Page 32 of The Marquess and the Maiden

“I had never before equated tenacity with irritation.” In truth, was she actually irritated? There was a huge part of her that relished the attention he was pouring on her. The starved part of her that had so desperately longed to meet a man and fall in love. The rational part of her, though, recognized his plot for what it was, and she did her level best to keep that part in control of the rest of her fickle self.

She made her way back down to the parlor, and he stood when she entered. His eyes devoured her, making her feel as if she wasn’t truly covered head to toe in lush blue wool.

Her mother smiled, and Harriet could have sworn she saw tears gleaming in the woman’s eyes. Harriet tugged on her kid gloves, then slipped her wrist through the loop at the bottom of the long skirt. Her nerves were rattled enough she wouldn’t even need the excuse of the habit’s length to stumble.

“I took the liberty of selecting a gentle mare for you. She’s saddled and ready, waiting with my steed,” he said.

True to his word Oliver had brought along a beautiful gray mare. He assisted her up on the horse, and she straightened her skirts to cover her legs.

“Shall we?” he asked.

She nodded and together they cantered in the direction of Hyde Park. They rode in silence for a few moments before she finally spoke. “I must commend you, my lord, on your proper courtship techniques. Did you learn them in a book?”

“There’s a book about courting?” He gave her a wry smile. “I wish I had thought to look, but no, I sought the advice from a friend and my mother, of course.”

Oh dear. He’d asked his mother. Mayhaps he was serious in his intentions. The thought bumbled around in her mind, but she shoved it aside. “What all did they tell you to do?”

“I cannot give away my secrets else they may not be effective.” He winked at her.

She watched him warily from beneath her topper. He rode with ease; his large frame sat perfectly astride his gleaming black steed. He was the very picture of masculinity. Her mouth dried, and her hands felt too warm encased in her soft gloves.

Oh, how she wished this was, indeed, a real courtship. That they had met at a ball, locked eyes across the room. He would’ve come up and asked her to dance, or explained why he couldn’t dance and instead offered to take her to the refreshments table. They would’ve laughed, enjoyed each other’s company. They would have gone riding, much as they were today, perhaps a picnic or two. Then they would have fallen in love the way that she’d always dreamed.

But none of that was how they’d gotten where they were today.

She hated that he made her want more. More from her life. More from him. Especially from him.

…

Oliver watched Harriet chew at her bottom lip as they rode through Hyde Park. She smiled and spoke when they passed someone she knew, which was often. On more than one occasion, the passersby were unable to hide their surprise.

“People seem surprised that I’ve crawled out of my cave during the daylight hours,” he said.

She smiled at him. “I doubt that.”

“Then they often wear those expressions while greeting fellow riders?”

“I couldn’t say.” She met his gaze, her chin tilting ever so slightly upward. “This is my first time riding in Hyde Park.” She shook her head. “Other than in an open carriage with my mother.”

“How is it possible you are still unmarried, Harriet? How have the men in this damned town walked past you night after night and not given in to the desire to simply touch your hand?” He grew heavy with desire; not the most comfortable thing to happen while astride a horse. “I can scarcely keep my hands off you,” he said.

She visibly swallowed. “It would appear that the men in London are immune to my charms.”

“The men in London are quite obviously idiots.” He’d leave it at that. He could say more, tell her all the wicked things he wanted to do to her body, but he sensed those admissions caused her panic as much as the desire that beckoned in her eyes. No, today he wanted to prove to her that he could behave somewhat properly, give her a chance to see him as a legitimate suitor. “I cannot say I’m disappointed.”

Her warm brown eyes widened, and her lips quirked. “Would you answer a question for me?”

“Anything.”

She seemed taken aback by that. “Truly? No matter what I asked?”

He shrugged. “I have nothing to hide.” Though now he was definitely curious about her question.

“You mentioned once having an interest in architecture. Has that always been the case, or did that come out of necessity when you found Brookhaven in need of repairs?”

“I’ve always appreciated details in buildings, arches or moldings, windows or doors. The skill came from trial and error and was, quite frankly, essential. When I inherited the title, I quickly learned that my father, wastrel that he was, had gambled or poorly invested all of the Davenport fortune. He left us with nothing save debts and ill-kempt properties.”

The little V formed between her brows. “I’m sorry.”

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