by Robyn DeHart
He chuckled. Merely the sound of her voice and the nearness of her had calmed his addled nerves. She was a balm to him, and he didn’t want to examine what that meant. He only knew he needed her in his life.
“Do you ever get frightened?” he asked.
“Of course. Though I’m not as skilled as some of the other members at handling things on the street. My friend Iris can locate a pickpocket in a crowd and effectively stop him in his tracks with nothing more than a hatpin.” She smiled up at him. “We should turn back.”
He nodded.
“My skill lies more in the fact that I seem to make people feel comfortable. They let down their guard with me, tell me secrets. I’ve been able to identify several households where servants were not being treated fairly.”
“You are an amazing woman.”
“Thank you.” She was quiet for a few moments. “Have you found any women you are interested in?” She bit down on her lip.
“More so than you? No.”
She smiled. “You are relentless, I shall give you that.” They climbed the stairs to the balcony.
“One more, sweet Harriet, then I shall let you go.” Making certain no one was there to see, he pressed her back into the darkness and stole another kiss. He’d never get his fill of her taste, the way her body molded to his. He forced himself to pull back before he compromised her.
…
She could still taste him. Still feel his heat. Something had happened, and she could have sworn he’d sought her out because he’d needed her, not merely to scandalize her with a stolen kiss, but something deeper, more real.
But she knew that couldn’t be the truth. She wasn’t certain what was going on, but she needed to gather her wits about her, because this was not what she was supposed to be doing with this weekend. If she wasn’t careful, she’d fall prey to this game of his and lose her heart.
She wasn’t supposed to be indulging in stolen kisses. She was supposed to find him a wife as well as some additional clues into the mysterious Lady X’s identity. But with his head pressed to hers, and his hand still holding her to him, she couldn’t pull her thoughts together into anything cohesive.
“I can’t think when you’re this close to me,” she murmured.
“Blissful, isn’t it?”
“What?”
“Feeling, doing—that is far more enjoyable. Thinking. It’s overrated.”
“That’s a very hedonistic view of things.”
He stepped back and shrugged. “Indeed.”
She set her hands on her hips. “You are supposed to be inside meeting women and narrowing down your prospective brides. Not out here dallying with me.”
“How is it possible you still doubt my desire?”
She waved her hand. He was the silliest of men. But something dark clouded over his eyes, and he stepped closer to her. He gripped her hand and pulled it down, pressed it firmly to the front of his trousers.
“Do you feel that, Harriet? That is my desire for you. Lust so hard and deep that I had to stop kissing you for fear of spilling myself in my trousers like I was nothing more than a randy schoolboy.” His gaze met hers, and she swore her heart stopped beating. “Do not, for a moment, think I am toying with you. I want you. In my bed. On this balcony. Shall I toss your skirts up and prove it right now?”
She swallowed. “That won’t be necessary.” She felt her own desire hot and damp between her legs. His words had that effect on her. That and his voice, his mouth, his face. Merely looking at his beautiful face made her want him, but she couldn’t want him. He would break her heart. Of that she was certain.
“I have to go,” she said.
He didn’t fight her or try to make her stay. He dropped his hand from her and allowed her to turn and leave him alone on the balcony. She dared not go straight to Agnes; her friend was far too perceptive to not realize something had happened, that something was going on that Harriet was hiding.
She needed to focus, put her attention on discovering who Lady X was and why she was trying to destroy the Ladies of Virtue. As it was, the danger was increasing; Agnes had received a personal letter from the mysterious woman, as had two other members. This was quite clearly more than her wanting to expose the group; she knew at least some of the members by name, and a woman’s reputation would never recover from that kind of public divulgence.
She stood off in the back of the ballroom, surveying the space. This was a success, that she could clearly see. But if he didn’t propose to someone, other than her, on this weekend, then she would have failed. Murmurs surrounded her, and she latched on to a group to her right.
“I simply cannot believe she’s here,” one woman said.
“She’s disgraceful,” the other commented.
Harriet scanned the room and tried to determine of whom they were speaking. Then she caught a glimpse of the tall blond woman across from her. Lady Burgess. The woman who’d broken Oliver’s heart. They’d been nearly betrothed before his accident. The most beautiful couple, people in London had called them. And after his injury, she had walked away. Evidently, she hadn’t been able to handle his shortcomings, as they were.
The man next to her, his hand possessively against her back, was her husband. Lord Burgess, also extremely attractive in a hard, dark way. They were a stunning couple, though neither of them had any sort of kindness to them. They moved gracefully through the ballroom, speaking to people. Then Catherine seemed to look directly at her.
Certainly not, but then she felt him. Smelled him. He must be right behind her, but she didn’t want to look. She saw the desire in Catherine’s gaze from across the room. And then Harriet understood. He’d seen his former love and he’d been filled with desire and he’d simply grabbed the first woman he knew would be willing to accept his kisses out in the darkness. He’d used her to scratch an itch another woman had created.
She was the worst sort of fool.
She turned to him then, but his eyes weren’t on Catherine, they were on her. Warm and full of heated desire.
