A pretty blush colored her cheek. “Certainly not. Though I’m sure he’s…” Five lines wrinkled her brow. “Er, perfectly pleasant.”
“You’re wrong,” he said flatly. “He’s a bastard.” She was far too innocent to know the depth of Ekstrom’s depravity. “You’re not wedding him.” He’d kill the bastard before he allowed the other man to take her to wife.
A blonde ringlet fell over her eyes. She blew it back, then a frown pulled her lips down at the corner “That is rather high-handed of you. You can’t simply determine who I might and might not wed.”
“In this matter I can. I just did.”
“It’s not your concern whose offer I’ve accepted.”
Accepted as in she’d already agreed. Knots tightened his stomach. He took her chin firmly between his thumb and forefinger. “I love you,” he said again, needing her to realize his life was inextricably intertwined with hers, forevermore. “You are my concern, Anne.” She’d become far more than the annoying termagant from long ago.
She jerked her chin out of his grip. “Because of Katherine.” Yes, in the beginning he’d merely agreed to assist Anne out of a sense of loyalty to Katherine. Intending to protect the maddening vixen from herself. “I assure you, there is no need to—”
“Because of you.” He pierced her with his stare. “Surely you know how much you’ve come to mean to me.” Silence met his pronouncement. He scoured her with his gaze. Ah God, she didn’t. She had no idea how much she’d shaken his roguish world, changed him, ruined him for all other women. He wanted no one else but her. Only her.
“Anne Arlette Adamson!”
They glanced up as Katherine and her husband entered the maze. “By God, Harry. You cad!” she spat.
Anne shook her head frantically. “It is not how it appears, Katherine. I fell.”
The fight drained out of Katherine. “Fell?” She raced over. “Oh, dear.”
Forced apart by the sudden, and unwelcome appearance of Anne’s family, Harry stood. He scooped Anne into his arms and reluctantly passed her over to the waiting duke. Bainbridge wordlessly accepted her. Promptly dismissing the other man, Harry looked back to Anne. “This is not over.” With that he spun on his heel, and took his leave.
Chapter 25
Anne bounced Katherine’s plump, nine-month old baby up and down on her knee. Snorting laughter escaped Maxwell’s lips. “You sweet, sweet boy.” She smothered his chubby cheeks with kisses until his laughter doubled.
Katherine and Jasper exchanged a look as though they feared Anne had gone mad and was one bumpy cart ride away from a trip to Bedlam. “I do say you seem rather, er…”
She looked to her sister, expectantly.
“Er, happy. You’ve not been happy in so very long. And you’re giddy like a debutante who’s just attended her first ball.”
Anne nuzzled her cheek against Maxwell’s. “Your mean mama, being so very rude to your aunt.”
Mother glanced up from her embroidery. “I dare say this is a vast improvement from the morose creature you’ve become. You should be wearing a perpetual smile considering the extremely magnanimous gesture on Mr. Ekstrom’s part.”
A sad little smile played about Anne’s lips and she buried it in her nephew’s cheek. From over the boy’s crown of brown curls, she caught Katherine studying her with suspicion laden eyes. Anne winked. And the bond shared as only twin sisters could passed between them. Her sister’s narrow gaze deepened.
A servant appeared at the doorway and ankle still sore from last evening, Anne struggled to her feet. Her heart hammered wildly at the sudden interruption and then promptly sank.
The footman rushed over with a silver tray bearing a missive. He carried it over to the countess. “Leave it on the table, would you?” Mother murmured, not taking her eyes off the crimson rose upon her frame.
Anne sat back into her seat, her gaze wandered over to the clock. He’d said whatever was between them was not over and she’d imagined he intended to call.
“Ma-Ma-Ma-Ma.” Maxwell’s soft babbling commanded her attention.
“You want your mother, do you? What about your poor aunt?” She feigned noisy tears and noisy giggles erupted from the boy’s lips.
Another knock sounded at the door. And Anne knew with the same intuitiveness that had driven her to seek out Harry in the first place for her madcap scheme to catch a duke, he’d arrived.
Ollie cleared his throat. “The Earl of Stanhope.”
The embroidery frame slipped from Mother’s hands and landed noiselessly on the Aubusson carpet at her feet. “What is this about?” She jumped to her feet in a flurry of bombazine skirts.
Harry stood, impossibly tall, devastatingly elegant in a sapphire blue coat and fawn breeches.
Anne awkwardly shoved herself to her feet even as her sister rushed over to take Maxwell, a suspicious glower trained on Harry. Jasper stood and placed himself beside his precious family, touching a hand to Katherine’s shoulder.
His face, an impenetrable mask, serious as she’d never remembered him, Harry bowed. “My lady,” he greeted her mother with all the charm that had earned him the reputation as rogue.
Alas, Mother had long ago learned the perils of a charming gentleman. “You dare come here?” She looked to Jasper, the glint in her eyes indicating she expected him to toss the earl out.
Anne sank into a deferential curtsy. “My lord.” She furled and unfurled her hands into fists, an attempt to calm her racing heart.
