by Joanna Shupe
“What?”
“Your cigar. May I smoke it?”
Maddie was not a smoker or a drinker. In fact, he’d never seen her impaired or inebriated. What was she up to? “Why?”
“It sounds fun. Plus, I like the way it smells. May I?”
Was she trying to prove something? “Maddie . . .”
“Harrison . . .” she replied in the same tone. “What happened to the boy who dared me to climb out onto the roof to see how far the ocean went? Not to mention that you let Nellie. Why not me?”
He held out the cigar to her. “Here. Draw the smoke into your mouth, not your lungs.”
“So suck on the end but don’t breathe it in?”
“Exactly.”
Wrapping her lips around the outside, she drew in some smoke, her cheeks hollowing slightly.
Oh, sweet Christ.
Lust tore through his gut at the sight. His cigar in her mouth was erotic. Mesmerizing. Downright torture. He couldn’t help but picture his cock between her lips as she sucked on him, an image his body liked very much, apparently, as all the blood rushed to his groin.
Briefly closing his eyelids, he took a deep breath and struggled for self-control.
Smoke teased his nostrils as she exhaled. “Hmm. I like that.”
He took the cigar from her and immediately put the end to his mouth, putting his lips in the exact same spot her lips had just touched. Drawing in, he tasted the smoke and tried not to think about all the other things he’d like to taste at this moment. “Go easy.”
She plucked the cigar from his fingers and took another puff, exhaling smoke. “Why?”
He swallowed, stared at her mouth and willed his body not to react further. “Smoking can cause nausea the first time if you aren’t careful.”
“No, I meant why did you leave without telling me?” She handed the cigar back.
Of course she wanted to know why he’d disappeared. Truthfully, there hadn’t been any other choice. Adrift and alone, his heart shattered, disinherited from his family . . . What option had been left but to escape?
He couldn’t tell her the real reasons, however. Not about overhearing her that night, and not about coming home to catch his father fucking a maid in the salon. Winthrop Archer had claimed the maid was willing, but that was nothing more than an egregious lie by a man who felt entitled to take advantage of a woman in his employ. Harrison called the police but his father had merely paid off the officers, with the maid unwilling to press charges. And who could have blamed her, with her livelihood on the line?
Winthrop had kicked Harrison out on the spot. You are no longer welcome here. You are dead to me and to this family.
After that, Harrison had only wanted to get away from everything—his family, Maddie and himself.
But he couldn’t explain half of it without explaining the rest. The two events were linked, like dominoes, falling and changing the course of his life. While Maddie might be exhibiting a tiny bit of jealousy in regard to him, he couldn’t risk total honesty . . . not until he knew how she felt about him.
It was better to dodge the question.
He took the cigar back. “You know I’m not one for sentimentality.”
Surprise and hurt flashed over her face. Her brows lowered dangerously. “That is your answer? Are you joking?”
“I couldn’t think of what to say. At the time, you were busy with your season and I assumed you’d marry and . . .” He shrugged. “It seemed best just to go.”
“How about, ‘Dear Maddie, leaving for Paris. Will be having too much fun to write. Enjoy your life’?”
“I wasn’t thinking clearly.”
“For three years?”
“I apologize, Mads. It was selfish of me.”
“Exactly, and—” She began weaving on her feet. “Whoa.”
Concerned, he reached to steady her. “Are you all right?”
Without thinking, he cupped her jaw and tilted her head back to see her face. The touch was unexpectedly intimate, their bodies alarmingly close, and when their eyes met, they both seemed to pause. The skin beneath his hand was soft, like the petals of a flower, and she smelled of the ocean and lavender. He could drown in the emerald fire of her gaze, familiar yet so mysterious. He wanted to learn every secret she kept buried, give her every little thing her heart desired.
