More Than a Duke (The Heart of a Duke #2)(4)

The earl cursed under his breath. “For the love of all that is holy.” And then, he kissed her. Hard.

Anne stiffened and leaned back a moment, eyes opened, studying his impossibly long golden lashes. She trembled under the heated intensity of his kiss, a kiss that drove back all logic. He slanted his lips over hers again and again and she moaned, but he only swallowed the desperate sound. He slipped his tongue between her lips and boldly explored the contours of her mouth.

The tension she carried inside slid down her body and seeped from the soles of her passion-weakened feet as she went limp. He caught her to him and cupped her buttocks in his hands, anchoring her body to his.

Then he stopped.

She blinked up, dazed, waiting for the world to right itself.

Goodness….

She tugged her hand free and fanned herself.

Goodness…

So this is what young ladies threw away their reputations for. It would appear it had nothing at all to do with the wicked smiles. Or even the forbidden champagne. She’d venture the champagne was merely a little extra sin for a lady’s troubles.

Anne stole a glance up at Lord Stanhope and her eyebrows knitted into a single line. The bounder had his gaze trained on the conservatory windows, looking…looking…wholly unaffected. Impossibly composed. And horribly disinterested. He released her so quickly, she stumbled backward, catching herself before she made a cake of herself and fell at his feet.

She frowned as he turned abruptly and walked away. “That really wasn’t well-done of you, my lord.”

He swung back around and took a step toward her. “Do you know what was not well-done, my lady?”

“Uh, well…” She retreated and then remembered herself, angling her chin up. After all, there could very well be any other number of offenses she might hold him responsible for. She ticked off on her fingers. “There was the hand over my mouth.” She shook her head. “Not at all well-done of you. Then there was the kiss.” Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. “Certainly not well-done of you.” Definitely pleasurable, however. “Or you setting me aside so—”

By the saints, he mouthed, appearing more and more religious. “I referred to your actions, my lady. It wasn’t well-done of you to drive away my company for the evening, Lady Adamson.”

Humph. “Oh.” She wrinkled her nose. That wasn’t at all gallant.

His golden lashes swooped downward as he peered at her through a narrow-eyed gaze. “Now, say whatever it is you’ve come to say so I might be rid of you.” He folded his arms across his chest.

Why, with his clear desire to be free of her, she may as well have been the gorgon Medusa with her head of serpents. She bristled, all foolish desire replaced by annoyance. How dare he? How dare he kiss her and remain wholly unaffected by that soul-searing moment? She shook her head once. No, that was not quite right.

“Lady Anne,” he said again, this time with even more annoyance.

How dare he kiss her, period. No further outrage needed. How dare he kiss her? Rather, that is what she’d meant. “I need help.”

He scoffed. “Yes. So you’ve said. Four times now.”

“Oh.” Had she? She really didn’t remember…

He gave her a pointed look and she jumped. “As I was saying, before I was interrupted.” She gave him a pointed frown. “I require a bit of help.”

“Five times,” he muttered under his breath. He really was quite infuriating.

“I am—”

He drummed his fingertips upon his coat sleeves. “If you say you’re in need of help, I’m leaving without a backward glance, Lady Anne,” he said drolly. He rocked on his heels and she suspected his words were no mere idle threat.

Anne smoothed her palms over her skirt and drew in a steadying breath. With the time and care she’d put into her plan, she had imagined this conversation would go a good deal more smoothly than this botched attempt on her part.

The earl cursed and spun on his heel.

“Wait!”

He continued walking toward the glass door back into the marquess’ conservatory.

Her foot snagged a particularly nasty root in the ground and she cursed. She pitched forward. Lord Stanhope swung back around and closed the distance between them in three long strides, catching her before she hit the ground. The breath left her on a swift exhale. “Oh.” The touch of his hand burned through the modest fabric of her satin gown. “Thank you,” she said breathlessly.

He grunted and set her on her feet. Humph. Who knew the Earl of Stanhope did something as barbaric as grunt? He resumed his hasty exit, wholly unaffected. Well!

“Stop,” she cried softly into the quiet. Her voice echoed off the brick walls.

His broad shoulders tightened under the folds of his black evening coat. He changed direction yet again and advanced on her. Fire snapped in his eyes.

Anne stumbled backward. A friend of Katherine, Anne knew little of the Earl of Stanhope beyond the roguish reputation he’d earned amongst the ton. She couldn’t be altogether certain he’d not hurt her. She swallowed hard and continued to retreat. And her slipper caught that blasted root again.

This time she landed with a solid thump on her buttocks. “Ouch.” She touched a hand to her bruised derriere and then remembered herself.

He froze above her with a glower on the chiseled planes of his face. “Are you trying to compromise your reputation, my lady?”