by Unknown
Images assailed her. Her body, in spite of feeling wrung out, warmed to the idea. She shook her head and took a step back.
“That’s enough. I’m not interested in you. I will never be. Leave me alone, Harris.”
“Anna.” He took a step forward and closed the gap once more.
“No, Harris.” She pushed against his chest. “I do not need this. I was perfectly happy until you came along. Cease playing these games. You played them the entire time you were at Stourbridge and now you insist on tormenting me further.”
“I played no games at Stourbridge unless you count me admiring your beauty and intelligence.”
“You know full well this—whatever this is—began there. I don’t need it, and I don’t want it.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“Well, you will have to because I do not wish to see you again.” She thrust up her chin. “I trust you will not be visiting Stourbridge again and my business shall be concluded soon enough. We shall have no reason to face each other, and we can forget this whole sorry mess.”
“If you think this will be forgotten that easily, Anna,” he warned her, his voice low and dangerous, as he leaned in, “you are fooling yourself. I, for one, am not a fan of denying myself the truth. This will not be conquered. Even when you are alone in the country, you will remember my touch. You’ll crave it. I can guarantee you that.”
“No.” She shook her head vigorously. “I won’t. Now, good day to you, Lord Harris. I trust you will enjoy the rest of your evening.”
Spinning on her heel, she hurried in to the hotel, barely giving the doorman time to open the door. On shaky legs, she hurried across the polished marble floor. He would likely be watching her. She could almost feel his gaze upon her back. She would not look back though. If she did, she might prove him right.
And part of her knew, deep down, that he was right. She would not forget him so easily. But these were the choices she had to make. Her son or a lover. Her business or a lover. Loneliness or a broken heart.
She’d had her heart broken once before—and subsequently her life destroyed. She’d never make that choice again.
Chapter Seven
For the hundredth time that night, Harris asked himself why he’d accepted the invitation to the Earl of Hartledge’s dinner party. Each time the same answer came back. Because, when the invitation had come through, he’d just arrived home from Stourbridge and was looking for a distraction from Anna.
Hartledge’s dinner parties were known for interesting food and tiresome conversation. The food never did seem to outweigh the conversation. His brother was also in attendance with Lila. Though they had managed to speak a little before dinner, he had been placed down at the far end of the table and thus he had no decent company at all.
He was between the elderly dowager Viscountess Rotherham and a young girl whom he’d never laid eyes on before but had quietly informed him she was Miss Abigail Langley before steadfastly ignoring him for the entire evening in spite of every effort to drag her out of her shell. Although he kept wanting to tell himself he couldn’t recall the last time his charm had failed him, he knew that was a lie. Apparently his charm was broken.
Because, of course, it had failed on Anna yesterday, had it not?
Anna.
His gaze inevitably tracked to her. She had surprised him by being here yet again. There was no chance she genuinely wanted to be. And whilst many of Hartledge’s guests were bound by honour and obligation, she certainly was not. From the few glances she’d received and the many snubs from the female guests, it was clear she would have been better off remaining at home. Yet here she was, bold and brazen, laughing with a young fellow with golden hair that would have looked appropriate on a three-year-old little girl and certainly did not suit a grown man.
“Whelp,” he muttered to himself.
“Sorry, dear?” the viscountess asked. “You shall have to forgive me. It’s quite a din in here.”
“Nothing at all, my lady. I was simply commenting on the food.”
“Ah yes, Lord Hartledge has done well, has he not?”
“He had indeed.”
“Shame about some of the guests,” the elderly woman muttered, casting a gaze down the long length of the table toward Anna.
They were far enough apart that he could continue to stare at her all night if he wanted and no one would be able to figure out exactly whom he was staring at. But in spite of the distance between them, he saw everything. The way she touched her earring or pressed fingertips to her neck. He somehow heard her laugh over the noise of chatter. That only meant he would recall the sound of her muffled cries while he brought her to the edge and over.
Damn, he could still smell the scent of her—arousal mixed with the delicate scent of roses.
The viscountess cleared her throat, awaiting an answer. From the look on the old woman’s face, she was awaiting some slew of insults thrown Anna’s way. She’d be mightily disappointed.
“Hartledge has a good mix tonight,” he commented.
“Surely you do not approve of him, inviting such vulgarity to his table. I am sure she is only here because she will have persuaded the earl that she has some great secret about him. It really is quite disturbing how she manipulates the men of society, what with working at that awful place.”
He glanced at Anna and smiled. There was nothing vulgar about that woman. She radiated beauty and elegance in a ruby red gown. It could be thought of as too bold—the colour was delightfully sinful after all—but she stole the attention from everyone.
As near as he could tell, every man in attendance, unless they were too old or stupid, wanted Anna’s attention. And why would they not? She was stunning, intelligent, and more powerful than most of them thrown together.
Harris kept his smile in place as he turned his attention to the spiteful old thing. “I find it more disturbing that so many men of our society allow themselves to be manipulated. Perhaps they should have less of a need for secrets, then they would need no coercion. Besides—” he let his grin widen “—I can think of many people at this table with far more vulgar pasts. I can assure you, my lady, and you are a woman of this world so I am not sure why I need tell you this, that I am hardly a paragon of virtue.”
