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

her to make out a single word. “That bounder.”
     
    Her heart hammered. “What bounder?” She really wished she’d been paying closer attention.
     
    Mother tossed her hands up. “The Earl of Stanhope. First, he sought your sister’s favor.” She snorted. “As though your sister would ever be so foolhardy as to toss away her affections on such a cad.” Her pointed look, a damning statement more powerful than words, spoke volumes of her opinion on Anne’s discernment.
     
    She frowned. She’d never been considered the intelligent one of the family. Her family, polite Society, they all failed to realize Anne was a woman who saw much, heard more, and had actual thoughts inside her head beyond the fabric of her gown or the tons gossip. “Mother, what is it?” she asked, impatiently.
     
    Mother tossed the paper onto the table. The faint breeze stirred the pile of white and ivory ribbons. Several strips of satin sailed onto the floor. Ribbon piles forgotten, Anne picked up the copy of The Times . Her mother leaned over her shoulder and jabbed her finger somewhere in the middle of the page. “There. Read that.”
     
    Anne held it up. She tried. She truly did. She squinted hard. If she blinked in rapid succession and the light was just right, she could make sense of the blurred words.
     
    A certain Lord HS was…
     
    Her eyes flew wide and the page blurred out of focus. She wanted to stomp her foot. Blast! Lord HS was what? Smitten? Enamored? Captivated?
     
    “Oh, do give me that.” Mother snatched it from her fingers. “’Lord HS abruptly fled a certain Lady AA’s side.’” She glanced up from the page. “That is you,” she said as if Anne were a simpleton.
     
    “Undoubtedly.” A pressure tightened about her heart. It shouldn’t matter what Harry did after he’d left her company, and yet…it did. Unwilling to let her mother see the effect her words were having upon her, she yawned into her hand. “He’s a rogue, Mother. Why should we care about his goings on?”
     
    Her mother continued as though she hadn’t spoken. “At which point he sought out…’” A shudder wracked mother’s frame. “I’ll not even say it. After his express interest in you last evening—”
     
    “It was not an express interest in me.” It had merely been part of their overall plan to secure the duke’s notice. And really, what, or worse, who had Harry sought out? Her heart kicked up a frantic beat, consumed by a desire to know the blasted woman’s identity.
     
    “Do you know how this appears to the ton ?”
     
    She could wager any number of ways, none of which were kind or pleasant. “How?”
     
    “As though you are a young lady unable to hold the attention of a gentleman who previously expressed an interest in you.”
     
    Her heart tugged at those bluntly spoken words. Mother, often wrong, happened to be very close to the mark in this regard and the truth of that pierced the foolish organ.
     
    “Now the duke will never pay you a call.” Her plaintive wail was as aggrieved as if she’d learned Doomsday was nigh.
     
    The duke? She cocked her head. Oh, yes. As in the Duke of Crawford; the real reason she’d sought Harry out.
     
    “Whatever shall we do?” Mother wailed. She tossed the paper down where it landed on the floor, disrupting the pile of purple-pink ribbons in its wake.
     
    Anne stared emptily down at the ribbon mess, a multi-colored confusion not so very different from what her life had become. “Whatever can we do?”
     
    Another cry split the Ivory Parlor. Alas, Anne only seemed incapable of the wrong answers where anyone was concerned. “Oh, why can you not understand, Anne? The earl’s clear disinterest matters a good deal. You might find him a clever, charming rogue, but he’s disgraced you.” Her mother pressed her palms against her cheeks as though shamed by her outburst. She drew in a breath and when she spoke icy, resolve steeled her words. “I’ve had grand hopes of