More Than a Duke (The Heart of a Duke #2)(9)

Why did he suddenly mourn the momentary camaraderie between them? The curl fell back over her brow. She blew it back. Harry caught the sun-kissed lock between his thumb and forefinger. “You have.”

She gave a flounce of her curls and spun on her heels. “Oh, do forget I ever mentioned anything. I don’t need your help. I’ll speak to Lord Rutland. I certainly don’t need—”

The hell she would.

She gasped when he settled his hands upon her shoulders and slowed her steps. He placed his lips a breath away from the long, graceful stretch of her neck. “Lies,” he breathed. “You do need me, sweet, or you wouldn’t have set aside your dislike, risked your reputation, and put such an offer to me.”

It didn’t escape his notice that she didn’t contradict his claim. It shouldn’t matter whether or not she disliked him. After all, the imp had hardly endeared herself to him this past year. Except, he loathed the idea of her seeking out Lord Rutland or any other nameless bounder. But especially Rutland.

Anne gasped and arched her head as though tickled. “S-stop,” she whispered. She didn’t make to pull away and he was encouraged.

He ran his hands from her shoulders, down her forearms and wrapped his fingers loosely about her wrists. “You mistook the reason for my amusement, sweet Anne,” he breathed.

“D-did I-I?” she angled her head and looked back up at him.

“I laughed at the idea of shaking on an agreement. I imagine our agreement would best be sealed with a kiss.” Only what had begun as a game in teasing now became something all too real. He dropped his gaze to her lush lips and groaned.

With the pink tip of her tongue, she traced the seam of her lips. She raised her gaze to his mouth and for a moment he believed the bold vixen intended to lean on tiptoe and brush her lips against his. “B-but I believed you’d said you had n-no intention of touching me.” Then, a slow, knowing smile wreathed her cheeks. “Oh.” She swatted at his hands. “You’re teasing me.”

No, no he hadn’t been. He really should let her go. They flirted with disaster. Someone would surely notice the young lady’s absence and if he were discovered with her… He shuddered at the prospect of being saddled with marriage to the insolent baggage.

Anne danced out of his arms on a small laugh. “It is settled then.” She placed her fingers in his and gave a firm shake.

It certainly wasn’t. “Not quite, sweet.”

“Don’t call me sweet.” She frowned with all the stern disapproval of a woman vastly older than her twenty years.

He propped his hip on the wrought-iron bench behind him. In his experience, ladies loved all manner of endearments. Sweet. Dear. Lovely. The only one he took care to avoid at all costs was love.

Anne took a step back toward him. She squinted as if trying to study his features in the moonlight. “What is it you want?” she said with a world-wise wariness. Perhaps the first sensible thought from the lady all night.

He shot his hand out and pulled her lazily toward him.

A squeak escaped her lips as she tumbled awkwardly into his arms. He righted her. “I’m to set the rules for your lessons. When I feel you’ve been successfully schooled in the art of seduction, I’ll end them. And at no point are you to fall in love with me.”

Laughter exploded from Anne’s lips. She laughed so hard, tears seeped from her closed eyes. She emitted little snorting sounds from her nose.

He didn’t know if he should be insulted or endeared by the unladylike noises escaping Anne’s too kissable lips. He folded his arms at his chest and glowered.

“Oh, that is rich,” she said on a gasp, when her laughter had subsided. She dashed a hand across her tear-stained cheeks. “You may rest assured, I’ve no intention of falling in love with you, my…Harry,” she said with mock-solemnity. She patted his hand like he was a small child. “What else do you require?”

Harry tightened his jaw, irked by the lady’s effortless promise. “Nothing.” Something of a rogue for a good many years now, he didn’t like to believe his charm was failing him. Even if it was only with the bothersome Lady Anne Adamson.

She gave a pleased nod. “Very well. You may begin courting me tomorrow, then.” Anne spun on her heel and stared back toward the front of the gardens.

He stared unblinking at her swift-retreating back. He shoved himself off the bench. What in hell? He quickly and efficiently closed the distance between them then placed himself between her and the door, effectively blocking her exit.

“What?” Impatience threaded her one-word question.

“What did you say?”

“I asked, what.”

He scrubbed his hands over his face. “No. Before that.” He could practically see the wheels of her mind spinning.

“Oh, I merely said you may begin courting me tomorrow,” she said sunnily.

“There was no mention of courting you.” The last thing he required was Society believing he had honorable intentions for a proper, English lady—particularly this genteel, English lady. “Bloody hell,” he muttered to himself.

“You know you really shouldn’t curse, Harry. It’s not at all proper.”

“Nor is it proper to request a gentleman to school you in the art of seduction.”

She nodded. “Er, yes, I suppose you’re right.” She let out a beleaguered sigh. “But really, how else do you expect to begin instructing me? And,” she pressed. “I imagine the duke will become outrageously jealous when he sees you’re courting me.”