“Annoyed you.”
“You. Didn’t.”
“Angered you?”
“Frustrated,” he bit out. “Youfrustratedme. Youarefrustrating me. Present tense. I’m ever so weary of ending up in situations with you where my cock is so hard it hurts.”
“Oh.”
“Yes, rather!” His voice was barely restrained. She felt rather badly for the poor man. “You can toss yourself off if you’d like. I don’t mind at all.”
“Harriet!” he roared, clearly no longer concerned with the other guests at the inn.
“Sorry! Sorry!”
“Please, I am begging you, go to sleep.” He rolled back over to face the wall while Harriet played the night over again in her mind. She was certain she’d been correct to keep her promise not to consummate their vows. They had only a few short evenings left together before returning to London. She wished for that not to feel like a tragedy.
Alexander woke so early the next day it would have been generous to call it morning. Sleeping chastely next to her had been painful. Talking to her last night had been torture. Riding in a carriage with her would be hell.
Alexander couldn’t stand another night in another inn in another bed with her. He simply would not make it. He could not be expected to lie next to her heavy curtain of hair and those lush lips and those breasts in that too-tight chemise—a woman who in the farthest corners of England still smelled like an orange grove—and notwant.
Alexander needed respite. He needed distance. In faith, Alexander was a little concerned that distance wouldn’t ameliorate the issue. Riding out had barely helped. He’d still thought of her at least every other moment. How wet she’d been for him. The sounds she’d made as she came. Her lips when she held that damned pencil in her mouth—a sight certainly not intended to be erotic.
He could barely remember what he used to think of on long rides. Land acquisition? Tenant concerns? Drainage ditches? How could one spare thoughts for plots and parcels when her mouth existed?
He tried to convince himself that the only reason he felt this way was because hewasn’table to bed her. If they’d fucked, he wouldn’t be fixated on her so. He’d never been the type to obsess over a woman, even as a lad. Oh, he had favorites—like Giuliana—partners whowere particularly attractive or adventurous in bed, partners who knew what he offered and didn’t ask for more. But he’d never felt consumed by someone. Here he was pining over a woman who’d forced him to the altar, who couldn’t stop talking to save her life.
He needed to get home. To return to his normal life. To White’s and ballrooms, to Giuliana and meetings with his man of business. He would simply ride to London and leave her the carriage. Having made up his mind, he rose and dressed expediently and silently. Remaining with her was out of the question.
Unfortunately, his thoughts for most of the days-long journey home stayed in the warm bed with Harriet. He dearly hoped it was guilt at his leaving her and not something worse. Something like true affection.
Chapter Fourteen
UPON RISING, IT TOOKHARRIET A MOMENT TO REALIZE SOMETHINGwas different. Wrong. The room was empty of Alexander’s effects. Confused, she got out of bed and wandered to the table and chairs, where a small breakfast waited for her, still mostly warm. And a scrap of paper, folded in half. She’d never seen his handwriting before, and she traced her finger over her name in his hand.
Harriet,
I’ve ridden ahead to London. I left instructions and sufficient funds with Charleston. There should be a day dress for you, if the innkeeper was able to procure one. I hope your travel is agreeable.
—Lord Alexander Stirling
Agreeable?He hadlefther? With nary a hint of contrition. A chasm opened in her chest, and she felt tears welling up in her eyes.
This was the cost of refusing him, apparently.
Harriet felt like the world’s biggest fool for having believed he’d grown to like her company. Yes, they’d laughed in bed. Andshe’d given him a cockstand, if her understanding of such things was correct. However, there was no shortage of either in Alexander’s life.
Their marriage was to be in name only. Anyone with a decently functional brain could have predicted how this would go. The rake did not fall for the wallflower. He wasn’t pining over her simply because she wouldn’t lie with him. He had moved on.
And so should she. She allowed herself a maudlin breakfast, hardly aware of what she ate. It was good to allow oneself a quarter of an hour to wallow. When her time was up, she gave herself a stern talking-to. Only a week ago, the man had been a stranger, and she’d been perfectly happy, hadn’t she?Hadn’t she?
Lord Alexander wasn’t sparing her a thought, and thus, even if solely for prideful reasons, she ought not to give him another.
Her eyes traveled around the room and landed on a dress that was draped over the footboard of the bed, the ball gown that she had been wearing for days under it. The dress was plain, and rather worn, and Harriet almost wept with excitement.
She stepped into the dress, grateful for its simple design that did not require a lady’s maid. It did not fit well—too large for her in most places, oddly tight in others—but she couldn’t have named a dress she loved more.
She decided to grant Alexander one more small, short,non-amorousthought:thank you. Then she pinned up her hair, washed her face, gathered her book, and shoved Philippa’s soiled gown into her valise. She wished she could have left the reminder of this week—ofhim—behind. She looked around the room, and at the last minute decided to take Alexander’s note with her.
