More Than a Duke(14)

“Material possessions do not drive me. If that is what you think of me, then you’re greatly mistaken.” She jerked her chin toward the ribbons. “Accept them as a kind of payment for your efforts.”



He rubbed the ribbons between his fingers a moment. Soft. Silken. Like the feel of her lips beneath his. “Then what does drive you?” Wealth, power, a grand title—just like Margaret. “I’ll not take your ribbons.” Not when they seemed to mean a good deal to her, for reasons he did not know or understand and reasons he likely would never know or understand.



Anne soberly shook her head. “The only thing you need to know is how to help me.”



It was highly foolish to keep any of the lady’s things. He set her scraps of fabric down. The sooner he aided her efforts, the sooner he could end his connection to the infuriating Lady Anne Adamson with her too many ribbons. “You want my guidance, Anne? Then wear the damned ribbon when you see Crawford.” The stern, proper duke would forget propriety and spirit her off to Gretna Greene for the plump mounds of her cream white breasts alone.



Anne touched her fingertips to the satin ribbon, eliciting all manner of sinful thoughts he should never have about this hellion. With long, graceful fingers, she stroked the flesh of her décolletage. “This is silly.” She looked pointedly at the ribbon. “It’s not even properly placed.”



He choked. “Trust me, it is properly placed,” he said, his voice garbled. The young lady didn’t realize that if she were to use her clever hands exactly as she was now in the presence of the duke, she’d find herself a proper duchess faster than she could say marital bed.



She eyed him skeptically. Little did the lady know she was mistrustful for all the wrong reasons. Anne reclaimed her seat and folded her hands on her lap. “What else is there, my lord?”



“Harry,” he insisted his tone harsh, but damn it, for some inexplicable reason he craved the sound of his name on her lips.



“Harry,” she murmured.



He glanced over his shoulder. He should leave. He should forget his offer to assist her. Then, he’d been a rogue for longer than he remembered. He took the seat beside her. So close their legs brushed. He shot a sideways glance to determine if the lady was suitably shaken by his body’s nearness.



Anne wet her lips.



He brushed his fingers along the nape of her neck and she angled her head, leaning into his touch. “I think the rule of ribbons is enough for the day,” he murmured.



Anne blinked but did not pull away from his caress. “I’ve just the remainder of the Season to earn the duke’s notice.”



Annoyance filled him at her ability to speak so effortlessly about Crawford with Harry’s hand upon her person. “I’ll set the rules of our arrangement.” She opened her mouth to protest. “You are free to reject the rules, but if you do, then you’ll have to enlist Rutland’s support.”



She cocked her head, a baffled look in her eyes. “Rutland?” Her eyes went wide. “Er…yes, uh, Rutland.”



He narrowed his gaze. Why, the lady had never intended to seek out Rutland, or probably any other gentleman for that matter. Anne could out wager the most experienced of card players at the seediest gaming hells. He made to rise.



She scrambled forward in her seat. “Don’t.” She sighed. “Very, well, I’ll agree to whatever terms you set.” She swatted his hand. “Though I don’t understand why you’re not eager to impart all your lessons immediately and be done with me. You no more want to be in my company than I yours,” she muttered more to herself.



Indeed, she was correct. Why didn’t he merely provide his roguish suggestions and be on his merry way? He’d never wanted to know a thing about Lady Anne. Hell, he’d never even wanted to be in the same room with the spitfire. What manner of question to ask the lady? “Why a duke?” he asked suddenly.



She wrinkled her brow at the unexpected shift in conversation. “Every young lady desires a duke,” she said at last. Still, she’d hesitated and he’d detected the slight heartbeat pause.



“That isn’t much of an answer,” he made to rise again.



Anne touched her fingers to his hand, stilling his movement.



He stiffened at the innocent, yet enticing pull of her fingers upon his person.



“I…I…” She slid her gaze away from his. “It is not merely for his title.” Harry strained to hear those faintly spoken words.



He scoffed. “It is always about the title, my lady.”