A Heart of a Duke Collection: Volume 1-A Regency Bundle

by Christi Caldwell

  The earl collected that single curl between his fingers and studied the strand bemusedly. “A ringlet,” he murmured. His lips twitched as though he found something of the utmost hilarity in her gold ringlet, immediately snapping her from whatever momentary spell he’d cast.

  She swatted at his fingers. “What is wrong with my ringlets?” She knew there was a more pressing matter to attend. But really, what was wrong with her ringlets?

  He tweaked her nose. “There is everything wrong with them.”

  Well! Anne gave a flounce of those ringlets he seemed so condescending of. “I’ve not come to speak to you about my hair.”

  The earl narrowed his gaze as he seemed to remember that: one, they were shut away in their host’s conservatory one step from ruin and two, that she was the sister of the twin he’d once tried to seduce. And more specifically, the sister of the twin who’d looked down a pointed nose at him whenever he was near.

  With trembling fingers, she righted the upended flute. “I require but a moment of your time.”

  “You’ve already had at least five moments.”

  Distractedly, she picked up the crystal flute still filled to the brim and eyed the nearly clear contents of the glass. It really did look quite delicious. “Do you mean five minutes?” Because there really wasn’t such a thing as five moments. Or was there? She raised the glass to her lips.

  With a growl, he snatched it from her fingers with such ferocity the exquisite liquor splashed her lips.

  “What are you doing, Lady Adamson?” he asked, his voice garbled.

  She sighed. She really should have tried the bubbly drink before he’d arrived and gone all serious, disapproving-lord on her. “If you must know, I’d intended to sample—”

  “You are not sampling anything, my lady.” He set the flute down so hard liquid droplets sprayed the table.

  Yes, it seemed the roguish earl had gone all stodgy. She released a pent up sigh of regret. What a waste of perfectly forbidden champagne.

  Footsteps sounded outside the door and her head snapped up as suddenly, the ramifications of being discovered here with the earl slammed into her. She felt the color drain from her cheeks and frantically searched around.

  The earl cursed and taking her by the hand, tugged her to the back of the conservatory. His hasty, yet sure movements bore evidence of a man who’d made many a number of quick escapes. He opened the door and shoved her outside into the marquess’ walled garden.

  “You really needn’t—”

  “Hush,” he whispered and propelled her further into the gardens. From behind the marquess’ prize-winning gardens, the moon’s glow shone through the clear crystal panes and briefly cast the earl’s partner in a soft light. The tall, voluptuous lady walked about the conservatory.

  “The Viscountess of Kendricks?” Shock underscored her question. “But she is recently widowed.” Granted she’d come out of mourning, but that was neither here nor there. Oh, he had no shame.

  Lord Stanhope clamped his hand over her mouth. He glowered her into silence and pulled her back, before the viscountess caught sight of them.

  Oh, the highhandedness! She’d never been handled thusly in her entire life. She glared up at him.

  At long last he drew his fingers back. She continued to study the lush creature, a recent widow with a hopelessly curvaceous figure.

  Anne frowned. Mother said gentlemen didn’t desire ladies with well-rounded figures but Anne quite disagreed. All the well-rounded ladies seemed to, for some unknown reason, earn the favor of all manner of gentlemen. The respectable ones. The less respectable ones. Even the old ones with monocles.

  A sly smile played about the viscountess’ lips as she paused beside the table. Even with the space between them, Anne detected the viscountess’ lazy yet graceful movements as she picked up the still full glass and took a slow taste of the bubbling champagne.

  Envy tugged at Anne. He really should have allowed her just a small sip. Surely there was no harm in a mere taste of the French liquor. And now this blousy creature with her… She wrinkled her brow. “Has she dampened her gown?”

  The widow froze mid-sip and glanced around.

  Lord Stanhope cursed softly, clapped his hand across Anne’s mouth yet again and whispered harshly against her ear. “Hush, you silly brat, or you’ll see the both of us ruined.”

  Anne pointed her gaze to the moon above. As if a rogue, especially this particular rogue, could be ruined. She, on the other hand… She swallowed hard. She, on the other hand, danced with disaster.

  With good reason, of course. But still, disaster nonetheless.

  “Hullo, my lord,” the woman called into the quiet. A smile played on her too-full lips. “Are you teasing me, Lord Stanhope? I’m eager to see you. Will you not come and see how eager I am?”

  Anne glanced up the more than a foot distance between her and the earl to gauge the gentleman’s, er…eagerness. He appeared wholly unmoved by the woman’s none-too-subtle attempt at seduction. His narrow-eyed gaze remained fixed on Anne. Annoyance glinted within the hazel-green irises of his eyes.

  “Lord Stanhope?” the woman called again.

  Oh, really. She tapped a foot and wished the bothersome baggage would be on her way already. As charming as the Earl of Stanhope seemed to most ladies, she was quite confident that no gentleman could manage to lure her away from polite Society—for any reason.

  Lord Stanhope reached down between them and through the ivory fabric of her satin skirts, wrapped his hard hand about the upper portion of her leg, effectively stilling her moments.

  Anne’s breath froze and she looked at him.

  Be still, he mouthed.

  Her throat convulsed. Odd, they were just fingers on just a hand, so very uninteresting, something possessed by everyone. And yet, her skin thrummed with awareness of his touch. She swallowed again. There was nothing uninteresting about his fingers upon her person.

  “Stop tapping your foot,” he whispered against her temple. His words had the same affect of a bucket of water being tossed over her foolish head.

  “She’s not going to hear my foot,” she shot back. “It is more likely she’ll hear your constant haranguing.”

  He closed his eyes and his lips moved as if he were uttering a silent prayer. Which was peculiar, because she’d not ever taken him as the religious sort.

  “Lord Stanhope?” the woman called again, impatience coating her words.

  Anne sighed. She’d had this all planned out. She’d speak to the earl. Enlist his help and be gone before his trysting partner had arrived. That had been the plan. Then again, a lifetime of scrapes that had gone awry should have prepared her for how this evening would likely turn out. “Oh, for goodness sake, will she not go already?” she muttered. “Whyever is she so insistent on seeing y—”

  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.