“Thank you?” Harper repeated, staring at him as though he’d gone daft which all, things considered, he very well could have. “Thank you? I ought to report you to the authorities! You brought me up here against my will and-”
“-saved your reputation,” he interjected smoothly.
She blinked. Saved her reputation? What the devil was he going on about now?
“You’ve been in the company of an unmarried man for an undeterminable length of time, Lady Harper. And without any type of a chaperone.” His brow lifted as Harper’s stomach sank. “By now your mare will have returned to Winfield without you which means everyone will know you went off riding by yourself if they didn’t before. A bloody half-witted thing to do, by the by. You could have been seriously injured or worse.”
She crossed her arms. “The only thing paining me at the moment is you.”
His mouth curved in a humorless smile. “Be that as it may, how are you prepared to explain your whereabouts these past two hours when you return home in one of my carriages?”
“Why, I will simply say…That is, I shall explain…” Her voice trailed off as she suddenly realized the full weight of her dilemma. Blast it all, but Doyle was right. Her reputation was at risk if only for the fact that she’d been alone with him. Not only that, but they’d been intimate. Well, as intimate as they could be while still wearing clothes. At the memory of Doyle’s mouth on her breast her cheeks heated and filled with color, just as she knew they would do when Miles asked her where she’d been and who she had been with. She would have to tell him exactly what occurred in the forest for he’d never relent until she did and then…and then she didn’t know what would happen.
Being an overprotective elder brother Miles would naturally assume Doyle had taken advantage of his innocent young sister which was part of the truth, but certainly wasn’t the whole of it. Doyle may have initiated the kiss…but she hadn’t stopped him. If anything, she had encouraged him with her breathy moans and mindless writhing. Which meant she was half to blame, except she was willing to bet her entire dowry Miles wouldn’t see it that way.
He’d be furious. Furious enough to do something incredibly foolish…like challenging Doyle to a duel. Dueling may have been against the law, but she feared that would do little to stop Miles from defending her honor.
As a wave of nausea twisted her stomach at the thought of Miles being injured - or worse - she leaned against the windowsill, the back of her skull hitting the glass with a dull thud. What a tangled mess she’d ensnared herself in! If she had only listened to Mr. Downington…but it was far too late for ‘what ifs’. Her fate - and the fate of those she held most dear - was now quite literally held in the hands of a man she didn’t know whether she wanted to kiss…or cuff on the side of the head.
“What would you have us do?” she asked Doyle stiffly.
His smile - slow, wolfish, and unmistakably triumphant - sent a shiver of alarm racing down her spine. “Why Lady Harper, I thought you would never ask…”
CHAPTER SIX
“Marry you?” Staring at Doyle with a mixture of shock and incredulity that did little in the way of bolstering his self-confidence, Harper shook her head so rapidly her braid came undone and silky tendrils of dark, wavy hair spilled over her shoulders. “I cannot marry you.”
All things considered, it wasn’t the reaction Doyle had been hoping for…but he couldn’t say he was surprised by it. “Do you have another solution in mind?” he queried, mimicking her posture as he crossed both arms over his chest in a position deliberately meant to exude nonchalance for though he may have appeared indifferent on the outside, on the inside he was feeling anything but apathetic. Since the moment he’d ravished Harper in the forest - and she, although notably inexperienced, had ravished him back - he’d known what he had to do. What he needed to do. For what he felt for Harper wasn’t a want, but a need. A dark, restless, boiling need that wouldn’t be sated until he had her in his arms…and in his bed.
Were she any other woman he would have pursued her without a single thought of marriage, but Harper wasn’t any other woman. She was intelligent and witty and brutally honest. She didn’t need his fortune. She didn’t want his title. At the moment she didn’t seem to want him at all, but Doyle was confident he would be able to change her mind. He’d felt the way her body had responded to his. He’d seen the way she glanced at him when she didn’t think he was looking. She may not have been ready to admit it, but she desired him every bit as much as he desired her. They had an intense, unmistakable chemistry. One he’d felt from the first moment they met and she’d scornfully said, I am not deaf, if that is what you’re implying.
