More Than a Duke (The Heart of a Duke #2)(11)

He ran his thumb over her lower lip. “Ah, yes, Crawford. The ever proper, unfailingly polite duke.”

Harry really needn’t make the Duke of Crawford’s properness sound so very awful. “The duke would not be lured by such shamelessness on a lady’s part.”

“Shamelessness?”

Anne gulped at the silken edge to his hushed tone but refused to be cowed. “Yes. Shamelessness. As in, without shame.”

He continued to toy with her lower lip. “If you knew how to bring the gentleman up to scratch then why did you enlist my support?”

She tried to focus on his question, she really did. But his teasing caress made it quite difficult to so much as remember her name, let alone process his question. His smirk indicated he knew as much.

Blast him. “A gentleman has different expectations of his prospective wife’s behavior,” she managed, proud of the steady deliverance of those words.

He continued stroking her lip in that way that sent little shivers from the point of his touch. “You’re wrong, sweetheart. A gentleman wants his wife kissable and seductive and all things inappropriate.”

Her body burned with the memory of his embrace, and she decided she would like her husband to be kissable. “D-does he?” And proper, as well. Certainly both would be quite splendid.

Gold flecks danced in the hazel depths of his eyes. “Oh, yes.”

She longed for a loyal, honorable gentleman who desired her and only her, but also a man who respected her mind. “I do not want a rogue.” Were those words spoken for Harry? Or herself?

He moved his gaze over her face. “Surely you see the imprudence of your plan,” he said softly.

The breath left her as it occurred to her… “Why, this was all an attempt to sway me in my goal.” He didn’t speak, confirming her suspicions. She rose in a flurry of skirts to stand over him. “I told you last evening I’d find another willing to help me.”

He leaned his head back. “Rutland?” he drawled.

She nodded once. “Yes, Rutland.”

Harry scoffed. “If you are outraged by my actions with your ribbon then you’d have the ladylike shocked out of you by Rutland’s tutelage.”

Anne bit the inside of her cheek. Something hard and dark in his eyes gave her pause. He might attempt to deter her, but in this, he spoke the truth. She held her palms up. “Will you help me or not, Harry?”

He opened his mouth.

“I need to know why a gentleman wants to marry a young lady.”

*

Ah, this was very different indeed. With her ladylike indignation and talk of marriage, she’d deviated rather a lot from lessons on seduction.

In fact, had she mentioned the words wedded, marriage, bride or any variation in between in Lord Essex’s conservatory, Harry would’ve had a good chuckle and advised her to avoid him, Rutland, and all the other useless rogues in Society. After all, if he’d known the precise answer to her question, he’d have managed to win Margaret’s hand all those years ago.

“A gentleman desires a woman’s body and not much beyond that,” he said with a bluntness that snapped her mouth closed.

That hadn’t always been the case. Once again, he shoved aside thoughts of Miss Margaret Dunn and buried her where thoughts of faithless creatures bent on nothing but title and wealth deserved to be buried. Unbidden, his gaze went to Anne. His lips pulled back in a sneer. They were all alike.

Color filled her cheeks. “What of love?”

A half-laugh, half-groan lodged in his throat. God help her.

“Why are you looking at me in that manner?” she spoke with candidness not common among ladies of the ton.

“In what manner?” he asked, his tone harsher than intended.

“Like you detest me.”

His loathing was not reserved solely for her but rather all women who’d trap a man for his wealth and title alone. Only Katherine possessed an integrity not commonly found in women. He stood and his rapid movement forced her to retreat. “Do you know why, sweet?” he asked quietly.

“Don’t call me sweet,” she ordered automatically. In her haste to be away from him, she bumped into the Hepplewhite pier glass table. She winced, but continued moving backward. “And why?”

He forced her across the room until her back collided with the white-plastered walls. Harry braced his elbows alongside her head and framed her within the confines of his arms, ignoring the heat of her lithe figure. “Because you are no different than every other self-centered, title-grasping lady. You speak of love.” He shook his head. “Yet you’d ask a notorious scoundrel to school you in the art of seduction. You’d put your material pleasures above all else?” He chuckled. “And for what?” He lowered his brow to hers. “More ribbons.”

She jerked as though he’d struck her.

For one slight, infinitesimal moment guilt slammed into him. He felt like a bastard who’d bullied a small child into turning over their bag of peppermints.

She wet her lips in a way he’d come to learn, just in this past day, of Lady Anne’s nervousness. “You don’t know me, Harry.” Accusation blazed from the blues of her eyes. “You judge me as being, what did you say? Title-grasping and self-centered? But you don’t truly know anything about me.”