Truth be told, Elias had no plan beyond having her with him. Knowing the roads would be unlit and rutted, he had taken a room at a nearby inn. It was clean and comfortable enough, and when they arrived the innkeeper promptly provided a meal of mutton pie and pastries with blackberry jam in the private adjoining parlor.
Harriet showed no interest in food or conversation as she sat at the small table across from him. Her features were flat, lifeless. She was unusually pale, but Elias thought that stemmed from a disorder of the spirit rather than any physical ailment. She took but a sip of wine. She seemed determined not to meet his gaze.
The wine bottle bore no label, but the vintage was clearly French, doubtless the product of the smuggling trade that flourished on Cornish shores. Elias eyed her over the rim of his glass. “The French ever understand the grape,” he said in a half-hearted attempt at a neutral topic.
She made no response.
“Fruitier than the coastland vintages,” he continued stiffly. “Inland, I think. Strong and lusty, with a hint of the oak that aged it.”
She put her fork in her plate and her hands in her lap.
“God’s blood, Harriet.” Elias set his glass on the table with a thump. “I could no longer abide the pretense.”
“So you have said.” She stared fixedly at the wall behind him.
What had become of the spirited woman he’d come to know? Elias wondered. Why was she denying what they both knew?
“Pretense erodes all possibility of trust,” he said. “And trust is imperative between business partners — and lovers.”
She flushed. “You seduced me. How is there trust in that?”
“You know that I did not. You came to me.”
At last her gaze met his. “You only wanted my shares.”
“At first,” he agreed.
“You wish to change me.” Her tone was accusing. “You loathe my salons.”
“I acknowledge that I do not find them entertaining,” he conceded.
“They are part of who I am —”
“I think not,” Elias said. “You offer your home to malcontents and ne’er-do-wells in order to deflect attention from yourself. ’Tis the perfect mask for one who doubts her worth.”
She stared at him. “You know nothing of me! Why do you come for me in the night with all this talk? What is it you wish? If it is trust, you must know that is impossible.”
“Because your husband was a cheat?”
“You know the answer.”
Elias rose and came around the table to her. He pulled her to her feet, but she pushed him away.
“You wish to control me, Elias, just like —”
“No,” he growled. “Do not compare me with the other men in your life, whether it is your feckless husband or your hermit of a father. I am not like them. Look at me, Harriet, and see the truth.”
This time he did not reach for her. This time, he waited.
He watched as her eyes searched his. Would she find in them what she sought? Or would she continue this madness, this willful denial of the thing that was between them?
An eternity passed.
“Perhaps you wish a reason not to fear the consequences of lowering your guard,” Elias said quietly. “The truth is, I cannot name one.” He paused for a heartbeat. “But if it is any consolation, my own fear is considerable.”
He heard her sob. Then she was in his arms, and his world righted itself at last. Elias kissed the top of her head and tightened his arms around her, locking them together, a perfect fit.
And that is when he knew. This thing that had lurked at the edges of his awareness, biding its time. That which had driven him across the country, caused him to brave a medieval fortress and carry her away like some marauding knight. The thing that brought him here, with his arms around a recalcitrant woman he could not live without.
Without a word, he lifted her and carried her to the bed.
***
Harriet’s heart was beating wildly, her body trembling, as he lowered her to the bed. Reaching for him, she did not try to hide her desire. Her arms went around him as he covered her body with his. Her mouth opened to his, burning for him to fill her there — and everywhere. She no longer cared if she disgraced herself with her keening, pleading need. He had done this to her, and there would be no help for it until she was his.
His mouth moved lower, depositing fierce kisses at her throat, marking her. Arching into him, Harriet felt shameless and wanton — and cared not. Need was all. She wanted no slow awakening. She was already there. She wanted him now.
He sensed it. His hands found her breasts through the fabric of her dress, and when the fabric would not yield, Harriet heard a muttered curse — and then a tear. Then his mouth was on her nipples, hot and teasing. She dug her hands into his shoulders and her hips moved upward, against him.
Now his hands were on her ankles, now higher still, ripping at her stockings, caressing her thighs, touching her intimately at last. Now, she begged silently. Now.
Stroking her, exploring her, he eased his finger inside her, setting a new rhythm for her desire. But Harriet fought the urge to give in to the gathering forces. She wanted more. She wanted him. Frantically she reached for him, fumbling with the fall of his trousers. She heard his sharp intake of breath when at last he was hers, filling her hand. Her legs wrapped around him, bringing him to her center.
Hesitating, he searched her face, but she had no patience for subtlety. Her hand tightened around him.
Suddenly his arms went under her, raising her, and then — at last — he was inside her, filling her. She arched upward, urging him deeper still, calling his name. She heard his low, savage growl.
Then he began to move within her, drawing her into his rhythm, driving them on. Her body instantly found the cadence and moved with him. And in the gathering storm nothing existed but the pounding, consuming need between them. No sound penetrated, no thought, only the burning demand for release.
It came for her in the moment she heard him cry out, driving deep into her, burying himself there for all time.