The tip of her tongue darted out to wet her lips as her hooded stare focused on his mouth, and Harrison sucked in a breath. Did she want him to kiss her? He studied her lips and ached to know her taste. To delve inside and feel her slickness. Stroke her tongue with his own and swallow down her little whimpers.
Let me. Dear God, please let me.
“Maddie . . .” It came out as a whispered plea.
That seemed to snap her out of the moment. Blinking, she pulled away, and his arms dropped to his sides. She cleared her throat. “Forgive me. I grew dizzy for a moment.”
Yes, so did I.
Disappointment crashed through him but he reminded himself of his plan. Advance, retreat, advance, retreat. He could not push her too quickly. For now, the flash of desire he’d seen on her face a moment ago was enough.
Maddie had wanted to kiss him.
When he was sure his voice was steady, he said, “I told you not to smoke too fast.”
“So you did.” She shifted on her feet and gave a short, strangled sort of laugh. “I must have been quite topsy-turvy for a second because it seemed . . .”
“What?”
“It seemed as if . . .” Trailing off, she looked out into the darkness rather than at him. “This may sound silly, but were you about to kiss me?”
The question hung between them, with Harrison’s expression registering his shock. Truth be told, Maddie couldn’t believe she’d asked it. She wanted to blame the cigar, but Harrison’s presence had set her off-kilter.
Something seemed different between them, her awareness of him heightened. The things she noticed about him had changed, such as the way the dressing gown molded to his lanky frame, and how his long bare feet were now so elegant and rugged. Her old friend was appealing and handsome . . . and her body was having a definite reaction to him.
Then he’d caressed her face. Like a lover. He’d stared at her so intently, wickedly, and her mouth had gone dry. Had he wanted to kiss her?
Worse, had she wanted him to?
You are being ridiculous. This is Harrison. He doesn’t think of you in that manner.
Besides, she had mapped out her life already. Distractions were hardly beneficial toward achieving her goals. This party was about finding a bride for her old friend before she conquered Nationals and moved to England as a duchess.
Dream big, my girl, her father had always said. After all, he’d never let anything stop him from getting what he wanted.
And neither would she.
“Back to your leaving three years ago,” she said, purposely changing the conversation away from kissing.
“This again?” Harrison rolled his eyes. “I never meant to upset you. Leaving was more . . . impulsive self-preservation. Starting over fresh somewhere else.”
“You didn’t drop Kit or Preston or Forrest in your fresh start. Only me.”
“They’re men, Maddie. It is different.”
“That’s ridiculous—and offensive. Plus, I’ve known you longer.”
He leaned against the balustrade, tall and broad in the semidarkness. “Still, I am right.”
“You couldn’t even write?”
“My life in Paris did not lend itself to proper correspondence for a lady.”
“Meaning I would have been scandalized.”
“Yes.”
A disbelieving noise erupted from her throat. It was like he’d forgotten everything about her. “You never worried about that before. Remember those letters you wrote while at college?” His letters used to have her howling with laughter. Stories about his classes and clubs, but mostly about his friends. He hadn’t tempered them for her inexperien
ced ears, either.
“Paris was different.”
“Why?”
“Because I was wilder there. Practically a reprobate. I didn’t want you to know that person.”
“I wouldn’t have judged you.”
The expression on his face said he believed otherwise. “I had to grow up, Maddie. Being here was . . . strangling me. I found myself in Paris.”
“Oh.” A lump formed in the back of her throat, an ache of disappointment brought on by his illuminating perspective. So New York and Maddie’s friendship had strangled him, while Paris and mistresses had liberated him. How had she failed so miserably at being his friend? “I understand.”
“No, you don’t. You are just saying that while secretly blaming yourself.”
She fought a smile and studied her feet. How did he know her so well after all this time?
“Because you still wear your emotions on your face,” he answered, even though she hadn’t voiced the question.
This time she did smile. “It’s how you always knew when I was lying.”
He pointed at her with his cigar. “Precisely. So don’t try to get away with it now. Tell me why you blame yourself for my leaving.”
