‘The enticement of more land is entirely immaterial if said bachelor has no interest in adding to his estates.’
Harriet halted, raising her violet-blue eyes to peer searchingly into his. ‘Those are, almost, my words to you.’ Her fair brows drew together, creating a crease between them. ‘What is it you want, Benedict?’
He was vaguely aware of people passing them on both sides, but his vision was filled with only her. What did he want? The answer echoed through him, stronger than ever. He wanted her. Harriet. Fickle and untrustworthy as he knew her to be, still he wanted her.
‘Let us keep moving,’ he said. ‘We are causing an obstruction.’
They walked on. Harriet was silent, awaiting his reply.
‘It is obvious we are destined to see each other here in London,’ Benedict said. ‘What I should like is for us to meet and socialise without the past coming between us.’
‘The past? Would that be the distant past or the more recent past? Or, mayhap, both?’
The first time either of them had touched upon that most contentious of subjects—the distant past. And yet that was what it was: distant. Those achingly raw emotions that had haunted him in the days, weeks and months following her betrayal should have no influence on the present. But they did, whipping into a frenzy the two contradictory emotions that had plagued him ever since Harriet’s unexpected appearance at Tenterfield—bitterness and yearning.
‘I meant the distant past,’ he replied, thrusting aside the confusion of his feelings. ‘Might we relegate it to the past? We both said things, made pledges...but we were so young. I was in the throes of calf love. I know better now. But I still... Harriet...’
Benedict took a quick look around. There was no one nearby. They had just left Hanover Square and were walking down St George Street, approaching the great portico of St George’s Church, with its magnificent columns. He tugged Harriet to a stop and clasped her shoulders to turn her to face him. She looked up at him, wide-eyed, soft lips parted on an exclamation of surprise, and he battled the impulse to lower his head and to taste her lush lips there and then.
‘Benedict...no... Do not...’
Had she interpreted his longing for more than mere words? He reined in that mad impulse to kiss her here, in the street, but—he had to remove this awkwardness between them...this feeling of unfinished business. Should he even contemplate asking her? If she refused him, how would he feel then?
‘Harriet...’
Her violet eyes darkened as her pupils grew impossibly large, an involuntary sign of her arousal, whatever words she might say. His body reacted to that silent message, his loins growing heavy with desire.
‘What I felt for you in our youth may have been calf love, but that does not stop me wanting you now. You feel the same. I know it. I can feel it.’ He released her shoulder and traced the fine bone of her jaw with a gentle forefinger.
Dammit! Why not? It would draw a line under the past. Allow us both to move on with our lives.
‘We are both adults. Will you—?’
‘You! Sir!’ A hand grabbed at Benedict’s shoulder and wrenched him away from Harriet.
With a curse, Benedict spun round to face a spluttering, puce-faced gentleman about four inches shorter than him. Benedict shrugged the man’s hand from his shoulder and thrust his face close to his assailant’s. Before he could take further action or utter a word, Harriet was pushing between them, her back to Benedict.
‘No! Edward, please. Benedict, no, I implore you.’
Her stepson, Brierley; he was called Edward. Benedict battled for control of his fury as Edward continued his diatribe over Harriet’s head.
‘You, sir, are a blackguard. I shall see—’
‘Edward! No. Please...’ There were tears in Harriet’s voice and Benedict’s heart squeezed.
How dare this pompous oaf upset her? Benedict grasped Harriet by her upper arms. She struggled, resisting his efforts to put her aside, panting with the effort.
‘Do not, Benedict. I beg of you. You will only make it worse.’
Benedict released her but continued to glare at Brierley, wanting nothing more than to land his fist squarely on the other man’s nose. He forced his clenched hands to remain at his sides.
‘You will get into my carriage now, madam, and leave me to deal with this villain, if you know what is good for you.’ Brierley grabbed Harriet’s arm and pushed her towards a carriage that had drawn up by the kerb.
‘Deal with me?’ Rage roared through Benedict at the sight of Brierley’s fingers digging into Harriet’s flesh. ‘Why, you—’
‘No! Listen to me! Think of the scandal, Edward. Please. Someone will notice and the tale will be all over town in a trice. For Kitty’s sake, if not for mine.’
Chapter Ten
‘For Kitty’s sake? It is a pity you did not consider her before wantonly throwing yourself at this...this no-good merchant in full public view.’
Frantic, Harriet scanned their surroundings. Edward’s carriage effectively blocked them from the view of most of the street and the pavement on their side of the road was empty. Her relief was short-lived, killed off by one look at her stepson, his face deep red and bulging above his neckcloth. His fingers dug like claws into her upper arm.
‘You are hurting her. Let go of her now, or I will not be responsible for my actions.’ Benedict’s voice was low with menace, his face taut with anger, as he stepped closer.
Edward tightened his grip, wringing a gasp from Harriet. ‘I expected nothing more than such low threats from your sort, Poole,’ he said with a sneer. ‘A public brawl would be about your level. Now stand aside. This lady will do my bidding as head of the family.’
