“Pardon?” Harriet said, looking around, unsure what he was referring to and still rubbing her arms for warmth. The posture did miraculous things to her breasts.
“That …” Alexander gestured to the clothing in question, truly unable to refer to the piece as a night shift. The shifts he had experienced in his time on earth—which had been quite a few—had nothing in common with what Harriet was wearing. The modiste who made it would herself have fainted upon seeing it on Harriet’s body. The wordobscenecame to mind.
Harriet caught his meaning and looked down, dropping her arms. And hell, the thing was see-through! She didn’t seem to recognize just how indecent she looked in the garment.
“Is it so bad? Giuliana was kind enough to lend it to me. She didn’t have anything else that fit, though.” He wasn’t sure whether to punish Giuliana for her wicked gift when he arrived back in London or to lie prostrate at her feet, ever in her debt.
At Harriet’s searching look, he realized he’d never answered her question. He cleared his throat and did his best to keep his voice steady. “No, no, it’s fine. I just—”Want to rip it off with my teeth? Will never again be able to see a chemise without getting aroused?“I just worried you were cold.”
“I am! I’m fairly freezing!” she exclaimed, shocked back into action. She rushed through her nightly ablutions at the wash basin—which Alexander forced himself not to watch—and scurried into bed on her tiptoes, moaning when she finally made it under the sheets. God, that was not the sound he wanted to hear. Or perhaps it wasthe only sound he’d ever like to hear again. Lord above, someone had sent her to punish him. Alexander scrubbed a hand over his eyes for what felt like the thousandth time in the past three days and groaned.
Harriet blew out her candle, plunging them into darkness. Then she turned on her side, propped herself up on an elbow as best as the tight chemise allowed, and studied him. He did his best to ignore how her perusal inflamed him. Did she like what she saw?
“Is something wrong?” she asked, her voice still merry and lighthearted.
Alexander let out a huff that was almost laughter. Everything was so clearly wrong.
He shook his head and closed his eyes. “No, nothing’s wrong.”
Undeterred, she nudged his shin with her ice-cold foot, which by all rights should have killed his burgeoning cockstand, not encouraged it.
“Tell me! You said we were to be friends.” Alexander bit back a groan and opened his eyes, training them on the ceiling.
“Yousaid that. I never acquiesced.”
“You don’t want to be friends with me?” she asked, in a pouty voice he’d never heard from her. It was so distinctly out of character for this capable, headstrong woman, it sounded as if she were … flirting. The possibility warmed Alexander’s chest and then spread. Southward.
He chanced a glance at her, which he’d always remember as his most fatal mistake. She pursed her lovely, biteable lips, pretending to sulk. But at his look, she collapsed into a fit of laughter, turning overonto her stomach and burying her face in the pillow. He couldn’t help the smile that sneaked out the side of his mouth.
Finished laughing, Harriet pushed herself up on her elbows. She glanced over at him with a moony smile, which was presumably why he said what he did next.
“All right, I’ll be your friend.”
She beamed and kicked her feet in a fit of glee.
“Your second female friend!”
Alexander rolled his eyes. Giuliana was most certainly not a friend. “My first.”
“All right. I’ll be your first,” she said, solemnly. As if she didn’t know what else the words could mean. She paused for a beat and then asked, “How is it going so far?”
“There’s more staying up late talking in bed than I expected,” he conceded.
“That’s a cornerstone of friendship.”
Alexander turned on his side toward her, trying his best to appear unaffected.
“So, you often stay up talking in bed with men?”
“Oh no! I suppose I don’t. Just with my sisters, and sometimes when we used to get snowed in at the Yardsleys’ at Christmas. Never with a man. I’ll have to make an exception for you.”
A knot that had been in Alexander’s chest loosened a bit, and he felt his face heat at its ever having been there. He was a fool.
“What does one talk about in bed then, with … ahem … female friends?” he asked as a gesture of goodwill.
“All sorts of things. Ribbons, how Mrs. Tatters flirts with her carriage driver, which of the butcher’s sons we’d like to marry, what books we’ve been reading.”
“Which of the butcher’s sons?”
