His platitudes set her teeth on edge. Confectionary treats and ices from Gunter’s were a delight. People were not. “Oh, not at all. I’m the bane of my mother’s existence,” she said, with the lack of appreciation that had made many a wallflower into spinsters. Stop talking, immediately, Anne. You’ll drive him away.
“Oh?”
She angled her head, wagering he’d perfected that haughty ducal eyebrow-arching business as a small boy. “She claims I’m too spirited,” she went on. From across the room, Mary groaned.
“Is there such a thing, my lady?”
And in that moment, the proper, respectable duke who’d paled in the shadow of Harry, rose in her estimation. She leaned over and dropped her voice to a low whisper. “I imagine a duke would expect a lady to be perfectly proper and not at all spirited.” Her words seemed to carry over to the maid for Mary dropped her head into her hands and shook it forlornly back and forth.
The duke either failed to notice or care about the beleaguered servant in the corner, for he said, “I imagine a demure, too-proper lady would make for a very dull duchess.”
“Which is how most gentleman would prefer their wives,” she rejoined.
He leaned down. “I assure you they do not, my lady.” His breath fanned her ear.
“Oh.”
He sat back in his chair, a challenge in his eyes, daring her to ask questions about what type of lady gentlemen in fact, preferred. Only, such an intimate topic was not one she’d care to discuss with the duke. Even if she would have him as her husband, she could not boldly engage in his repartee. Not in the way she did with the charming, affable, Earl of Stanhope.
The duke drummed his fingers on the arms of the sofa, cutting into the awkward stretch of silence.
She detested this newfound preference for charming, affable gentleman.
Anne mustered a smile, and shifted the discussion to safer, more appropriate topics. “I imagine it would gall my mother if I were to fail and initiate proper matters of discourse. May I?”
He tipped his head. “Please, do.”
She glanced to the window. “We’re enjoying splendid weather, Your Grace.”
He lifted his head, his gaze fastened to her. “We are.”
Anne tapped her feet distractedly upon the floor. “You’re to respond with some comment about the sun or the rain.”
“The sunlight pales when compared with your beauty.”
She wanted his words to wash over her with warmth and send fluttery little sensations spiraling through her being. She truly did. Alas, they stirred not even the faintest hint of awareness. She slid her gaze off to the opposite end of the room.
What am I?
A clever, inquisitive miss, with lots of questions…
“Do you play, my lady?”
She froze mid-tap. “Do I play what?”
He waved a hand in the direction of her beloved pianoforte, a gift given her by Aldora and Michael, the obscenely wealthy second son of a marquess, who’d saved them all from certain ruin.
“I do,” she murmured.
“Would you do me the honor of playing for me, my lady?”
Anne paused. Part of her longed to resist the ducal command contained within that question. If her mother ever discovered such a slight, she’d have Anne wed to horrible Mr. Ekstrom by special license that next morning.
With a curt nod, she came to her feet, wandered over to the instrument and ran her fingertips along the ivory keyboard. She slid into her seat and stared blankly down at the keys. What song did a young lady sing when attempting to ensnare a duke?
You’ll sing in a husky, sultry, contralto…
She opened her mouth and proceeded to sing him Dibdin’s A Matrimonial Thought in her pure contralto. As the duke’s eyes widened with appreciation, she wished she sang in a sultry, husky contralto for an altogether different gentleman.
Chapter 9
Harry stared into his partially filled tumbler of brandy. He rolled the amber brew around in his glass and ignored the casual greetings tossed at him from gentlemen at White’s.
My father was a wastrel, Harry. A drunkard. A profligate gambler, a womanizer…
He set his glass down with a hard thunk and shoved it aside. The image he’d earned in Society as an unrepentant rogue was one he’d welcomed, or even appreciated. The ton recognized in him a gentleman who’d not become embroiled in emotional entanglements. Ladies vied for a place in his bed, knowing because of that reputation there was little hope of attaining his heart; a heart he’d carefully protected after Margaret’s betrayal.