More Than a Duke(109)

He gestured to the collection of gentlemen seated about the table. “Why, if there had been no certain pendant, I don’t imagine there would have been a Lord Knightly.” He looked to Bainbridge, who he’d entered into a truce of sorts with. “And Katherine would have no Bainbridge.”



“And I would not have you,” Anne said quietly as Harry’s pronouncement spurred some level of debate amongst the table of individuals who clearly held all manner of different opinions on the heart of a duke necklace.



Harry returned his attention to his new wife. “Ahh, there you are wrong, Anne.” He brushed his lips over hers. “You always had me. Just as you always will.”



Anne’s throat moved up and down and from across the table, the ladies present released a collective sigh. He looked momentarily at his recent mother-in-law and detected the softness in her usually bitter eyes. She eyed Anne seated alongside him, and a wistful smile played about her lips, lending the first real warmth he could remember in the usually cold woman.



As though feeling his attention on her, the countess stiffened. She squared her shoulders and met Harry’s gaze. They looked at one another a moment. He, the man who’d been determined to have her daughter at any cost, she the mother who’d have rather wed Anne off to a horrid, lecherous second cousin. Something passed between them. She nodded her head once, and then shifted her attention to the babe on Katherine’s lap.



“Do you have any regrets, Harry?” Anne’s soft question pulled him back to his new bride.



He leaned closed. “I do.” She stiffened. Harry placed his lips close to her ear. “I regret that this meal is not over so I can have you alone.”



Anne lowered her voice. “Then you are not alone in those regrets, my lord.” She winked.



He fought back a groan. And suddenly what had once been a rather enjoyable breakfast meal became an interminable affair.





Chapter 26



Later that evening, at last free of her family and ensconced in her new home Anne giggled. She stuck her arms out, searching for purchase from behind the blindfold her husband had placed over her eyes. “Is this another one of your lessons on seduction, Harry?” She laughed again as he guided her by the forearm.



“Hush, love,” he scolded. “There are no more lessons.” He paused. “Well, perhaps there are some additional lessons, but none of which pertain to you learning to seduce another man.”



“As if I would ever want another…ouch…” She grunted as he steered her into some piece of furniture or another. Her hip struck a solid piece of…well, something. “You are quite a horrid guide.”



“Forgive me.” Amusement threaded his half-hearted apology.



“Humph. Are we almost there?” she muttered. They’d arrived in Harry’s townhouse, nay their townhouse, nearly two hours ago. She’d changed into a modest nightshift and waited expectantly for him to come and make love to her, at last.



Alas…she grunted…



“My apologies,” Harry murmured once more as he steered her into what might have been a sideboard. It felt like a sideboard. “Just a bit further.” He stopped, bringing Anne to a halt. “Here.”



She reached for the cravat he’d secured about her eyes, but he stilled her movements. “Just a moment, love.”



A fluttering sensation filled her belly. Her heightened senses registered the slight scrape of a chair being dragged over the hardwood floor. He guided her into a seated position and the backs of her legs knocked against a bench.



Harry loosened the folds of his cravat and tossed it aside. “Here.”



Anne blinked as her eyes struggled to adjust in the dimly lit room. She looked about the grand parlor. High, sweeping ceilings and resplendent in gold, the parlor may have belonged in the king’s palace. She’d never truly considered where Harry made his home. The space was extravagant. The gold upholstery of the sofas lush and finer than most owned by her family, even before all their goods had been carted off by the creditors. She registered Harry’s gaze trained upon her. “It is beautiful,” she murmured.



Harry knelt at her feet. “Not the room, love.” He guided her around in her seat. Anne’s heart froze as her fingers collided with a much-loved, familiar instrument. And then the organ inside her chest thudded wildly. She touched a reverent finger to the AA carved alongside the Wedgewood cameo.



Anne looked wordlessly to him.



He caught a golden ringlet between his fingers. “I spoke to Westmoreland some time ago,” he said. He continued to rub the lock between his thumb and forefinger. “After you told me about the Westmoreland girls playing your pianoforte, I couldn’t leave it there. Not knowing that someone else played what belonged to you.”