The corners of his mouth twitched at the memory and Harper, mistakenly assuming he was finding amusement at her expense, pounced like a cat on a mouse, claws extended and fangs bared.
“Do you think this is funny?” she demanded. “Because I certainly do not! Was this your intention the entire time?” Her green eyes narrowed with suspicion. “I thought you were merely having a bit of fun on the night of Farcott Ball or at the very least foxed to the gills, but you weren’t, were you?”
“No,” he said calmly, “I was not.”
She gaped at him. “Then you are dicked in the nob! I knew it.”
“I can assure you I am quite sane, Lady Harper. And quite determined.”
“To marry me?” At his short, clipped nod her eyes widened. “But why? We have nothing in common. You didn’t even know who I was until three months ago. Not to mention the fact that I truly dislike you.”
“Did you dislike me in the woods?” He chuckled under his breath when her cheeks filled with color and she pinched her lips together, refusing to answer him. Stubborn woman. But he could be stubborn too. “I thought not. Whether you care to admit it or not you are attracted to me as I am attracted to you. Most marriages are based on far less than that.”
“Perhaps,” she acknowledged, “but that does not make them right and I have absolutely no intention of trapping myself into the sort of loveless, miserable marriage my parents had. If I ever marry, it will be for no other reason than pure love.” Her dark brows lifted as a cunning gleam entered her eyes. “Do you love me, Doyle?”
The question set him aback.
Love?
Love was fools and day dreamers. His sister had claimed to be in love, and look what it had gotten her. A bruised, battered body and a broken heart. No, he didn’t love Harper. But he desired her, and surely that was enough.
“I did not think so,” she said in an oddly soft voice when he remained silent. “Which means my answer is no. I cannot marry you, Doyle. I will not. We shall simply need to handle this in another manner. A discreet manner.”
“And what manner would that be?” he asked as he felt the first flickers of anger beginning to unfurl inside of his chest. Was he truly so bloody awful that Harper couldn’t even bring herself to consider the idea of marrying him? It wasn’t as though he were hideously ugly or in possession of a great many vices. He was a bloody duke, for Christ’s sake. One with an enormous fortune at his disposal…and one who was not going to take ‘no’ for an answer.
Head tilting to the side in thought, Harper skimmed her fingers through her hair, absently untangling the tousled curls. “We could tell a tiny white lie,” she suggested after a brief hesitation. “I fell from my horse and you found me in the woods and brought me straight here. After all, you did say I struck my head.”
Something he’d only said in an attempt to keep her at Longmeadow a little longer.
“I do not know what sort of moral compass you allow yourself to be directed by, but mine does not point towards lying,” he replied which was, in and of itself, a lie. One he didn’t feel the slightest bit of guilt for committing for he was willing to say whatever he had to in order to force Harper to yield her hand. “There are two ways out of this, and I think we both know which way you need to choose.”
“Why are you doing this?” she cried in
frustration. Stepping around the end of the bed, she reached him in three short strides and jabbed his chest with her finger. “I do not want to marry you! I did not want you at the ball, and I do not want you now! How else can I make myself any clearer?”
“You do not want me?” Brandy eyes darkening with desire, Doyle easily captured her wrist, thumb and pointer finger encircling the tiny bones. He jerked her against him and the instant their bodies touched lust shot up like a flame, enveloping them both in its sizzling heat.
“That - that is what I said,” Harper gasped even as her pupils dilated and she gripped his shirt with her free hand, fingers tangling in the fabric.
“Then prove it,” he hissed before her bent his head captured her mouth once again.
This time the kiss was not a tumultuous race by rather a slow, sinuous waltz, one where he gave every bit as much as he took. When he skimmed the seam of her lips with his tongue she invited him in with a breathy moan and he felt her nipples harden against his chest as she curled her arm around his neck and rose up on her toes, plastering her body against his. Letting go of her wrist he skimmed his hands over her delicious curves, lingering on her hips before slipping lower to cup her derriere. She gasped when he squeezed, then gasped again when he picked her up and wrapped her legs around his waist.
