“Stop it,” Annie said, her voice strong. “I have no need for your flattery. Nor do I want it.”
“Because I am a rogue?”
“Precisely.”
“Then you do not believe me?”
She narrowed her gaze. “Oh, I believe you. I believe you have over indulged for years in an effort to make yourself less desirable and that you have enjoyed every moment. I believe your reputation is well earned, and I want no part of it, Your Grace.”
“My reputation is a well sold pack of lies.”
“Do not forget that I was present when you chose that necklace for your special woman. I may be innocent, but I am not blind to the ways of the world.” She crossed her arms over her chest and stared at him, challenging him to weave another tale.
“Who do you suppose that bauble was for?” He took a step closer to Annie.
“Your mistress,” she spat the words, hurt tightening her chest. This was madness. She had no right to care whether the duke had a mistress. It should make no difference to her.
“The special lady is my sister, Lady Elizabeth Colborne. Most of what you believe is wrong. Much of what thetonsays about me is lies. Sometimes I do things to perpetuate the gossip and spin it in a way that is unflattering, but it is lies nonetheless.” He stepped closer, leaving a mere inch between them. “Allow me a chance to prove myself.”
Annie’s head spun. Could it be true? Might he be a decent sort? Could the Duke of Rutland love her? Nonsense. She pivoted toward Gran and said over her shoulder, “I am not interested.”
Only, Heaven help her, she desperately wanted to be.
Four
Asleepless night followed for Evan. Upon waking the next morning, his mind went back to all Lady Ann had said. She was tormenting him, and he could scarcely do anything about it. He should put her out of his mind, but the more he tried, the less he succeeded.
The woman did not trust him, and she liked him even less. Still, something about her tugged at him. A spark between them that begged to be explored. And for the first time in years he despised his reputation—regretted the choices he had made in perpetuating the rumors and embracing the mantle of renowned rouge.
His reputation—everything Ann believed to be true—was of his own doing. Bloody hell, it would take years to reverse the damage done. Years he did not have for surely someone else would soon turn their attention to winning Lady Ann’s heart.
It had to be him. He had to have her, but how?
He was unsure, but knew sitting in his chamber would not yield a positive result. He had to spend time with Lady Ann if he was to win her heart.
Evan pulled on his hessians, then strode from his bedchamber. He would seek her out and charm her. Let her see the real him and he would take the time to get to know her as well. Perhaps Lady Lilliana and Lady Birchwood could be allies? He did not expect her family to conspire against her, but perhaps they could put in a good word for him? Regardless, they could tell him more about Lady Ann.
Maybe he would discover that she did not suit him after all. Though he very much doubted that, there was always a possibility—and only one way to find out. He followed the sound of ladies’ voices which led him into the pink parlor where he found a gaggle of matrons including Lady Birchwood, his own mother, and Lady Montgomery.
As luck would have it, Mother and Lady Montgomery seemed rather preoccupied speaking with a couple of matrons on the opposite side of the room from Lady Birchwood. Good news, to be sure.
He inhaled a deep breath, then strode toward Lady Birchwood. “My lady,” he said, and offered a bow.
“How may I help you, Your Grace?” She asked, her green eyes twinkling.
“I am hoping you can offer some advice about Lady Annabelle.” He glanced across the room to where his mother sat chatting like a magpie. “Might we step into another room?”
Lady Birchwood grinned, then tapped her fan against his shoulder. “We could…” Her grin bloomed into a conspiratorial smile. “Or you could go for a morning ride.”
“A ride?” He asked, his gaze moving to the window where the sun washed the Lancashire country side in morning light.
“Indeed,” she said, then leaned toward him and lowered her voice. “While most of the young ladies are abed, there is one who prefers to take a morning ride.”
He felt addlebrained as he tried to make sense of her words with his sleep deprived mind. “One?”
“Indeed,” she lifted her fan to shield her mouth from view, “My Annie likes to greet the morning and is particularly fond of riding.”
The pieces fell into place and his lips curved up. “Indeed, Countess, a ride is just what I need.”