She opened her mouth, blinked at him, then shut it again. Turning her attention back to the main course, the woman muttered something about well I never and didn’t speak to him for the rest of the evening.
He considered it a victory of sorts. If anyone noticed he had failed to charm either woman at his side, no one made mention of it. At least he was able to enjoy his meal uninterrupted. Well, with the exception of needing to look down the table as Anna held court with all the men around her.
Why was she here? Why put herself through such scorn? He was beginning to understand her natural state of defence. When members of her sex were throwing vicious words at her whilst being quite happy to be sitting next to a chap like himself who was certainly far from an innocent man, he could not help feel indignant for her and annoyed at the standards of society.
The thought amused him slightly. When had he ever felt indignant about the rules of the world? Never before, to be sure. It was entirely Anna’s fault that he was even thinking on it.
The evening wore on, and a Connaught pudding was served. He watched Anna spoon in a mouthful of the dessert and heat traversed his body, centring down.
He could not give up, not yet. She’d avoided looking his way the entire evening, but she was aware of him or else she would not have kept her attention decidedly on only those around her. And if she was anything like him, the signs of a little fatigue meant she had remained awake all night, considering their encounter. He noticed each tiny suppressed yawn and took them as a sign of his impending victory.
Dessert finished and coffee served, the men and women moved into separate drawing rooms. Harris felt himself throwing longing looks at the door splitting the two sexes.
What a ridiculo
us tradition it was to go into separate rooms after dinner. Hell, he didn’t even smoke cigars so all he could do was nurse a brandy and consider the feminine wiles that were hidden behind the double doors of the room.
The men milled around the room in small groups, some by the fireplace, a few seated on the sofas. The portlier men stood by the slightly open windows, clearly in need of air after a long meal and close company. Harris contented himself with lingering around the bureau that held the alcohol. He suspected he might need a good deal of it.
“You’re uncommonly quiet.”
Harris swirled the brandy around the glass in his hand and threw it back before facing his brother. “Don’t think you hold the title on being brooding.”
“I do not brood,” Ash protested.
“You do and you know it. I wouldn’t complain about it. It worked on Lila, did it not?”
He gave a triumphant grin. “It did indeed.” His twin leaned in. “Brooding will not work on Anna, though.”
“Why should I wish it to?”
Ash shook his head. “You really do think me a fool, do you not?” He took a sip of his drink. “Lila said you were interested in her, and now I’m convinced of it.”
“Does it matter if I am? Since when have you been interested in my love life, brother?”
“Since it became a love life and not just a sordid list of conquests.”
“A slip of the tongue,” he scoffed. “I thoroughly intend to continue on with conquests.”
Ash arched a brow. “And Anna?”
Harris hated that look. Though they might own the same face, Ash had a habit of making him feel an utter fool. Though there were only a matter of hours between them in age, since they were young boys those few hours had made a big difference, and Ash liked to play the big brother role. Harris smirked. As if he didn’t have enough older brothers as it was.
“I will conquest Anna,” he said, tightening his grip on the glass in his hand.
His brother chuckled. “I would warn you not to play with her—she’s been through a lot—but I don’t need to. Anna will never become a conquest.”
A sharp jab of jealousy scored his insides. He narrowed his gaze. “You proclaim to know her well.”
“We’re friends, nothing more.” Ash scowled. “Lila even questioned our relationship before we married. I cannot think where people are getting this impression from.”
“Perhaps because no young man would befriend a woman without ulterior motives?”
“You know full well, I had no ulterior motive.”
“If you did not, you must be mad.”
Ash shrugged. “Anna’s a lovely, beautiful woman but there has never been anything but friendship between us. If you were sensible, you’d accept the same.”
Harris poured himself another drink. “Well, we both know I am never one to be sensible.”
“That we do. But be cautious, brother. We have little to lose being the useless younger brothers of a marquess, but Anna does. She’s fought long and hard to get where she is.”
“I know that,” he snapped.
He really did not appreciate his brother lecturing him. Before his marriage to the lovely Lila, his brother’s life had been more of a mess than his own. He’d been inflicted with God-awful headaches and refusing to admit to them. It was only with Lila’s help that Ash had come to confess to his problems. The headaches weren’t gone, but at least people understood why when he vanished up to bed for hours. He only wished Ash had told him sooner.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“Yes, thank you, Ash. Consider myself warned. Now, have you not got someone else to pester?”
Ash pressed his lips together in a terrible attempt at keeping back a smile. “I have never seen you so flustered.”
“I am not flustered. Women fluster. I do not fluster. I am...”
“What?”
“Damn sexually frustrated.”
A burst of laughter escaped Ash, and he clapped a hand on his shoulder. “I feel for you, Harris, I really do but I would not hold out hope over Anna. Why do you not go find a lovely widow in need of company? You are doing a fine job of scowling at just about everyone in the room.”
