Page 35 of The Marquess and the Maiden

“Darling, those gems are not paste,” her mother said.

Harriet shook her head. The rest of the basket was filled with delicious-smelling soaps and hair rinses, and then a small box of candies. She inhaled the rich aroma and offered one of the confections to her mother, who gracefully popped it in her mouth and sighed. Harriet herself chewed thoughtfully, the sugary treat melting on her tongue.

“Mother, you must send a message immediately requesting his presence. His mother can come along, but this must end.”

Her mother smiled warmly. “I think you’re upset for no reason. Look how thoughtful this is. Helen never received a basket of trinkets from any suitors.”

Harriet paused at those words. They were true enough. Helen might not have received any such gifts, but she had received a declaration of love. No matter how many gifts he bestowed upon her, Harriet knew that Oliver wasn’t a true suitor. He’d said the words aloud to her brother, he would never love her, could never love her.

“It’s rather adorable. He’s obviously quite smitten.”

“He is not smitten.” He is—what would she even call it—infatuated, in lust, insistent on making her life a confusing mess? “I am serious. If you do not send a message requesting his presence here I will go to his house alone.”

“Grab your cloak and we’ll go over there. I’ve been meaning to visit to see Claudine’s newest tapestry.”

Not a half hour later Harriet was led into Oliver’s study, their mothers agreeing to keep a watchful eye while the “couple” was alone. She wanted to remind them that they were not a couple, but knew the protest would fall upon deaf ears.

He stood when his butler announced her. “Harriet.” His silver eyes warmed at the sight of her.

“I got your basket.”

He nodded. “Did you like it?”

“I liked some of it.” She came forward, and he stepped around his desk, leaned against the carved mahogany. “This is not the way to win my affection.”

“I never said I wanted your affection. I don’t require your affection. I want you in my bed.”

“Oliver, people do not marry simply because they desire a coupling,” she whispered the last word.

“We have passion and desire between us, I can see that. Feel it. I know you feel it as well.” He reached out and took her hand, pulled her closer to him. With him leaning his weight on the desk, he was able to release his cane and put both hands on her hips. He bracketed her between his strong thighs.

Her breath stuttered. “Oliver,” she whispered.

“Tell me you feel it, too, Harriet. You desire me.” He brought her right hand to his mouth, kissed the tip of each finger, then slid her index finger between his lips.

His warm mouth and tongue laved her finger, sucking gently. The sucking pulled at the hidden spot between her thighs. She swallowed.

He pulled her closer, put one of his large hands to her cheek, and leaned her to him. He kissed her, and she forgot everything save the sensations he evoked when his lips were on hers. His tongue slid against the seam of her mouth, and she parted for him, granting him entrance. Then a slide of their tongues together poured molten desire down her body, pebbling her nipples and drenching her pantaloons.

“Harriet, tell me how much you want me,” he whispered against her lips.

When she didn’t answer immediately, he kissed her again. This time with more hunger and ferocity. When he pulled back, they were both breathing heavily. He touched his forehead to hers.

“Harriet,” he said.

“I want you, Oliver. My body wants you. You make my body want you.” Her thoughts were incoherent, and her words came out thusly.

“Will you marry me?” he asked.

In that moment, she wanted to say yes. The word tickled her tongue, but she pulled herself out of his embrace. “I cannot.”

He closed his eyes and exhaled. “You are tormenting me.”

“That is not my intention, my lord.”

“There is no legitimate reason for us to not marry.”

“There is most assuredly a good reason to not marry. You do not love me.”

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