Page 49 of Her Wicked Duke
Anne almost barked out a laugh. It was the same thing she had been asking herself but in a very different way. “I have no idea,” she said, taking the letter from her mother, who followed her as she retreated to her room. She knew the perfect thing to distract her, however. “Ah, by the way, the Dowager Duchess of Winsor has invited us for afternoon tea this weekend—just you and I.”
As she had guessed, her mother’s face lit up. “Of course, she has! I am glad she has not judged us based on your father’s awful remarks. It will be a blessing to meet with Her Grace alone. We might discuss future arrangements.”
Anne gave a withering smile. She was weary, exhausted from Alexander’s teasing, and yet another letter from her stalker awaited her. They had not received word from Christian in acouple of weeks, and while she knew he was traveling, she couldn’t help but worry.
He has been told by another friend that Alexander and I are courting.
He hates me.
He despises his friend for betraying him.
Are we doing wrong by pursuing each other?
But then, Anne brought herself up short.Wasshe pursuing Alexander? Was that what her aim was, or was she simply going along with his games and enjoying herself in the process?
So many thoughts that she did not want to ponder over.
“I am tired, Mama,” she said gently. “I shall dine with you later tonight.”
“Of course, my dear,” her mother said. “You and His Grace must have had a wonderful day together.”
Anne turned away before a traitorous blush could give her away. She retired to her room and flopped down onto her bed, her breaths short. She smiled to herself, thinking of the Duke and his mischievous hands wandering over her body in the study at the art gallery.
She would learn his lessons.
Shewishedto learn them if only to know what she would gain when she listened and was agood girl.
But she would give him a taste of his medicine before she gave in so easily.
Chapter Fifteen
“Oh, Anne, look at how beautiful His Grace’s castle is!” Annette said excitedly.
Haverdshire Castle was not unfamiliar to Anne, but she had to pretend like she had not yet laid eyes on it. She had spent the entire journey talking animatedly about the castle and how elegant the afternoon tea might be, and if she might look presentable enough to meet with the Dowager Duchess.
A flutter of nerves disturbed her inner calm as they drew near. Although she had seen the Duke after the art gallery only once, at Jocelyn’s engagement party—where she had informed him that more letters had arrived and that they were no closer to discovering the identity of the sender—she couldn’t stop thinking about how easily he had made her unravel in that study.
All she could think about was their next chance to sneak off. To know how and when themorehe’d promised her would happen.
She wanted him. He had stalked her dreams, haunted her daydreams, and she had found she hadn’t quite rested so peacefully these last few days.
Still, she did not mind, if it meant that her dream version of Alexander was not quite so stingy with pleasure.
They pulled up outside of Haverdshire Castle, and her mother’s eyes fixed on the grand façade of the building. Together, they approached the front door, and a butler opened it, already awaiting them.
“Lady Angleton, Lady Anne, welcome to Haverdshire Castle. Her Grace and His Grace are awaiting you in the dining room. Please, follow me.”
Annette followed the butler with a tilt of her head like she owned the castle itself and belonged in the halls. Anne walked beside her, in awe of every painting on the wall, of France or men who looked like Alexander but older, or more gray-haired, or more stern.
A painting of a woman with the Dowager Duchess’s eyes, holding a small child, was hanging in the hallway outside the library. Anne had never known what had happened to the Duke’s parents. Her mother did, but she had told her when she was a young girl that it was a story only for Alexander to tell when he was ready. Not even Christian had gossiped about it.
Anne had never found out, and she had never asked, dutifully so.
As they were led into the dining room, Alexander and Elizabeth stood up to greet them. Elizabeth approached Annette, kissing her on both cheeks in a way that Anne now knew to be “very French,” according to Alexander.
“Welcome, Lady Angleton,” the Dowager Duchess said. “We are glad to have you in our home. In France, I did not require a butler, as I did not allow guests. Alexander seems quite similar in his solitude, so I knew I had to set a better example.” She cast a scowl in Alexander’s direction. “However, my Alex has ordered me to keep my comparisons between the two countries to a minimum. But when my heart belongs to France and my home is rooted in England, what can I say?”
“Your Grace, I shall listen to you talk about France to your heart’s content.”
