“Not very well, I’m afraid.” Harriet rolled her eyes at his practiced and no doubt drunken flirtation. The blandishments had returned.
“Do you mind averting your eyes so that I may dress for bed?” she asked haughtily, putting her hands on the sides of the tub to stand. Then she realized her folly. “That is … if you were actually … I don’t want to assume you were looking. At me. I apologize for the implication.”
“I was,” he answered simply. At her silence he continued, “And I will. Avert my eyes, that is. No need to make you more nervous. I’ll only get a monologue on the origins of the wordbathor a lecture about how I’m using an adverb incorrectly.”
Harriet was so heated at his admission that he’d been watching, she barely registered his jest. She clamored out of the tub quickly and dried off with her back to him. Facing him seemed much too wanton, screens and averted eyes be damned. She donned Giuliana’s too-smallchemise and peeked from behind the screen to see him at the table simply swiping his thumb around the lip of his glass, staring off into the far corner of the room, where no bathing or nudity had taken place.
She tiptoed to the bed and climbed in. Only once she was under the covers did he blow out the candle on her nightstand, plunging them further into darkness. Harriet couldn’t help but listen to the sounds of him undressing. She felt embarrassed to be overhearing something so intimate, although certainly he didn’t consider the act private, if one were to go by his boldness in disrobing in daylight in front of her that very day. At thethunkof his boots hitting the ground and the sound of his trousers following, Harriet felt herself start to heat again. She tried her hardest to stay still, in hopes he’d believe her to be asleep, although her legs felt particularly restless. She felt a desperate need to squirm, to rub them together when she heard him get into the tub. Christ, but this was inappropriate.
As she fell asleep, she found herself wondering at the fact that his speech hadn’t been slurred at all when he spoke. Nor had he had trouble undressing or bathing. And he certainly didn’t smell as her father did after a night of drunkenness. Perhaps he had been telling the truth.
Harriet was disturbed from her sleep a short while later by movement in the bed next to her. Alexander was lying down, but he seemed to be tossing and turning. Or not turning, but moving. It was as thoughhe was having a nightmare, except he was silent and still, other than for his arm. He lay facing away from her and his arm was working. Quickly too. This wasn’t the action of someone asleep. It seemed purposeful, intentional. Harriet shut her eyes tightly; then, with effort, relaxed them and slowed her breathing, so he might believe her truly asleep should he turn over. Whatever was he doing?
With her own breath quieted, she was better able to overhear his, which was growing heavier and more rapid in time with whatever he was doing with his hand. She dearly hoped he was all right. After a few moments, he let out a low groan, which would have been quiet if not for the silence of the room and the fact that every cell in Harriet’s body was attuned to him. Seconds later came an exhausted sigh, the contented, tired sound one made when finished with a difficult task.
Harriet’s tongue stung with the impulse to ask him if he was well, but an even stronger one compelled her to continue to feign sleep. After a few moments of heavy breathing, he got up out of the bed, crossed the room to the washstand, and then came back and lay down again as if nothing had occurred.
What had he been doing? Surely, he could have done this when he was downstairs if it weren’t private? Or in the bath if it were? Was this something men normally did at night? To be sure, Harriet would not know about it if that were the case. Was this a particular habit of Lord Alexander’s? An old injury? She kept turning the event over in her mind. Was he hurt, or satisfied? It sounded as if he’d gotten relief—at least at the end. And most of all, why was she so certain that if he’d known she was awake, he wouldn’t have continued?
Chapter Ten
FOR THE PAST HOUR,ALEXANDER HAD BEEN TRYING IN VAIN TOignore the rain.
The first mile of the day’s ride, he’d spent on Harriet’s lips. The second on her breasts. The third on her blue-gray eyes, which flashed with humor and intelligence. He then spent the next five miles attempting to forget that he knew this woman’s eye color. For the sake of sanity, he’d tried to think of the eye color of every woman he’d ever met in his life. All he could remember was that his mother’s were bright blue and distinctly not his.
The incessant return of his mind to her was proof that he ought to continue riding out. It was only a drizzle, he told himself. Which was true enough, though it was also—as usual in England—relentless. Unyielding. Freezing. And though it was more appealing than an enclosed space with her, enduring such frigid conditions on horseback was only possible for so long.
Finally, he signaled for the driver to stop. He dismounted and, with a sense of defeat, reentered the carriage.
The scent of oranges hit him immediately. How did she smell so heavenly after hours of travel? How did she look so lovely? Hehad intended for last night to slake his needs and therefore dull the attraction he felt toward her. Normally, he’d have had a woman by now, and if not, he’d at least have other appropriate outlets for his lust. Taking himself in hand had been his only option and so he’d taken the risk.
Upon waking this morning, he’d understood his miscalculation. Lying next to the woman imagining all sorts of filthy things they might do had, in retrospect, been woodenheaded. Harriet splayed on a bed, wearing nothing, chestnut hair unbound. Her on her knees, gazing up at him with desire. Tracing his hands up her bare legs, which he had no idea of, but had pictured quite distinctly. And repeatedly.
Thus, this morning, he’d feigned carriage sickness and declared the need to ride out. Only to be thwarted by the damned weather of this damned country.
“You’re positively drenched,” she exclaimed, before realizing how familiarly she’d spoken to him. She cleared her throat and began again: “Are you all right, my lord?”
He really wished she wouldn’t call him that; he didn’t relish any part of his title.
“I’m perfectly fine,” he answered, removing his greatcoat. She held out her hand to trade him the blanket that had been across her lap. Had he been even a degree less chilled, he would have refused. She carefully draped the wet coat over the bench next to her and returned to circling in her book. Alexander luxuriated in the warmth of the blanket and did his level best to avoid watching her. There wereonly so many places one could look in a carriage, and he intended to exhaust them all before resorting to looking at her.
He must have run out of them quite quickly, for only a moment later he watched as her lips curled into a mischievous smile. Despite his best efforts, he gave in to his instinct to charm a woman.
“Something particularly humorous about agricultural practices? Personally, I’ve always found crop rotation highly amusing.”
“I was thinking, actually,” she said with a guileless look, “about how muchquimhas shaped my life. Strange, isn’t it? We have that in common now.”
Alexander was silent for a moment before letting out a loud crack of laughter at the jest. Unconsciously, she joined him, their laughter looping around each other’s. It felt so good to laugh this hard. Doing so made her miss her sisters sharply but also gave her some small hope that there might be more laughter in their future. Matrimony might not be a dour and formal affair after all; perhaps the two of them could find a sort of friendship with one another.
But suddenly Alexander’s face stilled, and he turned distant, as though remembering something.
“Are you going to become unwell from the carriage?”
Alexander looked at her curiously. “No. I’m fine.”
“Shall I open a window? The air helps carriage sickness, does it not?”
“I’m quite all right, thank you.” His eyes returned to the window.
