“No,” she said quickly.
“Did he touch you?” If Rutland had dared put his vile hands upon that which belonged to him, he’d kill him quite gladly.
She shook her head once. He’d come to know her so very well that he detected the hesitancy in that movement. “It doesn’t matter, Harry.” The resignation in her tone dug at him.
He took her by the shoulders. “It does matter,” he said angrily and then gentled his tone. “It does matter, Anne.”
She jerked away from him. “He knows. He knows all.” She began to pace, the frenetic movements indicated the very thin thread she had on her control. “My mother, my sisters through the years have insisted that one of my madcap schemes would ultimately result in my ruination.” Her words broke on a shuddery sob. “But this…” She stumbled to a halt and stared sightlessly at the doors through which Rutland had just departed. “This I’ll never recover from.”
Harry steeled his jaw. He’d see Rutland in hell before he allowed him to destroy Anne’s reputation. “I’ll wed you.” He blinked, not knowing where the words came from.
Anne swung back to look at him. Her eyes round like moons. “Why?” Her voice was so whisper soft he strained to hear.
His palms dampened and he rubbed them along the side of his breeches. Why, indeed. He settled for the least complicated response that didn’t require much further thought on his part. “I’ll not see you hurt. I will give you the protection of my name.”
A spasm contorted her face. “What of your heart?” Her gaze slid to a point past his shoulder.
His mouth went dry, a loud humming filled his ears. He closed his eyes desperately wanting to be the man she deserved. “Anne…” He began. “Are you asking me if I love you?” His mind stalled at the implications of that question and more, his own feelings for Anne. He’d protected himself against hurt for eight years now. Margaret’s reentry into Society only served to remind him of the dangers of entrusting oneself to a woman’s fickle hands.
With sad eyes, Anne searched his. She touched her fingertips to his lips, cutting off the inadequate words. “If you must ask it as a question, then I don’t need any answer but that.” The muscles in her throat bobbed up and down. “You don’t need to say anything.” Apparently, in his silence he’d said enough. A woeful smile played about her mouth. “I’ll not have a husband who’d wed me out of a sense of obligation.”
His body jerked reflexively. She’d reject his offer. With the realization of that, a panicky terror gripped him. Say something, you fool. Give her the words she desires. Give her the words she deserves. “It wouldn’t be borne of obligation, Anne. I enjoy being with you. You make me laugh. You’d make a sufficient partner.” Isn’t it more than that, though?
A desperate giggle bubbled past her lips and she shook her head slowly. “Oh, Harry. You’d do just as well with a loyal pup than a wife, if those are your requirements.”
He tried again. “Anne,” he said gently. “We are happy together.” In the days he’d spent with Anne, he’d found more happiness than he’d ever known in all his thirty years. His mouth went dry, fear holding back the words that would splay him open before her. He’d offered all of himself once before. He could not humble himself again.
Seeing the determined tilt to her chin, Harry realized that nothing he could or would say in that moment would convince her of the rightness of his suit. He, the Earl of Stanhope who’d no intention of settling upon the future countess any time in the near or even distant future, had spoken to her of marriage—and she’d very clearly rejected him. Then, his offer had been more an afterthought, one made out of obligation. Anne surely craved more than that…
A dark, niggling thought worked its way about his brain. Mayhap it’s not that she’d rather be ruined. Mayhap she still longs for the title of duchess. He stomped over and took her by the arms. “Look at me,” he commanded, his tone harsh and angry. “You’d rather be ruined?” Than accept a union we can ultimately find happiness in?
She boldly met his gaze and in the clear depths of her blue eyes he saw the truth—she wouldn’t wed him. In that moment, his past converged with his future as he recalled a different woman, a different rejection. Her shoulders moved up and down on her slow inhalation. “I’d rather—”
“Good God, Anne!”
Their gazes swiveled to the entrance.
Horror churned inside his shocked being at the untimely arrival of Lady Katherine, the Duke of Bainbridge and Anne’s mother, the Countess of Wakefield.
Harry stared numbly back at the trio glowering at him. The horrified betrayal in Katherine’s eyes registered. Once upon a lifetime ago, he’d attempted to seduce her. And yet, he believed he’d proven himself a true friend to her. Only, the sneer on her lips indicated that she viewed him no different than the rest of the ton; as a self-serving rogue who’d placed his own desires before that of even her sister’s reputation. Unable to bear the sight of her abject disappointment, he glanced to her husband. Fiery rage filled the duke’s eyes, and Harry suspected the presence of the ladies was the only thing keeping him from storming the conservatory and pummeling Harry within an inch of his life.
Anne nudged him and he realized too late, he still held her. He released her with such alacrity she stumbled. Harry cursed and quickly steadied her.
The countess gasped, burying the sound in her hands.
Bainbridge’s eyes narrowed into black slits.
Harry yanked his hands back and took a step away from her.
