More Than a Duke (Heart of a Duke Book 2) by Christi Caldwell Page A

white and her body curved in all the places he liked his women curved, he should be eager for her attention.
     
    She layered herself against him. “Hello, my lord,” she whispered into his ear.
     
    Only her voice lacked the cultured tones of a certain refined young lady. “Hello,” he said at last. Her blonde hair lacked the vibrant gleam of a scorching summer sun.
     
    She smiled, taking that simple greeting as an invitation and trailed her fingers between the deep crevice of her breasts.
     
    He jumped up.
     
    Edgerton looked up at him with a quizzical expression. “Are you all right, Stanhope?”
     
    No! “Fine…just too much drink,” he lied.
     
    The young beauty shifted her attentions to Edgerton, climbing onto his lap.
     
    Harry raised his hand in salute and hurried from Forbidden Pleasures. What madness had Lady Anne Adamson wrought upon him? In a handful of days he’d gone from a carefree rogue who lived for his own pleasures and the pleasure he could give any woman, to this snarling, snapping, furious beast enraged at the thought of Crawford and Anne together.
     
    He made his way out the black double doors of the establishment and paused at the threshold, absently staring out the darkened, seedy streets of London’s underbelly. The sooner Anne could bring her duke up to scratch, the sooner he could be rid of her and return to his uncomplicated, blithe lifestyle.
     
    And by the look in Crawford’s eyes at the Westmoreland recital, it really would only be a matter of days.
     
    Harry growled, abhorring the idea for reasons he didn’t understand.
     

Chapter 6
     
    “The gall of that man!”
     
    Anne glanced up from her stacks of ribbons on the rose-inlaid table before her. Mother stood in the doorway, brandishing a paper like it was a weapon of old and she the knight defending his keep. Fury snapped in her melodramatic mother’s eyes. She bit back a sigh. “Mother,” she greeted. With both her sisters gone and married and her brother away at school, Anne found she far preferred her solitary company and collection of ribbons to her mother’s hysterics.
     
    Her mother sailed into the room. “The gall of him,” she seethed. Just in case, Anne assumed, she’d failed to hear the same utterance mere moments ago. Mother paced. “Gentleman,” she scoffed. “Why, how loosely that term is applied. To bounders and scoundrels and rogues.”
     
    A momentary twinge of pity struck her. She imagined the pain of Father’s betrayal would forever turn a woman bitter as it had Mother. This is what marriage to a scapegrace would do, and a fate Anne now actively sought to avoid.
     
    Her mother launched into a tirade that involved mention of dastards and their dastardly deeds. Anne shifted her attention back to her meticulous stacks of ribbons. She picked up an ivory satin strip and laid it carefully atop the others. Six. Six white ribbons. She rested her chin in her hand. Which seemed rather silly, as Harry had pointed out. All this white and ivory business. She glanced down at her ruffled skirts, also of ivory. After all, a lady who’d seen two Seasons should certainly have the luxury of… She picked up the aqua-blue ribbon, a luxuriant color that might make a gentleman think of ocean waters and—
     
    “Have you heard a single word I’ve uttered, Anne?” Mother cried.
     
    She dropped the ribbon. “Uh, yes.” She waved a hand. “The whole dastardly behavior business.” Which seemed rather close to whatever Mother had been carrying on about, for the older woman gave a pleased nod. Anne reached for another blue-green ribbon.
     
    “And to do so after he’d spent the evening expressing a clear interest in you.”
     
    She froze, her hand poised over the pile. “What?” she blurted.
     
    Mother let out an exasperated sigh. “Do try to keep up.” She waved the paper in front of Anne’s eyes, which did her little good. Unless squinting and angling the page just so, it was nigh impossible for