More Than a Duke(61)
He captured the heart pendant around her neck between his thumb and forefinger. She’d enlisted his aid solely to win the heart of a duke and by Crawford’s appearance and the lady’s words, it seemed to have proven wholly effective. “It would appear your bauble has served you well.”
She flinched as though he’d struck her.
Sheer madness had compelled him to visit. He’d taken his leave of her in Hyde Park just a short while ago. Yet, she’d managed to weave some captivating spell that drove back logic and the sense to avoid a woman like Anne. A woman who’d settle for nothing less than marriage…and in her case, a duke.
Just like Margaret.
Yet, at the same time nothing like Margaret. Only now could he force himself to acknowledge that truth. Instead of finding comfort in the differences in the women, panic battered his insides. He preferred the Lady Anne he’d believed her to be this past year who would sell her soul for the title of duchess because then it would make the idea of losing her, something he could survive. “You’ll marry him, then,” he said, his voice flat.
She placed her hand over his, stilling his distracted movement. “I don’t believe I will.”
Harry froze. He studied their connected fingers. “Why?” he demanded hoarsely.
She tilted her head back. The graceful column of her throat moved up and down. “I find I do not really want a duke, after all, Harry.”
Don’t ask the question unless you’re prepared for her answer. “Why?”
Her lids fluttered. “I rather find an earl would do quite nicely.”
He sucked in a breath. “What game do you play?” he asked, his tone harsh.
Anne eyed him with gentle warmth that threatened to undo him. “There is no game, Harry.”
For a long time, he’d viewed Anne as a selfish, title-hungry miss, who’d have Crawford at any cost. After all, isn’t that ultimately what all young ladies craved? But now, for the first time, someone had chosen Harry…over a powerful duke.
Nay, not someone. Anne. She’d chosen him. And it scared the bloody hell out of him. Christ. Set her away. Release her hand. Turn on your heel. He could never be all she required in a husband, nor could he open himself up to trusting again. Why not? a voice needled. She could have Crawford, but she would throw him over—for me. “Anne,” he said gruffly. But for her name, for the first time, in a very long time, words failed him.
“You needn’t say anything.” She gave him a small smile. “I do not expect a pledge of love or undying devotion.” she wrinkled her nose. “Though a strong modicum of devotion would do.” Her lips turned down. “That isn’t to say I’d appreciate your conducting yourself in a roguish manner as you have these years now. I wouldn’t. So in that sense, I’d rather you be devoted.”
A quiet laugh rumbled up from his throat. “What are you trying to say?”
She looked him square in the eyes. “I love you, Harry and I know it is the height of foolishness to entrust my heart to one such as you…”
At her innocent admission, a blinding panic filled him. The cynical Harry who’d first kissed her in Lord Essex’ conservatory would have sneered at Anne’s words of love. This new man, a stranger he no longer recognized, instead fixed on her last four words. One such as you…? He rather detested the sound of that. Granted, the lady was, of course, accurate—it was madness to entrust any part of her to his unscrupulous hands.
God help him, though.
He wanted her. And perhaps this desire to hold her, to claim her, to make her laugh and tease her were transient sentiments that would fade in the days and weeks he came to know her. But for now, he could only focus on this overwhelming desire to make her his and drive away any thoughts she might still have of pleasantly handsome, unfailingly polite, and wealthy dukes in possession of one of the oldest titles… He searched her face, and more importantly, searched for words, but he could not promise her forever.
Harry opened his mouth and Anne jabbed him in the chest. “Don’t look at me like that. As though you pity me,” she clarified. “As though you’re trying to find a sufficient response. I don’t crave empty words from you.” She held his gaze. “I’d have only the truth.”
And yet, she deserved more than that. For all the times he’d scoffed at her selection of Crawford. The duke was, in fact, the better, more respectable match she deserved. Harry, would always be a rogue. He dropped his brow to hers. “I don’t know if I’ll ever have the words you crave and assuredly deserve, but I know I want you. And when I eventually do right by the Stanhope line, then I imagine a union with you would suffice.” His lips pulled in a grimace. His declaration was not the heartfelt words any young lady hoped for. He’d not fill her ears with platitudes and falsities most young ladies hung their hopes and dreams upon.