Tears ran down her face, and Harriet knew she would never be the same.
***
“You!”
Henry stared at the angry woman at the door. He was quite sure he had never laid eyes on her before, though she seemed to recognize him. She was comely enough — something unusual about her eyes — but her glare was sharp enough to kill a man at twenty paces. How fitting that she presided over this frigid old pile of stones. “I am looking for Lord Westwood,” he began. “If you will tell me where I might find him —”
“You’re the one what brought that note!”
Before Henry could gather his senses, she grabbed his sleeve and jerked him inside. “In London, it was. I recognized you right away. You brought that note round to the kitchen door. The one from that Hunt fellow. You started all the trouble!”
Alarm shot through him. Henry wondered how a wild-eyed harpy in Cornwall came to know of his scheme. “Nonsense, woman,” he said imperiously. “I am in Lord Westwood’s employ. I have important business for him. Take me to him immediately.”
“His lordship ain’t available,” she snapped. “And I’ll not be taking orders from the likes of you.”
To his horror, she walked over to a cabinet, pulled out a pistol, and pointed it at him.
“Now,” she said, leveling that eerie gaze at him, “suppose you tell me why you wanted Lord Westwood to think my mistress was dallying with Mr. Hunt.”
Henry knew a thing or two about guns. The pistol pointed at his heart had a hair trigger. When she cocked the weapon, he swallowed hard.
Slowly, she smiled — the kind of smile a cat might give a helpless rat with the misfortune to wander into its lair.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Elias was not entirely surprised to see the duke. He had gone downstairs in search of a breakfast tray to take to Harriet, who was still sleeping, and saw Sidenham in conversation with the innkeeper.
His Grace did not bother to hide his satisfaction as he spied Elias.
“Well met, Westwood,” he said.
Elias regarded him calmly. “I suppose you have procured a Special Licence.”
“Ah. I give you credit. You had my measure, did you?”
“And it seems you had mine, sir.”
The duke grinned. “I wasn’t entirely certain at first, but when a man professes he cannot do without a woman — and that woman is my daughter — and when, moreover, they clearly have anticipated their vows several times over, there is really only one solution. You did not think I would allow you to make off with her without benefit of marriage, did you?”
“She will object,” Elias said.
“Yes.” The duke studied him closely. “But you will not, will you? I can read that in your soul.”
Elias arched a brow. “Reading a man’s soul is a rare skill.”
“Not for a Cornish man,” the duke said. “But I digress. I see I have played into your hands as much as you into mine. Indeed, I daresay I have made things easy for you.”
“As to that, sir, I would caution against any assumption that the path ahead will be a smooth one.”
The duke nodded. “God help you, Westwood, you do know my daughter. Come. Let us get on with it.”
***
“Good morning, daughter.”
Harriet opened her eyes. “Father!” She pulled the bedding up to her neck, and looked wildly around. Elias was nowhere to be seen.
Her father hovered over her. “Are you well, then?”
“Yes, but why are you here?”
“He did not force himself on you?”
Harriet turned scarlet. “No.”
“Appears to be a bruise there on your neck,” he said, studying her.
“Father, please! Allow me some privacy, so I can dress,” Harriet said.
The duke moved toward the door. “I will be in the parlor. And have a care with your toilette, my dear. This is your wedding day.”
Harriet stared at him in horror.
A half hour later, she stood before to her father, her expression grim. “This is not necessary, Father. I am neither a child nor an innocent.”
“No, you are a widow,” the duke replied. “And while many of the breed comport themselves in a common fashion, I will not tolerate such behavior in my daughter.”
She turned to Elias, who stood silently next to her father. “Why do you not say something? He has no right.”
“He is your father,” Elias said.
“But he is not yours!” she said. “He has no right to force you marry me.”
“I am here of my own will,” he said quietly.
Confusion swept her. Marriage. She knew Elias loathed such a step as much as she did. And yet, he had not objected. Were they to be swept into this union without a word of protest?
“We should not suit, as you well know,” she persisted. “We are nothing alike.”
Elias regarded her. “As to that —”
Suddenly, her father stepped between them. “The vicar is on his way,” he said, and put his hand at her elbow, propelling her into a larger room.
There she was surprised to see Heavenly and another man, although by the looks of things, the state of their relations was not a cordial one.
“I’m not too late, am I, your lordship?” the man asked. Harriet recognized him as the servant who had greeted her so frostily when she went to Elias’s house.
“You don’t have to marry her, now,” he continued eagerly. “Wilson has bought back the shares she sold!”
“Henry?” Elias frowned. “What is this?”
“Mr. Wilson has laid it all out in these papers,” Henry said, holding a sheaf of documents. “He was most anxious that you have the news posthaste.” He spared a moment to glare at Heavenly. “The purchasers were all too happy to sell, since you offered more than they paid. Even that fellow Hunt finally gave in. So you see, my lord,” he finished happily, “you have the controlling interest. You don’t need her anymore.”
