Page 12 of His Scandalous Lessons
“That girl has been taught her entire life that sort of dull conversation was ideal. She gave you the best she could, and you tossed it back in her face.”
“I know.”
“Then what are you still doing sitting here? Go after her and fix it, you great bloody oaf.”
Caroline was barely through her last insult before Richard was on his feet.
* * *
Richard knockedon Anne’s bedchamber door and heard exactly the response he was expecting: “Thank you, but I don’t need any help tonight.”
He turned the knob and shoved open the door. “And yet here I am, ready and willing.”
Anne gasped, lurching off the window seat. “You can’t be in here. This isn’t—”
“Proper?” Richard shut the door. “You’re the one who came to my home in the middle of the night.”
She sputtered, and Richard couldn’t help but think of how adorable she looked. How vulnerable, with her red waves coming loose from her chignon as if she had run her fingers through it.Disheveled, that was the word. Was there anything more lovely than a woman caught off guard?
“That was different,” she replied. “You told me to stop talking. You said—”
“I was an arse.”
Anne’s eyebrows went up. “I — I mean. Well, yes, you were.”
“And I’m sorry for it.”
She shook her head, resuming her perch in the window seat. “I can’t say I blame you. I failed to tell you about my father’s rules.”
“Rules?” Richard lowered himself onto the seat beside her, taking care not to crowd her. She may have given him permission to touch her, but he would not use such a thing to his advantage. She deserved more care.
“Yes. He has a great many of them,” she said bitterly. “One of his biggest is to never offer any insight beyond the weather and lady’s fashion.”
Richard made a noise. “Why the hell not?”
Her eyes meeting his were like a flame lit and put out far too quickly. Just a brief flicker of contact — enough to feel the heat — then gone again. “He did not wish to risk me sharing political information. So I was to give no information at all.”
Damn Stanton Sheffield for treating Anne like a pawn in his political scheming. Who did that to a child? To his own family? As if she didn’t matter. Richard hated him for smothering his daughter's thoughts, and he admired Anne more for not yielding to such manipulations.
“Let’s try this again, then,” he said softly, reaching for her hand. Her palm was warm, smooth, so small compared to his own. “What do you miss about Dorset?”
She shut her eyes. “The sea cliffs are what I miss most. On sunny days, I felt as if I were gazing across the whole of the world; you could see for miles and miles. When it stormed, you could watch the rain coming in from the distance, hear the change in the waves as the wind came. Nothing is more beautiful than the scent of the sea during a storm.”
No, there was something more beautiful. It was her, with her head thrown back, remembering the stormy seas and speaking in her voice like smoke. She had him mesmerized.
“Tell me more,” he said, wanting her to keep talking. “Did you walk every day?”
“Most days,” she said with a smile. “Even when it rained. I love the rain.” She opened her eyes and now he knew why she looked away so often. Because a man could drown in that gaze. He could lose himself in her. “Do you?”
“Yes,” he whispered. “I am not fond of sunshine.”
She tilted her head as if that was the strangest thing she’d ever heard. “Why not?”
“My mother died on the nicest day I can recall.”
Anne reached for him, her fingertips grazing his cheek. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It was a long time ago. I barely remember her.”