The bed trembled when he set her against one of the thick mahogany posts, heedlessly pressing her slender body against the wood as their passion rose to a fever pitch. Either by accident or design she burrowed her fingers in his hair and pulled, yanking his head back. For an instant their gazes met and the unanswered need swirling in the depths of Harper’s green eyes was all the encouragement Doyle needed. His teeth grazed her neck before he swung them both around and fell on the mattress, taking the brunt of the impact with his own body. Her hair spilled across his chest in a silky curtain of glossy obsidian before she lifted her chin, bewitching gaze seeking and finding his.
“This does not mean anything,” she said, though whether the statement was for her benefit or for his Doyle didn’t know, nor did he care. The only thing he cared about was the heat in his loins and the soft, willing woman in his arms.
She moaned when he cupped her breast, thumb flicking across her hard, pointed nipple. It quivered beneath his touch, demanding the attention of his mouth which he was all but too happy to provide. Their legs entwined as they rolled onto their sides, making it impossible to tell where he ended and she began as he dipped his head and suckled her breast through the rough fabric of her shirt. She clawed his back, nails sinking into his flesh as her spine arched.
“Don’t stop,” she panted breathlessly. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t-”
“Bridgette is bringing the cold water but I wanted to - oh my goodness. Oh my goodness,” Aurelia repeated as she stood frozen in the doorway, eyes wide and mouth open in shock. The towels she’d brought up dropped to the floor in a scattered pile of white as her arms fell bonelessly to her sides. “Doyle what - what are you doing?”
Being a bloody bounder, Doyle cursed silently as he untangled himself from Harper who, to her credit, didn’t scream or shriek or burst into tears but simply stood up when he did and stood silently beside him, her pale face unreadable as she stared at his sister. Guilt surged through him, catching him off guard and causing a foul taste to permeate the back of his throat. He’d thought he had been willing to do whatever it took to make Harper his own, but too late he realized he didn’t want her as his wife if it meant having to force her. She was a proud, independent woman. The sort who would never forgive being compelled to do anything against her will.
He should have taken his time with her. Courted her, as she deserved to be courted. Wooed her, as she deserved to be wooed. Charmed her, as she deserved to be charmed. Instead he’d acted with his cock instead of his conscience and if she hadn’t had a genuine reason to loathe him before, she certainly did now.
I can still fix this. I damn well will fix this.
“Aurelia, this is not what it-”
“Doyle and I are engaged,” Harper interrupted hastily. “He just asked me, and I said yes. We were…celebrating and things got a bit out of hand. I apologize you had to witness such an inappropriately timed display. I hope you are not unduly offended.”
“E-engaged?” Aurelia stuttered as her gaze flitted from Harper to Doyle and back again. “But I - I don’t even know who you are. Doyle, I don’t even know who she is. Didn’t - didn’t you just meet?”
Momentarily ignoring his sister, Doyle turned to Harper and took both of her hands, his grip strong and insistent as he stared into her eyes. “You do not have to do this,” he said in a fierce whisper. “I know why you are, but your reputation will not suffer. I swear it. Aurelia will not breathe a word to anyone.”
“I thought this is what you wanted. Or have you changed your mind?” Her head canted to the side, countenance devoid of any emotion. “Do you want me or do you not?”
Releasing one of her hands on a hiss of breath he raked his fingers through his hair, pulling the ends taut. “You know I do,” he said quietly, intensely aware of Aurelia’s presence as she watched them from the doorway. “But not like this.”
Harper’s brittle laugh sliced through him like a knife. “And how is this way any different than what you were trying to do five minutes ago? My family will not suffer another scandal because of me. I will not allow it. As of this moment we are now betrothed to be married, Your Grace, whether you like it or not.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
She was engaged to be married to the Duke of Greenwood.