She had no choice but to go with Edward if she were to prevent the two men coming to blows or, even worse, flinging out a challenge to a duel—and she could not bear to be the cause of such a clash. She submitted to Edward’s pull on her arm, turning to the open door of the carriage.
‘I shall be all right,’ she said to Benedict, looking over her shoulder at him with a silent plea.
‘You do not have to go with him,’ he said, holding her gaze with deep green eyes that sparked rage. He was bristling with controlled aggression, his jaw tight.
‘I must. I—’
‘Yes, she does,’ Edward cut in as he almost shoved her up the step into the carriage. ‘If she values this family, and her independence, she has no choice whatsoever.’
He clambered in behind her and slammed the door before rapping his cane on the roof. The carriage jerked into motion, Edward’s bulk blocking Benedict from Harriet’s sight.
‘I am appalled by your lack of judgement, madam. Not only have you defied my clear instructions that you must have nothing more to do with that scoundrel but you appear to have taken leave of any sense you might once have possessed. I repeat what I said to you before. Was one rejection not enough? The man is a nobody and a merchant.’
‘He is a baronet, Edward, hardly a nobody.’
‘And where has he come from? Who were his parents? Although—’ he cast her a scathing look ‘—I suppose I can hardly expect you to consider such niceties as being of importance.’
‘My father was a gentleman, Edward, as was Benedict’s.’ His gibe against her parentage stung and, now that the immediate danger of the two men coming to blows had passed, Harriet’s temper—usually so equable—began to simmer. ‘And I happen to know that Benedict’s mother was the granddaughter of an earl.’
‘He is in trade. If nothing else, consider my position.’
‘I have done nothing, Edward. I was walking along the road—’
‘That is not what I saw,’ Edward interrupted furiously, ‘and I dare say a good many others also witnessed your disgraceful behaviour. You were nigh on embracing in the street. You are not
to speak to him again.’
Harriet’s stomach lurched as she realised that, although his accusation was a gross exaggeration, he had a point. She had allowed her emotions to overcome her common sense, but that did not give Edward the right to control to whom she spoke.
‘I am your stepmother, Edward, and a widow. I am perfectly capable of handling Sir Benedict.’
‘Ha! You have proved that, have you not, madam? You were handling him, were you, when I came upon you just now? You were on the brink of a public show—a scandalous indiscretion. And he—baronet or not—thought nothing of subjecting you to such behaviour. But then, what can you expect from someone brought up under the influence of a libertine such as Sir Malcolm Poole?’ His voice softened a touch. ‘You might be my stepmother, but you are a female and you need protection. I am older than you and wiser in the ways of the world. You will do as I say.
‘Poole is trouble. You are to have nothing more to do with him. Do I make myself clear?’
‘And if I refuse?’
He regarded her thoughtfully. ‘Then I regret but I shall have no choice but to banish you to Brierley Place for the remainder of the Season. There is an empty cottage on the far side of the estate you could live in.’
Harriet’s mind reeled. His prompt response suggested he had it all worked out. ‘Banish me? But...why? You cannot—’
‘I think you will find that I can,’ Edward said. ‘Very easily. I shall stop your allowance and lock up the house in Sackville Street. You will have no choice. Your only other option will be to walk the streets.’
‘But...Kitty’s ball...’
He shrugged. ‘The remedy is in your hands. My priority must be my daughter’s reputation. I am in the process of negotiating a most advantageous match for her, one that is very important, politically and for the family. I will not allow you to ruin that.’
The carriage halted and Harriet saw her own front door through the window. She had been sure Edward would take her to his own house in Upper Brook Street first.
‘I shall leave you to reflect upon what I have said. I shall return tomorrow and you may tell me your decision. Will you comply or will you rebel? Until I am satisfied, you are forbidden to contact either my wife or my daughter.’
Stevens, Harriet’s butler, appeared at the carriage door and opened it, helping Harriet to the pavement.
‘Tomorrow at two,’ Edward barked. The carriage drove away.
* * *
Later, glass of wine in hand, Harriet fretted over Edward’s demand as she relaxed on the green-and-cream-striped chaise longue in the small sitting room—her boudoir—that adjoined her bedchamber. She should be happy to have nothing to do with Benedict after his treatment of her so why did she hesitate to obey her stepson? Was it pure contrariness that made her baulk at doing as she was told? Was her hesitation solely due to her dislike of being told what to do and how to behave and to whom she might speak?
Her heart and mind still reeled from the shock of meeting Benedict today—he had been the last person she’d expected to see when Felicity had urged her to come and meet her new friend, Lady Ashby. He had walked into Eleanor’s drawing room and jolted Harriet out of the dreamlike stupor that had assailed her ever since her visit to Tenterfield Court. Since then, she had gone about her daily routine as if in a daze, as though waiting for an unacknowledged dread to come to pass. And now the worst had happened. Benedict was here. In London. And it would seem that Harriet’s life was about to become complicated. On the one hand, she could hardly avoid Benedict completely but, on the other, she must tread with care if she was not to completely antagonise Edward.
