Page 19 of Tempting Harriet
“Yes, Archie,” she said.
“We must meet formally whenever we are attending the same social function,” he said. “You must never use mygiven name except here, Harriet.”
She flushed but continued to look at him quietly and steadily. He knew that he was humiliating her, by his businesslike manner as much as by the words he spoke. But curiously he could not seem to stop himself. He felt the quiteunreasonable urge to hurt her. Because she had fallen offher pedestal? But he had been very ready to sweep her upwhen she fell and to lay her down in his bed.
He leaned forward and kissed her firmly on the lips. “Thank you,” he said. “You are very good, my dear. Yougave me great pleasure.” The words were intended to placate her, to redeem himself. But they were spoken asbriskly as the words that had preceded them. “Come, I shallescort you most of the way home.”
“Thank you,” she said.
He rested a hand against the slender and shapely small of her back as he guided her from the room. He wanted to stopand turn her against him and hold her there until she knewthat he had not meant the coldness or the brusqueness. Buthe did not do so. It was almost two hours since he hadpicked her up. They could not risk being alone together formuch longer.
For a man who had just experienced three powerfully satisfying bouts of sexual activity, he thought as they madetheir way downstairs and outside to his waiting carriage, hewas feeling remarkably depressed. It must be just that hewas tired. He was more used to resident mistresses withwhom he could sleep all night whenever he so wished. Or itwas just that he had to wait until Monday before having heragain. At the beginning of an affair he liked to indulge himself with daily beddings. In Harriet’s case, four days weregoing to drag by, he knew.
They sat silently side by side in the carriage. She looked prim and virginal again in the drab cloak and bonnet thatrefused to hide her beauty. He wondered if she had regrets,but he would not ask her. He wondered if she was feelingeuphoric—but she did not look euphoric—or as depressedas he was. Perhaps she was feeling neither. Perhaps for herit was as she had indicated, a mere physical affair. Perhapsher body was satisfied and her mind was looking ahead towhatever she had planned for the evening.
He kissed her hand when the carriage came to a stop and watched as his coachman lifted her to the roadway. She didnot look into his eyes as she took her leave of him or lookback before the carriage door closed again.
Chapter 7
Mr. Hardinge seemed more than usually attentive. He seated himself beside her at Mrs. Crofton’s concert andleaned slightly toward her, making their conversation exclusive to themselves for the ten minutes or so before thefirst performance, a pianoforte recital, was to begin. Hesmiled engagingly at her and talked about the violinist whowas to play later and whom he had heard play in Vienna.He really was a very charming and interesting man, Harrietthought. He was also young and tolerably handsome. Shesmiled warmly at him.
“It must be wonderful to have traveled and to have seen the most beautiful places in Europe,” she said.
“It is,” he agreed. “But I realized at the time and I realize more fully now that seeing it all in company with a like-minded companion, someone one cared for, would makethe experience that much more wonderful.”
“Yes,” she said. “I can believe that.”
She wondered how soon he would declare himself. She did not think it was vanity that made her believe he surelywould. He would be a wonderful catch. Amanda had saidso when she knew that he was to escort Harriet to the concert. And Harriet knew it and felt it herself. With him shecould find all the security and potentially all the contentment she had known with Godfrey. But none of theheartache over his weak health. She could marry Mr.Hardinge and be safe again.
Except that the thought sickened her. How could she consider becoming his wife when she was another man's mistress? How could she even consider doing that to him?
She had wondered before taking the irrevocable step how her conscience would react. Now she knew.
“I suspected as much when I first set eyes on you this evening, Lady Wingham,” Mr. Hardinge said, touching hisfingers to the back of her hand for a moment and lookinginto her face with a twinkle in his eyes, “but now I know itfor certain. You outshine every other lady present tonight.You always do, of course, but tonight you look especiallylovely.”
“Why, thank you, sir.” She laughed lightly. He was not given to paying her lavish compliments. She had fallen inlove with the rich green satin the moment she had set eyeson it, and her modiste had assured her that it was an inspired choice with her eyes. But Susan had said it was notthe gown.
“You’re pretty, Mama,” she had said when Harriet had gone into the nursery earlier to hug her and kiss her andtuck her into bed.
“I feel pretty,” Harriet had said. “It is a lovely gown, is it not?”
“Not the gown.” Susan had held her face in her two small hands and gazed into it “You, Mama. You’re pretty.”
Harriet had laughed and rubbed her nose against Susan’s.
But she knew what Susan must have meant. And Mr. Hardinge too. She had noticed it herself in her lookingglass. A heightened rosiness in her cheeks and brightness inher eyes. She had been alarmed and had held her palms toher cheeks for a while. It had seemed so very obvious to herthat it was the face of a woman who had been awakened tothe pleasure of the flesh that very day. It amazed her thateveryone who looked at her did not immediately point anaccusing finger. Yet when she had arrived home late in theafternoon, Amanda had greeted her quite placidly andasked her how she had enjoyed her shopping trip with LadyBeaconswood.
Harriet had sat through the tea telling a pack of lies in a brightly enthusiastic voice. She wondered how many otherlies she was going to have to tell in the coming weeks. Awhole set of them for every Monday and Thursday afternoon, she supposed.
“Ah,” Mr. Hardinge said, “the concert is about to begin.”
Mrs. Crofton had stepped into the empty center of her large drawing room and was smiling graciously about her,waiting for the growing hush to become complete silence.
The Earl and Countess of Barthorpe and Lady Phyllis Reeder were sitting across the room from Harriet and Mr.Hardinge, close to the doors. Harriet had noticed them earlier and had looked away from the girl, quelling a twinge ofguilt. Why should she feel guilty? If she had not becomehis mistress, someone else would have. There must bedozens, perhaps hundreds, of women in his past. And hewas the kind of man who would have mistresses throughouthis life, despite marriage. Harriet certainly did not need thatparticular guilt on her shoulders.
She looked across the room again as everyone applauded Mrs. Crofton’s opening remarks and the pianist settled himself with a flourish of coattails and a theatrical flexing offingers at the instrument. The Duke of Tenby was just seating himself beside Lady Phyllis and bowing and raising herhand to his lips. He glanced about the room in the momentsbefore the music began, paused at Harriet, lifted hisquizzing glass languidly to his eye, and then lowered itagain before inclining his head rather stiffly in her direction.
Harriet concentrated her full attention on the pianoforte and harp recitals that followed and on the soprano’s aria. Itwas what she had expected and the way he had warned herit must be. She would become accustomed to the doublelives they must lead. There were probably a dozen suchcouples in this very room, couples who lived separately andrespectably in society yet together and intimately in private.She did not find the thought particularly comforting.