Two weeks later and the very idea still filled Harper with disbelief every time she thought about it which was to say every ten minutes or so. It was a particularly hard concept to grasp given that she’d hardly seen Doyle at all since the day both of their lives had been irrevocably changed.
It remained to be seen whether that change was going to be for the better…or for the worse.
Harper still didn’t know why she’d done it. Why she had cut Doyle off and announced an engagement that until the moment she said it out loud had been completely nonexistent. Perhaps she’d succumbed to a moment of pure lunacy or perhaps…perhaps she really did want to marry him.
Or at least I wanted to, she thought darkly as she made her way into the dining room. Her mother and brother were already seated, although Miles stood up as she arrived and pulled out the chair to his left. She thanked him with a tiny murmur and a tight smile as she took her seat and snuck a glance down at the opposite end of the long table where Dianna sat directly across from her husband. Catching her gaze, Harper’s sister-in-law winked one bright blue eye in silent acknowledgement before her attention was recaptured by her Aunt Abigail who, along with her husband, the Duke of Ashburn, was spending the week at Winfield. Charlotte and her husband would also be joining them, albeit in the morning. It was to be a family reunion of sorts; the first time they’d all managed to come together since Miles and Dianna had been married.
“You look a bit peckish, dear.” Studying her daughter with narrowed eyes, The Dowager Countess of Winfield picked up her linen napkin and dabbed neatly at the corner of her mouth.
A handsome woman rapidly approaching her sixtieth year, Olivia Radnor boasted a stern countenance devoid of any unfavorable wrinkles or lines and dark hair tucked beneath a white lace cap. She was slight of frame and serious of mind; a woman who had devoted her entire life to her husband and son without much thought or consideration for her one and only daughter.
To say Harper’s relationship with her mother was strained would be a courtesy. In truth they rarely spoke, despite Miles’ fervent wish that they mend the many bridges dividing them and, as he put it, ‘come together once and for all as a proper family’.
What would he know about it? Harper thought with a surge of annoyance as she looked at her brother out of the corner of her eye. Miles may have at long last returned home after five years traveling abroad, but that didn’t change the fac
t that while he’d been gone she had been left completely and utterly alone, especially after their father passed and their mother went into a prolonged mourning that lasted up until the day Miles reappeared.
She should have made her debut into Society two years ago but had been kept at Winfield, isolated from her peers, forgotten by her family. Was it any wonder then that she preferred books to people? Jane Austen and Maria Edgeworth had never abandoned her. Sir Walter Scott had never forgotten her birthday. Granted, he never knew it to begin with, but that was besides the point. Books were reliable. Books stayed where you put them. Books never left you. Whereas people…people couldn’t always be trusted to do the same.
“I am feeling fine,” she told her mother flatly. “Never better.”
Olivia sniffed. “I should assume so. Tell me dear, have you and the duke picked a date for the wedding yet? The banns have already been read twice as I am sure you are well aware. After this Sunday they’ll have been called thrice and you shall have the church’s blessing to marry. I rather thought the twenty-eighth would be quite nice. If the weather continues to hold we could even have the reception out of doors. Would that not be lovely?”
At the word ‘duke’ the entire table went silent and Harper found herself the uncomfortable recipient of five pairs of curious stares. Other than announcing her engagement to Doyle, she’d remained stubbornly mum on the subject despite the endless litany of questions. Not wanting to lie, but unable to tell the whole truth, she’d merely said - over and over and over again - that she and Doyle had first met at the Farcott Ball and their interest in one another had been rekindled when she went with Mary and her mother to call upon him at Longmeadow Park. Everyone had taken her explanation for truth. Well, everyone except for Miles, but given that he still felt guilty for leaving her he’d given Doyle his blessing after pulling Harper aside, staring her straight in the eye, and asking her one question: does he make you happy? When she’d answered yes he had seemed relieved, albeit still slightly bemused, not that she could blame him.
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