“Yes,” Alexander replied, although he was rather certain the type of attending he was thinking of bore little relation to what Harriet spoke of.
“And do you value her opinion?”
“Certainly.”
“Well, there’s a friend of yours!” Harriet replied smugly as if she’d settled a matter in his life that needed sorting.
Alexander couldn’t help but want to wipe the look off her face, which is perhaps why he replied: “One doesn’t usually want to fuck one’s friend.”
“On the contrary, I imagine that the desire to fuck one’s friend occurs quite frequently. You mustn’t let such a silly thing interfere with friendship!” The carriage was rolling to a stop, and Harriet alighted without any help from him or a groom, clearly quite pleased with her exit.
Alexander stayed seated in the carriage for a moment, until his driver, confused, peered around the door.
“Do you, uh, require assistance, sir?” Charleston asked, shyly.
“No, no.” Alexander brushed him off and gathered his hat and gloves from the seat beside him.
As he stepped out of the carriage, he was hit with a wave of bracing cold, which was welcome. The temperature was something to think about that wasn’t, well,her.
The respite was brief, however. As soon as he walked into the tavern, his eyes found Harriet once again, this time sidled up to thebar chatting with a female barkeep, a woman good-looking enough to appear out of place in such an establishment. A woman whose undeniable beauty would, under normal circumstances, inform Alexander’s evening plans. Surely decency was the reason for his uncharacteristic lack of interest; it was not the done thing to bed a barmaid while eloping with one’s fiancée. Why had his attention snagged so on Harriet? Because she was under his protection? Because he was to marry her?
He shook off that line of thinking and made his way over to the pair, where Harriet was already unfathomably deep in conversation. Damn, but the woman loved talking. Her status as a wallflower was baffling. How anyone had gotten her to stop speaking long enough to stand on the wall was a mystery.
“There you are! Sarah, this is …” Harriet began, spinning toward him, her cheeks flushed from either the cold or the delight of having a new conversation partner. Beside her, a rough-looking man sat, nursing an ale.
“Lord Alexander Stirling. Her husband,” Alexander cut in, gruffly, neglecting to give the false name they’d agreed upon. It was a little possessive, but he didn’t particularly like the way the man was eyeing the two women.
Harriet casually looped her arm through Alexander’s without her eyes ever leaving Sarah’s face. Next to them, the drunken man let out a loud belch before humming something to himself. Harriet didn’t seem to notice. “My lord, this is Sarah. Sarah owns this place—how magnificent is that? A female innkeeper?”
He nodded to Sarah. “Lovely to make your acquaintance, and congratulations on the inn.”
Something about the offhanded touch mere minutes after he’d heard the wordfuckcome out of her mouth set Alexander on edge. Or perhaps it was the knowledge that Harriet had no intention of ever touching him beyond these moments of playacting. And certainly, no intention of fucking him.
“Sorry to interrupt this”—Alexander swept a hand between the newly minted friends—“but do we have a room secured,darling? I’d like to dry off if that’s all right.” He wasn’t sure why, but he needed distance from her good mood. His undue sullenness would surely puncture her happiness.
“Of course, my lord,” Sarah responded, “you are upstairs, the third door on the left. I had Ruthie make it up for you, she should be almost done. Would you like to take your dinner upstairs?”
“Yes, thank you,” Alexander replied, just as Harriet said, “No, we’ll eat down here!”
Alexander loathed the idea of acting cheerful right now, although he couldn’t have said why he felt the need to perform for her at all. Surely a man could enjoy a bout of disagreeableness from time to time. However, he knew Harriet well enough to know she wouldn’t be moved, and he didn’t relish the idea of her eating downstairs without him, so he nodded his acquiescence before heading to the room to freshen up.
Alexander washed himself in the basin and then sat gingerly on the end of the bed in the small though well-appointed room. Hewas not a slight man, and inns always made him feel even larger. He scrubbed his hands through his hair, no doubt messing it up further; his valet would be quite put out seeing him now. Alexander laughed, imagining explaining himself to the man. “Coleson, I know I seem in a state right now. As it happens, I can’t stop thinking about my wife, which might sound perfectly acceptable, only I’ve found out I’m never to bed her. Ever.”
Damn if he wasn’t a bit disappointed that telling the truth had cost him having her, even just once. It shouldn’t have felt such a great loss; he hadn’t even noticed the lass before the Dunley ball—fool that he was. Even if hehadnoticed her then, it wouldn’t have done him any good, he reminded himself. He didn’t court unmarried ladies or dally with innocents.
He was noticing her just fine now, as his cock was eager to point out. Indeed, for the next week he was to be tormented by her lips, which never stopped moving, and the citrusy scent of her, and her massive pile of chestnut hair, which was always escaping her terrible coiffures.
God, but he needed to get this wedding over with so he could go back to London, back to a place with women he actuallycouldswive, back to drinking at White’s on Tuesdays, back to courting widows at balls. Back to who he was.
Chapter Eleven
HARRIET WAS IN HEAVEN.THE DINNER WAS HEARTY AND SIMPLE,and the room buzzed with people talking and laughing. The few balls she’d attended paled in comparison to this inn. Everyone here seemed happy, lively. The citizens of Mayfair prided themselves on their affected boredom; with this one evening, Harriet became certain she’d never see the elegance in that again. The smiles in this pub made a fool of every stiff upper lip in London.
In the corner a man played country songs on a fiddle, and as the night wore on and more ale flowed, someone took up the old piano in the corner, out of tune though it was. This, of course, led to dancing. One could hardly be in such a convivial space and be expected to sit still. Tables were pushed to the walls, and the floor was cleared as a few young couples began a country dance. Harriet clapped along, gleefully. Sarah stopped by and dropped off two pints of ale.
“You ought to have the full experience,” she said, winking. Harriet’s eyes widened and she glanced at Alexander, before deciding she didn’t need his permission. This man might be her husband for the evening, and for the future, but he’d made it clear theirs was tobe a marriage in name only. She wasn’t going to curb his appetite for women, why should he be allowed to curb hers for spirits? Harriet hadn’t had ale before, and she wanted to try it—and shewould. If he had something to say, he could talk to an opera singer about it.
She glanced at him over the rim of the pint. He didn’t look disapproving at all; in fact, he simply looked surprised. She lowered the glass a bit and looked at him. “Is it as bad as gin?”
