He folded his arms across his chest.
Why, with his clear desire to be free of her, she may as well have been the gorgon Medusa with her head of serpents. She bristled, all foolish desire replaced by annoyance. How dare he? How dare he kiss her and remain wholly unaffected by that soul-searing moment? She shook her head once. No, that was not quite right.
“Lady Anne,” he said again, this time with even more annoyance.
How dare he kiss her, period. No further outrage needed. How dare he kiss her? Rather, that is what she’d meant. “I need help.”
He scoffed. “Yes. So you’ve said. Four times now.”
“Oh.” Had she? She really didn’t remember…
He gave her a pointed look and she jumped. “As I was saying, before I was interrupted.” She gave him a pointed frown. “I require a bit of help.”
“Five times,” he muttered under his breath. He really was quite infuriating.
“I am—”
He drummed his fingertips upon his coat sleeves. “If you say you’re in need of help, I’m leaving without a backward glance, Lady Anne,” he said drolly. He rocked on his heels and she suspected his words were no mere idle threat.
Anne smoothed her palms over her skirt and drew in a steadying breath. With the time and care she’d put into her plan, she had imagined this conversation would go a good deal more smoothly than this botched attempt on her part.
The earl cursed and spun on his heel.
“Wait!”
He continued walking toward the glass door back into the marquess’ conservatory.
Her foot snagged a particularly nasty root in the ground and she cursed. She pitched forward. Lord Stanhope swung back around and closed the distance between them in three long strides, catching her before she hit the ground. The breath left her on a swift exhale. “Oh.” The touch of his hand burned through the modest fabric of her satin gown. “Thank you,” she said breathlessly.
He grunted and set her on her feet. Humph. Who knew the Earl of Stanhope did something as barbaric as grunt? He resumed his hasty exit, wholly unaffected. Well!
“Stop,” she cried softly into the quiet. Her voice echoed off the brick walls.
His broad shoulders tightened under the folds of his black evening coat. He changed direction yet again and advanced on her. Fire snapped in his eyes.
Anne stumbled backward. A friend of Katherine, Anne knew little of the Earl of Stanhope beyond the roguish reputation he’d earned amongst the ton. She couldn’t be altogether certain he’d not hurt her. She swallowed hard and continued to retreat. And her slipper caught that blasted root again.
This time she landed with a solid thump on her buttocks. “Ouch.” She touched a hand to her bruised derriere and then remembered herself.
He froze above her with a glower on the chiseled planes of his face. “Are you trying to compromise your reputation, my lady?”
“No.” Not per se.
He stretched out a hand. “Because I’ll not be caught in a compromising position and forced into a wedded state with one such as you.”
She ignored his offering and shoved herself to her feet. “With one such as me?”
“An impertinent, empty-headed young lady without a serious thought in—”
She jabbed a finger into his chest. He winced and she delighted in that slight twinge of discomfort from him. The cad. “I’ve had quite enough of your insults. I don’t like you any more than you like me, my lord.” She’d long tired of Society, her family, everyone’s rather low opinion of her. But she required his assistance and when one required help, it behooved them to set aside their pride.
“You have two minutes, my lady,” he bit out.
Her mind raced. How did a lady ask such a question as the one she’d put to him. There was no polite way to make a request as the one she intended to make—
“Your first minute is up, my lady,” he said, his voice heavy with annoyance.
Anne took a steadying breath and opted for direct honesty. “I’d like you to teach me how to seduce a man.”
Chapter 2
Henry Falston, the 6th Earl of Stanhope, known to polite Society and impolite society as Harry, had never considered his hearing faulty, and expected at thirty-years of age he had a good many years before his ears began to fail him. He stared at Lady Anne Adamson, the tart-mouthed miss he’d gone to great lengths to avoid this past year, certain he’d heard her incorrectly.
“Not just any man,” she went on, her cheeks turning pink.
Did the chit wear a perpetual blush?
“I’d like you to teach me how to seduce a specific gentleman.”
