Always the Best Friend (Never the Bride Book 4)

by Emily E K Murdoch

“Still. You are nobly born, as I am. What would you do?”

  “Hide. Hide from the world and hope it would forget I even existed. But that does not make it right.”

  Harry sighed and looked between her two companions. So much of life was about doing what one must, not what one wanted.

  “Is he at least something to look at?”

  Honora and Letitia exchanged glances.

  “We did not have a lot of choice,” admitted Honora. “The man we found is a ruffian, with bad manners and no comprehension of good society. But he was the best we could find.”

  Harry bit the corner of her lip. She had spent almost half an hour arguing about this, but she could not delay any longer. The carriage was waiting, and the horses would be stamping in the cold.

  “Fine,” she said in poor grace. “But I will not stay long, and I will wear the brown pelisse. Perhaps I can fade into the background, pretend I am not there.”

  Honora breathed an obvious sigh of relief and handed over the requested garment. “As long as you spend at least an hour in his company, and show your face with him, that is all that matters.”

  “You honestly think being seen with another gentleman for five minutes will salvage my reputation?” Harry asked as she pulled on the pelisse.

  Letitia shook her head. “No. Not salvage it.”

  If Harry had been thinking clearly, she would have inquired further what Letitia meant. But her furious temper and her anxiety about leaving the safety of Cavendish Square was so overwhelming that she nodded curtly.

  “And he is outside?”

  “Waiting in the cold,” Honora said. “Go and see him, won’t you, while I say goodbye to Josiah?”

  Harry snorted. “It’s a wonder my brother is not coming with us, he’s become so nervous of you in your condition.”

  And without another word or thought, she strode over to the front door and threw it open.

  There, blinking in the sudden light, was Montague Cavendish.

  Harry’s mouth fell open in a most unladylike fashion, and she closed it hurriedly.

  “Monty,” she breathed.

  Monty grinned, evidently nervous. He was also evidently cold, probably waiting for them for the full three-quarters of an hour during their debate inside.

  “Surprise,” he said, throwing up his arms awkwardly.

  Harry stared without saying anything and turned on her heels to go back inside.

  Letitia was standing in the doorway, and although she looked nervous, there was a spark of something Harry had never seen before in her eyes. If she did not know Letitia any better, she would say it was…rebelliousness.

  “Goodbye,” she said cheerfully and shut the door.

  Harry’s cheeks burned as she placed one hand on the door being resolutely locked. Its coldness balanced her, giving her time to think about what on earth she was going to do.

  She turned again to stare at the man who had brought her so much misery over the last three days.

  “I do not know what to say to you,” she said coldly. “That is, I know exactly what I want to say, but ladies do not curse in public.”

  How could Honora and Letitia do this to her?

  “The man we found is a ruffian, with bad manners and no comprehension of good society. But he was the best we could find.”

  Harry thanked God the gaslights in Cavendish Square were dim at this time of year. The last thing she needed was Monty to see how greatly his mere presence was affecting her.

  “I knew what to say,” said Monty quietly. “But I was too scared to say it.”

  He was standing at the bottom of the steps, and as he looked at her, like a frightened puppy, she knew exactly what had happened.

  “Josiah came to see you, didn’t he?”

  Monty’s mere hesitation was enough of a confirmation.

  Harry sighed and stomped down the steps, arms folded. She was not going to allow herself to become overwhelmed. Yes, he was the man she loved. Yes, she wanted to throw herself into his arms. But no, she would not allow herself to be that weak. He was the one who should be on bended knee, asking for her forgiveness.

  Or something else.

  “Please do not propose again,” she said heavily, looking anywhere but into his eyes. “I can only endure one false proposal a month, and I am afraid I have already reached this month’s quota.”

  Monty did not say anything, and Harry risked a glance, which she regretted immediately. He was smiling, and it made her heart thump painfully.

  The situation was so unfair, Harry wanted to burst into tears again. Why could they not just return to how things were—to being friends?

  She had been unsatisfied with their friendship at the time, it was true, but that was because she wanted more, and she knew now where wanting more got you. To embarrassment and shame, and your best friend not even having the courtesy to pretend to be in love when he proposed out of sheer guilt.

  Harry wanted it to be the way things were. At least then, she could be around him without panicking or finding herself so overwhelmed by his presence, she wanted to cry.

  Or lose herself in his arms and his kisses.

  Now neither were possible.

  “No false proposals then,” Monty said quietly. “You have my word. Pace with me?”

  His simple request tugged at her heartstrings, and Harry could not help but smile as she raised an eyebrow.

  “With you, in the dark? What about my reputation?”

  Monty suddenly looked stricken, and Harry laughed.

  “For goodness’ sake, Monty, it cannot be any worse than it already is. I assume Honora knows we are not taking the carriage?”

  But as Harry looked around, she saw there was no carriage waiting.

  “I rather assumed we would walk,” said Monty. “You never were one for sitting still when…when you wanted to think.”

  This was the danger of falling in love with your best friend, thought Harry dully.

  “Fine,” she said curtly.

  She set off, walking around Cavendish Square. It had been one of her favorite things to do when she had been so full of fury as a child, she had been forced out of the house.

