Page 43 of The Marquess and the Maiden

Chapter Eleven

Harriet sat still at the dressing table while her borrowed maid undid her coiffure. She wished Lottie was here so they could talk as they usually did during such rituals. Instead, Harriet was left with her most unwelcome and confusing thoughts.

She supposed she could go to her mother, but disclosing that Oliver had stolen not one but several kisses from her was not a conversation she longed to have with her parent. Nor did she want to go and find Agnes.

The young girl standing behind her did not meet Harriet’s gaze in the mirror. She merely kept her focus on her task and unwound the curls after pulling them free from their confining pins. Tears pricked at her eyes, which was foolish. She had no claim on Oliver. Not only that, but if she wanted him, she could certainly have him; he’d proposed enough times. But she didn’t want to be in a marriage knowing her husband wanted another woman.

She hated how easily Oliver was able to make her want him. Make her behave in such an improper way. He made her a wanton. It was unexpected and terrifying. And if she were completely honest with herself…liberating. Still, she could not afford to get swept up in the passion he promised, especially since he’d been using her only for convenience, because the woman he wanted was unattainable.

The fact that all of that made her chest ache meant nothing. It was the sting of his long-ago rejection coming back to haunt her. She wasn’t the same girl she’d been then. She was stronger, knew more of what she wanted.

Once all of her hair was free, the girl picked up the hairbrush, but Harriet shook her head.

“That will be all. I’ll brush it.”

The maid bobbed and left the room, leaving her with her thoughts and unresolved desire swimming through her body.

…

He recognized that he was tempting fate. He could easily wait until the following day to explain to Harriet that she’d misunderstood the situation. But the idea of her hurting had led him to the darkened corridor down from her bedchamber.

Oliver waited until the lady’s maid had left her room. He didn’t bother knocking; she wouldn’t let him in if he had. So he simply opened Harriet’s bedchamber door and stepped inside. She stood from her dressing table at the sight of him, clutching a hairbrush to her chest. Her golden waves fell about her shoulders.

His mouth went dry.

Her dressing gown covered her perfectly modest shift. She was covered neck to feet, wrist to shoulder. The only bit of skin he could see, besides her face and hands, were her toes peeking out beneath the white fabric. Still, he found her so damned appealing.

“My lord, what are you doing in here?”

“I needed to see you, to speak with you.”

She shook her head. “Please don’t. I cannot take much more of your torment.” She bit down on her lip.

“Sweet Harriet, I know what you think. I know you saw Catherine.”

She swallowed visibly, still clutched the brush to her chest. “I did. She is as beautiful as ever.”

“That she is. She and her husband make a striking couple, indeed.”

Her chest rose with her deep breath. “I was surprised you added her to the guest list.”

He shook his head. “I didn’t. She and Burgess came with our neighbors. I would never have invited her. I have no reason to want to see her.”

“Oliver, this isn’t proper. You must go.”

He strode toward her. “I want you to answer one question, then I will leave if you insist.”

“Very well.”

“Why is it you believe me to be lying about my desire for you?”

She frowned. But the pink staining her cheeks belied her irritation, boldly declaring her embarrassment, and dare he hope, her desire for him. “You could have had me. Six years ago, our mothers had made an agreement. I offered myself to you, despite your rudeness. You were quite clear then that you did not want me.”

Six years ago he hadn’t been worth anyone’s time, let alone their fortune. “That had nothing to do with you.” He tipped her chin up so he could look into her eyes. “I refused to marry any woman for her dowry.”

“You were marrying Catherine for hers.” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “That matters not, and I shouldn’t have said it. You and she had a very different relationship.”

“Yes, we did. One built on lies and deceit and evidently, outward perfection, though I hadn’t realized that had been part of the deal.” Even now, knowing she walked away because of his injury, because he wasn’t a whole man, ate at him. There was nothing he could do to change the man he’d become.

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