More Than a Duke(17)
Since she’d been a girl, her sisters and mother had gone to extraordinary efforts to keep Anne from pain, treating her no different than her young brother Benedict. As much as she appreciated and loved them for their devotion, she’d forever resented that everyone saw her as nothing more than an empty-headed silly child.
Just as Harry did. The idea of that dug at her. She peeked around her brother-in-law’s shoulder.
“Do not encourage him,” Katherine said warningly.
She gave a flounce of her curls. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Her sister snorted. “Mother informed me he’s paid you a morning visit. She fears Harry will ruin your reputation with a single look,” her sister spoke in hushed tones.
Guilt settled like a stone in her belly. “Don’t be silly.” What would her mother and sister say if they knew Anne had all but asked the earl to ruin her? Only with instruction, of course, and no physical acts of intimacy. What of his kisses, Anne? a jeering voice needled. “Do you truly have such a low opinion of Lord Stanhope?” she shot back.
Katherine and Jasper wore matching frowns. “Yes,” they answered in unison.
Humph. Well, then. “Rest assured, the earl doesn’t have any interest in me.” No, he’d been very clear on that score. Not that she desired his interest. After all, she’d set her marital cap upon the Duke of Crawford—a vastly safer, more respectable match than Harry. She looked to Harry once more. Her heart fell somewhere in the vicinity of her soles.
His gaze remained fixed on Katherine’s back. The expression in his eyes inscrutable. The pain of his interest unbearable. She didn’t know why after more than a year of them needling one another, she should care that he desired her more serious, more interesting twin sister. Harry stopped beside them. “Bainbridge,” he drawled lazily.
“Stanhope.” The duke stiffened. It was clear to all that Jasper had little fondness for the rogue. After all, what sane gentleman would care to keep company with the scoundrel who’d tried to seduce his wife? Nonetheless, the duke sketched a deep bow.
“Lord Harry,” Katherine said with a more waspish tone than Anne ever remembered her sister using.
Harry murmured a quick greeting and then shifted his focus to Anne.
Heat unfurled in her belly. He had a way of making a lady feel like she was the only woman in a room, which was all rather silly because Anne well knew how very many ladies present in this particular room had been the recipient of that intense scrutiny.
Katherine’s lips tightened.
“May I?” he motioned to the empty seat beside Anne’s chair.
“Yes.”
“It is occupied.” Katherine glared. “Er…that is to say, it was occupied.”
Anne reclaimed her chair.
Katherine made to take the seat alongside Anne, but Harry only sat in the vacant seat, a delicate Egyptian-style Klismos chair at the end of the row—the direct opposite side of Anne. He sat so close his oak-hard thigh brushed her ivory satin skirts. Warmth radiated at the point of contact. Her skin tingled with an awareness of his long, powerful leg. She swallowed hard.
The duke stood above them, a black scowl on his face and then with something akin to reluctance, sat beside Katherine.
Her sister leaned around her husband and if glares could kill, then Harry would be a smote pile of tinder upon Lady Westmoreland’s recital hall floor. “What a lovely surprise seeing you here. This is not your normal evening enjoyment.”
Anne gasped at her sister’s boldly impolite charge.
Ever the consummate rogue, a lazy grin formed on his hard, sculpted lips. “I wouldn’t dare miss the recital. Lady Anne and I have discovered a shared love of music.” He laid his hand alongside the back of Anne’s chair. “Isn’t that right, Lady Anne?”
She managed a jerky nod. “Er…yes.” Her sister snapped her eyebrows together menacingly and Anne sat up straight in her chair affecting a whole I’m-singularly-unmoved-by-Harry’s-attempt-at-charming-me. “Yes, that is quite true,” she added. “Lord Stanhope has a deep appreciation for…” Three pairs of eyes looked to her. “Music,” she finished lamely. She had a love of all things music. Well, mayhap not the ladies Westmoreland’s singing. Still, she couldn’t quite say with any real degree of confidence whether Harry loved music.
Her twin’s brown eyes became narrow slits that fairly shouted liar at the affable earl.
An awkward pall of silence descended as the guests hurried to claim their seats. Anne registered the exact moment Mother returned and realized just who sat alongside her daughter. Her thin eyebrows shot to her forehead and she sputtered like a trout tossed ashore.