  In those days, Josiah or Monty had accompanied her. Allowed her to walk all of her frustration from her bones and settle finally at one of the corners, tired out in mind and body, but content at last.

  “I have something to tell you.”

  Monty’s words cut into her thoughts like ice. Harry’s heart went cold. What could he possibly want to say to her now?

  “Well, pacing is a good time for confessions,” she said dryly, not looking away from the pavement.

  There was silence, and eventually, the temptation to look at him overwhelmed her.

  Monty looked genuinely nervous. What did he have to be shy about?

  Harry relented. “You can tell me anything, Monty. We…we are still friends, I think.”

  “You think?” His response was quick, his gaze upon her.

  “Yes.”

  Reaching a corner of Cavendish Square, they turned and kept walking until finally, Monty broke the silence.

  “I…I do not know how I have managed to give this impression, Harry, but many people think I am…experienced with the ladies.”

  Harry laughed at how discomforted he sounded. “Experienced with the—”

  “You know what I mean,” he said softly. “And I wanted you to know, even if no one else did…you were my first. My first and only full lover, Harry. I wanted you to know.”

  Harry stopped in her tracks and turned to stare at Monty’s face. His sandy hair had fallen across his eyes, and when he brushed it out of his face, he looked a little crestfallen.

  “Your first?” Harry repeated, shocked. “You’re…no. You are jesting with me. But you—you seemed to know exactly what you were…”

  Her voice trailed away, heat rising to her cheeks as she tried to put into words her tangled thoughts.

  Monty laughed ruefully. “I wanted to
give you that impression. I wanted to impress you, pathetic as it sounds. But Harry, it was like…like I knew I wanted that first time to be special, and there was only one person who was special enough to share it with.”

  A twinge of pride sparked in her heart. She was the only woman Monty had bedded. For all his grand talk, for all his presence and the assumptions she and others had made…

  “But the continent,” she said quickly. “Your Grand Tour. You and Josiah…”

  “Josiah, certainly,” said Monty with a laugh. “But not me, no. I wanted to keep it for a woman I would want to repeat it with.”

  His eyes were searing into hers, and Harry could not maintain the connection.

  She dropped her gaze. “And I suppose you would like a repeat of that.”

  He grabbed her waist, and she gasped.

  She fell into something hard. A lamppost. As Harry gasped again, she saw something in his eyes she had never seen before.

  It was not lust, nor desire. It was something more.

  “Yes,” Monty said in a low voice. “Yes, Harry, I want a repeat of that—every night for the rest of our lives.”

  Harry’s mouth opened in surprise, and he took his chance, pressing his lips to hers and pouring out all the passion, all the frustration of the argument between them—and Harry could not resist such kisses.

  Her hands were around his neck, and she responded eagerly, as though every moment apart from him had been torture. His tongue teased her, and she clung to him even harder.

  When he finally released her, Harry was breathless and desperate for more.

  “I should have known it was you all along,” Monty said in a jagged voice. “There was never anyone else for me, Harry, no one else who was ever of interest to me. It was always you.”

  Harry could not believe it, could not believe his words. “I…I have waited so long for you to say that.”

  “It was always you, Harry,” Monty urged, pulling her closer. “You, my best friend, and the most beautiful woman in the world to boot. God, I was an idiot—I am such an idiot.”

  Harry leaned forward to kiss him wildly, and he responded so passionately, he lifted her from the pavement.

  When they finally released each other, Harry’s hair was falling down her shoulders, pins scattered, and Monty’s eyes were hazy with what Harry now knew to be love.

  “Why did you not tell me this the other night?” she breathed. “When…when you offered for me outside Almack’s.”

  “Because I was pathetic and scared.” Monty laughed bitterly as he saw her expression. “I am not perfect, Harry, you know better than anyone. Fear is a terrible thing, and I thought…damn it, I thought you were trapped with me and would resent me. I did not want to make you feel any more resentful by telling you of my love for you.”

  Harry smiled. After feeling so heavy, so leaden, she felt weightless, as though, if Monty let go of her, she would float into the air.

  “You love me?”

  Monty smiled, and Harry’s heart sang. “I love you. God, I love you. I love every inch of you, body and mind and soul, Harry. Marry me.”

  The instant after he spoke, his breath blossoming into the cool night air, Harry stared. Was this a dream, then? Was this another chance for her mind to tease her with what could be true, then force her back into agony as she awoke?

  But she could feel his fingers around her waist, still feel the pressure of his lips on hers. She could feel the hardness of his manhood struggling against his breeches, see the concern in his eyes as she hesitated.

  He truly loved her. He loved her. Monty loved her.

  “Are you sure?”

  In one swift movement, Monty released her and dropped to his knees.

  “Surer than I have ever been about anything.”

  Harry laughed. It did not seem real; it was not possible she could be so happy.

  “Quite sure? I have heard the role of a wife is to improve her husband, and you have much to be improved.”

  Monty shook his head as he smiled. “You are teasing me, Harry. Do not leave me in this agony.”

  Harry pulled him upright and stepped into his arms. “You had better become accustomed to that.”

