Page 55 of The Marquess and the Maiden

Harriet knew her mouth was open, but she simply couldn’t believe her ears. This is what he’d been trying to tell her about girls being afraid to be in the same room with him and about her not behaving as if she had a gun to her back forcing her to marry him. She was being forced, but she most assuredly wasn’t afraid of him. Had this been why he’d felt compelled to compromise her? Because she was the only woman who saw the man he was and not whatever ridiculousness these girls spoke of?

Monstrous Marquess. That was laughable. There was nothing remotely frightening about him.

The girls’ voices faded as they moved away from the screen.

“I cannot believe that,” Harriet said.

“You are not everyone’s favorite spinster,” Matilda said. “In fact, I’ve never heard anyone refer to you in such a way.”

“What?” Harriet waved her hand dismissively. “I care not what they said about me. I am a spinster. Or I have been. And everyone does like me.” It had often been what Malcolm said had prevented her from getting the attention of men. She was too likable. Too much like everyone’s little sister. She’d always thought the notion ridiculous, but perhaps it had merit. “Monstrous Marquess? Since when have people called him that?”

“I’ve heard it a time or two,” Agnes said. “But I don’t think it’s the prevailing consensus.”

“I might not have picked this union, for my own reasons, but that doesn’t mean that he is…whatever they said.” She realized then that hiding in the midst of their engagement ball would only prolong such rumors. He needed her to show the rest of these people that she wasn’t afraid, he wasn’t a horrible monster. Good heavens, the man was delicious to look upon. What was the matter with those girls? “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to play the attentive fiancée.”

She made her way back over to him, knowing full well that he watched her every move.

“It unsettles me when you look at me like that,” she told him when she reached his side.

“In what way am I looking at you?”

“As if I am the last piece of cake on the tray.”

He chuckled. He leaned down close to her ear. “That’s because I desperately want to put my mouth on you.”

The mere mention of such wickedness had desire gathering between her legs. She shifted her stance.

“Sweet Harriet, do you recall how you came apart in my arms? I’ll never tire of the way you taste.” He leaned up but kept his intense eyes locked on hers. “I would kiss you right now if it wouldn’t scandalize the entire room.” He picked up her hand and pressed his lips to the exposed skin at the top of her wrist. “Don’t look so alarmed, my dear. I meant I would kiss your lips. The rest is for us and only us.”

It wasn’t a declaration of love by any stretch of the imagination, but it was heartfelt and honest. She wasn’t happy about the way things had happened. She had clung to the dream of marrying for love for so long. Perhaps she hadn’t given any thought to the benefits of marrying for lust.

…

It was the morning of her wedding, and Harriet moved through the ministrations with detached awareness. She hadn’t seen much of Oliver since the evening of their engagement party. He’d made himself scarce, which frankly worried her. She knew that for some men, the hunt was where all the excitement lay. He’d caught her. Could he already be bored with her before they’d even begun?

She shoved down the thought. None of that mattered; regardless of how either of them felt, they would be married.

The majority of the house party guests had left yesterday to return to London. Harriet had stood by Oliver’s side as they thanked people for coming. Brookhaven was her home now. She would be the lady of the manor, so to speak. It was important for her to take her place at his side. He had kissed her hand, but that had been the extent of their contact.

Thankfully, her friends had all decided to stay. And her brother had come in from London to walk her down the aisle. Her sister and her family were also in attendance.

The maid worked on Harriet’s hair, pulling it into a low gathering of her curls that knotted at the back of her head. Later they would secure the veil. She watched the women working behind her through the mirror. She didn’t want to look at herself. She had already vowed that no matter what occurred today, she would not cry.

“It’s your wedding day, Harriet, do try to smile,” her mother said.

She did her best and gave her mother a weak grin.

“My dear, I know this is not what you imagined, but it might be how things are meant to be. Remember my story about my own marriage. I was angry going into our marriage. Mad at my parents for agreeing to it, mad at your father for asking.” She smiled wistfully and squeezed Harriet’s hand. “Eventually, I resigned myself to the events of the day and was able to enjoy it. I merely want the same for you.”

Her mother made it sound so easy, as if all she had to do was embrace the situation and eventually she’d wake up and Oliver would love her. She didn’t even know if she’d ever love him.

She couldn’t deny he made her feel things. Physically. Lust, desire, carnal pleasures. He could provide that for her. It wasn’t something she’d ever considered, ever thought she needed or wanted. And she’d still have the freedom to participate in her Ladies of Virtue activities. He’d also offered her financial resources.

She stood in front of the mirror while Justine and Agnes worked on the buttons at the back of her gown.

“He selected a beautiful dress,” Justine said.

That she couldn’t argue with. The ivory silk bodice fit her perfectly and then flared at the waist and fell into a full skirt with intricate embroidery. How had he known her measurements to order something that fit so perfectly? Perhaps he’d stolen one of her other dresses and couriered it to the dressmaker.

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