She gave him her other cheek. “That is my point exactly, Harry. Kisses shouldn’t be used as a distraction.”
“They shouldn’t?” He quite disagreed.
“No,” she said emphatically.
He dragged a hand over his eyes. “Anne?”
“Yes?”
“If you consider yourself so well-versed on the art of seduction, then why did you seek out my assistance?”
She promptly closed her mouth. A frown played on her lips. He pressed his hands against her hips and drew her close. She dropped her head and his kiss fell somewhere in the middle of her brow. He sighed. “What is it?” She had the stubbornness to drive a vicar to drink during Sunday sermon.
Anne gave him a searching look. “Kisses shouldn’t be used to weaken someone. They should be used to convey a gentleman’s unwavering love for an equally unwavering woman.”
Ah, his beautiful Anne. The hopeless romantic, who squinted her way through the pages of The Times, still believed in that foolish sentiment called love.
She touched her fingers to his cheek. “You don’t believe in love,” she said softly. Her words, both matter-of-fact and sad all at once.
Giving up on the hope of a kiss from her tempting, red lips he sank back into his host’s work stool. He pulled her onto his lap. “I don’t, Anne. Not in a world where ladies would trade their very happiness for the hand of the most advantageous match.” Or where a title came before a name, a heart, and all else. “Do you imagine to earn Crawford’s heart?” He couldn’t bite down the mocking edge to that question.
Anne shifted in his arms and frowned up at him. “I believe the duke could love me,” she said softly.
And, if he still believed in the sentiment of love, then he’d venture a woman such as her could certainly earn the heart of Crawford and any other gentleman she’d set her marital sights upon. He stroked the pad of his thumb along her full, lower lip. “What of you, Anne? Do you fancy yourself in love with Crawford?”
He didn’t realize the vise that had squeezed off his airflow until she said, “Of course not.” The pressure about his heart lessened and he could breathe yet again. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t come to love him,” she added.
He set her from his lap with such alacrity she stumbled backward. “Then I imagine, you shouldn’t be stealing away with unrepentant rogues in the middle of your hostess’ ball.” He took her by the shoulders and gently propelled her to the door.
Anne frowned over her shoulder and dug in her heels, until he was forced to stop or continue dragging her along. “But you promised—”
“A lesson. And I’ve given it. Show him your clever, witty self. Do not bury your intelligence for his favor because such a man would never be worth having.” He placed a hard kiss on her lips. “Now, go.” Emotion blazed to life in Anne’s soft, blue eyes. She arched her neck back as if hungering for his kiss, and before he did something like make love to her mouth, then lift her skirts and make love to every last silken inch of her, Harry affected a half-grin. He patted her on the cheek. “Go, sweet.”
Anne gave her head a shake and then wordlessly ran down the length of the conservatory, unlatched the door, and fled.
Harry stood there long after she’d left. It appeared he wasn’t the total dishonorable scoundrel he’d taken himself for these past years. He scrubbed his hands over his face.
Damn it.
Chapter 12
Anne depressed a single key of her pianoforte. She studied her fingertip upon the ivory key and remembered back to a different instrument. Remembered the moment it had been packaged up and carried off by servants and sent wherever it was lost belongings went to cover a man’s debts.
There had been a time when she’d lay abed well into the early morning hours, staring at the canopy overhead, worrying. Worrying about her poor mother’s breaking heart. Worrying about her twin sister losing the one joy she had in life—her volumes of poetry. Worrying about the loss of Benedict’s games and toys and more—his innocence. Worrying about Aldora having to forsake a dream of love all to make a match to save.
Security had been a beacon. A talisman of hope she clung to. She had longed for the day she’d make her Come Out. Only, she’d entertained the most foolish of girlish musings that included security, a handsome gentleman, and love.
But first and foremost had always come security.
Now, the Duke of Crawford, with his increasing interest, represented the pinnacle of that great beacon. As the Duchess of Crawford, she’d never worry about material comforts, or more importantly, the comforts of her future children. There had always been the expectation, both real and self-imposed, amongst her family that Anne would make an advantageous match.