More Than a Duke(80)

A spasm of pain contorted Anne’s face.



Harry’s gut clenched. Do not listen to him, Anne. Even if the words were once truth, I was wrong. So very wrong.



Rutland licked his lips like a wolf about to devour its prey, and in this case the game he toyed with was Anne, a woman whose happiness had come to mean more to Harry than even his own. “You see, you should take care when arranging your trysts. As a rogue, you should know to verify your privacy, Stanhope.”



An icy chill stole down his spine. “What are you on about?” he barked. Even as a horrible sense of realization sank into his brain, and with a numbing dread he knew the other man’s words before they even left his cold lips.



“Imagine my surprise when Lady Anne arrived to meet you.” He chuckled. The force of his coarse laugh shook Anne’s slender frame. Her waxen grey skin indicated she also knew very well the direction of Rutland’s next words. “How did you describe her?”



“Passably pretty,” Anne supplied on a broken whisper.



“Ah, yes. That is correct. Or to be precise…”



…though you are passably pretty, I couldn’t even begin to drum up interest enough to help you…



“I couldn’t even begin to feign interest to help you,” Rutland finished.



Wrong, Rutland. You’re wrong. I remember every last, blasted word I leveled at her. Harry looked to Anne. He held her pain-filled gaze. Surely she knew everything had changed. That the moment she shook his hand and sprinted out of the gardens, she’d ceased to be the termagant who tormented him and had since then become the spirited beauty who’d captivated him.



“Pleasantly pretty, empty-headed Lady Anne Adamson desiring a lesson on seduction to…” He quirked a chestnut eyebrow. “To what, did you say, my lady?” He whispered against her ear. “To bring a duke up to scratch. Crawford?” Rutland trailed a finger down the line of her jaw, marking her with his evil hands.



Anne pressed her eyes closed.



Oh, God, he wanted to wake from this bloody nightmare. His and Anne’s exchange, their real first meeting, forever tarnished by Rutland who’d watched as a voyeur to their private discussion.



And he’d heard all.



Dread sat like a rock in his stomach. Rutland could ruin her if he so wished. And by the vindictive flecks in his brown eyes, he wished it.



The force of Anne’s trembling loosened one of her golden locks. Rutland caught it between his fingers and made a show of studying it. “Imagine my honor in being named a prospective tutor to instruct you, Lady Anne.”



A black glare flashed in her eyes. “I’d never deign to so much as converse with a snake such as you,” she hissed.



Pride flared in Harry’s chest. His brave, courageous Anne was stronger than most men. Then Rutland raised her strand of hair to his nose and inhaled. Fury nearly blackened Harry’s vision. She belonged to him. Even the lemon and honeysuckle scent of her. He’d come to know even the faintest hint of sweetness that clung to her…and now Rutland knew, too. “What the hell do you want?” he bit out, taking another step closer.



Rutland tipped his head, as though he’d forgotten Harry’s presence. He grinned. “I want what always belonged to me. What should have been mine,” he said in a flat, emotionless tone that chilled Harry through. He shoved Anne.



Harry caught her against him and folded her in his arms. She buried her face in the crook of his shoulder and trembled like the delicate rose bushes in the cool night wind.



The marquess jerked his chin at Anne. “You’re going to ruin her.”



Harry snapped his eyebrows together. “What are you on about?”



Rutland dropped a bow. “Oh, and Lady Anne? Please send my best to your sister, the Duchess of Bainbridge.” Another dark smile that failed to reach his eyes turned his lips up slowly. “We had a most interesting conversation just prior to this delightful exchange.” With those cryptic words, he took his leave.



Perhaps if Anne were not shaking against him, silent, when she was never short of words, he’d have been able to piece together whatever rhyme the other man spoke in. He willed his rational mind to sort through it all, but could not separate from the stinging rage of Rutland’s treatment of her. Harry tightened his hold on her and she turned her cheek against his chest, as though seeking warmth.



Harry tipped Anne’s chin up. “Did he harm you?” Loathsome images of Rutland caressing her lean frame wrapped about his mind and refused to relinquish their tentacle like hold.