Authors: Samantha Kane
Anne slid away from Freddy, turning to walk backward away from them. She
twitched her skirts flirtatiously and smiled seductively, knowingly. Brett felt the thrill of the hunt. He’d never felt so alive, so full of anticipation.
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“Oh you boys would like that, wouldn’t you? If I lifted my skirts for you?” Her voice was a throaty purr.
“Very much,” Brett growled, playing the game. Both Freddy and Anne looked at him with wide, surprised eyes, and Brett grinned wolfishly. “You’ll lift them for us, won’t you, Anne?” he asked quietly, stalking her. For every step she took back he took one forward. She looked excited, ready to spring, to run.
“Maybe I will,” she breathed slowly, taking a step back. Brett followed. “And maybe I won’t.” She began to move faster.
“You can run, little girl,” Brett warned menacingly, “but you won’t get away.” He made a grab for her and Anne squealed, turning and running for all she was worth down the hallway.
Freddy spared him a look, his grin matching the one Brett wore. “I’ll meet you there, old man,” he said with a laugh, then he turned and took off after Anne.
Brett didn’t hurry. He knew they’d wait for him.
Freddy burst into the Long Gallery from the last drawing room and came to a skidding halt on the wooden floor. He was breathing heavily and looked both ways to see where Anne had gotten to. With shock he saw her sitting in a chair just a few feet from the doorway, leisurely perusing a book she’d taken from the shelf next to her. On closer inspection he could see she was breathing as heavily as he. She had a curl dangling down her neck from where it had come loose, and her cheeks were flushed.
She’d clearly just thrown herself down in the chair.
“Why, I was wondering when you were going to get here,” she said calmly, if a little breathlessly, as she stood.
Freddy ran his hands down his front, smoothing his jacket. He pulled his cuffs and ran a hand along the side of his head, arranging his tousled hair. “Were you? Was there some urgency?” He heard his own breathlessness with delight. He was enjoying this game, this pursuit. And Brett had started it. Freddy couldn’t get over the change in Brett. One moment he’d been so very Brett—reserved, reticent, an observer more than a participant. The next he’d been devouring Anne with his eyes, seducing her with his words, seducing Freddy with his blatant sexuality and desire. God, it was going to be good tonight. Freddy could hardly contain his excitement.
The setting sun set the Gallery ablaze. The room was really a long hallway that ran along the entire west side of the house. Broken every fifty feet by huge arches reminiscent of eastern palaces, the walls were a pale, buttery yellow. The floor was a light oak, the planks wide and even and shining in the blaze of a brilliant sunset. Six-foot-tall windows lined the western wall every five feet, surrounded by deep red curtains with a fleur-de-lis pattern. Between each set of windows were bookshelves lined with books. The elaborate eighteen-candle chandeliers were as yet unlit. The wall opposite the windows was lined with portraits and busts on pedestals. It was an 136
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impressive hall, but because of the warmth of the sun and the colors it was welcoming.
Freddy had often played here as a child when he was at Ashton Park.
Anne fit here. She was glorious as the sun limned her in an almost ethereal glow.
Her figure showed to its best advantage in the lines of the lavender dress. It was cut low and square across her bosom, the sleeves short and puffy on her delectably plump upper arms. The light, flowing muslin hugged her curves and fell in artful drapes from generous, womanly hips. She looked like a woman who would ride well, taking and giving pleasure without reservation. Freddy realized his opinion may be a bit biased.
He knew for a fact she was such a woman.
“You’re staring,” Anne said quietly. She set the book aside and stared back with a slightly mysterious smile playing about her lips.
“Why did you not wear the blue dress I bought for you?” Freddy asked curiously.
His anger over the gift was gone. He realized she must have a good reason.
“It was beautiful,” she murmured, nervously running a hand down her right side and over her hip, as if to assure herself the lavender dress was fine. It was more than fine as far as Freddy was concerned.
“Then why refuse it? That was the dress, still in its box, that you had the footman remove from the carriage, was it not?” Freddy moved out of the doorway, walking idly down the Gallery a few steps, his hand trailing along the bald pate of a bust of some ancient orator.
“Yes.” Anne sounded unsure. Freddy didn’t mean to upset her. He just wanted to know what her reason was. He turned to soothe her uneasiness, and found Brett standing in the door from the hall, leaning his shoulder against the frame.
