Anne blinked as his words penetrated her musings. “Beg pardon?”
He stretched his legs in front of him as though he’d asked for refreshments and not just hinted at an offer of marriage. “Marriage, my lady.”
“But you don’t know me,” she blurted. Her heart drummed loudly in her ears, steady, loud, and hard; a painful staccato that threatened her with a devilish headache.
“I know enough to know you’d make a suitable duchess.”
She frowned. That is what he’d base a marital offer upon? Her being suitable. Garments were suitable. Portions of the morning meals were suitable. Potential spouses were not.
“Most young ladies would be pleased by my words,” he said with a bluntness she appreciated.
“I’m not most young ladies, Your Grace.”
He inclined his head. “No. Which is why I’d make you my duchess. If I thought you might say yes,” he added once more. Many marriages had begun from less. Most had begun from more. “Alas, I’d venture you’d toss away the opportunity to be my duchess for Lord Stanhope.”
Her heart paused mid-beat.
“You needn’t say anything. It is written in every line of your face when he enters a room.”
Heat rushed her cheeks. If she’d been transparent to this gentleman, a stranger, then surely Harry had noted her unwise interest. The duke’s gaze fell to her mouth. Smile with your eyes. And your lips as one. A sultry, sweet smile, Anne. A smile that convinces a man he’s the only one in the room… She couldn’t. Not even if a smile were to mean the title of Queen of England.
“But when you realize Stanhope won’t make you his wife, then I’ll have you.”
He spoke as a man accustomed to having his wishes honored.
A knock sounded at the door, and Anne was saved from answering. She glanced toward the door, past the butler, to the commanding gentleman at the entrance. A light sensation lifted her heart at Harry’s unexpected appearance.
Ollie cleared his throat. “The Earl of Stanhope.” The old servant bowed and shuffled past the earl.
What is he doing here? Her heart kicked up a beat. With the speed of his earlier departure, she’d thought not to see him until he decided to impart the next lesson.
Only, Harry stood at the entrance of the room, his primal gaze lingering on the duke. Then, he shifted his attention to Anne. “My lady.”
Anne rose quickly. Her skirts snapped about her ankles. She dropped a curtsy. “My lord.”
An awkward pall descended upon the room. The duke stood. Tension fairly dripped from his formidable frame. He issued a stiff bow. “If you’ll excuse me. I’ll leave you to your visit.” He held Anne’s gaze. “I encourage you to think on what I’ve said.”
Harry stepped aside as the duke made to take his exit. The two men eyed each other a long moment, and then without a word, the Duke of Crawford left.
Harry strolled into the room. Once again the familiar, affable, coolly elegant gentleman she’d come to know. “What was that about?” he asked on a lazy drawl.
She fisted her hands. How could he appear so unaffected by her nearness when he now consumed her sleeping and waking thoughts? “He expressed an interest in courting me,” she said bluntly. Though his words had actually danced more around marriage than anything else. Something called that truth back.
He paused mid-stride. Then he completed the step. He continued walking until he came to a stop before her. “Oh?” he arched a golden brow.
“Mary,” she called to her maid across the room. “Will you fetch my book?”
“Which book will you require, my lady?” The young woman sprang from her seat.
“Any book shall do.”
The maid hesitated and then raced from the room
Anne drew in a breath. She dug her toes into the soles of her slippers so tight, the arch of her foot ached. She loved him. Against all better judgment. Against all her earlier convictions to never be one of his ladies in the conservatory. But then, in matters of the heart, things such as logic and reason ceased to exist and deep down, she believed his curt ‘oh’ concealed more than he wished to reveal.
Even if it didn’t, she needed to tell him. She needed for him to know he owned her heart in ways Crawford or no other gentleman could. If she didn’t confess her love and allowed him to think he meant no more to her than a lesson in seduction, there would never be even the hope of more. Not with him.
~*~
Harry affected an attitude of indifference. He glanced disinterestedly at the suspicious maid who hurried to do her mistress’ bidding even as a volatile force thrummed through his entire being. A primitive urge filled him. A desire to drag Anne close, and brand her as his with a hot, furious kiss.