The shares, Harriet thought weakly. Always the shares. That explained so much. “Then again,” she said softly, “why stop with a controlling interest, when you can gain all of them by marrying me?”
“That is not my purpose,” Elias said.
“What’s this nonsense?” her father demanded.
“Harriet sold some of her shares to pay for various repairs in the village,” Elias said. “I instructed my solicitor to try to buy them back.”
Harriet felt as if her world had crashed down around her. This man who wanted her to trust him had conspired to get her shares by any means necessary, even going so far as to secretly obtain what she had already sold. Why had she even dared to think otherwise?
“Tell him the rest,” she said in a dull voice.
Elias eyed her assessingly before turning to her father. “Before I began that effort, your daughter and I arrived at an agreement by which she would deed to me the remaining shares of the business that came to her as Freddy’s widow, provided certain, er, terms were met. It was a business agreement. I have since released her from it.”
“Yes,” Harriet confirmed. “All between us was business.” She tried to banish the awful roaring in her ears, the sound of her fragile hope collapsing.
Elias’s dark gaze held hers. “You know that it was not.”
Harriet did not see obvious treachery in his eyes, but what did she know of such matters? What did she know of anything? The man who had just made love to her, who had possessed her as none other, had betrayed her, maneuvered himself into a marriage that would give him all of the shares of his business without her cooperation.
“Was any of it real, my lord?” she asked bitterly.
His eyes, dark with some emotion she could not discern, held hers. “You know the answer.”
“Why did you not come to me, daughter, if you needed money?” her father demanded.
“I did not want your money.” Harriet turned to Elias. “I will freely give you what shares of mine remain. There is no need for a wedding to seal the bargain. None of this is necessary.” She yearned for him to take her in his arms, to reassure her that her worst fears had not been realized. But not here, not before her father and the others.
“Your Grace!” called a cheerful female voice. All eyes turned to the doorway, where the innkeeper’s wife stood with a small man, nervously adjusting his spectacles. “I have brought the vicar,” she announced with a broad smile. “The wedding can begin!”
***
Her husband sat opposite her in the carriage. They had barely spoken since leaving Cornwall. For three days Harriet and Elias had traveled in silence, neither attempting to bridge the strained gap between them. The inns at which they stopped had not been full; without asking her, he had obtained separate rooms for them.
All Harriet could think of was the extent of his perfidy. She had played into his hands. Now he had her shares, and she had a husband once more. Once again, she was shackled to a man with the power to hurt her.
But perhaps he would soon be off on his travels, seeing to his business. Then she would be free to go on with her life. Everything would be the same except for the minor inconvenience of having a husband somewhere. She would have her stimulating salons in town and her home in the country. She would talk with Cedric about his plans for the mill. They would move forward.
Life would be tolerable. That was what she wished for, was it not?
Harriet tried very hard not to think about the intimacies they had shared, for that made her want to weep in despair. She would not give in to that weakness.
Had he married her for her shares? Harriet did not want to believe that the man who had caressed her so tenderly was capable of such a thing. But to believe otherwise would require a leap of faith.
It would require trust.
And that was something she had never learned.
***
“Celestial!” Horace peered out the window at the
carriages.
“’Tis Lady Harriet!” Celestial beamed. “I will get a supper ready. She will be famished after her long journey.”
Horace put a restraining hand on her arm. “But look! there is Lord Westwood. He is with her.”
Celestial studied the scene on the drive. Lord Westwood was indeed with her mistress. Both wore grim expressions as they descended from the carriage. Emerging from another carriage were Heavenly and a slightly older man — one of Lord Westwood’s servants, perhaps — who looked equally glum.
“Something momentous has occurred,” Celestial said. Her gaze narrowed thoughtfully. “She returns from Cornwall without her father but with Lord Westwood — that is three days’ drive in a closed carriage. Perhaps Lord Westwood means to marry her after all. Mayhap he applied to her father. Oh, Horace! Perhaps they are already wed!”
“I don’t think so.” Horace shook his head doubtfully.
Celestial clapped her hands together. “This would be an excellent time to tell them about us. She’ll not object that we married without her permission. Neither will Heavenly, what with Lady Harriet embracing happiness and her new love.”
“That is not the face of a woman who has been embracing anyone,” Horace declared.
Celestial peered at Lady Harriet, who was climbing the front steps slowly, as if the weight of the world sat on her shoulders.
Horace hurried to throw open the door. “My lady! Welcome home.”
Celestial could not hear Lady Harriet’s response. But her mistress’s tone told her that Horace was correct — something was very wrong.
When Lord Westwood’s servant carted his trunks into the house behind him, Celestial’s eyes widened. So they had married! But no newly married woman looked as downcast as Lady Harriet.
As Celestial hurried to the kitchen, she stole a look at the earl. He was studying Lady Harriet, and Celestial was surprised to see longing in his gaze. He cared for her, then. That was more than her mistress had from Lord Worthington. That man had nearly ruined her for anyone else. She would not easily overcome those scars. Lord Westwood would have his hands full if he hoped to truly win her heart.
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