Page 16 of The Marquess and the Maiden

“Lord Davenport,” Harriet said with a curtsy. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Of course, she couldn’t admit to inviting him here herself. That simply wasn’t done. She’d certainly gone to great lengths to follow propriety in setting up this rendezvous. He stepped over to her and bent as well as he could over her hand, pressing his lips to the softness of her glove, never taking his eyes off her. She had such a pleasant face that he decided he could look at it for hours. Sketch it. He didn’t often draw anything other than building plans, but on occasion something beckoned him to put his pencil to paper. Lady Harriet was one such thing, though he doubted he could do her justice.

He motioned to the large leather chair adjacent to the settee. “May I?”

Her eyes fell to his leg, then the cane. He was accustomed to the looks and the stares; still, from her it was unsettling.

“Yes, of course, where are my manners?”

He lowered himself into the chair, knowing that his slow, methodical movements were likely painful and awkward to watch.

She and her maid sat on the settee.

“The weather has been unusually cold,” she said.

He nodded. He’d noticed. His damned leg was better than a weather vane at knowing when a temperature shift was coming.

“Is that what you wanted to discuss? The weather?” he asked.

Her cheeks pinkened. “No. It would seem that some things have changed since last we spoke, and I have reconsidered assisting you.”

“In my bride hunt?”

She inclined her head.

“So, you have decided to no longer concern yourself with my spending habits?”

“Of course not. I still believe your behavior to be appalling, and I will not cease reminding you of such.”

“Splendid,” he said, not bothering to disguise his sarcasm. “I fear I would miss your incessant nagging.”

“As it so happens, I’ve decided there is something I want from you, in exchange for my help.”

His eyes dropped to her lips. Her perfectly pink rosebud lips. As if she read his mind, she bit down on her bottom lip. He wanted to kiss her. Hell, he wanted to do more than that, but starting with that would be all too pleasant. He didn’t dally with virgins, though. She was off-limits. Or she should be.

“You want me, you were saying,” he said.

She frowned. “I want something from you.” She turned to her maid. “Lottie, would you be a dear and fetch us some tea?”

Her maid eyed her suspiciously, opened her mouth as if to say something, then curtsied and left the room.

“You recently purchased the Garner townhome right down the street from your own,” Harriet said, not wasting any time. “It is only a few doors from here.”

“That is correct. I bought it last month.” He frowned. “Why do you know that?”

Her shoulders lifted slightly. “Our mothers talk. I hear things.”

“What is it that you want with the Garner townhome?” he asked.

“I want to borrow it.”

He opened his mouth to ask a question, but she held up a hand to silence him.

“No questions asked.”

“The home is empty. I have only had it cleaned; I haven’t even hired staff for it or decided what I shall do with the property. Whatever…” His eyes took in the length of her. There was only one reason why a lady such as herself would want to have use of an unoccupied townhome—a lovers’ rendezvous. Anger surged through him. He didn’t want to think about another man having his hands on Harriet’s beautiful body. That was ridiculous, though, as he certainly held no claim over her. “Who is he?”

Deep crevices furrowed her brow. “I beg your pardon?”

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