He pushed it up once more and probed the skin in search of a break.
She swatted at his shoulder. “Harry, you shouldn’t…” She winced when he touched the bruised flesh. “I was going to suggest your actions were improper, but now I’d ask you to stop because it’s really rather unpleasant.” She wrinkled her brow. “Which I suspect is because I’ve gone and injured it.”
“Yes. It is sprained.” He shoved her skirts down and cursed. “You were going to allow me to leave you here?”
“You shouldn’t curse.”
His lips twitched. “That’s all you’d say?”
She screwed her mouth up. “It’s really not at all appropriate.”
Ah, God…I love you. Why was I so afraid to admit that to you before now? He studied her face, more precious to him than his own. She’d deserved those words from him. Long ago. Another firework illuminated the sky, bathing her face in a pale glow. He reached into the front of his cloak and fished out the small, metallic frames he kept close to his heart. “Here.” He perched the spectacles on the bridge of her nose.
“What…?” She touched her fingertips to the frames almost reverently. “I don’t understand.”
“You need them, Anne. They help you to see.”
“To read,” she corrected, taking them off. She dropped her fathomless gaze to the pair.
“Though I suspect it is I whose vision has been significantly impaired, Anne.”
“You’d have my spectacles?” she asked, perplexity underscored her question.
He snapped his gaze to hers. “It was because of me. The morning in Bainbridge’s office.”
She folded her hands into fists, clenching them so tight the blood drained from them and they stood a splash of white in the dark night.
Agony lanced his heart. “You believed I…that Margaret…” the words went unfinished at the confirmation in her tear-filled gaze. She’d released him of any and all obligation toward her, so he could be free to pursue Margaret. Even as it had portended her own ruination. “Oh, Anne,” he said achingly. He reached for her.
She batted his hand away. “I don’t want your pity, Harry.” The words eerily reminiscent to those uttered another time in their tucked away copse at Hyde Park, when she’d professed her love and he’d not managed even a hint of the declaration she deserved. “And I’ll not come between you and your Miss Margaret…the duchess.”
“I don’t love Margaret.” Loving Anne as he did, he could now recognize that in his youth, he’d looked upon Margaret with the same reverence one might a prized piece of artwork—to be admired and coveted, devoid, however, of the emotional connection he shared with Anne. No, he didn’t love Margaret. Perhaps he never really had.
“You don’t?” A single, crystal teardrop slid down Anne’s cheek.
“No, you silly woman.” He captured the moist bead with his thumb.
“A-and I’m not crying,” she said, her words breaking.
“Of course you’re not.” He caught another teardrop.
“I’m not,” she insisted, “and not simply because you d-detest tears.”
He’d always seen a woman’s tears as a ploy to manipulate. Seeing his proud, dignified Anne battling back all show of emotion reminded him of just how erroneous he’d been—about so many things. Mostly the things he’d thought he’d known about her. He gathered her close. Anne stiffened in his embrace and then the tension seeped from her. She went soft in his arms. “You silly, silly fool,” he managed on a ragged whisper.
She shoved against him. “That is hardly endearing. You’re supposed to be a rogue with all manner of wicked words to entice a lady. I’d imagine not a single one of your ladies would care to be called a—”
“I don’t care a jot about any other woman. Surely you must know that?” Her lids grew shuttered. He’d not managed a single thought of anyone—except her. He touched his lips to her closed lashes. “Surely you realize there is just you. That there has only been you since you stole into Lord Essex’s conservatory and stole my heart.”
“N-no.” Her lips trembled. “I-I did not know that.”
“I’ve been a fool.”
“Yes. Yes you have.” Anne sucked in a shuddery breath. “Though my mother claims it is I who has been the fool.” She discreetly brushed at her tears, wrenching his heart all the further. “She reminded me of the pain in being wed to a man who would always love another.”
With her cynicism, the countess had shaken her daughter’s faith in Harry and her confidence in her own self-worth. God, how he abhorred the woman. The sole worthwhile thing she’d done in her life was the gift of Anne she’d given the world. “Look at me, Anne.” His harsh command forced her gaze upward. “I could never betray you.”
“The papers have said you’ve begun carrying on as you had before…me…before us…” Her throat worked.
His lips twisted wryly. “I couldn’t even begin to feign interest in another. You’ve ruined me for all other women, love.”
The tremulous smile on her lips illuminated her face. “Have I? I don’t believe you’ve ever said anything so…” Her words trailed off. “Love,” she whispered. She touched a hand to her heart. “You called me love.”
He blinked. “Why, yes, I believe I did.” He took her lips in a slow, soft caress. “I imagine that is vastly suitable when a man loves a woman as hopelessly and helplessly as I love you.” He lowered his lips to hers yet again.
Anne drew back. “Are you teasing me, Harry?” She looked at him through hooded eyes. “If this is some wicked—”
He took her mouth under his and the feeling of coming home washed over him. The meeting of lips an aching reunion. She wrapped her fingers about his neck and held him in place. The metallic spectacles crushed against the back of his head as she returned his kiss, kissing him as though there was no other place she’d rather be but here, in his arms.
Anne drew back. She dropped her gaze to his cravat. “I’m to wed another.”
His heart thudded to a momentary halt. “Who?” he demanded, loving her so much he willed the unspoken name to be the pleasantly handsome, unfailingly polite, and wealthy duke she’d always desired and not the wicked reprobate, Ekstrom.
“My cousin, Bertrand Ekstrom.”
He strained to hear the faint whisper. Ekstrom. His gut clenched. He’d hoped Edgerton’s words were no more than a gross rumor circulated by a gossipy ton. Harry touched his fingers to her chin, forcing her gaze back to his. “Bertrand Ekstrom?”
Her fingers curled around the spectacles and he placed his hand upon hers, until she lightened her grip. “That is what I said,” she spoke between gritted teeth.
“Hardly a duke. Why?” he demanded gruffly.
Her shoulders lifted in a slight shrug. “I didn’t think it really mattered.”
He sank back on his haunches. “Not matter?” Not matter when her search for a duke had brought her into his life in the first place? Not matter when she’d sent him from her life, cruelly throwing her desire for a duke at him? He’d imagined there could be no greater hell than imagining Anne wed to Crawford. He’d been so very wrong. This, the idea of her married to Bertrand Ekstrom, that foul deviant shredded him inside. He loved her that much that even as it would kill him, he’d see her with her pleasantly handsome, unfailingly polite, and wealthy duke…
On the heel of that was the quite humbling, if staggering, truth. She’d rather wed Bertrand Ekstrom than him. And because it made little sense when rolling silently around his mind, he said, “I offered for you, yet you’d rather wed Ekstrom than me?”
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.
A Heart of a Duke Collection: Volume 1-A Regency Bundle Page 65