“We are not angry, Anne,” Brett told her quietly. “We simply do not understand.”
Anne turned and began walking slowly down the Gallery in the direction of the dining room, her hands clasped behind her back. Freddy wasn’t surprised she remembered her way. He and Brett fell into step beside her.
“When you proposed, Freddy, you made a point of saying how much I deserved to be duchess.” She looked at them. “And you agreed, Brett.” Her tone was neutral, conversational.
“Yes.” Freddy kept his tone light. “I still believe that.”
Anne spared him a smile. “You told me that even if I didn’t believe you loved me, that I should marry you because you were duke, and you could make my life so much better.” She paused to look out one of the windows. The horizon was ablaze in the pinks and bright red orange of a midsummer sunset. Freddy and Brett stopped as well.
“Do you remember what my reply was, Freddy?”
Freddy smiled ruefully. “You said no.”
Anne shook her head and turned to him with a rueful smile of her own. “No. I said that you already made my life better.” She stepped over to him and took his hands in hers. She tilted her head and rubbed the back of his left hand against her soft, smooth 137
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cheek. “These past two weeks have been the happiest of my life, Freddy.” She looked at Brett tenderly as she lowered Freddy’s hand. “And not because you’ve bought me beautiful dresses and fine Indian shawls. Although I thank you for the gifts.” She moved between the two men and slid her hands through both their arms and with a tug got them moving down the Gallery again. “They’ve been wonderful simply because I have shared them with you. I want you both, not for what you can give me but for what you bring to my life.”
Freddy’s heart lurched in his chest. He’d never had anyone want him simply because he was Freddy. Anne wouldn’t marry him. She wouldn’t accept his gifts. What she wanted, what she would accept, was the gift of himself, his body and his love.
“Anne,” he whispered, bringing her hand to his lips. He gently kissed her fingertips.
“You are marvelous.”
“I told you we would be getting a lesson in Anne’s idea of what a mistress is, Freddy,” Brett said with undisguised emotion. “I was right.”
Anne was shaking her head. “No. Not mistress—lover. That is how I see the three of us. We are lovers.”
“And what is the difference?” Freddy asked, guiding Anne to the door that led to the dining room.
“Why, love, of course,” Anne replied.
“You want to sit in here? Whatever for?” Anne looked around the library in distaste. Dinner had been delightful. The food was outrageously delicious. Freddy and Brett had entertained her with stories about their friends and their life in London.
Freddy was enormously amusing, imitating mannerisms and speech, and Brett had a dry sense of humor that complemented Freddy’s outrageousness. There had been four footmen and Reeves to wait on them. Anne had expected someone to cut her meat and hold her fork for her. It was rather disconcerting.
“You don’t like it?” Freddy asked noncommittally about the library.
“Like it? I loath it. It is the most unwelcoming room I’ve ever encountered,” she said succinctly. “Uncle Ash must be wailing his displeasure at Heaven’s door to see books treated in such a fashion.”
Brett sat down in a small, spindly chair that looked as if it were going to groan in agony at his weight. “What do you think Freddy should do in here, Anne?” He set his scotch down on the equally flimsy table next to him.
Anne seriously considered his question. “Well, the first thing I’d do is remove the cages from the shelves.” She walked around the room’s perimeter studying the books in the cases. “Although, if I remember correctly, you have some valuable books here, Freddy.” She pointed to the cases at the end of the room, in a darkened alcove that had been turned into a display area for bric-a-brac. “You should keep those cases locked and put the most valuable books in there, where they are more easily preserved from light and exposure.”
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She stood in the middle of the room with her head cocked as she considered the library. How Uncle Ash had loved his books! And how Bertie had hated to read. She couldn’t help smiling at the memories of all the times he’d cursed his tutor to perdition with his books. She couldn’t recall being in the library at Ashton Park when the two were alive, so she didn’t know what it had looked like before. Surely not like this. “Did the duchess redecorate this room?”
Freddy nodded as he sat next to Brett. He didn’t look quite as precarious as Brett in the spindly chair, but it still seemed awkward. “Yes, although why she decided to make it the most uncomfortable room in the house I can’t imagine.”
