“I need you, Eustace. You must take me home.”
“Home?” He looked confused. “But, you are home.”
“To Worthington. Tonight.”
He stared at her.
“I cannot stay here,” Harriet said. To her dismay, her voice broke. Eustace held the candle up to study her face. “Has he hurt you?” he demanded grimly. “Have I mistaken his character after all?”
“He did not —”
“I will call him out,” Eustace vowed, “even if he is your husband.”
Touched by his fierce concern, Harriet shook her head. “He has not abused me, Eustace, but I cannot stay here. Please. I need you to —” But she could not continue. Like a frightened child she threw herself into his arms.
“Oh, dear,” Eustace murmured in bewilderment. “Oh, dear.”
***
“Henry!” Elias bellowed, though it was past two o’clock in the morning and the house was dark except for the brace of candles in the foyer. It had taken forever to ferret out the truth behind Lady Forth’s visit, for she had refused to speak with him until she had bathed and turned herself out in the style to which she was accustomed. He had spent more than two hours at her house, most of them waiting in the parlor for her to come downstairs in a white satin dressing gown that only served to infuriate him further.
His batman emerged from the shadows. “Yes, my lord?”
Elias pulled out a piece of paper and shook it in Henry’s face. “You sent a note to Lady Forth in my name!”
“Aye, and that lace handkerchief you got from her the night of Lady Symington’s ball.” Henry grinned. “Effective, wasn’t it?”
Elias regarded him in disbelief. He held the note up to the candlelight and read: “‘When as in silks my Caroline goes, how sweetly flows that liquefaction of her clothes.’” He eyed Henry in disgust. “What revolting nonsense is that?”
Henry looked offended. “Herrick, my lord. The ladies love him. But ’tis the part about the kiss — ‘Give me a kiss, and to that kiss a score; then to that twenty, add a hundred more’ — that moves them beyond reason.”
Dumbfounded, Elias stared at him. “Why in God’s name did you do it?”
Henry took a step backward. “From what I saw — heard — of tonight’s little tiff, my scheme to bring Lady Harriet around worked to perfection.”
“Scheme? Explain yourself,” Elias commanded.
“Old-fashioned jealousy, my lord — a better aphrodisiac than ginseng. Lady Harriet was as mad as a hornet — she was ready to drown Lady Forth in that stuff. My plan worked like a charm.”
Elias took a deep, calming breath. “You sent flowery poetry and my carriage round to Lady Forth so that you could bring her here and make Lady Harriet jealous?”
Henry nodded, pleased at his employer’s perceptiveness.
“And this jealousy was supposed to make Lady Harriet an amiable wife —”
“In every sense of the word.” Henry shot him a knowing smile before he noticed the murderous rage in Elias’s eyes. Instantly, he sobered.
“He should not have done it, your lordship,” said a voice from the shadows.
“Not at all,” agreed another.
“But he meant well,” said a third.
Slowly, Elias turned.
“He only wanted your happiness,” Heavenly said. At her side stood Celestial and Horace. “You cannot hold that against him.”
“On the contrary,” Elias said through gritted teeth. “I warned you, Henry: One day you would go too far.”
“I think it worked,” Heavenly added, approval plain on her face.
“You do?” Henry beamed.
Heavenly nodded, and her gaze was filled with new respect for the batman. “First time I have ever known Miss Harriet to become enraged.”
“A very good sign,” agreed Celestial.
“Normally, the mistress is never overset,” Horace said. “Though we never discuss such things, of course,” he quickly added, giving his wife a stern look.
Elias stared at them. “I warned you, did I not? You have intruded in my personal life for the last time. The whole lot of you are discharged.”
They regarded him solemnly. “Lady Harriet would not like that,” Heavenly said.
“Not at all,” Celestial added. Henry eyed Elias reproachfully. Even Horace shook his head. “Not the thing, my lord.”
