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?”