He scrubbed a hand over his face. Yes, it seemed he had heard the young lady right, after all. Harry studied her objectively. With Anne’s golden ringlets, fair skin and blue eyes, she easily fit with Society’s standard of a perfect, English beauty. She did not however, fit with the beauties he’d come to appreciate through the years, including her sister, the dark-haired, brown-eyed Lady Katherine, Duchess of Bainbridge, whom he’d tried to seduce last year. Tried and failed.
The gossip sheets reported Lady Anne to be both proper and pretty and not much more than that. In other words, a tedious bore he went to great pains to avoid.
Not that he wasn’t above a good flirtation, but not with this pert baggage.
“Will you not say something?” She stomped her foot more like a child in the nursery than a young woman he’d just kissed senseless.
A kiss that, if he were being truthful, had been somewhat captivating, and if he were to be entirely truthful with himself, a kiss he’d like to further explore. He violently shoved back such dangerous thoughts. “No.”
She frowned, seeming displeased with his curt reply.
He went on before she could continue pestering him. “One, as a friend of your sister, I’d never dare assist you in this mad scheme to trap some poor—”
“Not trap,” she said, shaking her head.
“—gentleman,” he continued as though she hadn’t spoken. “Two,” he proceeded to tick off on his fingers. “You like me even less than I like you.”
“Ah, yes,” she wagged a finger under his nose. “But I’m reasonable enough to put aside my personal differences on matters of importance.”
“Three,” he caught her wrist. His large fingers encircled the delicate flesh. “Though you are passably pretty, I couldn’t even begin to drum up interest enough to help you.”
Hurt flashed in her eyes. “Pleasantly.” She wrenched her hand free.
He furrowed his brow. What was she on about?
“The papers have called me pleasantly pretty.” Something in her tone hinted at a young woman who desired more than being gossiped about and ascribed labels by a judgmental ton.
He dragged a hand through his hair. “Bloody hell,” he cursed. The little termagant brought out the worst in him…and ladies didn’t ever bring out the worst in him. Not the young debutantes, not the eager widows, not even the frowning dowagers. Lady Anne, with her usual, reserved-for-him-frown and often-harsh words, on the other hand, did. “Forgive me,” he said. “That was uncalled for.”
She waved a hand. “You needn’t apologize for being truthful, my lord,” she said with far more somber maturity than he’d imagined her capable of. She held up her palms. “But I need help and I decided to enlist your aid first.”
First.
Which, of course implied there’d been a second gentleman whose aid she intended to seek out if, nay, when, he refused to take part in her imprudent plan.
If he’d been any other rogue, Harry suspected she’d be ruined by now with her skirts up, bodice lowered, as he instructed her on all the ways to seduce whomever it was she wanted to seduce.
Anne spoke softly, pulling him back to the moment. “You have a notorious reputation and I…” Her gaze skittered to a point beyond his shoulder.
Harry told himself not to ask. He really should send her on her way, back to the ballroom and forget she’d ever put the scandalous proposition to him. “And you what?” he asked, tersely.
She jumped. The color in her cheeks deepened. “And I thought as Katherine’s friend I could trust you with my request and also trust that you wouldn’t, er…” She fanned her cheeks. “You know.”
No, he really didn’t know. He recognized the perils in acknowledging as much. He eyed her warily. “What wouldn’t I do, Lady Anne?” And then promptly wished he’d never fed his curiosity.
“Why, you wouldn’t take liberties with any inappropriate embraces.” Her pink cheeks burned red.
“As opposed to the more appropriate embraces?” Droll humor underscored his question.
Anne nodded once. “Er, yes, I do suppose I see your point,” she conceded.
He’d intended to send her away with a curt rejection, back to her protective, but not protective enough, mama’s side. Except, she’d mentioned Katherine and as a friend, he could not in good conscience let her go without talking some sense into her senseless head. He’d wager his entire land-holdings that if he sent her back to the evening’s festivities with a simple no, she’d surely find the second someone on her list to help her with this plan. He balled his hands into fists. “Who do you intend to seduce?”
Hope flared in fathomless depths of her eyes. “I can trust you?”