“I must have been a terrible friend to you, if you couldn’t be yourself here. Then you were gone and never wrote, like it was easy to forget about me.”
“Maddie,” he said, his voice quiet and solemn. “I never forgot about you. Never.”
The earnest declaration rolled over her like a warm ocean wave, weakening her limbs. Anchoring herself with the railing, she tried to lighten the mood and squash these improper reactions. “That’s a relief, because you still owe me five dollars from our bet when I was thirteen—”
“You would bring up that outrageous lie again.” He gave a disbelieving chuckle. “You cheated because you couldn’t stand to lose.”
“I would never,” she said haughtily, much like a spinster aunt. “You lost the bicycle race, Harrison.”
“Because someone partially deflated my tires beforehand. I wonder who would have done such a thing . . . ?”
“As if I would stoop so low.”
“Nearly a decade later and you still cannot admit the truth.” He shook his head slowly, smirking as if disappointed in her. “You’ll take that one to your grave, I suppose.”
She would, but where was the fun in coming clean now?
“This is nice,” she said, bumping his shoulder with hers. “Reminiscing and talking with you. I’ve missed you.”
The skin around his eyes crinkled, little lines of amusement that transformed his face. Lord, he was a good-looking man. “We always had fun together.”
“Yes,” she said, “we certainly did.”
“Do you love him? Your duke, I mean.”
“He isn’t my duke.” Not yet, anyway.
“Fine, your rumored-to-be fiancé. Is there a romantic attachment between you?”
“We get along. Fond of the same pursuits, that sort of thing.”
“He’s a tennis player?”
“A bit, but the duke generally loves sports and the outdoors.”
“Do you at least get to call him by his Christian name, or does he insist on formality in private, as well?”
Odd now that she considered it, but she actually didn’t know Lockwood’s Christian name. She called him either Lockwood or duke, as everyone did. “The title deserves respect.”
“Does becoming a duchess mean that much to you?”
Oh, the stupidity of men sometimes. “Harrison, every girl dreams of being a duchess. Well, a princess, but princes are in short supply.”
“So a duke will have to do?”
“Something like that.”
They both knew how it worked with society marriages. A young woman had to make the very best match possible when it came time to marry. Maddie was fortunate in that her parents had allowed her to have a say in her husband. Most society parents arranged the marriage without a daughter’s input.
And honestly, how could one do better than a duke?
“Allow me to guess?” Harrison reached over the balustrade to tap ash onto the grounds below. “A crumbling estate or two, needs the American dollars to shore them up.”
“It’s hardly unusual. Furthermore, it’s not as if your circumstances are much different, considering your mother’s threat.”
“At least I didn’t need to travel to another country to find a bride.”
“No, you left to find a mistress.” She clamped her lips shut, horrified.
Dipping to catch her eye, he cocked a brow. “Are you jealous? Because that sounded a lot like jealousy, Mads.”
“Don’t be absurd.” The words came out strangled.
“Hmm. Does the thought of me with Esmée make you jealous?”
Esmée. Even her name was beautiful. Maddie pictured her: a witty and cosmopolitan French woman, draped in fabulous Worth gowns and drinking absinthe at a salon. Her belly cramped uncomfortably. Had he been in love with her? Was that why he hadn’t come home?
Oh, God. She was jealous. Jealous of Harrison’s mistress.
No, this could not be happening.
Harrison and his mistress and his stupid handsomeness could not distract from her purpose. He was a friend, nothing more. A friend who would marry someone else and disappear from her life as he’d done before.
Turning, she started for the house and waved over her shoulder. “I should find my bed. I have an early practice tomorrow with my coach. Good night.”
“Maddie.”
Halting at his sharp tone, she glanced over her shoulder. She’d never seen him appear so fierce, so focused, and it both scared and thrilled her. “Yes, Harrison?”
