He reclaimed his seat upon the sofa and looked at this woman whom he’d thought he knew, whom he’d unfairly judged, and judged quite harshly. And looking at her, he was humbled by the truth of how little he or anyone else in Society, in fact, knew of her. For Society’s opinion of Lady Anne as a vain, attention-seeking young lady, she neither wanted nor welcomed even deserved praise.
She hurried over and this time sat beside him.
He dipped his lips close to her ear. “You’re remarkable, Anne.”
She snorted. “And you’re a flirt, Harry.”
“Yes, indeed I am.” He leaned over and tweaked her nose. “But I’m also a truth-teller.”
She hastened to pour herself a cup of tea. He studied her precise, ladylike movements, surely perfected many years ago through lessons ingrained into her by a stern governess. Lady Anne Adamson evinced everything of a perfectly proper, English lady and was therefore everything he’d avoided since Margaret's betrayal. Now, however, studying her as he did, Harry found her to be far more than one of the insipid, colorless young ladies in the market for a husband. As though she felt his gaze on her, Anne glanced up. Her long, graceful fingers curled about the handle of the pale blue porcelain teapot trembled.
Ah, the minx wasn’t immune to him after all, and masculine satisfaction flared in his chest.
Liquid splashed over her hands and splattered the edge the mahogany table. She set the teapot down with a firm thunk. “Blast and double blast,” she hissed.
From across the room, her maid jumped up from her tucked away seat. “I’ll see to an ointment, my lady.” She fled as fast as if a fire had been set to the parlor.
Harry yanked out a handkerchief. “Here—” He snapped it open.
She drew her fingers back. “It’s fine,” she said softly.
His mouth hardened. Did she see herself as nothing more than an obligation to him? “Don’t be daft.” Did Anne not realize she’d come to mean something to him? “Let me see.” He took her hands in his and turned over the injured digits. He cursed.
“It’s fine,” she murmured. The delicate skin of her three middle fingers bore the red, angry marks from her tea.
He popped the digits into his mouth, drawing the soft flesh deep.
The quick intake of her breath filled the quiet between them. The muscles of her throat moved up and down. He expected her to politely avert her gaze and draw her hand back. In the time he’d come to know Anne, however, he should realize she never did that which was expected. A little sigh escaped her lips. “That feels splendid.” She leaned close to him.
Had anyone told him he’d be sucking upon a lady’s fingers and there was nothing the least bit sexual in the act, he’d have laughed in the gent’s face and proceeded to list twenty acts one could do with one’s mouth and a lady’s fingers. She somehow made him forget the rogue he’d been and turned him into a man he didn’t recognize—one who wasn’t solely fixed on tugging up Anne’s skirts and making sweet love to her, but rather, one who wanted to know the little pieces that made Anne—well, Anne.
Harry pressed his eyes closed a moment. He drew her fingers out of his mouth and studied the reddened flesh. This was very bad, indeed.
Chapter 13
Harry had been accused of doing many things that were the height of foolishness, and on more scores than he could count. He could even readily take ownership of any number of those foolish decisions. Agreeing to school Lady Anne Adamson on the art of seduction, however, was the height of all foolish acts to come before this. Though, staring at the collection of delicate, wire-rimmed spectacle frames spread out on his immaculate desk, he could admit this was certainly the second.
He picked up an oval pair and weighed them in his hands.
“They are a lovely pair,” the doctor murmured.
Harry glanced at the seventy-somethingish doctor who’d served his family through the years. There were not many he could trust with such a delicate, such an intimate matter. “But how can I be certain she…?” He flushed. “That is…a person might be able to see more accurately.”
The older man swiped a hand over his mouth, and Harry suspected it was a meager attempt to conceal his mirth. “Er, well, this uh…person…does not struggle to see things which are in the distance?”
I can see. I just cannot see so very well when I’m reading…
Harry gave his head a curt shake. “She…Or, rather he,” The doctor’s lips twitched once more, “claims to have no difficulty seeing objects in the distance.”