Page 16 of Tempting Harriet
It would be so easy. He was making it easy. She could look at him, or even not look at him, and tell him that afterall it was something she just could not do. And she couldnot do it. The idea had been ingrained in her mind duringher growing years and on her heart when she was oldenough to make her own decisions—the idea that awoman’s body was her exclusive property and the propertyof whatever man she took in holy matrimony. Her bodywas hers and had been Godfrey’s and was now hers again.She could not give it to the Duke of Tenby in casual lust. Itwas too precious a possession.
He touched her hand again. “You do not even need to say anything,” he told her. “I understand. Shall I find something else to do with myself tomorrow afternoon?”
“No,” she said. “I have not changed my mind and will not. I shall be there tomorrow.”
He jumped down to the pavement and lifted her down after him. He took her hand and raised it to his lips “Untiltomorrow, then, Lady Wingham,” he said. “Each hour between now and then will drag by.” For the first time therewas heat in his eyes.
She smiled and hurried past him into the house.
Chapter 6
She was only a few minutes late, no more than three or four. Far too punctual for him to have considered giving upand leaving. And yet he had wondered how long he wouldwait beyond the appointed time. Ten minutes? Fifteen?Half an hour? He watched her walking toward the plaindark carriage in which he waited, not looking at it, gazingabout her as if to admire the scenery, not hurrying. And hewondered if he was disappointed that she was so punctual.
Disappointed? He wanted her, did he not? His loins were already aching in anticipation of what was to come withinthe hour. He had wanted her for a long time. For six years,though he had not consciously thought about her duringmuch of that time. He had always wanted her. He had twiceoffered to make her his mistress six years ago, once ridingall the way from London to Ebury Court in order to do so.Knowing that she would refuse.
Yes, he had known she would refuse. Not the first time, perhaps. When he had lured her into Freddie’s carriageafter a theater performance knowing that he had severalminutes alone with her before Freddie would be able tocarry his wife outside—Mrs. Sullivan had been unable towalk in those days—he had fully expected that she wouldacceptcarte blanche.He had been prepared to offer her ahouse of her own and servants and a carriage and clothesand jewels, after all, as well as his person. But the secondtime he had known what his answer was to be even as herode the distance into Kent.
The question he asked himself now was whether he would have been disappointed if she had said yes. It was astrange question and one he had never thought to ask himself before. Why would he have gone to some pains to offerif he had not wanted her to accept? Because it was hersweetness and her purity that attracted him more than anything else, perhaps? Because he was unconsciously puttingher to the test?
And was he disappointed now? He had been about to offer her marriage the day before, but she had forestalledhim and offered herself as his mistress instead. Why shouldhe be disappointed? He was to have her today, before another hour had passed, instead of having to wait for bannsto be read and other wedding arrangements to be made.And without having to disappoint anyone or give up any ofthe rules by which he had lived all his life. He did not haveto step out into the unknown. Establishing a new mistress,bedding her for the first time, were quite familiar to his experience, after all.
His coachman, dressed plainly and not in the distinctive livery of his household, opened the carriage door, lifted herinside, and closed the door behind her. The duke reachedacross her without a word and drew the curtain across thewindow as it was already drawn across the window on hisside of the carriage.
“Harriet,” he said, looking at her, “you are punctual.” And rather drably dressed in a gray cloak that the weatherdid not really call for and a plain bonnet. Yet in the dimness of the carriage interior her hair gleamed golden. Plainclothes had never succeeded in making Harriet look plain.
“Yes.” Her eyes rose to his lips, perhaps to his nose, but not to his own eyes. “I told Amanda that I was going shopping with Julia—with the Countess of Beaconswood. Shedid not like my leaving the house on foot and without amaid.”
“Harriet.” He took her hand in his. It was icy cold. He raised it to warm it at his lips. “You are going to have tolearn to be devious, my dear.”
“Yes.” Her fingers were stiff against his lips.
He held her hand in silence for a few minutes. She directed her gaze at the seat opposite him as he examined her profile. She did not look at all like a woman about to begina love affair. He wondered if it was just the tension of nervousness she was feeling or if it was active unhappiness.
