* *
“Anne, my dear, you’ll never guess who’s come to call.”
Anne turned at the sound of her mother’s voice coming from the doorway. Anne was standing at the sideboard where she’d been pouring a cup of weak tea. She nearly dropped the cup when she saw who stood behind her mother.
“How do you do, Miss Goode?” The Duke of Ashland sketched a light bow, his smile polite. Only the twinkle in his eye reminded her of the young Freddy who had gazed at her with adoration when they were both much younger. The twinkle in his eye may have reminded her of days gone by, but his fashionable attire and full lower lip 13
Samantha Kane
reminded her of the way she’d felt when she’d first seen him yesterday. She got a queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach that was not altogether unpleasant but entirely inappropriate. It took a moment for his formal greeting to register. So they were going to pretend yesterday hadn’t happened, were they?
He held out a hand to indicate the man standing off to his side and just behind him.
“May I introduce Mr. Brett Haversham?”
With yesterday’s scene at the pond uppermost in her mind, Anne dragged her gaze over to the man who was stepping forward into the small parlor. He was shorter than Freddy, but then most men were. Where Freddy was tall and sleekly muscled, Brett was thick with muscle, broad and solid. The same strong facial features she’d found arresting yesterday mesmerized her today. His eyes betrayed an uncertainty, a melting brown beneath dark slashes of heavy brows.
A slight movement, or perhaps the lack of it, brought Anne’s gaze swinging back to Freddy. The comparisons were impossible to ignore and even more pronounced now that she’d taken a good long look at Brett. Freddy was almost beautiful—only his aura of power and sexuality kept him from being too pretty. His thick, dark red hair curled gently around his face and collar in a fashionable Brutus haircut, and his blue eyes shone from behind a fringe of dark lashes. His nose was a long aristocratic blade above a sensuous mouth, the bottom lip full and pouty. His chin was strong and firm, a sure sign of stubbornness. She did remember that from years ago. She saw his throat work as he swallowed and the play of muscle in the smooth column of his neck was
mesmerizing.
“Anne?” Her mother’s voice contained a concerned question, and Anne realized she’d been standing there staring like a half-wit for an impossibly rude length of time.
“Oh! Oh, I’m sorry. I’m just so taken aback. I…let me…” Anne turned away and set her cup down, using the moment to compose herself. When she turned back she pasted a polite smile on her face. “How do you do, Your Grace, Mr. Haversham? You do us a great honor this morning.”
Freddy came forward and took her hand, raising it to those pouty lips for kiss.
Anne was shocked at the heat and grip of his fingers, at the velvet soft texture of his lips as they barely rubbed against the back of her wrist. Not pressed, but rubbed deliberately. The heat traveled from wrist to stomach to sex in a matter of seconds.
Anne snatched her hand back and then tried to disguise her discomfort, but she saw the knowledge of her reaction in Freddy’s expressive eyes.
“Miss Goode, it is delightful to see you again. It has been too long. Far too long.”
His voice sent a shiver through her. She knew it was noticeable. How embarrassing!
His voice was soft, sinuous, each vowel and consonant pronounced with a carelessness that belied the sharp attention in his gaze. The roll of his l’s and r’s had made her breath catch.
Brett stepped forward. “Miss Goode, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance at last. Bertie spoke very highly of you, and I see that every word was true.” Anne blinked 14
Retreat From Love
rapidly, lost in the glide of his hand against her palm. She was touching him at long last. His hands were rough, calloused. What had he been doing to cause
“Anne, my dear, you’ll never guess who’s come to call.”
Anne turned at the sound of her mother’s voice coming from the doorway. Anne was standing at the sideboard where she’d been pouring a cup of weak tea. She nearly dropped the cup when she saw who stood behind her mother.
“How do you do, Miss Goode?” The Duke of Ashland sketched a light bow, his smile polite. Only the twinkle in his eye reminded her of the young Freddy who had gazed at her with adoration when they were both much younger. The twinkle in his eye may have reminded her of days gone by, but his fashionable attire and full lower lip 13
Samantha Kane
reminded her of the way she’d felt when she’d first seen him yesterday. She got a queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach that was not altogether unpleasant but entirely inappropriate. It took a moment for his formal greeting to register. So they were going to pretend yesterday hadn’t happened, were they?
He held out a hand to indicate the man standing off to his side and just behind him.
“May I introduce Mr. Brett Haversham?”
With yesterday’s scene at the pond uppermost in her mind, Anne dragged her gaze over to the man who was stepping forward into the small parlor. He was shorter than Freddy, but then most men were. Where Freddy was tall and sleekly muscled, Brett was thick with muscle, broad and solid. The same strong facial features she’d found arresting yesterday mesmerized her today. His eyes betrayed an uncertainty, a melting brown beneath dark slashes of heavy brows.
A slight movement, or perhaps the lack of it, brought Anne’s gaze swinging back to Freddy. The comparisons were impossible to ignore and even more pronounced now that she’d taken a good long look at Brett. Freddy was almost beautiful—only his aura of power and sexuality kept him from being too pretty. His thick, dark red hair curled gently around his face and collar in a fashionable Brutus haircut, and his blue eyes shone from behind a fringe of dark lashes. His nose was a long aristocratic blade above a sensuous mouth, the bottom lip full and pouty. His chin was strong and firm, a sure sign of stubbornness. She did remember that from years ago. She saw his throat work as he swallowed and the play of muscle in the smooth column of his neck was
mesmerizing.
“Anne?” Her mother’s voice contained a concerned question, and Anne realized she’d been standing there staring like a half-wit for an impossibly rude length of time.
“Oh! Oh, I’m sorry. I’m just so taken aback. I…let me…” Anne turned away and set her cup down, using the moment to compose herself. When she turned back she pasted a polite smile on her face. “How do you do, Your Grace, Mr. Haversham? You do us a great honor this morning.”
Freddy came forward and took her hand, raising it to those pouty lips for kiss.
Anne was shocked at the heat and grip of his fingers, at the velvet soft texture of his lips as they barely rubbed against the back of her wrist. Not pressed, but rubbed deliberately. The heat traveled from wrist to stomach to sex in a matter of seconds.
Anne snatched her hand back and then tried to disguise her discomfort, but she saw the knowledge of her reaction in Freddy’s expressive eyes.
“Miss Goode, it is delightful to see you again. It has been too long. Far too long.”
His voice sent a shiver through her. She knew it was noticeable. How embarrassing!
His voice was soft, sinuous, each vowel and consonant pronounced with a carelessness that belied the sharp attention in his gaze. The roll of his l’s and r’s had made her breath catch.
Brett stepped forward. “Miss Goode, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance at last. Bertie spoke very highly of you, and I see that every word was true.” Anne blinked 14
Retreat From Love
rapidly, lost in the glide of his hand against her palm. She was touching him at long last. His hands were rough, calloused. What had he been doing to cause
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