Page 26 of The Marquess and the Maiden

“I didn’t have to,” Malcolm said.

“I didn’t ask for it. Merely expressed my intentions.” Oliver stood. He did not wince when his leg protested. He’d learned long ago how to manage the pain, how to hide it from those around him. “My sweet Harriet, your brother does not wish to listen to me extol on all your physical virtues. And you do not seem to believe me. I shall endeavor to appeal to your pragmatic side. You are firmly upon the shelf, I do believe they call it, and I am in need of a wife. We are a match made in convenience, practicality, whatever you wish to call it.” He leaned down and put his face an inch from hers. “Desire, above all else. Do not think, for a moment, that you can evade me. I want you, and you shall be mine.”

…

She watched him walk away. Her heart pounded so loudly in her ears she was positive others could hear it as well. Her foolish body had melted at his words.

I want you, and you shall be mine.

Her mind, however, was not so easily deceived, thank the heavens. She whirled on her brother. He stood and backed away from her.

“Harry, I’ve never seen you this angry. Hell, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you angry at all.”

“That man is infuriating. And stop calling me Harry. It was sweet when I was a child, but in case you haven’t noticed, Malcolm, I am a grown woman!” She stormed out of the room and went directly outside to hail a hack. Normally she’d go to see Iris in such a situation. Perhaps it was wrong to categorize her friends, but in matters of the heart, Iris had always been her first choice. But today she needed Agnes and her cool thinking. Besides, Iris had already proven that she was susceptible to a man’s seduction. Harriet knew she would be, too. She doubted Oliver would even have to ask before she’d start removing her clothes. Good heavens, when had she become such a wanton?

Agnes, thankfully, was not one to be swayed by a pair of intense silver-blue eyes. Or a searing kiss that had obviously melted part of Harriet’s brain. Or the wicked things he’d said to her, wicked things he wanted to do to her, that had left her with desire-soaked pantaloons. Good heavens, but he had a mouth on him, in more ways than one.

Marry her. He was ridiculous. And her heart was even more ridiculous for beating faster at the thought. She would not sit back and endure her torment simply for his enjoyment.

Once she was escorted into Agnes’s family townhome, she quickly located her friend in the library. She was busily sketching into a book, her brow marred with concentration.

“You will never believe what has happened,” Harriet said.

Agnes looked up, and her eyes widened. She set down her pencil. Without saying anything else, she closed her book, rang for a servant, and ordered tea to be sent directly to her bedchamber. Then she hooked her arm with Harriet’s and led her up the staircase.

“You look dreadful,” Agnes said.

“Thank you.”

“So, tell me what this thing is that I am not going to believe.”

“It’s Lord Davenport.” She fell silent as the maid brought in the tea tray and set it down on the ottoman between their two chairs. When the servant left the room again, Harriet took a breath. “He proposed to me.”

Agnes’s expression did not change. And she said nothing as if waiting for the rest of the sordid tale.

“He even went and spoke to Malcolm. What was he thinking?”

Agnes frowned. “That he wanted to marry you.”

“No, do you not see?” Harriet stirred her tea absently. “He is toying with me. Tormenting me. He told me all these wicked things he wants to do to me.” She whispered that last part despite the fact that they were alone.

She waited for her friend to be as appalled at the scenario as she was, but nothing came.

“Agnes, you are not helping. I came to speak to you because you are so pragmatic. Why would he do all of this? Why would he go to such lengths to tease me so mercilessly? Is he that cruel?” She did nothing to stop the tears that filled her eyes.

“Perhaps I am missing something.” Agnes reached over and squeezed her hand. “I can see that you are upset. Hurting. And I am certainly being pragmatic. I’m not convinced I know how to not be.”

“He is laughing at me.” She silently cursed him for making her want more. Making her want for his words to be truth, that he did desire her and long for her to be his wife. But she knew that none of that was true.

“Did he?”

“What?” Harriet asked.

“Did he actually laugh at you?”

“Well, no. Not in front of me.”

“Then the only logical conclusion is that he proposed to you because he truly wants to marry you.”

---