Elias did not trust himself to speak. He turned his back on them and started up the stairs to find Harriet. When he was halfway up the staircase, Heavenly called out to him.
“She is not here.”
Elias froze. “What?”
“Left two hours ago with young Eustace,” Horace confirmed.
“With Eustace?” Elias frowned. “Where the devil did they go?”
“To Worthington,” said Henry.
“After what she saw, you could hardly expect her to stay here,” Celestial said indignantly.
“What she saw,” Elias growled, “was a figment of Henry’s misguided, impoverished imagination.”
Henry shook his head. “I only copied the poem and sent the carriage, my lord. You were the one who kissed the lady. Not much of a lady, though, now that I think on it.”
Heavenly eyed Elias reproachfully. “As if Miss Harriet hadn’t put up with enough from Lord Worthington.”
Damn if he would explain himself to the servants, Elias thought. Anyway, he hadn’t kissed Lady Forth — she’d kissed him. But he was hardly blameless, he realized. He should have tossed her out of his study immediately. Instead, he had let her throw herself at him. Why? Deep down, had he, too, hoped Harriet would discover them together? Had he, too, put a modicum of faith in jealousy?
Perhaps progress had been made after all, he mused. Harriet might have disclaimed malicious intent in toppling the rubber tree, but her purpose tonight in flinging that putrid mess at Lady Forth was clear. She had utterly abandoned tolerance. That was victory in itself.
“Have my carriage brought round,” Elias ordered.
“Excellent decision, my lord.” With a jaunty salute, Henry hurried off.
“We should come, too,” Celestial said.
“Celestial!” Horace admonished.
“She may be right.” Heavenly eyed Elias skeptically. “How do we know you won’t botch this as well?”
Elias closed his eyes and prayed for patience. “You will remain here,” he said evenly. “All of you.”
“Yes, my lord,” Horace assured him, his glare daring his wife to contradict him.
“I don’t know...” Heavenly began.
“Heavenly!” Celestial said sharply. “Horace knows what is best.”
The butler beamed.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Eustace had wanted to take her to Monica’s cottage, but Harriet would not hear of it. She had lived at Worthington Hall for years. She was comfortable here.
Or so she had thought. They had arrived just before three o’clock in the morning, but though she was exhausted, the bed in her room was not as comfortable as she remembered. The house itself seemed empty. The few servants who remained when she removed to London treated her with eager deference, even though her arrival had roused them from their beds. Heavenly would have given her an earful of complaints for interrupting her sleep. Harriet missed her cheering, intrusive familiarity.
Tossing and turning in that lonely bed, Harriet found her thoughts wandering painfully to Elias. She could not bear to think of him sharing the same intimacies with Caroline that had made her own body sing with pleasure. His dalliance had hurt her in a way that Freddy’s philandering had not, because she had dared to believe in Elias’s promises. I would never betray you.
Instead, her worst fears had come true. He had hurt her beyond all measure. The armor she had sought, that which was to protect her from such pain, had eluded her. Perhaps there was no armor that could shield a heart. But how, she wondered, would she go on from here?
It was not even dawn. She had scarcely slept, bu
t she was tired of lying in an empty bed, envisioning Caroline and Elias together. Abruptly, Harriet sat up. She would not become a helpless, lovesick woman. She had her own life, her own interests. She would carry on.
Dressing quickly, Harriet marched out to the stables. A sleepy stable boy stumbled from the tack room, but she waved him back to his bed. She harnessed her dappled gray to the gig and drove down to the village. It was Sunday, far too early for anyone to be about. She would have the shop to herself.
Making bread always calmed her. A woman at one with her dough had no reason to want for anything else. Bread was satisfying, reliable, faithful. Harriet did not even bother to measure the flour and water; her eyes and hands told her all she needed to know. Soon the dough was ready for kneading. She spread flour over the worktable.
And tried not to cry.
