More Than a Duke (The Heart of a Duke #2)(6)

No, he really didn’t know. He recognized the perils in acknowledging as much. He eyed her warily. “What wouldn’t I do, Lady Anne?” And then promptly wished he’d never fed his curiosity.

“Why, you wouldn’t take liberties with any inappropriate embraces.” Her pink cheeks burned red.

“As opposed to the more appropriate embraces?” Droll humor underscored his question.

Anne nodded once. “Er, yes, I do suppose I see your point,” she conceded.

He’d intended to send her away with a curt rejection, back to her protective, but not protective enough, mama’s side. Except, she’d mentioned Katherine and as a friend, he could not in good conscience let her go without talking some sense into her senseless head. He’d wager his entire land-holdings that if he sent her back to the evening’s festivities with a simple no, she’d surely find the second someone on her list to help her with this plan. He balled his hands into fists. “Who do you intend to seduce?”

Hope flared in fathomless depths of her eyes. “I can trust you?”

“Really, my lady?” He scoffed. “You’d ask me to teach you how to seduce a man but you’ll withhold his identity?”

“I suppose you’re right.” She caught her lower lip between her teeth and nibbled the plump flesh. “To be skeptical, that is.”

His gaze went to her mouth. Heat surged through him at the innocently erotic movement. And then he remembered the sweet taste of her, orgeat and honey. His fingers twitched with a sudden urge to pull her back into his arms and avail himself to …“Christ.” The angry entreaty burst from him.

She jumped, clearly misinterpreting the reason for his annoyance. “Forgive me. The Duke of Crawford. I’d like you to teach me the skill of seduction so I might…er…earn the duke’s affections.”

She’d clearly mistaken the reason for his frustration. He imagined the fun Anne would have at his expense if she gleaned his sudden desire to kiss her senseless until she was moaning in his mouth once more.

Then her words penetrated the mad haze around him. “The Duke of Crawford?” he repeated.

She nodded.

Crawford. The thirty-year-old duke who’d inherited his title nearly ten years back was rumored to be in the market for a wife. Obscenely wealthy, coolly proper, company desired by all, Lady Anne could not have set her marital sights on a more sought-after bachelor.

Harry’s lip curled back in a sneer. Surely a title-grasping miss should no longer take him aback. Not after Margaret Dunn’s betrayal all those years ago. As long as there was an unwed duke about, there would be a scheming miss at hand. Lady Anne Adamson could not be more different in appearance than the woman who’d broken his heart many years back, but she was remarkably similar in her goals and desires.

Lady Anne waved her hand in front of his face. “Lord Stanhope?”

He squared his jaw. “So, you’ll trap poor, unsuspecting Crawford?”

She patted the back of her head. “I’ve already said I do not intend to trap His Grace. I intend for you to teach me how to teach him to desire me.” Another blush. “For a wife,” she said hurriedly.

He folded his arms. “Why Crawford?”

“Well, if you must know—”

“I must.” Though he already strongly suspected not much more than the man’s old, revered title most accounted for Anne’s interest in the duke.

She gave a slight shrug. “He’s pleasantly handsome.”

He snorted.

Anne bristled. “And he’s unfailingly polite.” She gave him a pointed look.

“I gather that’s because you’ve never insulted the gentleman,” he muttered. Unlike Harry, who’d become something of an archery target for her well-placed barbs since their first meeting. Though, in, fairness at this particular moment he quite deserved the lady’s displeasure.

“I suppose you are correct,” she surprised him by concurring. Her next words ended all such shock. “But then, the duke has never done something as reprehensible as trying to seduce my sister.”

A dull flush climbed up his neck. And when put in those blunt terms, he did feel properly chastised.

She continued either uncaring or unaware of his discomfiture. “He’s wealthy and in possession of one of the oldest titles.” Ah, there it was. “And he doesn’t even know I exist,” she finished on a dramatic sigh.

Harry tugged at one of her golden ringlets. “It is your ringlets—”

“Oh, do hush.” She slapped his fingers again. “It is not my ringlets.”

“Then, what is it?” he asked in a lazy whisper as he laid claim to the silken strands once more.

Anne froze, her mouth screwed up in concentration. He used the momentary quiet to study her. Though not the lithe, exotically dark beauties he generally preferred, she really was quite lovely; in an unsophisticated, English-lady, type of way. “I don’t know what it is,” she said at last. Her shoulders rose and fell. “I’ve tried to capture his attention.”

He swallowed a chuckle, imagining just what that had entailed.

Her face set in a familiar scowl. “Don’t laugh at me.”

“You need my help,” he reminded her and released the satiny strand.