Page 48 of The Marquess and the Maiden

“Precisely.”

Agnes’s perceptions weren’t wrong. Not as far as he was concerned. Harriet was intensely likeable. It was surprising she wasn’t married, but he was damned glad she wasn’t. He couldn’t deny what Agnes said about Harriet’s smile, though he’d partially thought the effect was only on him. But something about the genuineness and ease of her smiles made the world seem like a better place.

Good God, he was waxing poetic about the woman. He needed to bed her soon before he tried his hand at a sonnet.

Oliver had grown weary of the game. Courtships and wooing were not things he excelled in. He wanted Harriet in his bed. As his wife. Today, he’d ensure that would happen.

Earlier that day they’d agreed to meet to discuss the outcome of the party. They had one evening left. They were to walk together to the pond, and she was to give him her suggestions on which lady he should pursue. An exercise in futility if there ever was one. So he had an alternate plan. He waited for her on a bench by the back gardens that led out to the pond, rose gardens, and maze.

She stepped outside and walked down the steps toward him. “My lord, you’re looking rather dapper this afternoon.”

He waited until she’d put her gloved hand into the crook of his elbow. “Thank you. I’m afraid I can’t return the compliment, though. You appear to be exhausted. Did you not sleep well last night?”

She sucked in a breath but didn’t dare look over at him.

He chuckled. “Very well, I shall not torment you, except to say that I can still taste you, and your cries of pleasure still ring in my ears.”

“Oliver,” she chided. She stopped walking. “I shall not walk with you if you will not behave the proper gentleman.”

“I can never promise that.” His gaze fell to her lips. “But I do promise to not speak one more word about last night. Or how you wrapped your legs around my ears.” He held up a hand. “Last comment.”

She eyed him warily, then nodded. But he could have sworn she’d bit back a smile.

“The weather is quite overcast,” he said noncommittally.

“Indeed. I suspect we’ll have rain by this evening. I do hope it doesn’t interfere with us returning to London tomorrow.”

“The roads around here do not tend to flood very often. Everyone should be able to return.”

“See how pleasant we can be when we’re having appropriate discussions.”

“Propriety is overrated, if you ask me.”

“Yes, well, I didn’t ask you.”

The subtle green hill lowered them to the path he’d created that ran along the pond. They walked in silence for several moments.

“I need to rest,” he told her.

“Of course.” He sat on the stone bench next to the quiet pond. She remained standing and turned to glance out at the water. “They’re beautiful,” she whispered once she caught sight of the swans.

He nodded. “The black one is my favorite.”

Just then she swam into view, graceful and lean with her proud curved neck.

“Why is she your favorite?” she asked.

“She is different than the others. She demands your attention with her graceful curves and dark shadows.” He wanted to say more. About how she, too, was beautiful in a way that was different than the rest of the lithe beauties in London. Harriet’s smile lit up a room. Her laughter, a soothing balm to any injury. And her passion. He was surprised she hadn’t been snatched up by some other man. He was thankful, though, that they had missed the signals. Their loss was most assuredly his gain.

His pants grew uncomfortably tight as he thought of her writhing in pleasure last night, the way she’d arched into his touch and cried out his name. First from his hands and then from his mouth. He’d never wanted any woman the way he wanted her. He had a seemingly unquenchable need to have her and only her.

“Thank you for the practice room,” she whispered.

“A lady has interests, she should pursue them,” he said plainly.

“That’s quite forward thinking of you.”

“I have many facets.”

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