Page 42 of The Marquess and the Maiden

“Blissful, isn’t it?”

“What?”

“Feeling, doing—that is far more enjoyable. Thinking. It’s overrated.”

“That’s a very hedonistic view of things.”

He stepped back and shrugged. “Indeed.”

She set her hands on her hips. “You are supposed to be inside meeting women and narrowing down your prospective brides. Not out here dallying with me.”

“How is it possible you still doubt my desire?”

She waved her hand. He was the silliest of men. But something dark clouded over his eyes, and he stepped closer to her. He gripped her hand and pulled it down, pressed it firmly to the front of his trousers.

“Do you feel that, Harriet? That is my desire for you. Lust so hard and deep that I had to stop kissing you for fear of spilling myself in my trousers like I was nothing more than a randy schoolboy.” His gaze met hers, and she swore her heart stopped beating. “Do not, for a moment, think I am toying with you. I want you. In my bed. On this balcony. Shall I toss your skirts up and prove it right now?”

She swallowed. “That won’t be necessary.” She felt her own desire hot and damp between her legs. His words had that effect on her. That and his voice, his mouth, his face. Merely looking at his beautiful face made her want him, but she couldn’t want him. He would break her heart. Of that she was certain.

“I have to go,” she said.

He didn’t fight her or try to make her stay. He dropped his hand from her and allowed her to turn and leave him alone on the balcony. She dared not go straight to Agnes; her friend was far too perceptive to not realize something had happened, that something was going on that Harriet was hiding.

She needed to focus, put her attention on discovering who Lady X was and why she was trying to destroy the Ladies of Virtue. As it was, the danger was increasing; Agnes had received a personal letter from the mysterious woman, as had two other members. This was quite clearly more than her wanting to expose the group; she knew at least some of the members by name, and a woman’s reputation would never recover from that kind of public divulgence.

She stood off in the back of the ballroom, surveying the space. This was a success, that she could clearly see. But if he didn’t propose to someone, other than her, on this weekend, then she would have failed. Murmurs surrounded her, and she latched on to a group to her right.

“I simply cannot believe she’s here,” one woman said.

“She’s disgraceful,” the other commented.

Harriet scanned the room and tried to determine of whom they were speaking. Then she caught a glimpse of the tall blond woman across from her. Lady Burgess. The woman who’d broken Oliver’s heart. They’d been nearly betrothed before his accident. The most beautiful couple, people in London had called them. And after his injury, she had walked away. Evidently, she hadn’t been able to handle his shortcomings, as they were.

The man next to her, his hand possessively against her back, was her husband. Lord Burgess, also extremely attractive in a hard, dark way. They were a stunning couple, though neither of them had any sort of kindness to them. They moved gracefully through the ballroom, speaking to people. Then Catherine seemed to look directly at her.

Certainly not, but then she felt him. Smelled him. He must be right behind her, but she didn’t want to look. She saw the desire in Catherine’s gaze from across the room. And then Harriet understood. He’d seen his former love and he’d been filled with desire and he’d simply grabbed the first woman he knew would be willing to accept his kisses out in the darkness. He’d used her to scratch an itch another woman had created.

She was the worst sort of fool.

She turned to him then, but his eyes weren’t on Catherine, they were on her. Warm and full of heated desire.

“I’m afraid I have a headache. I’m going to retire for the evening, my lord,” she said, then fled the room.

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