“Really, my lady?” He scoffed. “You’d ask me to teach you how to seduce a man but you’ll withhold his identity?”
“I suppose you’re right.” She caught her lower lip between her teeth and nibbled the plump flesh. “To be skeptical, that is.”
His gaze went to her mouth. Heat surged through him at the innocently erotic movement. And then he remembered the sweet taste of her, orgeat and honey. His fingers twitched with a sudden urge to pull her back into his arms and avail himself to …“Christ.” The angry entreaty burst from him.
She jumped, clearly misinterpreting the reason for his annoyance. “Forgive me. The Duke of Crawford. I’d like you to teach me the skill of seduction so I might…er…earn the duke’s affections.”
She’d clearly mistaken the reason for his frustration. He imagined the fun Anne would have at his expense if she gleaned his sudden desire to kiss her senseless until she was moaning in his mouth once more.
Then her words penetrated the mad haze around him. “The Duke of Crawford?” he repeated.
She nodded.
Crawford. The thirty-year-old duke who’d inherited his title nearly ten years back was rumored to be in the market for a wife. Obscenely wealthy, coolly proper, company desired by all, Lady Anne could not have set her marital sights on a more sought-after bachelor.
Harry’s lip curled back in a sneer. Surely a title-grasping miss should no longer take him aback. Not after Margaret Dunn’s betrayal all those years ago. As long as there was an unwed duke about, there would be a scheming miss at hand. Lady Anne Adamson could not be more different in appearance than the woman who’d broken his heart many years back, but she was remarkably similar in her goals and desires.
Lady Anne waved her hand in front of his face. “Lord Stanhope?”
He squared his jaw. “So, you’ll trap poor, unsuspecting Crawford?”
She patted the back of her head. “I’ve already said I do not intend to trap His Grace. I intend for you to teach me how to teach him to desire me.” Another blush. “For a wife,” she said hurriedly.
He folded his arms. “Why Crawford?”
“Well, if you must know—”
“I must.” Though he already strongly suspected not much more than the man’s old, revered title most accounted for Anne’s interest in the duke.
She gave a slight shrug. “He’s pleasantly handsome.”
He snorted.
Anne bristled. “And he’s unfailingly polite.” She gave him a pointed look.
“I gather that’s because you’ve never insulted the gentleman,” he muttered. Unlike Harry, who’d become something of an archery target for her well-placed barbs since their first meeting. Though, in, fairness at this particular moment he quite deserved the lady’s displeasure.
“I suppose you are correct,” she surprised him by concurring. Her next words ended all such shock. “But then, the duke has never done something as reprehensible as trying to seduce my sister.”
A dull flush climbed up his neck. And when put in those blunt terms, he did feel properly chastised.
She continued either uncaring or unaware of his discomfiture. “He’s wealthy and in possession of one of the oldest titles.” Ah, there it was. “And he doesn’t even know I exist,” she finished on a dramatic sigh.
Harry tugged at one of her golden ringlets. “It is your ringlets—”
“Oh, do hush.” She slapped his fingers again. “It is not my ringlets.”
“Then, what is it?” he asked in a lazy whisper as he laid claim to the silken strands once more.
Anne froze, her mouth screwed up in concentration. He used the momentary quiet to study her. Though not the lithe, exotically dark beauties he generally preferred, she really was quite lovely; in an unsophisticated, English-lady, type of way. “I don’t know what it is,” she said at last. Her shoulders rose and fell. “I’ve tried to capture his attention.”
He swallowed a chuckle, imagining just what that had entailed.
Her face set in a familiar scowl. “Don’t laugh at me.”
“You need my help,” he reminded her and released the satiny strand.
Good for the young lady. With her steely strength, Anne rose in his estimation. Oh, he’d never admit as much to the spitfire. He drummed his fingers upon his thigh. There was no helping it, he really must know. “How have you gone about trying to capture Crawford’s notice?”
She gestured to her skirts. “My gowns.”
He looked at her wildly gesticulating hands. “What about your gowns?”
“I’ve worn my finest gown.”
More Than a Duke (Heart of a Duke Book 2) Page 2