  And without another word, she lost herself in kissing the man who had completed her.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Monty squeezed Harry’s hand.

  “Are you sure?” he said in an undertone. “We do not have to do this if you do not want to?”

  Part of him wanted her to change her mind and suggest they went back to his home in Cavendish Square and lose themselves once more in the pleasure of each other’s bodies. There was absolutely nothing wrong with that, not now they had an understanding between them. They had spent two whole days in that glorious state of knowing they belonged to each other—why go into the world, with all its complexities, when they had each other?

  God, he could not stop looking at her. Her beauty radiated even in the dull evening light and the trickle of candlelight through the few open doors into the street.

  How had he not seen her for what she was? How had he gone for the last two, three years without realizing he had the world’s greatest treasure already at his side?

  All that nonsense, looking for a bride when Harry had been right here.

  “Harry,” he said softly. “We can go home if you want.”

  His words did not elicit the response he had been expecting.

  Harry snorted, her diamond earrings swaying. “I know exactly why you wish to return home, Montague Cavendish, and I have told you a thousand times. You are not bedding me again until you have sworn some very specific vows before an altar and a vicar.”

  Monty grinned. “You did not say that before. In fact, I think the words you shouted were—”

  “Monty!”

  There was an aching pain in his stomach each time he thought about how he had almost lost her to his own stupidity, but he would never have to worry about that again. She was his, and he was hers.

  And she could do what she wanted with him.

  Harry nodded. “Come on, then. I have never been more sure.”

  Taking a deep breath and holding out his arm, they took a few steps to face the footmen at the doors of Lady Howard’s home.

  The two liveried men hesitated. The one closest to Monty gave an uncomfortable nod and reached to open the door.

  “Wait,” said the other. “This is—”

  “I know perfectly well who this is,” Monty’s footman snapped. “This is Montague Cavendish, Duke of Devonshire. He is permitted entrance.”

  The other footman looked nervously from his companion to Monty, then to Harry.

  “Lady Harriet,” he said quietly with a hint of nervousness. “W-We did not expect to see you.”

  The words were blurted out without any thought for what he would do next, and the hapless footman seemed to realize it. Attempting to hide the shock of his blunder, he glanced once again at his companion.

  Monty also glanced at Harry and saw with pride she was swelling with indignation.

  “Indeed?” Harry raised an eyebrow at the unfortunate footman. “And may I ask why?”

  “Err,” said the footman unhelpfully, desperately looking anywhere but at the irate lady. “Well. That is to say …”

  Monty laughed. The poor man had no hope against Harry, even if he had an excuse prepared, which he evidently did not. Time to put the thing out of his misery.

  “Come on, Harry,” he said jovially, “stop playing with the poor man. I have heard Lady Howard is expecting to see us, and I would not like to keep the Earl of Chester waiting either.”

  The two footmen looked at each other, and an unspoken agreement was made between them that Monty could read like an open book.

  Monty whispered in their ears. “Good idea, gentlemen. I have heard Lady Harriet can get violent when roused.”

  Harry smiled and nodded as they opened the doors hurriedly, and whacked Monty soundly on the chest as they stepped int
o the hallway, and the doors closed behind them.

  “Why did you say that?”

  “Because it is true!” Monty chuckled, rubbing the place where she had struck him. “You have a mean left hook, Harry, we should see about getting you some boxing lessons.”

  “Just because I know how to look after myself, that does not mean—”

  But Harry broke off as the doors to the hall were opened. As they stood in the doorway, those closest to them broke off their conversations to stare, with a few actually pointing.

  There was silence. Then the chatter in the room returned at a heightened pitch and volume.

  Monty swallowed. They had decided this was the best course of action, and he did not regret it. But that would not make it any easier, and if the tightened grip on his arm was anything to go by, Harry felt the same.

  “Lady Harriet, Your Grace,” said Miss Tilbury as they passed her. “Always good to have a few more ruffians in the room.”

  Monty inclined his head but did not stop. Poor Miss Tilbury. Her gown looked a little worn out at the edges, and her diamonds looked more like glass than they did this time last year.

  The rumors were true, then. Her understanding with the Earl of Marnmouth was coming to an end, and within a few weeks, his protection would be lifted. Who would give her their shield then?

  But he could not worry about Miss Tilbury, nor Miss Wynn, who stared at them in unconcealed horror.

  “Surely not,” he heard her mutter. “Look at them!”

  It was not enough to touch his heart, but Harry came to an eventual stop.

  Stooping to her ear, he whispered, “Just like we discussed? We can leave at any time you want, Harry. You are in charge.”

  She glanced about, and something like a weak smile danced across her face. “I am always in charge,” she retorted quietly.

  Monty grinned. “There’s the Harry I know and love. Come on, I can see them.”

  Josiah and Honora were standing in a corner, beside the door to the card tables. His cousin Letitia, the wettest and least helpful of the gang, was also with them.

  He tried not to groan aloud. Letitia would be no help, but that was hardly her fault.

  As Monty carefully picked his way through the crowd, Harry on his arm, they made their way to the Chesters.