by Robyn DeHart
They were just leaving the breakfast room when a servant came to them and bowed. “His lordship has requested you meet him in the armory.”
“Me?” Harriet asked. Did his boldness know no bounds?
“Both of you. You are Lady Harriet and Lady Agnes?”
They nodded in unison.
“His lordship instructed,” he said. “Please follow me.”
They followed the servant to the opposite end of the house, an end that she had heard was still under construction and therefore off-limits to the guests. When she’d first arrived at Brookhaven, the first thing she’d noticed was the symmetry of building. Whereas most large estates had structures and additions from different eras, this one was all one cohesive style. She wagered they were being led to the sister room of the ballroom where they’d been the night before.
The servant stopped at the double doors. “Inside. But this is where I leave you.” He bowed and then walked away.
“How intriguing,” Agnes said. She grabbed onto the door handles and pulled. There was a small outer chamber and another group of doors. Once they’d opened those, they found Oliver standing at a window. He turned at the sound of the door.
“Splendid. I’m glad you both were able to come.”
Harriet took in the sight before her. He’d gone to great lengths to set this room up just as she’d done in the ballroom at the Burkes townhome. Mattresses lay side by side on top of the floor, creating a padded area. There were a myriad of more conventional weapons displayed on a table as well as a basin and towels.
Agnes smacked Harriet on the arm. “He knows?” she whispered.
Harriet winced. “I’ll explain later.”
“Lady Agnes, have no fear, your secret is safe with me.” He walked toward them, his wintry eyes settled on Harriet. “You may continue your training here without the concern that anyone will discover you. This area is off-limits to everyone save the two of you,” he said.
Despite her initial caution, Agnes could not hide her glee. “This is marvelous, my lord. Thank you.”
He nodded. “Now then, I shall leave you to it.” He stopped right next to Harriet. “Know that when you are my wife, you will have access to this and any other resource you need. I wish not to change anything about you, other than to relieve you of your virtue,” he added with a whisper.
She shivered, and then he was gone.
Harriet stared at the closed doors.
Agnes bumped her friend’s hip with her own.
“Why would he do this?”
“Because he quite obviously likes you,” Agnes said frankly.
“That’s ridiculous.”
“No, you’re ridiculous.” Agnes slipped off her shoes and bounced a bit on the mattresses to test their give. “Do you know that I heard the most extraordinary thing about Lord Davenport?”
Curiosity ate at her. “And you haven’t told me yet?”
“I haven’t had a chance.” They sat facing each other on the mattresses, their knees pressed together as they’d done as girls. “His overspending serves a greater purpose.”
“That makes no sense.”
“Actually, it does. His ties to Benedict’s. Rumor has it that they grew up together and lived near each other. Benedict’s father was a baron and the marquess, Oliver’s father, convinced the baron to make a certain investment. They lost everything. Had to sell the title and small estate. Davenport is reported to have funded Benedict’s gaming hell and then ensured it became the most popular club so that his friend would regain his own family’s lost fortune.”
Harriet’s heart pounded wildly in her chest. Had she so misjudged him?
“They also said that he did the design of this house, to rebuild it, and did much of the labor himself.”
Harriet wasn’t quite certain what to do with this news. He had never denied his greed, and though he had rebuilt his family’s estate and coffers, he continued to grow his fortune until he was likely richer than the Crown. That made no sense other than to reveal a heart inherently full of greed. She would have to speak to him again about his wealth and perhaps persuade him to parlay a portion to those who were less fortunate. Perhaps he merely needed a push to shift his generosity to those he didn’t know personally.
She should commend him on his charity and tenacity at righting his father’s wrongs. She had certainly known when the Davenports had fallen on hard times. She’d been young, but she’d listened to her parents discuss it. Her mother had passed along gowns, barely worn, to Oliver’s mother so that her friend would have appropriate clothing to wear.
Then his father had died. Under questionable circumstances. Though no one ever spoke of it, Harriet’s mother had always said the man had killed himself. Dug a hole so deep, he’d buried his family and then he’d crawled out to die somewhere alone, leaving them to scramble upward on their own.
A pang of compassion filled her. Perhaps it was understandable that Oliver clung so desperately to his funds. She certainly had never known what it was like to wonder if she had food for the following day. Her greatest concerns had involved keeping up with the latest of fashions.
Agnes sprang to her feet. “Shall we practice?”
“Yes.”
“Should we invite Justine and Tilly?”
Harriet shook her head. “I can’t imagine that they would be upset, but I’d rather they not know that Lord Davenport is aware of our group. So many members blamed Iris for the exposure in Lord Ashby’s newspaper.”
“Yes, I believe you’re right.” They began with a few general exercises to warm up their bodies. Lady Somersby had taught them that they could only be as effective as they were agile and alert. She had always insisted that her girls, as she called them, had skills in a variety of areas. Though they were never called upon to physically fight during their duties, Lady Somersby felt very strongly about them all being trained to protect themselves.
Harriet and Agnes sparred for several moments before either of them spoke again. “I have missed this,” Agnes said. “I do hope we uncover Lady X’s identity soon so that we can return to our duties.”