“The question you asked earlier, about me kissing you?” A wolflike grin slowly twisted his lips. “The answer was yes.”
White tents blew in the breeze on the chateau’s east side, where the Webster staff was busy carrying provisions for the afternoon picnic. Harrison squinted in the bright sun, the harsh light burning his dry and tired eyes. The night had been a long one, with his mind continuing to spin long after he’d finished his cigar and left the terrace.
Things were progressing with Maddie faster than he could have dreamed. Two important developments had crystallized. First, she was attracted to him, as illustrated by the longing in her gaze and the way her tongue moistened her lips when he’d held her.
Second, she felt something deeper for him. Otherwise, why experience jealousy over his mistress? No, that reaction meant this wasn’t one-sided. He wasn’t chasing after a woman who did not return his regard.
He was close. Fueled by fierce determination, he would continue to scheme and plot, to use every available trick he knew in the limited time left to win her over.
Because only one man would marry Maddie—and that was he.
Kit suddenly appeared at Harrison’s side. “Late night?”
He slowed his pace. “Not particularly. Why?”
“First, because you look absolutely terrible. Second, I went for a stroll last evening. Heard you and Maddie out on the terrace.”
“Oh?”
Kit put a hand on Harrison’s arm, bringing them both to a halt. “I saw you holding her face like you were about to kiss her. She wasn’t exactly pushing you away, either.”
Though Kit was his closest friend, it didn’t feel right to talk about this. Not here, not now. “It’s not what it looked like.”
“Please. You’ve been in love with her forever. Still are. Had you thought no one noticed?”
Apparently Maddie hadn’t. “And? What is your point?”
“I want to know what’s going on. Are you really here to marry one of these women?”
“I am here to marry one woman,” he hedged.
“A tennis-playing woman who is nearly betrothed to a duke?”
“Nearly betrothed is not betrothed.”
A smile broke out on Kit’s face. “Say no more. I get it. I tried to stop it, you
know.”
Harrison blinked. The discursive manner in which Kit’s mind worked would test the patience of a saint. “Stop what?”
“Lockwood’s pursuit of her. Did everything I could think of—short of seducing her—to throw him off the scent. But Maddie finally told me to cease interfering.”
Harrison cast a glance toward the tent. “Well, there’s nothing to worry about there. A boring duke hardly stands a chance of coming between Maddie and me.”
“That’s the spirit.” Kit slapped Harrison’s back. “It goes without saying that you have my support.”
“Thank you. I was worried you would resent being dragged along under false pretenses.”
“Are you kidding? False pretenses are my very favorite pretenses. Come on, we’re late.” He started for the tent.
The two of them arrived at the tent together, where they found Maddie, Mrs. Webster and the guests drinking lemonade in the shade. Maddie didn’t meet Harrison’s eyes as they approached.
“There you are,” Mrs. Webster called. “Join us, gentlemen.” She beckoned them to her table, which was filled with mothers and chaperones. After a round of greetings, Kit drifted to the tables with Maddie and the heiresses, leaving Harrison behind.
“Mr. Archer,” one of the chaperones said. “I happened to see your mother the day before we journeyed here. I was surprised to learn she had no idea about this house party.”
Because I would rather swim back to France than have my mother involved in my life.
He tried to smile but likely failed. “I must have forgotten to mention it to her.”
Mrs. Webster patted his arm but addressed the women. “I told his mother that I would help young Mr. Archer by hosting this house party. She is still in mourning for her late husband, of course.”
“And do you plan to stay in New York indefinitely, Mr. Archer?” This was from another chaperone.
“I haven’t decided.” It was a lie. He planned to live in the city and oversee Archer Industries—but no one could know that yet.
“You should decide soon,” a different woman said. “I don’t like the idea of my daughter living in France.”
“Me neither,” someone at the table said. “It’s pure hedonism over there.”
“Have you bought a house in the city yet? I hear there are some nice properties on Ninety-Fifth Street.”
