More Than a Duke(22)

Anne looked around, uncertain why her sister, mother, and Harry were staring at her. Then it occurred to her. “You want to call on me?” Embarrassment twisted in her belly. “I…that is—”



“What my daughter means to say, Your Grace,” Mother interjected with a pointed glance for Anne. “Is that she would very much welcome your visit. Isn’t that right, Anne?”



Anne managed a jerky nod. “Er, yes.” This is exactly what she wanted. “I would welcome a visit, Your Grace,” she finished lamely. Perhaps Harry would need to instruct her on the art of communicating with an eligible lord on the marriage mart, as well.



The duke appeared amused by her confounded response. His lips twitched and he captured her hand. “Until tomorrow then, my lady,” he murmured. He placed a final kiss on the top of her hand.



Couldn’t there be shivers of awareness, like she felt at Harry’s touch?



Couldn’t there be the warm fluttery sensations in her belly she’d read about in her Gothic novels?



Couldn’t there be—something?



“I look forward to your visit,” she said softly. All the while, Harry’s hard gaze fairly burned a hole into her person.



The Lady Westmorelands returned to the front of the hall, signifying the beginning of the next set of performances was to begin.



The duke released her hand after a longer than appropriate amount of time. “Stanhope,” he said, his tone harder than before. He bowed to the other gentleman and then bid the remainder of her party a good evening.



“Well,” Katherine said, a smile on her lips.



Anne sank back into her seat. “Well, what?”



Her sister sat and whispered, “The heart of a duke. It appears you are on your way to the title of duchess, sister.” She made a face. “Oh, dear. That sounded rather mercurial. I’d not have you wed a duke unless your heart is engaged. Nor any gentleman for that matter or—”



“Hush, Kat. This isn’t the place.” Her sister appeared ready to launch a full-defense of her earlier words. Then something only twins shared, passed between them and Katherine gave a solemn nod.



As she settled into her uncomfortable chair, she thought she should feel a giddy sense of victory, yet all she felt at the duke’s interest was oddly hollow. He did not know her. He’d not even spoken but a murmured greeting at all the functions they’d attended together. Until the ribbon.



Until Harry and his blasted advice.



Advice she’d sought.



And welcomed…



But… She didn’t want the duke to want her for her…her…endowments alone. “Silly,” she mumbled.



“What was that, sweet?”



“Don’t call me sweet, Harry,” she said, not taking her gaze from the front of the hall where Lady Leah Westmoreland reclaimed the pianoforte bench.



“What would you have me call you? Duchess?” Thick sarcasm underscored his question.



She flinched at his deliberately placed barb. “Must you be so odious?” She blinked back foolish tears of hurt and glared at him.



Instead of properly chastised, Harry quirked another golden eyebrow. He leaned close so his brandy-scented breath fanned her lips. “Isn’t that what you want, sweet?” he said, almost tauntingly. “Title of duchess and by Crawford’s interest in that,” he jerked his chin at her satin ribbon, “golden ringlet—”



“Which is not silly,” she cut in.



“Which is silly. Well, then I’d wager all my coffers in the book at White’s that you’ll be carrying the duke’s heir by next Christmastide season,” he said, a biting edge to his prediction.



She gasped. Her fingers twitched with the urge to slap his smug, rude, arrogant, condescending face. Katherine looked over with a question in her eyes. Anne shook her head and her sister returned her attention to the performance.



A spark glinted in Harry’s hazel eyes.



With his roguish cynicism, Harry judged her interest in the duke and sought to taunt her for those efforts. She’d not allow him that satisfaction.



Anne relaxed her fingers. “Then your lessons on seduction should come in quite handy, my lord.” She sat back in her seat and promptly dismissed him.



~*~



At Anne’s rebuttal, fury thrummed through Harry’s veins, hot and volatile. By God, that he should school her in the ways in which to use her body and charms to catch another gentleman while he himself remained ignorant as to the color of the nipples atop those generous swells, or the pleasure of her touch, or the sound of her damned laughter, infuriated him.