“Indeed. That woman has ruined everything for us. Before we know it, pickpockets will have the run of Bond Street,” Harriet said.
“Perhaps Iris and Lord Ashby are having some fortune uncovering the woman’s identity,” Agnes said.
“Or they’re busy planning their wedding.”
She went through the motions of the fighting with Agnes, but admittedly she wasn’t focused on the task at hand. She kept replaying Agnes’s words… He likes you. He’d said he desired her, described in detail what he’d wanted to do, and followed through with some of those promises last night. Her body reacted to the memory; desire burned through her veins. Harriet longed to do anything to shake the feeling of guilt that ate at her. If she’d misjudged him about all of this, then perhaps his proposal had been sincere.
She could not afford to tangle with Oliver. She wanted a man who would love her in return, and she knew that he could never offer her such things. Marrying him would be pleasant, he’d proved as much last night. But all the sinful pleasures of the flesh that he could offer her wouldn’t make up for the fact that eventually she’d love him and he would tire of her.
She would rather be alone than in a marriage by herself.
Chapter Twelve
He had relished the surprise and subsequent warmth in her eyes when he’d showed her and Agnes the room he’d made for them. No, it wasn’t completely necessary. They weren’t going to be at the estate for too much longer. But his mother’s suggestion to show interest in something she cared about seemed as good a plan as any. And the room would be ready for her whenever they did visit Brookhaven.
Yet for all his efforts, it seemed Harriet was still intent on him marrying someone else. The party guests had all gathered into the front parlor for a rousing game of I Have a Basket and they were currently up to letter J.
Everyone was participating with the exception of the mothers. Not
merely his and Harriet’s, but the others who had attended with their daughters as well as Harriet herself. She sat over with the matrons as if she were somehow so much older than the rest of the guests, including her friends who were all playing. Even without partaking in the game, Harriet was obviously enjoying herself. On more than one occasion, she’d tilted her head back and laughed jovially. The mere sound of it surged through him, bringing him unexpected pleasure.
He moved closer to Agnes since he’d already had his turn and, in fact, had brought along a chinchilla in the basket.
“My lord,” Agnes said as he stood next to her. “Are you having an enjoyable party?”
“I am. And yourself?”
“I’ve always found this particular game to be rather juvenile, but watching Millicent get knocked out of the round because she couldn’t think of anything that started with an E was rather entertaining.”
“Ears,” he said.
“Eyeballs,” she added. “At least that’s what I’d been thinking.”
“Why is Harriet over there with all the matrons and not playing?” he asked.
Agnes looked across the room to where her friend sat, hands folded primly in her lap. “I suspect she is trying to put some distance between the two of you. You make her nervous, my lord.”
He knew he affected Harriet. He’d seen the signs of her attraction, seen her annoyance and even humor, but he’d never imagined he made her nervous. She was always so certain when she spoke to him, telling him precisely how she felt.
“Kangaroos and lions,” one of the women said, “this basket is full of the most exotic animals.” She laughed gleefully.
“None more exotic than his lordship’s chinchillas,” Lady Felicia said.
He’d been avoiding the woman since she’d arrived. She was a shameless flirt, and he saw no reason to encourage the attentions when he was not remotely interested. Despite the fact that she was lovely, she held no intrigue for him the way that Harriet did.
“It has not been my intention to make her feel ill at ease,” he said to Agnes.
“What are your intentions?”
“To marry her.”
“She doesn’t seem to believe you.”
“Yes, I’ve noticed that. Do you know why she’s so reluctant to believe that I would want to marry her?”
Agnes eyed Harriet across the room, then looked up at him. “I do not know all of the details, my lord, but I do know that several years ago, her mother had arranged a union with her and a man who was very cruel in his rejection of her. It was devastating to Harriet. She’d always been so careful around men, but her nerves would get the better of her and she’d end up behaving rather awkwardly. After that incident, she decided she’d only marry for love. Though, to be perfectly honest, she hasn’t really let any man get close to her so there’s been no chance at a love match.”
“She’s protecting herself from getting hurt,” he said.
“I believe she is.”
From him. He was a bastard of the worst sort. He hadn’t rejected her, he’d merely rejected the notion of marrying anyone for money. He wasn’t sorry that he hadn’t agreed to marry her that night. He was damned proud of the fact that he’d single-handedly rebuilt the Davenport fortune, restored honor back to the family name. Yet he wished that he hadn’t dismissed her so callously. Perhaps they could have courted then, waited to marry until he’d regained some funds. He recognized that none of that would have worked. He’d not been healed enough then. Anger had fueled his every move six years ago, and had he unleashed it on Harriet, he would have broken her spirit.
“There have been no other suitors for her?” he asked.
“No. But not for lack of interest. Men like her. Everyone likes her. Her smile alone could brighten even the darkest of days. But any attention she’s given she brushes off and excuses.” Agnes bit down on her lip. “I’m not certain I should be telling you all of this.”
“Are you sharing secrets she’s told you in confidence?”
“Of course not.”
“Merely your own observations?”