Anne laughed wryly. “I can. Because Uncle Ash loved his books desperately. He was rarely to be found without one in his hand.”
“Ahhh,” Brett said, picking up his glass and taking a sip as he looked around. “That explains it.”
Poor Freddy sighed. “I’m afraid it does. Thinking how much your mother hates your sire in the abstract is one thing. But this is tangible proof that enmity survives the grave.”
Anne walked over and squeezed his shoulder and he patted her hand in
acknowledgement of her sympathy. She pulled her hand away and put both hands on her hips as she looked around. “Well,” she said briskly, “simply removing the cages and putting some comfortable furniture in here will do wonders.” She wagged a finger at Freddy. “And you must make the furniture bright, Freddy. This room is far too dark with all the dark wood. Something light and floral perhaps, to soften its lines and open it up.” She walked along the bank of windows and spread her hands out. “Sofas and couches here, I think.” She turned and bent over, gesturing in front of her. “With plenty of tables to lay books out on.” She stood and pointed directly in front of her. “With chairs right across, to facilitate conversation.”
She had a sudden inspiration and excitedly spun to face Freddy. “Oh, do you still have the porcelain vase collection? There were some outstanding Dutch and oriental pieces.” She pointed to the display cases on either side of the fireplace. “You should paint both the fireplace mantel and the displays, Freddy,” she told him, “and fill them with those vases. It would be a stunning display against the darkness of the floor and cases.” She tapped her index finger against her lower lip. “Perhaps some kind of gold, oriental paper for the walls,” she mused.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Brett’s finger start to rub his upper lip. She turned and looked at him and Freddy with narrowed eyes. “What’s so funny?”
Freddy raised an amused eyebrow. “For a woman who doesn’t want to be duchess, you certainly have some very clear ideas about how to redecorate my home. And I must say you know more about it than I do. What vase collection?”
Anne felt the blush heating her cheeks. “You asked my opinion.”
Freddy immediately got up and came over to her, taking her hands. “So we did, and it is appreciated, Anne. Don’t let my teasing ruin your fun. I love your ideas.”
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Anne laughed. “I did get a little carried away, didn’t I?”
Brett stood and the chair creaked ominously as he put his weight on the arm. They all looked at it askance. “As I dislike this room intensely, my darling Anne, your ideas for its resurrection sound perfect.”
Freddy grabbed a hold of Anne’s hand and she in turn grabbed a hold of Brett’s as Freddy tugged them all toward the door. “Since no one likes this room, let us adjourn.”
“Where to next?” Brett inquired as he smiled lopsidedly at Anne, his drink dangling negligently from the fingers of his free hand. He was devastatingly handsome, dark and dangerous and seductive as he all but leered at her. Anne loved it. She loved him this way.
“You choose,” Freddy told him.
Brett replied with a shrug. “I haven’t any idea.”
Anne laughed. “Well then, Freddy, you pick.”
Freddy’s choice turned out to be his private drawing room. Anne held her head high as they climbed the stairs to the family’s private apartments, but she was mortified to so obviously accompany Freddy and Brett to the duke’s chambers in front of the servants. It would be all over the village before morning.
Anne forgot her apprehension when she entered Freddy’s room. It was quite
possibly the most wonderful room she’d ever been in. “Oh Freddy, it’s marvelous!” she cried as she spun around in the middle of the room. She rushed over to run her fingers along the top of the gleaming piano in the corner. She pressed a key and wasn’t surprised to find it perfectly in tune. Pointing to the portrait over the fireplace, she asked, “Who is that?”
Freddy shrugged. “I believe it is the eighth duke as a child.” He squinted at the painting. “I wasn’t going to change anything in here, but on further consideration that portrait must go.”
Anne gasped in outrage. “You will not! That is a delightful portrait. I think it is charming that it hangs in the duke’s apartments.”
Freddy looked at Brett in bewilderment. Brett just shrugged. “Women,” he said, and Freddy nodded sagely. Anne snorted and turned her back on them to wander around the room.
Freddy watched Anne where she sat curled up on the blue silk sofa in front of the window, leaning against the arm, her legs pulled up next to her. She’d kicked off her slippers and was sipping yet another glass of wine. They’d been talking for hours it seemed. They’d covered books, theater, politics, horse racing, wine and a host of other topics. Anne had endless questions for them.