How would she feel, he wondered, if she knew that he had been going to offer the day before to make her hisduchess? Would she have accepted? Or was it just an affairshe wanted? From what she had said about her marriage, itseemed that she had been fond of the older man she hadwed. Perhaps he had been a great lover. Perhaps it was justthat she missed it and wanted to satisfy that craving whileshe looked about her at more leisure for a husband whosuited her fancy. He supposed, after all, that women hadsexual needs just as men did. He was to service that needfor her just as she was for him. He felt his lips tighten withthe same anger—was anger the right word?—he had feltthe day before.
Why had he not offered her marriage anyway? Why had he not taken her hands in his and laughed at her and assuredher that that was not what he wanted at all? That he wantedmore than her body, to be taken in clandestine manner atprearranged times. That he wanted all of her for all time.As his love, his wife, his duchess. Why had he kept hismouth shut and fallen in with her plans as if they had beenhis own?
Had he really felt disappointment? Anger? Surprise that she had offered herself so cheaply? He was not sure. Hehad not analyzed his feelings at the time, and he had notdone so since. He had merely reacted. And his reaction hadbeen that if he could have her without the trouble of marrying her—and marrying her would have caused trouble—then have her he would. He wanted her badly enough, afterall. As she had said, they would doubtless tire of each otherby the time the Season drew to its end. He would be able tocontinue with his cautious courtship of Lady PhyllisReeder. He would be able to marry her in the summer andplease his grandmother and his mother. And himself. LadyPhyllis would fit her role as his duchess as to the mannerborn. His way of life would be changed and upset hardly atall.
“We could merely take a quiet drive for a short while, you know,” he said. “I could have you set down at LadyBeaconswood’s house if you wish. You have not yet reached a point from which you cannot return, Harriet.”
He held his breath. Almost he thought frowning, as if he hoped she would take the way out he offered her. Almost asif he was willing to give up his afternoon’s sport.
She looked up into his eyes suddenly, and once more hewas jolted by their wide-eyed candor. “Yes, I have,” shesaid. “I am here. I’ll not turn craven. It is just that I amnervous and uncertain of myself. I have never—done thisbefore. What do you expect of me? That I should be—flirtatious? I am not sure that I can be.”
Heaven forbid. Harriet flirtatious? Harriet batting her eyelashes and pouting her lips and entertaining him withbaby talk and trilling little laughs? That was what he wasaccustomed to, he realized, what he had always found sexually stimulating. But not Harriet. His love nest would notsuit Harriet, he thought suddenly. He wished there weresomewhere else to take her.
“I expect only that you be yourself,” he said, raising her hand to his lips again. It was still cold.
He wondered if he should take her into his arms and kiss away her chill and her nervousness. Normally he did notwonder what he should do with a woman. He acted frominstinct. Fortunately he did not have to torture himself forlong. The carriage slowed and then stopped and he felt herstiffen again as they waited in silence for his coachman toopen the door and set down the steps.
She hated the house and the servant who opened the door and bowed and scraped as he took her cloak and bonnet andhis grace’s hat and cane and looked respectable and discreet—as he undoubtedly was. He made her feel like ascarlet woman. The house was sumptuously decorated andfurnished. At least the hall and the stairway were and thesitting room through which they passed before the duke ledher through a door leading off it into a bedchamber. Thewindow- and bed-hangings were wine-colored. Not quitescarlet but suggestive of luxury and—sin. It was the onlyword that would come to mind. The bed was turned neatlyback, ready for use. The sheets and pillowcases, she couldsee, were of satin. It was the sort of place where a man ofwealth brought women to be bedded. Or housed them ifthey did not have independent means. It was perhaps whereshe would have been housed if she had accepted his offersix years ago.
“If you are as nervous as you look or as you said you were when we were in the carriage,” he said, closing thedoor and running his hands up her arms before taking hershoulders in a firm clasp, “you would not wish to be detained in the sitting room for tea or some other refreshments, would you, Harriet?”
Suddenly his height and his muscled physique, his handsome features and very blond hair, his silver eyes, all of which had attracted her powerfully for a long time, seemedquite overwhelming. She was alone with him in a bedchamber. They were there for the express purpose of makinglove. Though she supposed that was not quite an appropriate term for what was about to happen.
“No,” she said, “I would rather—” She swallowed.Do it without delay,she had been about to say. Sordid words.She wished on a sudden wave of panic and nausea that shehad accepted his suggestion that they merely drive, that heset her down at Julia’s so that what she had told Amandawould not after all have been a lie. She wished Godfreywere there. She wanted him desperately, his quiet, almostdull friendship and affection. Dull to anyone who was notemotionally involved with him, that was.
