Page 57 of Tempting Harriet
She must return to Bath. If he intended to stay, she mustleave soon. Tomorrow, perhaps. Susan would be upset, but they would have to go.
And then the summerhouse door opened hurriedly and someone rushed inside and closed it again. Harriet turnedher head and opened her eyes. And closed them and turnedher head back again. Of course. Freddie was his friend.And she had told Freddie where she was going in caseSusan should need her. Or had she told him for another reason? She could no longer be sure of her motives.
“Ugh!” the Duke of Tenby said. “I have probably ruined a perfectly good pair of Hessians and one of Weston’s mostcostly coats. The weather has a distinct resemblance to peasoup.”
“Go away,” she said. “I do not want you here. I do not want you in my life, your grace.”
“Don’t you, Harriet?” he asked. “Will you at least allow me to dry off a little and catch my breath?”
“Why have you come?” she asked. “To torment me?”
“What a strange reason that would be,” he said. “Did youknow that my betrothal has been shattered, Harriet? Itseems that Phyllis tried to elope with one of her father’sneighbors, a man so dull and insignificant that I cannoteven recall his face. Lowering, is it not?”
“Perhaps,” she said, “she loves him.”
“Undoubtedly she must,” he said, “else she would not have risked reputation and fortune in order to run off withhim when she might have had me, would she?”
“I am glad for her,” she said. “I would not wish you on anyone, your grace.”
“What a splendid setdown,” he said. “It is a shame it has to be wasted on an audience of one, Harriet. I don’t believeI have ever heard a better.”
“And so,” she said, “your motive for coming here is clear. There is no impediment to our renewing our affair.Now that there is no question of adultery I can have no further scruples. And it was agreed that we meet twice eachweek until the end of the Season for an hour and a half ofphysical pleasure. You have come to claim what remains ofthat time. And perhaps longer than that if you are not satedwith me by then. It seems there will be no summer wedding after all. Unless you have someone else in your sights already.”
“Itwasa pleasure, Harriet,” he said, his voice caressing her. “You must admit that.”
She opened her eyes again and looked at him. He was sitting quite close to her. His eyes looked very silver in the dullness of the afternoon light. “Yes,” she said. “And that isall that matters, is it not? Gratification of the body’s cravings. It equates happiness.”
“Wouldyou be my mistress again?” he asked softly.
She closed her eyes once more. Though the question was expected, she had not expected the wave of longing that itbrought with it. She almost believed the words she had justspoken in bitterness. She could have him again with justone little word. She could have his arms, his kisses, hisbody. The illusion of love. For a short while longer. Perhaps even for not so short a while.
“No,” she said.
“Why not Harriet?” She felt his knuckle caress the back of her hand, but he withdrew it before she could move herhand away.
“Because it brought me no happiness,” she said. “Because it was wrong.”
“Being in my arms brings you no happiness?” he said. “I am sorry.”
“It was wrong,” she said. “What we gave—and took— should be given and taken only within marriage. It is wrongwhen it is done for its own sake. I cannot do it again, Ar—,y-your grace. It will always be on my conscience that Ionce put pleasure before morality.”
“Why did you do so?” he asked. “You took me by surprise, I must confess.”
She opened her eyes once more and looked at him. He was seated sideways, one elbow on the back of the benchthat extended right about the perimeter of the room. “I always wanted you,” she said. “This year I thought that because I was a widow and you were still unmarried, I wouldhave you and no one would be harmed. I was mistaken. Iwas harmed. It was wrong. That room. What we did there.It was devoid of everything but—itself. I have been very unhappy.”
“Have you, Harriet?” There was depth suddenly to his eyes, a depth that frightened her. She closed her eyes againand pressed her head back against the glass. “I have beentoo.”
Unhappy? Did he know what happiness and unhappiness were? Did he know anything but getting his own way ornot getting his own way?
“Because you did not finish what you started last Thursday?” she asked. “Because I will not sleep with you ever again? You will find someone else. There must be anynumber of women oftonwho would gladly lie in your bed,and hordes of women in the theaters who would be delighted to be in your employ.”
“Do you mean to hurt when you speak thus, Harriet?” he asked. “If you do, you succeed admirably.”
“I don’t think you know what it is to be hurt,” she said. “Except perhaps in your pride. This must be a black weekfor you. Rejected by both your betrothed and your mistress.”
“Perhaps,” he said, “I should answer the question you began with. My reason for coming. I came to beg your pardon, Harriet.”
“For what?” she asked. “You did nothing that was not done with my consent. You were right on Thursday. Iwanted you. I wanted you to force yourself on me so thatlying with a betrothed man would not be on my conscience.”
