Home.
He guided her to the ballroom floor while Rutland glared after him. A primordial sense of masculine victory consumed him at Anne’s clear decision. They took their positions at the rapidly filling ballroom floor. He settled his hand upon her waist and guided hers upon his shoulder. “You aren’t to go near Rutland. I thought I’d been clear,” he said, his tone brusque.
Anne arched a golden brow. “Come, Harry. Surely you don’t care if I take Rutland or the Prince Regent himself as my partner.”
Actually, yes. Yes, he did. He eyed her. She played some manner of game with him. And yet, was still completely ensnared by her trap unwanting and unwilling to shake free of her hold. The orchestra plucked the strings of a waltz. “You know, I despise the manner in which the men present eye you.”
She pinched his shoulder. “Do you?” The teasing words, the slight pinch were more reserved for a bothersome older brother rather than a man who wanted to lay masterful claim to her. She touched the ribbon cleverly woven in that lone golden curl.
A groan built in his chest at the sweetly erotic gesture and then with all the force of the king’s men riding into him it occurred to him. He narrowed his eyes. The little spitfire. The bold minx. Why, she’d used his own lessons against him. “You’re seducing me, aren’t you?” he whispered for her ears alone. Satisfaction flared in his chest. She didn’t use her wiles upon her damned duke, but instead Harry.
She winked. “Is it working?” Bold as you please, for all to see, she winked at him.
“Yes.” He’d never wanted another more than he wanted Lady Anne Adamson. He tightened his hold on her.
Anne’s smile deepened. “I’ve been told I’ve learned from the most notorious rogue.”
He angled her body closer to his. “The cad who’d dare teach a lady such scandalous tricks.”
She tilted her chin up and whispered softly, “I would meet you, Harry.”
If he were wise, he’d blithely ignore her request, continue waltzing her around the crowded ballroom floor, and then turn her over to her frowning mama’s care. Alas, he’d not been wise in a very long time.
“I’ve heard told Lady Preston has rather splendid gardens,” she continued.
The waltz drew to a finish. Couples around them politely clapped.
Harry studied the beautiful planes of her face knowing the perils in clandestinely meeting her. They danced with ruin. If discovered, they’d be forced to wed. “Perhaps those gardens require exploring, then.” Some risks were worth taking.
Anne smiled, curtsied and took her leave.
Harry stared after her swift-retreating form. There really was no helping it. He was a bastard.
“Have a care, Stanhope. You’re staring,” a low, surly voice growled from over his shoulder.
He spun. Lady Katherine’s husband, the Duke of Bainbridge stood, a familiar scowl fixed to his hard face. Harry gave a crooked grin.
“Wipe that damned smug smile from your face or by God I’ll do it for you.” The duke’s lip curled back in a sneer.
For all of Katherine’s influence in bringing the Mad Duke out of his self-imposed exile after the death of the man’s first wife years earlier, the ugly brutish bear still seemed the boorish lout Harry remembered. Then, if a gentleman dared encroach upon the woman who was his wife, Harry would bloody the bastard senseless and then meet him at dawn.
“What do you have to say?” Bainbridge snapped.
The other man was a surly beast. “Bainbridge, a pleasure as usual,” he lied. He still couldn’t account for Lady Katherine’s love of the fiend.
The duke’s black glare nearly singed him.
“Wrong answer, then,” Harry said with a sigh. “The next dance is beginning.”
Bainbridge took a step closer. They earned curious stares from those around them. Society tended to remember when a gentleman tried to seduce another man’s wife.
Harry held a hand up. “Please, rest assured, Bainbridge. I wasn’t asking you to dance. Merely suggesting we continue this…” he arched an eyebrow, “…er, discussion, elsewhere.”
The other man registered the couples lining up around them for the next set. He spun around and marched from the ballroom floor, clearly, in his ducal arrogance, expecting Harry to follow.
Harry glanced around for a familiar blonde head. Alas, if his Anne, recently schooled in seduction, had been clear in her message—which she had…abundantly—she was even now in Lady Preston's prized gardens while he remained with Katherine’s bear of a husband. “As much as I’d enjoy continuing our discourse, Bainbridge,” he’d far rather find Anne, “I’d—”