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

She pressed herself tight against the tree. Her arm knocked the branch of the hibiscus and wafted the cloying, floral scent about the air. “Achoo!” Blast and bloody blast.

The earl’s grin widened as he yanked a stark white kerchief from his jacket and wandered closer. He extended the cloth. “Here, sweet—”

Anne stepped out from behind the tree. The earl froze, the stark white linen dangled between them. His hazel eyes widened. She plucked the kerchief from his fingers and blew her nose noisily. “Thank you,” she said around the fabric.

“Bloody hell, Lady Anne,” he hissed. “What in hell are you doing here?” He shrugged into his jacket with the speed surely borne of a man who’d clearly had to make too many hasty flights from disapproving husbands.

She frowned. “You really needn’t sound so…so…” Disappointed. “Angry, my lord.”

He took her gently by the forearm. “What are you thinking?”

She tugged her arm free. “I require a favor—”

“No.” He proceeded to pull her toward the front of the conservatory.

She frowned up at him. “You didn’t allow me to ask—”

“No.” He shook his head. “Mad,” he muttered to himself. “You’re completely and utterly mad. And maddening.”

“I am not mad,” she bit out. She really wished she was as clever as her eldest sister, Aldora. Aldora would have a far more clever rebuttal than ‘I am not mad’ for the scoundrel.

His mouth tightened. And she swore he muttered something along the lines of her being the less intelligent of her sisters.

Anne dug her heels in until he either had to drag her or stop. She glowered up at him, this rogue who’d tried to earn a spot in Katherine’s bed. Alas, Katherine loved her husband, the Duke of Bainbridge, with such desperation the earl hadn’t had a hope or prayer.

He folded his arms across his chest. “What do you want then, hellion?”

She gritted her teeth, detesting his familiarity that painted her as the bothersome sister. Still, she required something of him and as Mother used to say, one can catch more bees with honey than…she wrinkled her nose. That didn’t quite make sense. Why would anyone want to catch a bee? Unless—.

The earl took her, this time by the wrist, and began tugging her to the door.

“I need help,” she said and pulled back.

To no avail. He held firm. The man was as powerful as an ox. “No.”

Most gentlemen would have inquired if for no other reason than it was the polite, gentlemanly thing to do.

Anne at last managed to wrest free of his grip. “Please, hear me out, my lord.”

He took a step toward her. “By God, I’ll carry you from the room this time.” The determined glint in his eyes leant credence to his threat.

She danced backward. “Oh, I imagine that would be a good deal worse.” He narrowed his eyes. “Your carrying me,” she clarified. “Imagine the scandal if—”

Lord Stanhope cursed and advanced. “You risk ruin in being here, my lady,” he said, his voice a satiny whisper that sent warmth spiraling through her body.

She shook her head. People might believe her an empty-headed ninnyhammer, but she was not so foolish to be swayed by a crooked grin and a mellifluous whisper. She took another step away from him. Her back thumped against their host’s table. It rattled and one of the champagne flutes tipped over. She gasped as the pale liquid spilled across the wood table and threatened her skirts.

Lord Stanhope yanked her away from the dripping champagne and tugged her close. “Tsk, tsk, my lady.” He lowered his lips to her ear. “However would you explain returning to the ballroom with your skirts drenched in champagne?”

Anne glanced up. And wished she hadn’t. Really wished she hadn’t.

The earl’s impossibly long, thick golden lashes were enough to tempt a saint, and after more than twenty years of troublesome scrapes, Anne had earned a reputation amidst her family as anything but a saint.

A lock toppled free from the collection of ringlets artfully arranged by her maid. She brushed the strand back. It fell promptly back over her brow.

The earl collected that single curl between his fingers and studied the strand bemusedly. “A ringlet,” he murmured. His lips twitched as though he found something of the utmost hilarity in her gold ringlet, immediately snapping her from whatever momentary spell he’d cast.

She swatted at his fingers. “What is wrong with my ringlets?” She knew there was a more pressing matter to attend. But really, what was wrong with her ringlets?

He tweaked her nose. “There is everything wrong with them.”

Well! Anne gave a flounce of those ringlets he seemed so condescending of. “I’ve not come to speak to you about my hair.”

The earl narrowed his gaze as he seemed to remember that: one, they were shut away in their host’s conservatory one step from ruin and two, that she was the sister of the twin he’d once tried to seduce. And more specifically, the sister of the twin who’d looked down a pointed nose at him whenever he was near.

With trembling fingers, she righted the upended flute. “I require but a moment of your time.”

“You’ve already had at least five moments.”

Distractedly, she picked up the crystal flute still filled to the brim and eyed the nearly clear contents of the glass. It really did look quite delicious. “Do you mean five minutes?” Because there really wasn’t such a thing as five moments. Or was there? She raised the glass to her lips.