The duke advanced. Hell, with Napoleon and his plans for France, the British hadn’t needed Wellington or Nelson; they nearly had needed this single, hulking figure advancing on the French and Boney’s efforts would have been halted before the French emperor could have uttered world domination.
“Bainbridge,” he said calmly, directing his attention to the gentleman who’d detested him since their first meeting. “This is not how it appears,” he said.
“Oh, and how does it appear?” Bainbridge snarled.
He opted for honesty. “As though I’m seducing her.”
The countess cried out.
Bainbridge lunged for him and he danced out of the other man’s reach. Perhaps honesty had not been the wisest course.
Anne’s mother held a hand out. “Anne, come here now,” she said, in the tone a nursemaid might use with a recalcitrant child.
The duke gnashed his teeth. “Get her out of here,” he said to his wife.
Anne shook her head and remained fixed to the spot. “Jasper, don’t,” she said quietly. “It is as Harry says. This is not at all as it appears.”
“Harry?” the countess snapped that one word question, a name teeming with fury.
Color blazed to life in Anne’s cheeks. “It can be explained.”
“I’m certain it can,” Katherine finally spoke, her seething tone indicating no answer he gave would ever be sufficient.
You’re going to ruin her. He swiped a hand over his face.
“I anticipate your visit first thing in the morning,” the duke said between clenched teeth.
It was on the tip of his tongue to keep from telling the other man to go to hell. He opened his mouth, but then something in Anne’s eyes killed the words. No gentleman cared to have his hand forced, not even if it was for the delicate, beautiful hand of Lady Anne. He gave a curt nod.
The duke spun on his heel and marched from the gardens, clearly expecting Anne to follow. She hesitated a moment, alongside her mother.
What a blasted fool he’d been in agreeing to help Anne. Her reputation now in tatters; and Harry forced to do the right thing, even as she longed for her duke. He dragged a hand through his hair. What an ignominious beginning to a marriage.
She stretched a hand out. “Harry,” she said softly. Anne’s fingers fell back to her side and she fisted her skirts; her white-knuckled grip upon the fabric, the only indication of her upset. Her brother-in-law spoke quietly, the words lost to the distance between Harry and Anne.
She gave a tight nod. Katherine took her by the hand and tugged her from the conservatory with the duke and Countess of Wakefield following suit.
Harry stood there long after Anne had taken her leave. It was only a matter of time before Rutland divulged the secrets that would ruin Anne.
His brave, spirited Anne had been adamant that she would not marry him and yet surely with the immediacy of the moment behind them, she’d inevitably realize they had no recourse but to wed. His palms went moist at the thought and he brushed them against his breeches. As much as he’d considered himself a bastard these years, it would appear he was a good deal less than he’d ever imagined, for he’d sacrifice his freedom to protect Anne from scandal.
His mind suddenly moved with lightning like speed, as it all began to make sense.
Rutland’s plan.
Margaret’s return.
Anne’s ruin.
The careful timing of her family’s arrival.
Rutland would have her ruined to free Margaret for his attention. Anne had been nothing more than a pawn to advance Rutland's selfish desires.
In the end, Anne would pay the ultimate price, her good name, her reputation, so the ruthless Rutland could at last claim Margaret.
If only the bastard had bothered to ask, Harry would have told Rutland he was welcome to her. The moment Anne had slipped into Lord Essex’s conservatory, all other women had ceased to matter.
And on the heel of that staggering realization was the dawning truth…he did not feel compelled to offer for Anne out of obligation. He wanted her because he could not imagine his life without her.
For the first time that evening, Harry smiled.
I love her.
Chapter 21
Since Anne had entered the Duke of Bainbridge’s carriage behind her mother and sister, shock had robbed her of words. Her sister’s regret, her mother’s shame, tangible and painful, ravaged her conscience. And yet, for the life’s worth of bad decisions she’d made where Harry, was concerned, she’d do nothing differently. She loved him. Loved him with a hopeless, helpless passion that defied logic and reason and baubles that promised one the heart of a duke. She braced for the impending barrage, and when it came it was fast and volatile like a summer lightning storm.
“Whatever were you thinking?” Mother cried. “I’ve warned you time and time again about the earl.” She leaned across her seat. “You insisted you’d no interest in him.”
“I lied,” Anne whispered. Pity fairly seeped from her sister’s eyes and Anne glanced away, detesting the sentiment.
“That is what you’d say to me? You lied?” Mother jabbed a finger in Anne’s direction. “You’ve been ruined. A young lady is never permitted to be alone with a man. And a man such as Stanhope, no less.”
“No one knows, Mother,” Katherine said softly.
Sweet, supportive Katherine who’d always sought to protect Anne from herself. “No one knows. Isn’t that correct, Anne?” A twin look passed between them. The unspoken language that only they two understood. Just as Anne would sacrifice everything and anything for her sister, so too would Katherine do anything within her means to spare Anne pain. And now, she sought to protect Anne from their mother’s wrath.