“I’m afraid I have a headache. I’m going to retire for the evening, my lord,” she said, then fled the room.
Chapter Eleven
Harriet sat still at the dressing table while her borrowed maid undid her coiffure. She wished Lottie was here so they could talk as they usually did during such rituals. Instead, Harriet was left with her most unwelcome and confusing thoughts.
She supposed she could go to her mother, but disclosing that Oliver had stolen not one but several kisses from her was not a conversation she longed to have with her parent. Nor did she want to go and find Agnes.
The young girl standing behind her did not meet Harriet’s gaze in the mirror. She merely kept her focus on her task and unwound the curls after pulling them free from their confining pins. Tears pricked at her eyes, which was foolish. She had no claim on Oliver. Not only that, but if she wanted him, she could certainly have him; he’d proposed enough times. But she didn’t want to be in a marriage knowing her husband wanted another woman.
She hated how easily Oliver was able to make her want him. Make her behave in such an improper way. He made her a wanton. It was unexpected and terrifying. And if she were completely honest with herself…liberating. Still, she could not afford to get swept up in the passion he promised, especially since he’d been using her only for convenience, because the woman he wanted was unattainable.
The fact that all of that made her chest ache meant nothing. It was the sting of his long-ago rejection coming back to haunt her. She wasn’t the same girl she’d been then. She was stronger, knew more of what she wanted.
Once all of her hair was free, the girl picked up the hairbrush, but Harriet shook her head.
“That will be all. I’ll brush it.”
The maid bobbed and left the room, leaving her with her thoughts and unresolved desire swimming through her body.
…
He recognized that he was tempting fate. He could easily wait until the
following day to explain to Harriet that she’d misunderstood the situation. But the idea of her hurting had led him to the darkened corridor down from her bedchamber.
Oliver waited until the lady’s maid had left her room. He didn’t bother knocking; she wouldn’t let him in if he had. So he simply opened Harriet’s bedchamber door and stepped inside. She stood from her dressing table at the sight of him, clutching a hairbrush to her chest. Her golden waves fell about her shoulders.
His mouth went dry.
Her dressing gown covered her perfectly modest shift. She was covered neck to feet, wrist to shoulder. The only bit of skin he could see, besides her face and hands, were her toes peeking out beneath the white fabric. Still, he found her so damned appealing.
“My lord, what are you doing in here?”
“I needed to see you, to speak with you.”
She shook her head. “Please don’t. I cannot take much more of your torment.” She bit down on her lip.
“Sweet Harriet, I know what you think. I know you saw Catherine.”
She swallowed visibly, still clutched the brush to her chest. “I did. She is as beautiful as ever.”
“That she is. She and her husband make a striking couple, indeed.”
Her chest rose with her deep breath. “I was surprised you added her to the guest list.”
He shook his head. “I didn’t. She and Burgess came with our neighbors. I would never have invited her. I have no reason to want to see her.”
“Oliver, this isn’t proper. You must go.”
He strode toward her. “I want you to answer one question, then I will leave if you insist.”
“Very well.”
“Why is it you believe me to be lying about my desire for you?”
She frowned. But the pink staining her cheeks belied her irritation, boldly declaring her embarrassment, and dare he hope, her desire for him. “You could have had me. Six years ago, our mothers had made an agreement. I offered myself to you, despite your rudeness. You were quite clear then that you did not want me.”
Six years ago he hadn’t been worth anyone’s time, let alone their fortune. “That had nothing to do with you.” He tipped her chin up so he could look into her eyes. “I refused to marry any woman for her dowry.”
“You were marrying Catherine for hers.” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “That matters not, and I shouldn’t have said it. You and she had a very different relationship.”
“Yes, we did. One built on lies and deceit and evidently, outward perfection, though I hadn’t realized that had been part of the deal.” Even now, knowing she walked away because of his injury, because he wasn’t a whole man, ate at him. There was nothing he could do to change the man he’d become.
“I didn’t reject you or refuse you because I didn’t find you attractive, Harriet.” He ran a finger down her cheek. “And don’t, for a moment, think that what we have, whatever this is between us, has anything to do with Catherine or anyone else.” He bent and took her mouth. He reserved his ardor, giving only the sweetest of kisses.
She melted against him, sighing into his mouth. Her unrestrained breasts pressed to his chest, and he could feel the weight of them. Despite her lack of stays, he cursed the layers she did wear. He angled his head and deepened the kiss, and she opened for him. He marveled at the feel of her, the taste of her. He pressed his hand to her back, holding her tightly against him. Desire, heavy and thick, raged through him, settling in his groin. His erection pressed against the front of his trousers, but he ignored the pressure. He would not take her tonight, but he would taste her, watch her come apart in his arms.
He backed her up so they stood directly at her bed. His lips never left hers, and he pressed her backward until she fell onto the soft mattress.
“I cannot tell you how many times I’ve lain in bed after seeing you, imagining all the wicked things I would do to you,” he whispered as he trailed kisses over her jaw, down her throat. He moved a hand up to cup her breast, and she arched into his touch. She was so beautifully responsive.