Harry held her stare, heedless of her family’s presence. His thick, hooded gaze indicated he knew the exact path her thoughts had wandered and he reveled in it. He wandered deeper into the room.
“You, my lord, do not have leave to enter this parlor. Of all the insolence. My daughter is to be married and you, are a…a…rogue!”
Harry’s smile faded. He walked boldly by the outraged countess and the fiercely glowering duke, and dropped to a knee beside Anne. “I’m afraid, your mother is indeed, correct, Anne.”
Her heart paused and the hope she’d carried since that gravel path in Vauxhall Gardens died. A viselike pressure squeezed about the organ that would forever beat for him. “Then why are you here?” she whispered. Still, for the agony of this moment, so very glad he was.
He took her hand. “You didn’t allow me to finish.” He stroked his thumb over the sensitive flesh of her palm. “I was a rogue. A scoundrel.” Harry held her gaze. “Not anymore, Anne.” Hope flared to life with the implications of his words, his bold touch. “I was a shiftless bounder until you slipped into Lord Essex's conservatory, seeking me out—”
“You slipped into Lord Essex's conservatory to meet him?” Katherine and Mother’s voices united in shock.
Anne buried a half-sob, half-laugh in her fingertips. That first meeting with Harry had been the least scandalous of all the things she’d done with him.
“I love you, Anne.” She sucked in a breath, and her family’s presence fell away under the depth of emotion in his eyes. “I love everything about you. I love your husky contralto, but would love you if you possessed a light, lyrical soprano signing voice.” He captured one of her loose curls between his fingers. “I love your golden ringlets.”
“Remember yourself, my lord!” Mother’s outrage went unheeded.
Anne touched her left hand to the side of her face, brushing back a loose curl. It fell stubbornly over her brow. “You claimed they were silly,” she whispered, ignoring her mother as she should have for years now.
Harry reached up and captured the strand. He gently tucked it behind her ear. “I’ve been an unmitigated ass, too blind to see true beauty until you donned those small spectacles opening both our eyes.” Emotion thickened his voice.
Tears clogged her voice, strangling her words. “They’re for reading.”
He stroked her cheek. “Ah, Anne. Don’t marry Ekstrom. Marry me.” His next words drowned out her mother’s shocked gasp. “I would wed you with your family’s approval, but even if they
will not give it, I’d ask you to wed me anyway.”
Anne looked down at their interlocked hands, a desire to take all that he now offered. She pressed her eyes closed and drew in a slow breath. When she opened them, she took in the rugged planes of his square jaw, the slight cleft in his firm chin. “If you were to wed me, to save me from Mr. Ekstrom, the time would come when you resented…”
Harry raised her hands to his mouth, and the words died on her lips. “This is not about me saving you.” He kissed first one, then the other. “This is about you saving me.” He released one of her hands.
“This is most improper, Lord Stanhope!” Mother cried.
Harry ignored the countess’ fervent outburst. He reached inside the front of his jacket and withdrew a small packet. “You are the only woman I wish to have. I love you, Anne Arlette Adamson, and I would have you for my wife.” He pressed the velum into her hand.
She glanced frantically at the blurred words and then searched around. Katherine rushed forward with Anne’s spectacles. She accepted them, struggling to open the frames and maintain her grip upon the sheets in her hand.
“Here,” he murmured. Harry took them from her trembling fingers and placed them on her nose.
The countess stalked across the room. She stopped beside them, her skirts snapping wildly about her ankles. “You’ve no right to such familiarity where my daughter is concerned!”
Anne read several lines and her heart kicked up a quick rhythm. Her gaze flew to Harry’s.
“What is this?” her mother sputtered. She snatched the marriage license from Anne’s fingers and read, her eyes, huge circles in her face. She crumpled it in her palm. “Impossible! Why, why my daughter is to wed the honorable Mr. Ekstrom.”
Harry held Anne’s stare as he spoke to her mother. His jaw tightened. “Your daughter is not wedding Ekstrom.” He looked to Anne. “Marry me, Anne.”
Anne closed her eyes. After her discovery of Father’s betrayal, she’d foolishly believed she knew what she needed—in a husband, life, love. Material gain and a powerful connection was to come before all else. Only, with Harry, she’d found how very little she’d known about life or love. He’d shown her. He’d opened her eyes to all she longed for…all she needed. He was all she needed. She opened her eyes. “I—”
“You needn’t marry either of them, Anne,” Katherine said quietly.
Anne opened her mouth.
“Marry him?” She winced at her mother’s high-pitched shriek. “She is to wed Bertrand Ekstrom.” Then, in a very uncountess like display of rage—she stomped a foot.
The duke continued past his mother-in-law’s antics. “Indeed, Katherine is correct. I’d agree that you shouldn’t feel compelled to wed.” He peered down his hawk-like nose at Harry. “Either of them.”
