More Than a Duke(95)
And so, he’d reentered polite Society, fully prepared to see the little flirt—the flirt, he’d schooled. Fortunately, they seemed to be now moving in very different social circles. The little viper.
His lips pulled in a sneer, teeming with cynicism and contempt. Even as he’d thought himself prepared for the duplicitousness of a female’s lack of faithfulness following Margaret, he’d still allowed Anne to wheedle her way into his thoughts, and worse his dammed heart. And what had he gotten for his efforts? A reminder as to why the only thing the female form was good for was as a receptacle for a man’s lust. He plucked another glass of champagne from a costumed servant. He took a long swallow and looked around.
Edgerton shot him a sideways look. “Are you searching for anyone in particular?”
“No.” The lie came easy.
His friend snorted. Even if his laconic response didn’t ring with any truth. “I told you the lady was to be avoided,” Edgerton said unhelpfully.
“Would you like me to congratulate you on being correct?”
His friend took a sip of his champagne. “Certainly not. Just reminding you so that when you inevitably see the heartless wench, you take care to not make a cake of yourself.”
Again. The sole word missing from his friend’s warning.
His searching gaze collided with a fair Aphrodite. The trim, Greek goddess touched a finger to the corner of her lip, invitingly. The curls, more brown than blonde didn’t have the same sun-kissed effect of a particular young lady’s golden silk tresses.
He paused, narrowing his eyes…and then looked away.
Another woman, with familiar raven black locks sidled up to him. “Hullo, my lord.” She touched her expertly manicured fingers to the latch of his thick, black cloak. “A highwayman,” she murmured. Taller than most men of his acquaintance, the lady leaned up. Her breath fanned his ear. “You may steal whatever jewels I possess, my lord,” she whispered invitingly.
Harry glanced at the scantily clad Cleopatra through the slits in his black, half-mask. With her ample hips, sweetly rounded buttocks and generous breasts, she was a veritable lustful feast. His for the taking.
She sauntered away, crooking one perfectly manicured finger in his direction, inviting him forward.
Take her, then. Lead her off to some tucked away corner, lift her golden skirts, and plunge all your frustration into her warm, willing body.
He took a step forward.
I’d like you to teach me how to seduce a man… Anne’s words whispered around his tortured mind.
And he retreated. The woman’s plump, red lips formed a moue of displeasure, and she moved on to some other less dead inside lord.
“You’re a fool,” Edgerton said with an exasperated sigh.
Harry closed his eyes a moment. Anne had ruined him for anyone else.
Edgerton whistled. “I do say this is a deal worse than the broken heart you nursed over Lady Margaret.”
“Go to hell,” Harry muttered and took another sip.
“Will you at least speak of it, then?” Edgerton asked quietly.
“What would you have me tell you? That the lady merely needed me to entice the Duke of Crawford. She sought nothing more than a tutor who’d help her garner Crawford’s affection.” He’d known all along what Anne’s purpose in seeking him had been, only in the days he’d come to know her, he’d allowed himself to forget the more than a year of needling and annoyance. Instead, he’d come to appreciate her humor, quick-wit, the inner beauty Society failed to see…
Lies. All of it.
Edgerton stiffened. “Ahh, it would appear the shepherdess has arrived to fleece other poor, unsuspecting gents of their hearts.” His mouth formed a hard, flat line.
Harry’s body went taut as he followed his friend’s distracted wave to the demure shepherdess in frilly skirts. Until he was an old, doddering lord who didn’t recall where he’d placed his monocle, he’d forever recall the sight of those golden ringlets piled high atop her head. She tapped her staff upon the gravel path and scanned the costumed crowd. For an infinitesimal moment, he allowed himself to believe he was the someone she searched for. And not Crawford.
Her sister, Katherine whispered something against her ear. The ghost of a smile played about Anne’s red, bow-shaped lips and he cursed himself for the inherent weakness inside that made him long to cross over, rip the gauzy mask from her face and make love to her deceitful mouth.
As though his wicked thought burned an awareness into her, she squared her creamy white shoulders and continued her search. Their gazes collided.