Her nipple hardened beneath his palm, and again he cursed the fabric covering her body.
“Do you ever do that, Harriet? Imagine me touching you when you are in your bed?”
Her eyes were squeezed shut, but she nodded.
He wanted to ask her more. To tell him of her fantasies, but that would have to wait for another time. His lips found hers again, and she seared him with her passionate response. He moved down her body, pressing his mouth to her breast. The shift dampened under his tongue, molding to the hardened bud.
Her soft moans would prove his undoing. From his new position, he could smell the musky sweet scent of her desire. “Harriet, I need to taste you.”
“What?”
“Trust me.”
He shoved her nightgown up so that it bunched at her waist.
He cursed. Pale and pink and perfect hidden behind a triangle of golden curls.
She scrambled with the fabric, attempting to cover herself.
“No, love, you’re perfect, I only wish I could see you better.” He smoothed his hand over her thighs, around to her inner thighs.
He leaned forward and pressed kisses where his hands had been. She stiffened beneath him. He grabbed her left hand and laced their fingers together. With his right, he went back to her slick folds and ran his thumb against her.
She sucked in a breath and arched against his touch.
Then he lowered his mouth and licked her.
“Oliver, you mustn’t.”
“Shhh, love. ’Tis all right. Let me show you, and if you still want me to stop, I shall leave.”
She nodded quickly, then squeezed her eyes shut again.
He waited for her body to relax beneath him, and he heard her shaky breath. Her fingers gripped his. She was too proper to use words, but he took that as an invitation, and he let himself explore her.
“You’re so wet for me.” He stroked her. “So sweet.” He kissed her gently, not wanting to frighten her with the depth of his desire. He licked at her sex, delving inside her folds and lapping at her nectar. He could lose himself here with his mouth on her, and his erection pressed into the mattress beneath them.
But this wasn’t about him. This was about her. She worked so hard to do everything people expected her to do. The perfect lady. He wanted to show her what it felt like to lose control. To show her how things could be between them if only she’d give him the chance.
His kisses deepened. She whimpered and moaned. Her fingers slid into his hair and held him tightly to her core. He smiled against her, and finally let himself taste her as he wanted. He sucked and nipped and licked. She was so hot, so wet, and he was so bloody hard. Spilling himself inside her would be an experience unlike any he’d ever had, but it would have to wait.
Her climax was close; he could feel that with her erratic bucking against him. He slid first one and then a second finger inside her while he lapped at the hidden bundle of nerves.
One more deep suckle and she was lost. Her body clenched around his finger, her back arched, and she cried out his name again and again. Her voice calling his name…it was what he wanted to remember the moment he left this world. There would never be a sweeter sound. He knew, in that moment, he’d do whatever it took to ensure she became his wife. He’d be damned if any other man ever brought her that release.
When her body finished riding the waves of pleasure, he pulled her gown back over her body. He pulled himself upward and nuzzled her neck.
He grabbed her hand and held it to the front of his painfully tight trousers. “I will not take your virtue tonight, sweet Harriet. But know that this is for you and only you.” He kissed her forehead, then left her bed.
Harriet didn’t want to allow herself to believe he wanted her. It made him wonder what she’d heard when he’d rejected her those years ago. The interaction had clearly made an impact on her.
His refusal of the marriage hadn’t been about her. He
hadn’t wanted anyone. Hadn’t believed he was capable of marrying anyone. His accident had been fresh; he’d still been wobbly on his cane. He’d been in no position to woo a woman.
He had one more step in his wooing, and then she would be his. He’d already secured a special license from the Archbishop. They could marry in the village church as soon as possible. Once he had a willing bride.
…
Her cheeks still burned at the thought of the scandalous things Oliver had done to her last night. How she’d begged and pleaded with him to bring her relief, and how he had done so, and it had been bigger and more shattering than she’d expected.
It was official—she was the very worst matchmaker in the history of the world.
She’d wager she had a permanent stain on her cheeks today to match the embarrassment she felt down to her toes. Could people tell? Did she look different? Was it obvious to everyone at the breakfast table that she’d had a wicked man between her thighs the night before? Good heavens, but her thoughts were not helping matters.
“Harriet, are you all right?” Agnes asked, her brow furrowed with concern.
“Of course,” Harriet snapped. Then she released a hiss of a breath. “My apologies. I’m afraid I didn’t get much sleep last night. I shouldn’t have been cross with you.”
“You do look a little flushed. Is that headache still pestering you?”
“Sorry?” Harriet asked.
“Last night you left the ball early because of a headache.”
“Yes, yes, my head has been aching terribly.” She rubbed at her temples. “So much so that I’m afraid it’s affecting my cognitive abilities this morning.” She offered her friend a weak smile. “Were you able to ask Justine and Tilly anything last night about whether or not they’d received any messages from Lady X?”
“Yes, neither of them had. I didn’t mention mine.” Agnes frowned. “I trust them, truly I do, but until this mess is cleaned up, I want to be certain before divulging certain information.”
“That’s perfectly understandable. They haven’t been members as long as we have.”