“Precisely.”
Agnes’s perceptions weren’t wrong. Not as far as he was concerned. Harriet was intensely likeable. It was surprising she wasn’t married, but he was damned glad she wasn’t. He couldn’t deny what Agnes said about Harriet’s smile, though he’d partially thought the effect was only on him. But something about the genuineness and ease of her smiles made the world seem like a better place.
Good God, he was waxing poetic about the woman. He needed to bed her soon before he tried his hand at a sonnet.
Oliver had grown weary of the game. Courtships and wooing were not things he excelled in. He wanted Harriet in his bed. As his wife. Today, he’d ensure that would happen.
Earlier that day they’d agreed to meet to discuss the outcome of the party. They had one evening left. They were to walk together to the pond, and she was to give him her suggestions on which lady he should pursue. An exercise in futility if there ever was one. So he had an alternate plan. He waited for her on a bench by the back gardens that led out to the pond, rose gardens, and maze.
She stepped outside and walked down the steps toward him. “My lord, you’re looking rather dapper this afternoon.”
He waited until she’d put her gloved hand into the crook of his elbow. “Thank you. I’m afraid I can’t return the compliment, though. You appear to be exhausted. Did you not sleep well last night?”
She sucked in a breath but didn’t dare look over at him.
He chuckled. “Very well, I shall not torment you, except to say that I can still taste you, and your cries of pleasure still ring in my ears.”
“Oliver,” she chided. She stopped walking. “I shall not walk with you if you will not behave the proper gentleman.”
“I can never promise that.” His gaze fell to her lips. “But I do promise to not speak one more word about last night. Or how you wrapped your legs around my ears.” He held up a hand. “Last comment.”
She eyed him warily, then nodded. But he could have sworn she’d bit back a smile.
“The weather is quite overcast,” he said noncommittally.
“Indeed. I suspect we’ll have rain by this evening. I do hope it doesn’t interfere with us returning to London tomorrow.”
“The roads around here do not tend to flood very often. Everyone should be able to return.”
“See how pleasant we can be when we’re having appropriate discussions.”
“Propriety is overrated, if you ask me.”
“Yes, well, I didn’t ask you.”
The subtle green hill lowered them to the path he’d created that ran along the pond. They walked in silence for several moments.
“I need to rest,” he told her.
“Of course.” He sat on the stone bench next to the quiet pond. She remained standing and turned to glance out at the water. “They’re beautiful,” she whispered once she caught sight of the swans.
He nodded. “The black one is my favorite.”
Just then she swam into view, graceful and lean with her proud curved neck.
“Why is she your favorite?” she asked.
“She is different than the others. She demands your attention with her graceful curves and dark shadows.” He wanted to say more. About how she, too, was beautiful in a way that was different than the rest of the lithe beauties in London. Harriet’s smile lit up a room. Her laughter, a soothing balm to any injury. And her passion. He was surprised she hadn’t been snatched up by some other man. He was thankful, though, that they had missed the signals. Their loss was most assuredly his gain.
His pants grew uncomfortably tight as he thought of her writhing in pleasure last night, the way she’d arched into his touch and cried out his name. First from his hands and then from his mouth. He’d never wanted any woman the way he wanted her. He had a seemingly unquenchable need to have her and only her.
“Thank you for the practice room,” she w
hispered.
“A lady has interests, she should pursue them,” he said plainly.
“That’s quite forward thinking of you.”
“I have many facets.”
She smiled. “I do believe the changes we made to your hair and the shave are working.” She reached out a hand as if to touch his face, then pulled back abruptly. She was drawn to him as he was to her, yet she fought against it so fiercely.
“I’ve heard more than one of the ladies comment on how handsome you are.”
“Have you agreed with them?”
“Oliver, you know you are a handsome man. Are you begging for compliments?”
“Only from you.”
She waved her hand dismissively then reached into a hidden pocket at the side of her skirts and withdrew a folded paper. “I’ve narrowed your list down to these candidates, but I would entertain a different list if you have suggestions.”
He shifted his legs and set his cane on the seat next to him, though he said nothing.
She’d stepped closer. He could smell the sweet scent of her hair rinse. She glanced down at the paper in her hands, then back up at him. “Your eyes are rather terrifying,” she said.
“A pity. I do hate to frighten people.”
“They are so intensely blue though sometimes appear nearly silver. It is as if you have a storm brewing in their depths, much like when something rolls in over the ocean.”
He pulled her to him, and she fell onto his lap. “Have you spent much time thinking about my eyes, sweet Harriet? What else about me do you find terrifying?”
Her eyes widened, and her breath caught. “The way you make me feel.” Then she frowned as if she couldn’t believe she’d actually answered him.
“The way you make me feel is rather terrifying as well,” he said.
He was running out of time. He knew their mothers would be coming by this way, and he needed to time the kiss perfectly, else this plan wouldn’t work at all.
He lowered his mouth to hers as he caught sight of the group coming around the bend. But then the plan was lost as she opened her mouth to him. Her tongue swept forward, and he gripped his hands into her hips to hold her still.
