Harriet paused for a moment before she answered. “Yes, in fact.”
He breathed deeply to regulate himself. “Why don’t we simply turn this carriage around, announce our whirlwind engagement, and then, after a passionate month, you might jilt me and we’ll be unscathed?”
“A month of you courting me?” Harriet replied with a sharp, humorless laugh.
“Well, yes …?” Alexander said, his rum-soaked brain admittedly a little puzzled as to why it wasn’t a perfect solution.
“You couldn’t even be bothered to remember my name. No one will believe it.”
“One hates to be crass, but I am known to be rather skilled at seduction.”
“You and I both know I am not the sort of woman you seek out. The rest of thetonknows it too.”
“Except I did.” Alexander clasped his hands together as if that ended the argument. He was quite hopeful it had. He could barely keep up with this woman’s mad rantings while sober; in his current state, he felt hopeless.
God, he wished he could undo it all: the library, the touching her, most certainly the gallons of brandy that had come afterward.
She was blessedly quiet for a moment. Alexander believed he’d had the last word when she all but whispered, “Because you thought I was Philippa.”
Good God!Alexander took a deep breath in and decided to be done with this.
“How insulting of me to mistake you for another gorgeous woman, one whom I was to meet in the very room you were in—one you happen to look remarkably like! Especially from behind! That must really sting!”
“You seem to be under the mistaken impression I suffer from the lack of your attention. I was merely pointing out the incredulity of you courting me!”
“You’re correct, I would not go after you—I will readily admit that. Not because you’re lacking something, or because you’re a wallflower—believe me, the quiet ones often hold the best surprises—but because you’re an unmarried innocent and I don’t make a habit of entertainingthosetypes of women.”
His little speech made him feel more nauseated than before.
Harriet was silent for a moment, although not still. Truly the sound of her fidgeting was irritating beyond belief, and her movements seemed to send the erotic scent of sweet oranges throughout the entire carriage, which Alexander promised his cock he’d think about later.
“Cicisbeo. Cavalier servente. Paramour. Gallant.”
Oh god, how muchhadhe drunk? What was she saying?
“It’s just that … earlier you … well, you asked if there was a word for a ‘mister’ and there are a few, just not very good ones. No one uses them. Though I believe that’s the fault of society rather than language.”
Alexander stared at her in wonder. She bit her full, lush lip and blushed with embarrassment, which was really quite a shame because he’d have preferred her to do those things for a whole different reason entirely.
He was, unprecedentedly, too hungover to be fully aroused, or to do anything about it even if he were. Instead, he closed his eyes once more and tried to fall back asleep. He could reason with this clever termagant later.
Blessedly, the carriage began to slow as they approached The Red Lion, a small but busy posting inn. Alexander exited the carriage, his stomach grateful to be on terra firma again. He reached to help Lady Harriet down, but she ignored his outstretched hand. Their driver, Charleston, was already down and talking to the stable boy about fresh horses, but Alexander had no intention of continuing to Gretna Green. He was here to freshen up, perhaps cast up his accounts, and then convince the chit to go back to London with him.
Harriet knew she ought to be thinking of how to convince the man to elope to Gretna Green now that he was awake. Only, she was alone in a room with a man for the second time in her life. In an inn! She’d never been to an inn. Alexander himself did not seem to be similarly affected by the situation. In fact, he was still quite cross. Since casting up his accounts behind the stables—something she wasn’t supposed to know he’d done—he appeared noticeably haler, if not happier with her presence.
“Tell me you did not kidnap me without a change of clothing.” It was an order, no question in sight. “You haul along a trunk no doubt full of bits and bobs and baubles, and I’m to endure this endeavor in a singular pair of small clothes?”
Harriet willed herself not to blush at the mention of undergarments. Blushing every time the man spoke of something indecorous was as inconvenient as it was embarrassing.
“That isyourtrunk, my lord,” she bit out. Alexander raised an eyebrow at her.
“I didn’t exactly have access to your full wardrobe and accouterments, did I? Your, er … Miss Hightower … was kind enough to have her footman pack some clothing that you keep at her house, presumably for … reasons.” Why had she even begun to speculate about the conditions under which a gentleman might require spare clothes at his mistress’s house?
He bent and rifled through the trunk with a frown.
“She said those were your clothes—is something wrong? If so, I’m deeply sorry.”
“Your manners are a credit to kidnappers everywhere,” Alexander retorted. “They are my clothes, yes, but they’rebusinessclothes. Hardly fit for travel.” He grabbed them anyway. Privately, Harriet thought he was being quite the petulant child. His sour mood went a long way to assuage her lust for him.
