Page 19 of The Marquess and the Maiden

Oliver eyed his friend and let his words sink in. Marry Harriet. He’d been given the opportunity to do precisely that once upon a time. He knew their families would approve.

“I’m glad I could solve all of your problems.”

“I haven’t agreed with you.”

“Yet. You’ll get there.” Benedict stood and retrieved a ledger book and set it down. “Now, then, let us discuss this matter of you losing nearly fifty pounds in here last month.”

Marry Harriet? That would certainly solve two problems. He wouldn’t have to bride hunt. And he could have that bite-size morsel all to himself. Whenever he wanted. His cock stirred at the thought. It was a bloody brilliant plan, and he wondered why he hadn’t thought of it himself.

…

The entire time Lottie helped Harriet dress and arranged her hair, she had relived Oliver’s kiss. What had he been playing at? He knew she’d been lying about having a lover; no doubt he could tell precisely how inexperienced she was once he’d kissed her. Still, he had kissed her.

To tease her? To distract her? To torment her?

She wasn’t certain.

Tonight was about Iris, she reminded herself. If all things went as Lord Ashby had planned, then he and Iris would be engaged by the end of the night. That is what Harriet should be concentrating on, since she’d helped him follow through with the plan.

It would do Harriet no good to dwell on a kiss that had meant nothing to Lord Davenport. It mattered not that it had been nearly earth-shattering for her. Though only his lips had touched her, she’d felt him all over her body. She’d kissed him back, too. Never mind she hadn’t known what to do, she’d followed his lead.

Of course, it had been her first kiss. Her only kiss. Perhaps that was how all kisses were. She would ask Iris, but then she’d have to confess that she’d allowed the boorish and brooding Lord Davenport to take liberties with her. And for nothing more than to humor himself. Not only that, but this ball was a special gesture for Iris from Lord Ashby. It was not the time to pull her friend aside and question her about kisses.

He saw her as a joke, she knew that. He’d said as much six years before when their mothers had tried to create a match between the two of them. Then he had desperately needed her dowry, and still he’d said no. Her mother had excused his rejection, claiming that it had more to do with him being brokenhearted after Catherine Finney had dissolved their would-be betrothal. They hadn’t been officially engaged, but everyone had assumed that they would marry.

Then his accident had happened. He’d disappeared from Society for an entire six months while he’d healed, and Catherine had waited for him. When he’d returned, with a bad limp and a cane, she’d backed out. Two months later she’d married Lord Burgess.

The rest of the evening went by in a blur. Harriet was so distracted, she hadn’t fully enjoyed Iris’s expression when Lord Ashby had declared himself to her. Harriet’s mind, instead, focused on two things: Oliver’s kiss and getting over to the Burkes townhome to begin her plans for the training space.

She hadn’t yet told Agnes or any of the others, because she first wanted to ensure that everything would be feasible. Playing matchmaker for Lord Davenport didn’t promise to be a simple task, but it was a small trade to be able to have a private space to continue her training.

…

Once Oliver had decided to marry Harriet, he needed to know what she was doing with her time. For the past two days, he’d been spying on her, for lack of a better description of his behavior. Since he’d handed her a set of keys to the townhome she insisted on borrowing without explanation as to her intent.

He wasn’t precisely watching her as he was the string of servants who were carrying in the most bizarre of items. Thus far, he had counted no fewer than seven hay-filled mattresses, and at least two stuffed figures, much like scarecrows. He had no notion as to what she was up to, and he had agreed to not ask any questions.

As far as he was concerned there was only one reason to use a mattress. And she sure as hell better not be doing that with another man. Nor did she require seven different mattresses to do it.

Was she opening a brothel? He actually chuckled. Prim and proper Harriet even discussing the activities that took place within the walls of a brothel would have her blushing. There was only one way for him to uncover the truth behind her plan, which was why he currently leaned against the wall inside a darkened storage room.

He had to wait only a quarter of an hour before Harriet herself strode in. He knew it was her because he recognized her voice. At the sound of her laughter his gut tightened. It made him wonder if there was anything about her that wouldn’t create some visceral reaction in him.

He had selected the small storage room off the ballroom, which is where he discovered all the mattresses grouped together in the center of the floor. Evidently, he’d missed a delivery of one, because in total, there were eight. All laid out they presented a large padded rectangle underneath the great chandelier. A most peculiar discovery.

Though he could not see her directly without opening the storage room door, he could hear her giving instructions, so she obviously had a companion with her.

“As soon as we can get some of the other girls here, we will be able to make the most of the space,” Harriet said.

Her companion mumbled something he was unable to hear, so much so that he was unable to determine if it was a man or a woman. Harriet had mentioned something about the other girls. Had he so misjudged her? Was it possible she was involved in some nefarious sexual group? Was she intending to move people into his property?

“Until then it is up to you and me to practice,” Harriet said.

Practice?

They were quiet for a few moments, and then he heard Harriet speak again.

“Now then, you come for me.” Which was quickly followed by a distinct groan. A few more moments passed with an exchange of grunts and shuffles. What in the hell was she doing out there?

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