Harry fished something out of his jacket. Her gaze fell to the orange ribbon dangling between his fingers. “This reminded you of everything you lost, Anne. Take it back now, take it as a reminder of what you’ll always carry. My love. My fidelity. My—”
“Yes,” Katherine and Jasper spoken in unison.
“No,” the countess cried out, burying her face in her hands.
Three pairs of eyes swiveled to the fiercely frowning duke who’d made little attempt to hide his dislike of the other man. He tugged at his lapels. “That is, if you’ll have him.”
Harry gave a slight nod and the duke returned the gesture, as a silent, unspoken truce passed between them.
Mother scraped her disapproving stare over Harry. “There is an agreement already reached. The scandal would be disastrous. Furthermore, he will break your heart. He is a philanderer, a rogue, and rogues cannot be reformed.”
Fury spiraled through Anne and she took a step toward her mother. “He is not him.”
Her hand fluttered to her breast. “What are you—?”
“He is not Father,” Anne said with steely strength underscoring those words.
The older woman’s skin turned waxen and she sputtered. “H-he is—”
“A good man,” she interrupted. She slid her hand into Harry’s. “An honorable man.” A man who will never betray me. A man who would care for his children. And always place his family first…because he loved Anne in ways Father had never loved her mother. To say as much would devastate the other woman and for that, Anne fell silent.
Harry cleared his throat and she looked to him once more. “If you’ll marry a bounder such a me…Even as I don’t deserve you. Even as you’d be better with damned Crawford—”
A little hiccoughy laugh emerged more as a sob from her lips. He still did not realize he was all she wanted, all she’d ever wanted. “Are you trying to convince me to wed another? Because if you are, it’s really not well done of you, Harry.”
He stroked her cheek. “I love you, Anne. Marry me.”
Four pairs of eyes looked intently back at her. She leaned up on tiptoes. “Yes,” she whispered. And pressed her mouth to his.
~*~
Four days later, in the presence of Mother, her brother Benedict, and Anne’s sisters Aldora and Katherine, along with their families, Anne found herself in the most unlikely of places. A rueful smile pulled at her lips as she glanced around at the pink, red, and peach rose bushes. But then, not all that unlikely if one knew Harry, the Earl of Stanhope.
A disapproving vicar beat the small black leather book in his palm which she suspected was the beginning of a rather hastily thrown together ceremony.
“Are you having second thoughts, love?”
She jumped at Harry’s teasing whisper. She gave her head a shake and stole a glance at her family. Her sisters waved, matching smiles on their faces. “Of course not,” she assured him. Though… She stole a glance at her mother. Mother certainly appeared hopeful her daughter would march from Lord Essex’s prized gardens and leave Harry standing there at the altar…well, an altar of flowers anyway.
The vicar fanned the pages of his book.
She winked. “My mother on the other hand…”
A bark of laughter escaped Harry and the vicar dropped his Bible. He bent to retrieve it, muttering something about reverence and bold, hastily thrown together ceremonies. Anne took this for clear disapproval with her and Harry’s not waiting the requisite period of three Sundays to have the banns read.
Anne schooled her features in a semblance of piety. Even as her husband-to-be stifled a yawn. Her shoulders shook with the force of her amusement. “Achoo!” Harry withdrew a kerchief and handed it over.
“Shall we begin?” the vicar began and glared at Anne for doing something as impolite as sneezing before he launched into the service. “Dearly Beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation, to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony; which is an honorable estate…”
Anne glanced across the Marquess of Essex’s infamous conservatory.
The old lord’s loud whisper cut across the vicar’s recitation of her and Harry’s marital vows. “I do say, quite unconventional. A pleasure, nonetheless, just an unexpected pleasure,” the wizened gentleman rattled on to the Duke of Bainbridge. “Not every day a couple wants to be married in my gardens. Not that I can blame them,” he said on a rush, lest anyone present believe the man disparaged his own well-tended space. Her brother-in-law kept his gaze directed to the front of the room, wincing as the Marquess of Essex carried on. “It must be my prized peonies.”
Anne looked up at Harry and they shared a smile.
“I knew the gardener was well worth the sum he demanded,” Lord Essex said with a pleased nod, eyeing the small cluster of people and the vicar in his conservatory. “Or I supposed it might have been my rose bushes.” His brow wrinkled. “Then, there are the prized hibiscuses. Brought from Africa you know, they are. All very exotic. Er…Africa, and the flowers, that is…”
The Marquess of Essex’s ramblings reached Anne once more… “Achoo!”…As did the scent of one of those prized, exotic hibiscuses
. Harry fished out a second handkerchief and handed it over. She blew her nose noisily into the fabric.
The vicar glared at her in response, clearly taking slight to her inability to control the flurry of sneezing.
It really was quite inconvenient that was the place they should have first met.
“Achoo!” She buried the sneeze into Harry’s kerchief and grinned up at him.
He returned her smile.
But there was no more perfect place for them to be wed. Her mother continued to glare in their direction. Even if Mother quite disagreed.
More Than a Duke (Heart of a Duke Book 2) Page 29