Page 47 of My Demanding Duke

From across the garden came the muffled sounds of two guests enjoying each other’s company with an enthusiasm more suited to a brothel than a musicale. Their unrestrained passion might, Anna thought wryly, be less a result of romance and more a desperate response to the auditory assault inflicted by the Misses Hargreaves.

She took a measured sip of her ratafia, holding the glass a moment against her still-bruised lips.

"An angel bathed in moonlight," a voice called.

Startled, Anna turned.

Lord Gravesend stood at the open French doors, the lamplight behind him casting his tall frame in shadow. His words and air of arrogance put Anna to mind, for a moment, of Hugh on their first meeting.

“My lord, I was just taking some air,” Anna replied, ignoring his outrageous compliment.

“Alone?” Gravesend observed, as he took a step toward her. His voice sounded alarmingly husky to Anna’s ear.

“My husband is partaking in a cheroot,” Anna answered firmly. Invoking the image of Falconbridge was sure to put a stumble in his step.

“How careless he is with you,” Gravesend’s wry smile flashed white in the dimness. “If you were my wife I would never leave you unattended.”

“I am not your wife, my lord,” Anna answered pointedly, setting her ratafia glass down upon the stone ledge. She lifted the hem of her skirts to depart but Gravesend’s hand shot out to encircle her wrist.

Anna stilled, her heart pounding in her chest. Did her erstwhile rescuer intend to steal a liberty?

“Falconbridge made certain no one else could have you,” the young lord said his tone laced with pity as he released her from his grip. “For a man so intent on having you, I was surprised to see him in The Bird’s Nest, gambling on his wedding night. Though, His Grace does love to chase a win; I was present the night that he won your hand. I regret that I was unable to prevent your father falling for his dastardly scheme.”

Anna stood riveted to the spot as his words washed over her. That Gravesend had borne witness to the most pivotal moment of her life and she had not, felt akin to a bodily assault.

“His Grace likes to back men into a corner before he ruins them,” Gravesend continued, his pale eyes gleaming in the darkness. “Anyone could see that your father was in too deep—that he could not control the compulsion. A gentleman would have called time, but your husband pushed him and pushed him, until…”

Anna closed her eyes, allowing his sentence to remain unfinished. They both knew how the tale ended; Anna’s hand to the duke, her heart broken by her father.

Suddenly, she knew just why Falconbridge had forbade her from associating with Gravesend. He did not want her to learn from an eye-witness his perfidy.

“Do you know where he is?” she whispered urgently, as the sound of the Hargreaves girls warming up for the second round drifted across the night air. “My father, do you know where he is? He has not been seen since that night.”

Gravesend paused long enough for Anna to ascertain that the young lord was as clueless to her father’s whereabouts as she.

“I shall endeavour to find out,” he swore.

“Thank you, my lord,” she inclined her head graciously. The notes from the painoforte became more insistent and Anna turned her head to the door.

“I must return,” she said, touching a distracted hand to her hair.

“I would offer to escort you inside, your Grace, but I do not think it wise.” Gravesend quipped.

He was correct; it would not do for her to be seen emerging through the French doors with a man who was not her husband. Nor would it do for her husband to see her accompanied by a man he had forbidden her to speak with.

“If you learn anything of my father—”

“I will send for you at once,” Gravesend assured her.

Anna smiled wanly at the young man before returning inside. The room was far more crowded than when she had left; the absent men-folk had reappeared to show their faces for the second half of the performance.

Anna spotted Hugh at once, for he towered over most of the other guests. Beside him stood Edwina—even from across the room, Anna could tell they were discussing her whereabouts. Nervously, she cast an eye over her shoulder, just in time to see Gravesend slip through the French doors. When she turned her gaze back to her husband, she realised that his eyes were on her.

His expression was unreadable, as his gaze slipped from Anna to the young lord a few paces behind her.

Anna knew a moment of guilt for defying his orders but she quashed it quickly. She was not Falconbridge’s servant, she was his wife. The wife he had acquired through the most dubious means, if Gravesend was to be believed.

“Oh, Anna, there you are!”

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