Dough was just flour and water and yeast, after all. It could not fill her heart. Staring at the long oak table she’d been so proud of — but which now seemed merely plain and ordinary — Harriet felt the emptiness of years spent denying her feelings. She had pretended not to care that Freddy betrayed her. She could never do that with Elias.
Defeat sapped her spirit. The work that had fulfilled her seemed desolate and solitary now. Loaves of bread would not give meaning to her life, despite what her bakery sign said. And although the sky had begun to lighten, Harriet’s heart felt as heavy as lead. Dawn would give way to morning, and another day would lie endlessly ahead. Her little bake shop no longer held much appeal.
With a sigh, Harriet pushed a strand of hair back from her face, dipped her hands in flour, and resolutely reached for the dough.
Suddenly, the door swept open. A tall figure ducked under the top of the door frame.
“Elias!” Harriet had forgotten how his size overwhelmed her little shop.
He regarded her silently. And in that long, still moment between them, Harriet felt her world shift anew. “Why…why are you here?” she managed. “What do you want?”
“Whatever you are making,” he said softly, and closed the door behind him.
Harriet tried to remember how to breathe. Her entire existence was suddenly contained in that dark gaze. Staring at him — her husband — she found it impossible to banish a small, treacherous hope. But he had betrayed her. Had she learned nothing from five years of marriage to Freddy?
In two steps, he was at her side.
Defiantly, Harriet glared at him. “I shall not take you back, my lord.” Even as she issued that declaration, her eyes drank in new details: his tousled hair, his rumpled clothes, the circles under his eyes — had the man not slept? Had he come to her straight from Caroline’s bed?
“You do not intend to share me with Lady Forth?” He regarded her intently.
“Caroline is welcome to you.” Harriet hoped he did not hear the lie in her voice. “I shall not tolerate a husband who plays me false.”
A burning intensity flickered in his gaze, but it was soon replaced by a strange, almost preternatural calm. “You have decided to throw the bounder out, then?”
“Yes.” Staring into that suddenly tranquil gaze, Harriet thought her heart might break.
He studied her for a long moment. Harriet wanted to look away, but she could not. Almost, she could imagine that he —
“I love you, Harriet.”
Harriet stared at him. Had he truly spoken or was that her own brain giving voice to foolish dreams? She willed her wildly beating heart to calm. “You cannot love me, my lord, or you would not have played me false.”
“I did not play you false.”
Now she did turn away, unwilling to let him see the hope on her face.
“Henry sent a note to Lady Forth in my name,” he said quietly. “He sent my carriage for her. He was trying to make you jealous.”
Jealous? She had never been subject to that corrosive emotion. The notion was laughable. But the laughter on her lips died as Harriet realized how thoroughly she had deluded herself.
“Encroaching of him, to be sure,” he continued, “but our sleeping arrangements have not escaped the servants’ notice. He meant well. Henry did not know that you were so exceedingly tolerant as to be immune to jealousy.”
He paused for a heartbeat. “I suppose I should thank him for helping me discover that you are not, after all. Tolerant, that is.”
“I do not believe you.” Harriet stared resolutely at the table — anywhere but at him. “I saw you together.”
His fingertip brushed her cheek. “And you are certain of what you saw, are you not? Do you not think I have better taste than to willingly cavort with Caroline Forth in our house — or anywhere?”
Harriet tried to block out the tender note in his voice that made her heart stand still. “I…I do not know.”
“And yet, I recall a similar situation, when you and Oliver Hunt —”
“Stop!” she said, covering her ears.
Gently, he pulled her hands away. “Look at me, Harriet, and know the truth.”
At last, Harriet did look. She saw the pain in those dark depths, and — wonder of wonders — it mirrored her own.
“I did not kiss her,” he said. “Not willingly, anyway. It was she who pressed herself on me. But I was not blameless. I should have tossed her out the moment she presented herself in my study.”
His gaze burned into hers. “I love you, Harriet. There is no one else. There never will be.”