“Don’t think I have not considered it,” he said through clenched teeth.
But, the truth was, no woman would do. He’d known that for a while but now it was certain—ingrained on his soul. He would not find peace until he’d been with Anna. The deep, empty hunger in his gut told him so.
Hartledge made an announcement of joining the women, and Ash tapped his shoulder. “Looks like you can go brood over Anna again.”
“You’re lucky you’re my brother,” Harris muttered.
He knew Ash was getting a little revenge. He could not deny he’d flirted a little with Lila when they’d been looking after her and why not? She was a lovely, sweet woman in need of a little flirtation. As far as he was concerned, his attention had only encouraged Ash to pursue her.
Really, his brother should be grateful.
They moved into the larger drawing room. Most of the women occupied the sofas, their various jewel shades clashing with the deep pink of the furniture and the garish shades of blue on the walls. Hartledge’s house had been decorated by his late wife, and he’d never had the heart to change it according to rumour. It really did look as though a child had designed it.
Only one woman looked perfect.
Anna.
She sat perched on the end of a chair, her hands clenched tightly together. The stiffness to her posture couldn’t diminish how stunning she was. His heart gave a lurch. From the tiny pearls in her coiled hair to the toes of her ruby red shoes, she had him in awe.
Her gaze clashed with his. Something cracked through the air like a bolt of lightning. The awareness that there was sadness in her eyes struck him hard. Had the women been so very awful to her? He noted the slightly ashen cast to her skin and his heart jolted again, but for different reasons. This was not desire, it was...compassion?
Anna murmured something to the lady next to her then stood. She hastened out of the room without a backwards glance. Was it him? Had he sent her running? He had to know.
Heedless of the fact people would be watching him, he went after her, pushing through the door and shutting it gently behind him. A corridor led to the various state rooms. He paused. The tap of heels on the tiled floor rang out further ahead so he went through the next door. Anna froze ahead of him when she heard it open.
Windows lined the hallway, letting in a milky glow. Shadows lingered in the corners. Anna appeared like the most beautiful ghost he had ever seen. She twisted slowly and her shoulders dropped a little.
“Harris.”
“What’s wrong, Anna?” He took the opportunity to close the gap between them.
“I’m leaving, Harris. Go back to the party.”
“Not until you tell me what is the matter.”
Tears sparkled in her gaze when she lifted her dark eyes to his. The tight feeling in his chest near suffocated.
“Just go,” she said, her voice a harsh whisper.
He heard the held back grief. What could have happened? “Did someone insult you? Dishonour you? Because, by God, I’ll—”
“No.” She shook her head vigorously. “No, nothing like that.”
“Is it me? Did I offend you?”
She gave him a weak smile. “Must everything be about you, Harris?”
“Damn it, Anna, tell me what is wrong and I shall fix it for you.”
“There is nothing you can do. There is—” her voice cracked. She hastily pulled out a handkerchief from her purse and dabbed her face. More tears followed.
“Bloody hell,” he whispered.
Voices sounded from the hallway behind them so he took her arm and pulled her into the room to the side of them. It turned out to be a study area, with the walls lined with books. He strode over and pushed the curtains a little farther open to release more light. The room didn’t look to h
ave electricity installed, and he didn’t have a box of matches on him to light the lamps.
He eased Anna over to the chair by the window and urged her to sit. Something had to be wrong indeed if she let him coax her about. Harris kneeled in front of her and took the handkerchief from her hand to wipe away the tears. Lifting her chin, he used the moonlight to inspect her face. He dabbed under her eyes once more then handed it back. She bunched the fabric between her hands and stared at it.
“What can I do?” Never before had he felt so powerless, not even when he’d been shot in the leg and was laid prostrate for days on end.
“There is nothing you can do.”
“Why do you cry?”
“Because there is nothing I can do either.” She sniffed. “All this power I supposedly have, and yet I’m still not in control of my life.”
Harris didn’t know what to say to this. He had never really realised what women went through in life—all the judgement and scorn. Having grown up with brothers and a distant mother, it had not occurred to him women faced tougher trials than even people like his brother Julian who had inherited the title.
He smoothed a hand across her cheek for want of anything else to do. Her skin was soft and damp. He pressed a thumb under her eye to catch another tear. The need to do something, say something burned his gut.
It was clear Anna did not want to tell him what had made her sad, and he didn’t know how else to ask. God dammit, it seemed he was utterly clueless when it came to women. And here he’d thought he was quite the expert on them.
Her gaze came to his, soft and sad. He had to remove that look somehow. Harris lifted his other hand and cupped her face, using his fingers to gently sweep along her cheeks in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. It didn’t work. More tears fell.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered to himself as her face crumpled.
Standing, he dragged her up into his arms and clamped her to his chest. She didn’t fight him. Anna curled her fingers into his lapel and pressed her face to his neck. He was transported back to when she’d been breathing heavily against his skin from the aftermath of her orgasm, yet he took no pleasure in this. He could not even think on how perfectly her body fit against him. All he wanted was to cure her pain.