“Would they not help you, say, see out the carriage, then?” Why was she being so stubborn? She was missing the world outside. Not that this was a particularly scenic road, but nevertheless, she ought to be able to see it all.
“They wouldnot,” she said, her lips twitching, “as they are not mine.” Alexander felt more puzzled than ever.
“They’re my sister Caroline’s. She’s forever losing them, and one’s own spectacles are naturally the hardest thing to find. I keep an extra pair on me; I often end up wearing them on my head just tokeep track of them. And I’ve found something marvelous when I do: They make you evenmoreinvisible.”Why did she want that?
Harriet reached over to pat his knee. “Thank you for that … chivalrous assault. I’m elated to know you find spectacles attractive.” She drew her hand back quickly, as if touching him had burned her.
Alexander was simultaneously embarrassed and full of wonder. He couldn’t remember the last time he had experienced such humiliation. He suspected he was flushed bright red.
A giggle escaped her.
Seeing Alexander’s mortification, she tried to rein herself in, which only made her laughter turn into hiccoughs, which then made her laughmore. And then she let it out—her real, full laugh. It was loud and rich and involved her entire body.Bloody hell, indeed.
He leveled as much of a glare at her as he could manage while still feeling utterly unmoored.
“I’m so sorry,” she sniffled, trying unsuccessfully to hide her continued delight at his gaffe, “it’s just, well—you were so sincere!” That sent her into further peals of laughter.
Alexander placed the spectacles on the bench next to her and leaned back against the squab, stunned into silence.
Lady Harriet was to be his undoing. Women didn’t laugh at him. Women fawned over him. He ought to have hated it, yet some obviously ill part of his mind whispered that he’d gladly make a fool of himself to get to hear her laugh like that again.
Chapter Nine
ALEXANDER HAD NEVER BEEN ONE FOR COMPLAINING.FROM ANearly age, he’d learned that no one around him cared much if he was uncomfortable. As a grown man with a great deal of control over his circumstances, he found the act both unnecessary and unbecoming.
But this carriage ride was testing the bounds of his patience. He could not be in this damned vehicle with her a moment longer. Not in that dress—or any other she owned, he suspected. Not with those breasts. Not with the scent of oranges and hothouse flowers emanating off her. Her laughing at him hadn’t diminished his arousal a whit. In fact, it had done the opposite.
He virtually bolted out of the carriage upon arrival at another small inn. Tomorrow, he planned to spend the entire day on horseback.
Harriet followed him, shivering in the cold night air. He might have offered her his coat, but he didn’t think getting close to her in his current state would be wise. Thankfully, the inn itself was quite warm. Lively as well. The sound of bad singing and even worse piano playing filled the downstairs. Alexander cut an easy swath across the hall to the innkeeper. Despite his general distaste for the aristocracy, it did have its uses when one wanted to cross a room.
“Two rooms, please. We’ll take our suppers there, and a bath as well, please,” Alexander informed the man, laying a few too many coins on the counter in hopes of expediency. A bath sounded like heaven.
“Sorry, milord,” answered the innkeeper, sounding not very sorry at all. “Don’t have two rooms. We’re full, really, but I can kick Eddie out to the barn and give you his. He don’t mind.” There was no hint as to who Eddie was, and Alexander didn’t care to ask.
“Excellent. We’ll take it.”
“Oh, we don’t want to be a bother. We’re happy to—” came Harriet’s voice behind him. Alexander whipped around.
“We arenotsleeping in a barn. There aren’t any more inns for miles, so unless you want to spend the night in a shared room with a fifth of the crowd you see here, Eddie’s room it is.”
Harriet snapped her mouth shut and glared at him. The innkeeper didn’t seem to have heard any of their conversation and was already around the bar leading them up the stairs.
Alexander swept out his hand in a gesture for her to follow the man while he brought up the rear. One bloody room. With her one bloody dress. And one bloody bed. An entire day in a carriage with her had been agony. A night in bed with her? Hell, she probably knew a perfect word for what lay beyond torture.
“It’s Tuesday, is it not?” he asked her as they climbed the steps, her arse precisely at eye level. If there were a god, he enjoyed suffering. Harriet glanced over her shoulder with a quizzical expression.
“It is,” she replied, clearly expecting him to elaborate. Silence was much safer.
Tuesday. Tuesdays were for boxing at Jackson’s, drinking at White’s, then—should he still feel unsettled—sinking his cock into an opera singer until he forgot all else. Tuesday meant he hadn’t spent in three days. Bollocks. Bollocks indeed.Hispoor bollocks in particular, trapped in one room with Harriet.
He swept into the room and began undressing himself, doing his best to ignore Harriet. A bath had been a terrible, terrible idea. One of his worst, and he’d once wagered his townhome that he could catch a knife by the blade while drunk. He hadn’t lost the townhome, and he wasn’t going to lose control tonight.
A knock on the door signaled a pair of girls, one with supper, the other with hot water. Harriet let out a moan of delight at the sight of food and he quickly began buttoning his waistcoat again.
“You may bathe first,” he muttered gruffly.
“Oh, thank you, my lord,” she said, almost timidly. She didn’t sound any keener on his staying in the room while she bathed than he was. Although that was a lie, wasn’t it? He was quite keen indeed to be present, which was precisely the issue. “Would you mind helping me with my dress?”