The well of emotions that had bubbled within her would no longer be contained. With a cry, Harriet launched herself at him, flailing at his chest, unleashing the helpless fury that years of a loveless, faithless marriage and self-delusion had wrought. He did not stop her blows, even when her flour-covered hands ruined his coat.
It was that silent stoicism which undid her. At last, Harriet covered her face and sobbed.
Instantly, his arms went around her. “It is all right, my love,” he murmured.
She looked up at him, ashamed of her weakness. “I have never felt this way.”
“It is because I hurt you.” He kissed her ear. “I am sorry —”
“Freddy hurt me,” she said fiercely. “You are not Freddy.”
He captured her hand and brought it to his lips, then slowly kissed each fingertip. “I have been waiting for what seems a lifetime to hear you say that.”
“I should die a thousand times over if you so much as look at Caroline Forth again,” she vowed. “I will never, ever share you, Elias. You must not think that I will.”
“On that we agree.”
But as he bent to claim her mouth, Harriet put a fingertip up to stop him. “What of the things on which we disagree? I do not know if I can be the wife you —”
“You need never be anyone but yourself.” His arms slipped around her.
“My salons —”
“I cannot promise to like them,” he murmured, nibbling at her ear. “But I will try not to ruin them.”
Harriet tried to ignore the warmth licking at her insides. “And the bakery? Do you still regard it as unseemly?”
His gaze flicked over the flour-covered worktable, then back to her. “I believe my attitude toward the bakery is undergoing a radical change.”
With that, he put his hands around her waist and lifted her onto the table. Harriet trembled — anticipating his embrace, wanting nothing so much as his all-consuming passion.
But when she reached for him, he did not come to her. Instead, he took a step back, his expression suddenly remote. His arms hung still and lifeless at his sides. They did not reach for her.
Did he have second thoughts? What if he did not wish to be saddled with a woman who held salons with people he loathed? But no — he had said he loved her. He had not stated any conditions or doubts. Why, then, this pulling away? Did he not know that she burned for him? That she could not live without him?
No.
He did not know, Harriet realized. She had never acknowledged what was between them, not even to herself.
&nb
sp; Perhaps one day you will come to feel that there are passions worth fighting for. She had not known at the time what he’d meant.
She knew now. Her heart did not belong in the shadows, hidden from all possibility of pain. She must lay it before him, whatever the risks.
“Elias…” She hesitated.
He stood motionless, physically within her reach, yet somehow far away.
“I have been afraid,” she said. “I did not know how to trust anyone —”
“Not anyone,” he growled. “Me.”
“Yes,” she agreed shyly. “You taught me about trust…and other things.”
“What things, Harriet?” he said softly, his dark eyes holding hers. “I want to hear them.”
Harriet felt her face flame. “I had never been touched like that before, Elias. It frightened me at first, but you gave me courage.”
“You found your own courage.”
“From you,” she said. “I…had erected barriers.”
“A veritable fortress,” he confirmed. “With iron spikes atop the walls, and a fearsome dragon to guard the gates. I would kill Freddy for that if he were not already dead.”
His jaw tightened. “Trust, touch — essential, to be sure. But not enough, Harriet. Not for me.” His gaze locked with hers. “I want everything. All.”
“You have it,” she said simply. “You are my life, Elias.”
His fingertip touched her chin, tilting it upward. “Words — I want the words, Harriet. I know you have the courage.”
Tears came to her eyes. She did not pretend to misunderstand. “I love you, Elias.” Her voice broke. “But I do not know how to go about it, exactly. I fear —”
The rest was lost as his mouth covered hers.
And with that kiss, he took her fear and banished it. He took her need, her longing, her love — and returned it to her tenfold. Harriet could only cling to him in wonder as her heart knew him fully at last. She did not care that they were in her bake shop, or that she was on a flour-covered worktable. There was only this man, gifted with every sensual appetite, looking at her with fire in his eyes.
“There is flour everywhere,” he said in a ragged voice. “Should you mind?”
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