“And yet, there was something else,” she replied archly. He sighed in exasperation. She laughed, laying her hand on his. “Admit it, you’ve thought of it. She would solve all your problems, wouldn’t she? Money, connection, respectability…”
He pulled his hand free. “Yes, all I would have to do is persuade the duke of Exeter to give his consent, overcome the dowager duchess’s extreme dislike of me, and then ask the lady herself to choose me above all her respectable, eligible suitors. I don’t take odds that long, Fanny.”
She smirked. “She was a girl a moment ago. Now she’s a lady.” Anthony looked at her in undisguised irritation. Fanny moved closer, so close her breath warmed his ear. “I wouldn’t fault you for trying, darling,” she murmured. “It needn’t alter our relationship in any way…in fact, why don’t you call on me tonight…later…and we can continue that relationship.”
“You’ll want to hear the news from Cornwall, I expect.”
Fanny pouted at his deliberate change of subject, but she let it go. “I don’t believe I would have let you seduce me if I’d known you simply wanted me to invest in some mining venture.” He cocked a brow at her. “All right.” She gave in with a knowing smile. “I would have still let you seduce me, but I would have asked for better terms.”
“I like to think we shall always be on the best of terms with each other.” He brought her hand to his mouth and pressed his lips to the inside of her wrist. Fanny’s expression softened even more.
“I suppose we shall. Interest terms…and other terms.”
Anthony smiled, ruthlessly forcing his moment of gallantry from his mind, along with everything else related to Celia Reece. Fanny might make light of it, but he needed every farthing she would invest, and Anthony knew how to work to protect that.
He related the report from the mine manager, knowing Fanny, unlike many women, truly wanted to know how her money was faring. She had a sharp mind for business, and they shared a profitable relationship. Their other relationship was almost as valuable to him—Fanny lived in the present and didn’t dwell on the past, especially not his past. That mattered a great deal to Anthony.
But when Fanny had gone back to the ball, Anthony found his mind wandering. Although Fanny was nearly fifteen years older than he, she was still a very handsome woman, with a tart wit and a marvelous sense of humor. She had a sophistication no young lady just making her debut could claim, and Anthony genuinely liked her. He liked the way her money made his financial schemes successful. He liked her acceptance of their intermittent affair with no recriminations or demands. But she didn’t smell of lemons.
He pushed away from the balustrade, restless and tired at the same time. His plans for the evening had included some time in the card room, where he hoped to win a few months’ rent, but he suspected he couldn’t concentrate on his cards now. Damn lemons.
With a deep sigh, Anthony turned back toward the house. He repeated in his mind what he had told Fanny: Celia was just a girl; he spoke to her out of mere kindness. He tried not to hear the echo of Celia’s words, that she was the only woman in England who thought him…how had she put it…“not half so bad as he pretended.”
He slipped into the overheated ballroom, lingering near the door. Without meaning to, he saw her. She was dancing with another young buck like Euston. Her pink gown swirled around her as her partner turned her, her golden curls gleaming in the candlelight. Anthony’s gaze lingered on her back, where her partner’s hand was spread in a wide, proprietary grip. The young man was delighted to be dancing with her—and why shouldn’t he be? She beamed up at him, smiling at whatever he’d said to her, and Anthony realized, with a small shock of alarm, that she was breathtaking. No longer a child or a young girl, but a beautiful young woman who would walk out with a gentleman in hopes of a kiss and end up fending off a marriage proposal.
He turned away from the dancers, continuing on his way without another glance back. He wound his way through the crowd, out through the hall, pausing only to collect his things, then down the steps into the night. He kept going, past the lines of waiting carriages, strolling along at an unhurried pace through the streets of London. The early spring air was fresh and crisp; it was a lovely night to walk, but Anthony didn’t walk to enjoy the weather.
At last he reached his lodging, a rented flat in a house just clinging to the edge of respectability. Up the stairs he climbed to his plain, simply furnished rooms. Since sinking most of his funds into the tin mines, he had had to cut his expenses to the bone. There was little of luxury or comfort in his rooms, certainly nothing to tempt a duke’s daughter. His lip curled derisively at his own thoughts as he shrugged off his jacket and unwound his cravat. There was little of anything in his life to tempt any lady.
And yet…
Except me, rang Celia’s words in his mind. No lady in London would accept him…except me, whispered her voice. He unbuttoned his waistcoat and tossed it on a nearby chair. Everyone saw him as a wastrel and a hedonist…except me. Anthony pulled open his collar and yanked the shirt over his head. His skin felt hot and prickly. “She’s your friend’s younger sister,” he told himself out loud. “Practically your own sister.” But it did no good.
He could still close his eyes and see Celia as a red-cheeked little girl, handing him the last scone from tea, wrapped in a handkerchief. He could still hear her angry tears when her brother had insisted she stay behind while they went fishing. And he could still see the glimpse of ankle as she danced, the curve of bosom as she curtsied to her partner, and the gleam of moonlight on her blond curls.
Anthony had liked Celia Reece very much as a girl, but he had never allowed himself to think of her as a woman. Ladies like Celia were not for him. And so long as she remained fixed in his mind as just a girl, everything had been fine. Tonight, though, he found with alarm that he could think of her as nothing but a woman—a young woman, to be certain, but a woman all the same. She had wanted to be kissed tonight, and Anthony knew just how easily he could have been the man to do it. Except me, echoed her voice again, and he remembered how her face changed when he looked at her then. She hadn’t meant it that way when she said it, but he had seen the flush of awareness on her cheeks and the spark of interest in her eyes. And that awareness, to say nothing of the interest, just might have sealed his fate, forever ending any brotherly feelings he had for her.
He splashed cold water from the ewer on his face, letting it run down his neck and chest. Even if Celia would accept him, her family would never allow it. Surely not…except that the duke of Exeter had made a rather odd marriage himself last year, to a penniless widow from a country village. And Celia’s other brother had married even lower. Lady David, Anthony knew, had been a common pickpocket at one time.
If the Reeces could overlook the lack of fortune, family, standing, and even respectability, perhaps…just perhaps…they could accept him as well.
Anthony Hamilton, widely regarded as the most scandalous rogue in London, lay down on his narrow bed alone and contemplated having six children and raising dogs.
Chapter Two
Much to Celia’s relief, she was not scolded for her misadventure with Lord Euston. She managed to tell her mother about it in such a way that made them both laugh, and that had quite ended the matter as far as Rosalind was concerned.
Her friends, however, were not so easily put off. “Did he go down on one knee?” Jane Melvill wanted to know the next night.
Celia grimaced. “No.”
“Did he kiss you first?” Louisa Witherspoon asked.
“Thank heavens, no.”
“But you wanted him to,” said Mary Greene.
Celia pondered. “When I agreed