Their gazes swiveled to the entrance.
Horror churned inside his shocked being at the untimely arrival of Lady Katherine, the Duke of Bainbridge and Anne’s mother, the Countess of Wakefield.
Harry stared numbly back at the trio glowering at him. The horrified betrayal in Katherine’s eyes registered. Once upon a lifetime ago, he’d attempted to seduce her. And yet, he believed he’d proven himself a true friend to her. Only, the sneer on her lips indicated that she viewed him no different than the rest of the ton; as a self-serving rogue who’d placed his own desires before that of even her sister’s reputation. Unable to bear the sight of her abject disappointment, he glanced to her husband. Fiery rage filled the duke’s eyes, and Harry suspected the presence of the ladies was the only thing keeping him from storming the conservatory and pummeling Harry within an inch of his life.
Anne nudged him and he realized too late, he still held her. He released her with such alacrity she stumbled. Harry cursed and quickly steadied her.
The countess gasped, burying the sound in her hands.
Bainbridge’s eyes narrowed into black slits.
Harry yanked his hands back and took a step away from her.
The duke advanced. Hell, with Napoleon and his plans for France, the British hadn’t needed Wellington or Nelson; they nearly had needed this single, hulking figure advancing on the French and Boney’s efforts would have been halted before the French emperor could have uttered world domination.
“Bainbridge,” he said calmly, directing his attention to the gentleman who’d detested him since their first meeting. “This is not how it appears,” he said.
“Oh, and how does it appear?” Bainbridge snarled.
He opted for honesty. “As though I’m seducing her.”
The countess cried out.
Bainbridge lunged for him and he danced out of the other man’s reach. Perhaps honesty had not been the wisest course.
Anne’s mother held a hand out. “Anne, come here now,” she said, in the tone a nursemaid might use with a recalcitrant child.
The duke gnashed his teeth. “Get her out of here,” he said to his wife.
Anne shook her head and remained fixed to the spot. “Jasper, don’t,” she said quietly. “It is as Harry says. This is not at all as it appears.”
“Harry?” the countess snapped that one word question, a name teeming with fury.
Color blazed to life in Anne’s cheeks. “It can be explained.”
“I’m certain it can,” Katherine finally spoke, her seething tone indicating no answer he gave would ever be sufficient.
You’re going to ruin her. He swiped a hand over his face.
“I anticipate your visit first thing in the morning,” the duke said between clenched teeth.
It was on the tip of his tongue to keep from telling the other man to go to hell. He opened his mouth, but then something in Anne’s eyes killed the words. No gentleman cared to have his hand forced, not even if it was for the delicate, beautiful hand of Lady Anne. He gave a curt nod.
The duke spun on his heel and marched from the gardens, clearly expecting Anne to follow. She hesitated a moment, alongside her mother.
What a blasted fool he’d been in agreeing to help Anne. Her reputation now in tatters; and Harry forced to do the right thing, even as she longed for her duke. He dragged a hand through his hair. What an ignominious beginning to a marriage.
She stretched a hand out. “Harry,” she said softly. Anne’s fingers fell back to her side and she fisted her skirts; her white-knuckled grip upon the fabric, the only indication of her upset. Her brother-in-law spoke quietly, the words lost to the distance between Harry and Anne. She gave a tight nod. Katherine took her by the hand and tugged her from the conservatory with the duke and Countess of Wakefield following suit.
Harry stood there long after Anne had taken her leave. It was only a matter of time before Rutland divulged the secrets that would ruin Anne.
His brave, spirited Anne had been adamant that she would not marry him and yet surely with the immediacy of the moment behind them, she’d inevitably realize they had no recourse but to wed. His palms went moist at the thought and he brushed them against his breeches. As much as he’d considered himself a bastard these years, it would appear he was a good deal less than he’d ever imagined, for he’d sacrifice his freedom to protect Anne from scandal.
His mind suddenly moved with lightning like speed, as it all began to make sense.
Rutland’s plan.
Margaret’s return.
Anne’s ruin.