Page 50 of The Marquess and the Maiden

Chapter Thirteen

Harriet’s mother’s voice tore through her, and she bolted upright so quickly she nearly fell to the ground. Oliver grabbed her hand and steadied her but didn’t release his hold. She faced her mother and all the others with her, including his mother and the rest of the matrons.

Her face flamed. She was doomed.

“That was not what it looked like,” she stammered. Which was ridiculous because, of course, it was precisely what it had looked like. There was no legitimate way to excuse such an embrace. She tried to pull her hand from his grip, but he would not release her. Instead he grabbed his cane with his other hand and came to his feet. Still he said nothing.

“My lord?” his mother said.

“We were kissing,” he said as though it were no different than saying they were cooking or gardening.

“We could see that,” his mother said. The other women snickered behind their gloved hands.

Embarrassment ate through her insides. She wanted to turn heel and run as far away as she could, but his grip on her hand was too strong. She kept her gaze to the ground, unable to bear the weight of the other women’s glances.

“I trust you will do the honorable thing,” her mother said.

“Of course. Harriet and I were just discussing my engagement,” he said. “Our engagement.”

She whipped her head around and glared at him.

“I think it would be best if we continued this inside,” his mother said. She turned and faced her friends. “If you’ll excuse us, we must handle this private family matter.” She ushered Oliver and Harriet forward while she and Harriet’s mother followed behind.

“Kindly release my hand,” Harriet ground through her teeth.

“Do not make this worse than it already is, Harriet,” her mother said softly.

No one else spoke the entire rest of the walk back to the house. Oliver opened the first room they came to. The small study boasted a table with a slanted top. It was an architect’s table, if she wasn’t mistaken.

But now was not the time to inquire about that. In fact, she didn’t care if he’d designed and built Buckingham Palace. Once the door closed behind the four of them, she jerked her hand free and stepped as far away from him as she could manage.

“I refuse to marry you,” she said flatly.

“Are you mad? Everyone saw you. Us. There’s no explaining that away. They caught us kissing.”

She turned and faced their mothers, silently pleading with them. A marriage to Oliver meant the end of her dream to ever find a love match. She’d be doomed to a life with a man who would never love her. She angrily swiped at the tears that clouded her vision.

“Your mother already demanded I marry you,” he said. The corners of his lips tipped slightly.

Her mother nodded in agreement.

Her eyes narrowed in on him. “Why am I the only one trying to think of a way out of this?”

He moved over to stand next to her. “Because there is only one way out of this, you know that.” His calm, even tone was driving her mad.

“Why are you smiling?” She stared at him.

His brows rose.

The walls closed in on her, and her breathing became shallower as if there weren’t enough air in the room to gasp. “You planned this, didn’t you? You brought me out there, pretending like you were going to be an adult and discuss your future plans, and then you did this!”

“Harriet, do I seem like the kind of man who would do something like this? Simply to get what I wanted?”

She swallowed. “Yes, you do.”

He cocked one brow at her. “I told you I wanted you.”

“You do not want me. I am the easy choice.”

---