Anne tipped her head. Her smile slipped and something passed between them. Something charged and volatile. With a life force.
He sucked in a breath as the implications of his role truly registered. Or worse, the perils in teaching her to seduce another man when Harry himself would be left to wonder the color of her nipples, or the downy softness betwixt her thighs. And more…the sound of her laughter through the years. “You sang to Crawford, then?” he said quietly.
“I did.”
He tightened his grip upon her person. She winced and he lightened his hold. “And did he appreciate the quality of your voice?” Never did he want to hear an answer less.
Anne ran her gaze over his face. “I don’t want to talk about the duke, Harry.”
His heart lifted in the oddest fashion. He blamed his reaction on too much liquor and remembered he’d not touched more than a glass of champagne the whole of the evening. “What do you want?” Let the answer be me, and I will show you the true meaning of seduction.
“I want my second lesson for the evening.”
The chords of the waltz drew to a finish. Harry and Anne stopped amidst the politely clapping couples, gazes fixed on one another.
If he encouraged her bold proposition, he flirted with the parson’s trap, a snare he’d no intention of succumbing to. “Meet me in Lord Huntlys’ conservatory,” he said quietly. He bowed low at the waist and spun on his heel.
~*~
Anne’s heart thudded painfully as she stared at Harry’s powerful, now-retreating form.
Fingers touched her arm and she jumped. “What are you doing, sister?”
Anne’s cheeks blazed and she turned to greet her sister. “Katherine, what are you doing here?” she blurted. First the recital, now a ball. Katherine and her husband made it a point to avoid nearly all societal functions. Their sudden appearance had Mother’s hand over it more than the floral embroideries she’d stitched and displayed throughout their townhouse.
Katherine angled her head. A flash of hurt shone in her brown eyes. “You’re not happy to see me.” Dismay and shock blended together and underscored her words.
“No. No, that isn’t true at all,” she said hurriedly.
Too hurriedly.
She fisted the fabric of her skirts, knowing she was surely the world’s worst twin. For instead of the usual joy she found in Katherine’s company, she resented the reminder of her relationship with Harry. An unspoken communication passed between them. An apology. Forgiveness.
And then the determined warrior her sister had always proven herself to be, replaced the wounded figure who’d eyed Anne with accusation. Katherine guided her from the floor with all the precision of Lord Nelson leading his men at battle. “You have made some truly deplorable decisions through the years.”
Anne bristled. “I have not.”
“Hiding Father’s ledgers. All of them.”
She frowned. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.” As a girl, when she’d first heard whisperings of their father’s financial woes, Anne had believed if Father’s business documents were lost, then he’d not be able to continue wagering away their family’s wealth. Then, that had been the foolishness of a child’s naiveté.
Her sister’s mouth tightened and she continued to steer her through the crowd, onward past smiling couples.
“Where is your husband?” Anne ventured, wishing for her still terrifying brother-in-law’s presence if for no other reason than to be spared from her sister’s haranguing.
“Then there were the letters to that publisher.”
When their family’s circumstances had become truly dire, she’d penned her own Gothic novel and intended to seek publication as Mr. Robert Robertson. Alas, Mother had discovered her plans and tossed every last page of Mr. Robert Robertson’s work into the fiery hearth.
Katherine gently squeezed her arm and forced her to a halt beside a removed alcove. “Then there were your plans for us to attend the Frost Fair. Unchaperoned.”
And no one would have ever learned a hint of what had transpired upon the frozen Thames—if Katherine hadn’t gone and fallen through the one patch of soft ice. “Need I point out that you’d not have met your husband? A duke, whom you very much love, if it weren’t for my bad idea?”
Katherine pursed her lips in that disappointed way she’d done as a child when Anne had bested her at spillikins. “Very well. I’ll concede you were correct on that particular score. However,” she cast a discreet glance about, and then looked to Anne once more. “Dancing and flirting shamelessly with Lord Stanhope can never be considered a good idea.”