The library! Yes, of course. The library.Even a couple such as the Dunleys had one, Harriet supposed. A house without a library? No one was that tasteless. The search for Mr. Dawkins could wait; in fact, when she met him, she would share her new words.Dirty puzzle. Monosyllable. Quim. Harriet tossed back the rest of Philippa’s abandoned champagne in what would have been deemed an unladylike manner if anyone had noticed her enough to find her manner unladylike; then she set off across the ballroom once more, this time in search of something much more interesting than a man.
“I’m eager to hear what you believe you can offer me,” Lady Ellerton teased as they met up mid-dance, only to be separated again. Alexander bided his time, happy to let her wait; women seemed tolike it when you moved very, very slowly. Patience was the simplest part of seduction, although not always the easiest.
The dance ended. They applauded politely and then, when Philippa turned her gorgeous eyes up to him, Alexander finally responded.
“While I am happy to discuss such matters on the dance floor, it would be far easier and far more pleasurable for me to demonstrate. Meet me in the library in ten minutes.”
“I’m afraid I have a dance with Lord Crowley next. I simply can’t miss it; he’s promised to take me to see John Julius Angerstein’s private art collection later this week.” Alexander had a strong suspicion that she’d agreed to nothing of the sort with the man, that this was some tactic intended to heighten his interest in her. What she didn’t understand was that he was already interested and had no desire to compete for her time. He spied Lord Crowley a short distance away.
“Follow me,” he instructed. Philippa obeyed, which did not surprise him at all. Women like her grew tired of the milksops and namby-pambies who trailed them and tended to appreciate a more direct gentleman.
“Lord Crowley,” he said, upon approaching the man. “If you were to receive a banknote from me for two hundred and fifty pounds, would that be sufficient to keep your appointment at Angerstein’s with this lovely lady, even should she cry off your dance?”
Lord Crowley looked around, shocked at being addressed by Alexander, who did not, as a rule, mention money in front of women. He nodded and let out a stunned “That would be … all right.”
Alexander inclined his head, both to thank the man and to take his leave. A few feet away, he turned back to Lady Ellerton, who seemed to be trying not to appear as impressed as she was. “The library, then?”
“The library,” Philippa said, a little breathlessly. He tried not to watch her ample chest rise and fall, but there was something about the cut of that dress. The modiste who had made it was quite wicked. To make a dress in white, so common a color, and then cut it so? Devilish indeed.
“Ten minutes,” he reminded her. If the land negotiations took as long as he thought they might, he’d find out how effective his advances were in about fourteen minutes.
Chapter Three
HARRIET CROSSED THE CAVERNOUS ROOM, SEARCHING FOR Awriting desk, or at least a quill. The Dunleys’ library saddened her, woefully overstocked for its underuse. You’d be hard pressed to find a book that wasn’t wrapped in a blanket of dust. Harriet couldn’t help herself; she trailed her fingertips along titles she would have paid handsomely to hold. Father’s money was rarely around long enough to purchase anything as useful or enjoyable as a book, busy as it was at the gambling tables.
Unfortunately, Harriet couldn’t dawdle. While she was frequently unchaperoned, that didn’t mean she was immune from ruin or censure. She moved reluctantly to a forgotten escritoire in a back corner of the room, likely last used under the reign of George II, certainly there now merely for show. Harriet gingerly opened the desk drawer and was rewarded with a blunt quill and a pot of old ink. No paper.
Not unused to this predicament, Harriet rolled down her left glove and dipped the quill into the ink. She began to roughly scratch the wordquimonto her wrist, although the quill hurt and the ink was too old to work well. The letters were ugly, and her wrist was ratherred. She began next onmonosyllablebut only got tomonosbefore giving up on the endeavor. She’d have to rememberdirty puzzleon her own later. She shoved the quill and ink back in the drawer and blew softly on the skin at her wrist to dry the ink, shivering ever so slightly.
“Cold?” came a man’s voice right at her ear. An unladylike shout escaped Harriet’s lips before she could stop it. The strange man had wrapped his arms around her! In the time it took for her to turn and shove her knee upward—she had read once this was the best course of action when being abducted by a man—Harriet also registered that this was the first time she’d ever been in a man’s arms.
The man in question let out a loud groan, dropping his arms and crumpling in on himself.
Harriet turned to escape the madman, when he gritted out a muffled “Lady Ellerton—”
Oh.
Not mad, then. Simply confused.
Harriet turned back to face him. Lord Alexander.Of courseher sister had secured the private attentions of the most handsome man of theton. A man who seemed entirely shocked at his current situation—whether that being her attack or her identity or both, Harriet wasn’t sure.
“Lord Alexander, I’m afraid you have the wrong Bancroft sister. I am Lady Harriet. I do apologize for … well … for kneeing you in the bollocks.”
Lord Alexander, still doubled over, let out a loud crack of a laugh.
How puzzling.
“What?” she spit out.
“Well,” he said finally, straightening with a grimace, “I don’t think I’ve ever heard a lady saybollocksbefore. Rather I have, but not …”
“An innocent?” Harriet supplied. His eyes sparked, as if he’d intended to say something else. Harriet wished dearly she’d held her tongue and found out.
“Did I use it correctly?” she asked.
“Your knee? Yes, your aim was rather perfect.”
“Bollocks. Did I use the word correctly?”
