More Than a Duke(92)

“What are you doing?” Disbelief crept into his question.



With the enthusiasm of a child who’d just won at a game of spillikins, she clapped her hands together once. “I’m relieving you of your duties, Lord Stanhope. You’ve served your purpose.” A victorious glimmer lit her eyes.



His mouth went dry. “What?” The one word question emerged hollow and empty.



“My plans to secure the title of duchess.” She giggled. “Do pay attention,” she chided, slapping his fingers teasingly. With a whispery soft sigh, she fingered the golden heart pendant around her neck, an innocently sensual movement learned under his tutelage “You thought it silly, I’m sure. The prophecy told by an old gypsy that whatever woman wears it—”



“Will earn the heart of a duke.” He fixed his stare on the small, golden bauble in this way he didn’t have to see the cool, mockery in her eyes.



“Yes, yes, exactly!” She giggled. “And I truly would have settled on an earl, Harry. If I had to, of course. Which I do not. Have to settle, that is.”



He flinched, silently begging her to stop, begging her to tell him this was all a cruel jest. But he’d not begged Margaret and he’d not beg Lady Anne Adamson.



“The duke,” she went on, each word a dagger in his belly. “Well, it was one thing when he expressed an interest, quite another when he called with a specific offer.”

She clasped her hands in front of her, the grip so tight, her knuckles were white.



Why were her knuckles white? “I don’t understand,” he said numbly. The world shifted under him and he sought purchase atop the leather winged back chair. “You said you loved me.” His voice rang hollow.



Anne again giggled. “That was before he all but offered for me, silly.” She waved a hand. “Before you would have sufficed but now…oh, can you believe it, Harry?” A dreamy glimmer lit the blue irises of her eyes. “Soon, I’ll be a duchess.” She dipped a curtsy. “I wanted to thank you for the invaluable lessons, my lord. Every time I’m referred to as Your Grace, I promise to think of you.”



Harry’s heart wrenched, the pain so great it threatened to cleave him in two. This betrayal on Anne’s part so very much worse than Margaret’s defection. Anne had restored his hope, given him reason to laugh again, and God help him, made him love her. His mouth went dry. “This is a jest.” He could not believe it. Anne was supposed to be different. Not ruthless. Not calculated. Sweetly serene and spirited and honest…



The bright, easy smile on her lips dipped. She stilled and held his gaze with her own. “This is no jest, my lord. This is very real.” She held her hand out. His gaze fell to the wire-rimmed spectacles. “I mustn’t wear these, of course. A duchess cannot be seen in s-spectacles.” Her voice broke and numbly, he picked his head up. A paroxysm of grief contorted her face. The subtle expression so very brief he must have imagined any regret he saw there. She cleared her throat. “Here.” She pressed them into his hand.



Harry stared blankly down at a gift he’d toiled over. Yet again, he’d made a bloody fool of himself where a young lady was concerned. He balled his fingers into a fist. The spectacles bent under the intensity of his grip. He lightened his hold lest he break the lenses and with his other hand absently he rubbed at the spot in his chest where his heart used to be. He could not believe he’d been so very wrong. Not about her. This woman, he didn’t recognize. “Anne,” he tried again. “I’ll protect you from scandal. You needn’t—”



“Tsk, tsk. My, how arrogant you are. Do you imagine this is borne of my love for you? It is not,” she said firmly. “This comes from the sole reason I sought you out in the first place. You’ve served but one purpose. And now, well, now you’ve fulfilled it.” She worked the ribbon free of the lone golden curl. “There will always be ribbons and spectacles, though,” she said.



Harry stared at her, it was as though the veil had lifted and he saw the same self-centered, grasping minx he’d first taken her for more than a year ago. The hellion, the vixen. The woman who’d claimed his heart. And now, the woman who’d broken his heart. He flexed his jaw and yanked the ribbon from her fingers. “I am glad I was able to assist you in your endeavors, my lady,” he said stiffly. He crushed the ribbon in his fist. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said with a short bow.



He didn’t even remember crossing over to the door until she called out to him. “Oh, Lord Stanhope?”