Page 62 of What's an Earl Gotta Do?
Mr. Branton gave him a hard look. “Help her win. And for God’s sake, take a calming breath the next time you find yourself tempted to open your mouth.” He spun on his heel and strode off down the hall. “Good day, Lord Morsley.”
Michael returned to the room to find Anne putting the finishing touches on a letter. She stood, ignoring Michael as she folded the letter, then turned to her footman. “Ralph, shouldn’t you be seeing to that extra security?”
Ralph shifted uneasily. “It’s just—I don’t like to leave you unattended, m’lady. Not with someone out there dumping bodies in the Thames.”
Michael decided Ralph was his favorite of Anne’s footmen. Anne, on the other hand, did not seem to share his appropriate concern for her safety. “Harold will provide sufficient protection.”
Ralph frowned. “Please, m’lady.”
“I will watch over Lady Anne,” Michael said.
Ralph started to perk up, but then paused, noticing the withering glare Anne was directing at Michael. “That won’t be necessary,” she said.
It was worse than he’d thought if Anne was so mad at him she would rather put herself in danger than endure a quarter hour of his company. Michael decided to heed Mr. Branton’s advice and took a slow, deep breath. He crossed the room and took Anne’s hand. “Let me at least see you home,” he said quietly. “I know you’re furious with me. I even understand why. Honestly, I don’t blame you.”
She was still frowning, but he could tell she was softening. “I don’t know, Michael.”
“I meant what I said earlier, about wanting to apologize. Please, Anne?” He held her gaze, bringing a hand up to frame her face when she started to look away. “Surely you know that I would never let anything bad happen to you.”
He watched the warring emotions in her eyes and held his breath.
Anne gazed up at Michael, mesmerized. It was downright unsporting of him to be looking at her like that, with those jade-green eyes and that beseeching expression. What chance did a girl stand?
And, as annoying as it was to admit, his suggestion that he accompany her home was probably the wise course. Besides, she’d have to talk to Michael sooner or later. It wasn’t as if she was going to stay mad at him forever.
He was her best friend, after all.
“All right,” Anne said.
Anne led him out to the carriage. They were clearly going to have it out, and she didn’t hold out any great hope that Michael would wait until they’d reached the relative privacy of her town house to do it. Surely enough, before Ralph had even closed the carriage door, Michael claimed both of her hands. “I’m sorry, Anne. I’m so, so sorry. I know I sounded dismissive this morning, and… and… generally awful. I didn’t mean to, I just… when you said you wouldn’t marry me after all, I couldn’t think straight, and it all came out wrong.”
The carriage lurched into motion. “I know you were upset, Michael. But still, I cannot believe you would disparage my work in such a fashion. You know how many hours I put in, and how much the Ladies’ Society means to me. It’s almost all I wrote about in my letters—”
“I never read them,” Michael burst out.
Anne gasped. And to think, she had supposed him to be her best friend! She tried to jerk her hands free, but Michael refused to relinquish them.
“What do you mean, you never read my letters?” She felt a tear streak down her cheek. “It’s bad enough that you never wrote back, but the fact that you couldn’t even be bothered to—”
“I couldn’t bear to read them,” Michael said, clinging fast to her hands. “I…” He made a sound of disgust. “I’m explaining it all wrong. I’m doing every bit as badly as I did this morning.”
Her voice broke as she replied, “There is no need to continue, as I cannot imagine anything you could say that would excuse—”
“I love you.”
Anne mouth sagged open. Her eyes flew to his face, and… and he looked sincere. But that couldn’t be right, how could he possibly…
“I love you, Anne,” Michael said, his voice shaking. “I always have. Ever since we were fourteen.”
“No, no you haven’t,” Anne sputtered.
“I have. I swear I have. I—”
“But… but…” Anne shook her head. “There was something that happened. When we were fifteen. It was the day before you went back to Eton. We were having a picnic, and…” She rubbed her forehead. “You probably don’t even remember it.”
Michael’s mouth had fallen open. “Did you just suggest that I don’t remember the most erotic moment of my life prior to last night?”
Anne gaped up at him. Her brain was utterly confounded. He might as well have been speaking Urdu because none of this made sense, none of it made any sense at all. “But you… you leaped off me, and you said you regretted it! That you would never want to kiss me—”