When Brierley died she had sworn she would never allow another man to control her, and yet here was Edward, intimidating her in an attempt to bend her to his will.
Can Edward really withhold my allowance? Am I not entitled to a pension, as his father’s widow?
Without funds to live on, her only other option would be to remarry—a prospect that filled her with terror, for how could she know, before it was too late, if her spouse would have the same violent tendencies as her late husband? She had never questioned her rights, she realised. She had simply accepted what Edward had told her was her due. Mayhap it was time she found out, for if she did not look after her own interests, who else would?
The memory of Benedict facing up to Edward floated through her thoughts. She suppressed her hmph—maybe she had felt momentarily protected but when, in reality, had he ever put her interests first? She could not deny, however, that meeting Benedict today had again awakened some of her old feelings for him.
Are those feelings real, though, or merely an echo of the past?
What had happened between them—eleven years ago...two months ago...today—was not, none of it, complete. She resented how his return had stirred up long-buried emotions to disturb her peaceful life and yet she yearned for some kind of finality to the whole sorry story of their relationship.
But what good could come of raking over the past? Would it not be better to comply with Edward’s wishes and have nothing more to do with Benedict? He was not even interested enough in what had happened to her to ask after their baby. Had she not sworn to never forget—nor forgive—the way he had so cruelly abandoned her?
Edward is right. Why risk yet another rejection? Her mind drifted back over her conversation with Benedict, the conversation Edward had interrupted. What had he been about to say? His deep voice sounded again inside her head.
That does not stop me wanting you now. You feel the same. I know it. We are both adults. Will you—?’
Harriet jerked upright, the heat of anger bubbling through her. He was about to proposition me! Or mayhap, she thought, swallowing down a bitter laugh, he had been on the brink of offering her carte blanche, which was even worse. He had contemplated setting her up as his mistress in the midst of all his talk of restoring the Poole name and finding a suitable bride to smooth his way in Society.
Hmph! Well, Sir Benedict Poole would find himself sorely disappointed. She would treat him with the same friendly courtesy she had afforded Stanton after their affaire ended when he had married Felicity last year.
Thinking of the Stantons reminded Harriet of the friends she now had in common with Benedict, and she realised it would be impossible to avoid him altogether. She vowed to hide her conflicted feelings about Benedict both from him and from their friends: not only her pain at his treatment of her in the past but also her curiosity about the man he had become and, most important of all, that tiny bud of desire deep inside her that, even now, she could feel stirring into life. She could not bear anyone to guess at her jumble of emotions but at least her marriage to Brierley had taught her the value of strict control.
Exhausted by the thoughts swirling around her brain, Harriet relaxed back against the cushions and closed her eyes, drifting into sleep.
* * *
Harriet awoke with a start at the tap on the door. It could only be Stevens—the maids would not knock before entering her boudoir—and that could only mean a visitor.
‘Yes?’ she called.
The door opened to admit her butler. ‘Sir Benedict Poole has called, my lady. Will you see him, or shall I say you are not at home?’
Benedict? Here?
On the brink of denying him, she hesitated, remembering the offer he had been about to make to her. Would this not be the perfect opportunity to remind him that she was a respectable widow who was content with her life? Future meetings, surely, would be less fraught if he knew she was not interested.
Harriet’s heart quaked at the thought of Edward finding out about Benedict’s visit. Thank goodness dear old Stevens is loyal. It will be just this once, and then never again.
‘Thank you, Stevens. I will see him. Please show him into the salon and send Janet to me.’
It was time
she put an end to this dithering and uncertainty.
Her nerve held until she descended the stairs, her hair tidied and pinned in place and her cheeks tinted with a dusting of rouge. In the hall, she hesitated. Stevens, about to open the salon door, paused and waited for her. Harriet drew in a steadying breath and smoothed her suddenly moist hands down the skirt of her pink sprigged muslin gown. She nodded to Stevens.
Benedict stood by the fireplace, tall and handsome. She steeled her heart.
‘You should not have come here.’
‘I wanted to make sure you were all right.’
It is a pity you didn’t feel that way eleven years ago. The memory of his callous behaviour gave her strength.
‘Edward is not a violent man. He blusters his way through his anger. I can cope with him.’
‘And will you obey him?’
Obey. That word. ‘I will do as he asks as it happens to be my natural inclination, too. As I said before, I have no wish to revisit our youthful indiscretions.’
Benedict crossed the room towards her, as lithe and graceful as a panther. Harriet stood her ground, holding his gaze.
‘That is not the impression you gave earlier,’ he growled.
‘Then, you must learn to interpret a woman’s behaviour with more accuracy,’ Harriet said, lifting her shoulders in a shrug. ‘Especially as you intend to look for a wife.’
He was close now. She could smell his cologne, subtle and spicy, feel his heat.
‘What did he mean when he said, “If you value your independence”? It sounded very like a threat to me.’
‘As I said, it is all bluster. He cannot withhold my allowance. There is no reason for you to be concerned,’ she said, with a silent prayer she was right.
I shall make certain. I shall visit the solicitor tomorrow.
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