However, sometime between Lord Essex’s conservatory and this moment Anne had changed; grown from the carefree, whimsical miss to a sensible woman who finally knew there were consequences to her actions.
“Anne?” her sister said, a plaintive note in that one word utterance.
She was no longer a child to be protected by her sisters.
Anne’s silence served as her answer.
Mother buried her face into her hands. “I’d had such grand hopes for you. I’d indulged you in your first Season and didn’t truly begin to worry until your second Season. Now this?” She wept noisy tears that transported Anne back to the long ago day she’d come upon Mother sobbing about the rumors that had circulated during Anne’s Come Out regarding her late husband’s infidelity.
“Perhaps we can still right this.” Katherine looked hopefully to her husband. .“Isn’t that right, Jasper?”
Envy tugged at Anne’s breast. She’d trade anything and everything to have another person with whom she could unburden all the woes and fears she carried. What a vastly less lonely world it would be for her.
“Lord Rutland knows,” she whispered, knowing the temporary reprieve Katherine sought on her behalf was just that—temporary. Rutland knew all….and soon the entire ton would know.
A muscle ticked at the corner of her brother-in-law’s eye.
Rutland, notoriously ruthless in all matters, wouldn’t hesitate to shred Anne’s reputation.
Then her mother murmured perhaps the truest words she’d ever spoken. “This cannot be undone.”
Anne folded her arms about herself and hugged tight remembering Harry’s pledge to do right by her.
“He will wed her, Mother,” Katherine said in a gentling tone one might reserve for a fractious mare. “I’m certain of it.”
Anne didn’t doubt he’d sacrifice his own happiness to protect her from Rutland’s scheming. Everything she’d known of Harry before these past ten days had changed so very greatly. The man she’d once taken as an ignoble libertine was honorable, valiant, and all things goods.
“Wed her?” Anne cringed at her mother’s high-pitched squeal. “Wed her? I’d have her sooner wed—” She slashed the small space with a furious hand. “Any number of gentleman than that shameless rogue.”
Anne retreated within herself. She sat, more a voyeur than an actual participant in the discussion between her mother and sister proceeded to have about her life. She dimly registered the remote pity in her brother-in-law’s usually hard stare.
Marriage…
Harry…
No choice…
She wanted Harry with everything and anything she was. Anything and everything she would ever be. Anne drew in a shuddery breath. She could not have him this way. “I won’t wed him.” Her whisper soft admission cut into the frenzied discussion.
“I don’t see that you have a choice.” The gentleness in Katherine’s tone was nearly Anne’s undoing.
“The duke will certainly not have her now,” Mother spat, bitterness dripping from her words.
Anne glanced out the window. She’d not allow Harry to be forced and bound to marry her out of some misbegotten sense of honor. Not when she’d been the one to force him into the role of tutor. If he’d spoken of love, or in the least, a desire to wed her, she’d have embraced marriage to him. But he hadn’t. She’d asked why he’d wed her, and he’d answered truthfully.
Tears filled her eyes and she blinked them away. Foolish, foolish drops.
The carriage rocked to a slow halt before her townhouse. Jasper didn’t wait for the servant, but instead leaned over, and flung the door open. He leapt to the ground and handed first Katherine down, and then Anne.
She hurried inside, wanting the solace of her own chambers.
Her mother’s sharp voice called after her. “Anne, you are to await for me in the parlor.”
Alas, solace would have to come later. Much later.
She all but sprinted past Ollie, who stood with the door opened. Her slippers silent on the Italian marble and she gathered this was much how Joan of Arc had felt when being marched up the gallows. Her lips twisted. Then, Joan of Arc wouldn’t have been fool to make the collection of mistakes Anne herself had. She entered the Ivory Parlor and clasped her hands, wringing them together, her mind curiously blank.
Footsteps sounded at the door. She drew a steadying breath. “Mother, I know what you intend to say.”
Katherine entered the room. Her husband hovered just outside, allowing the sisters a brief moment of privacy. “I certainly hope you’ve something vastly more original and slightly more reassuring than that to begin your discussion with Mother.” Her sister’s droll words, a clear attempt at easing the tension did little to cut through Anne’s inner turmoil.
> She rocked back on her heels. “Katherine,” she said tiredly. “You should go.” Had word begun to circulate even now, throughout ballrooms and parlors all over London? After all, when one knew…all knew. Her heart quickened as the implications of her actions, and all Rutland knew of her and Harry, truly sank into her mind.
“Oh, Anne, what have you done?”
If Katherine’s tone had been the bothered, I’ve-come-to-expect-this-of-you one she’d adopted through the years, it would have been so much easier than the agonized disappointment in here younger sister’s words. She firmed her jaw. “I don’t expect you to understand.”
“Harry, well I expect such outrageous behavior of him.” Katherine shook her head, sadly. “But you?”
More Than a Duke (Heart of a Duke Book 2) Page 23