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“Yes. He commended you on your excellent work at the Hospital. He was most complimentary.”
Pleasure and anger warred within her, twisting her gut. Had he meant it? Or was it another one of his tricks? Either way, it was a moot point now. Their quarrel had negated any genuine appreciation he might have had for her efforts. “I am glad to hear it,” she said at last.
“He caught me just as we were leaving and bade me to be sure and give you his best regards and wishes for a swift recovery, though how he knew you were unwell I don’t quite comprehend. Perhaps he had it from Lord Russell.”
As they were leaving? Why in heaven’s name would he compliment her after their argument? After she’d struck him?
“I didn’t know the two of them were friends,” said Cat. “How interesting.”
Harriett’s heart sank as she caught her sibling’s knowing gaze. Nothing got past Cat. Putting a hand to her head, Harriett moaned, taking care not to sound too dramatic. “Perhaps I spoke too soon about my headache having improved. I’m feeling rather ill again.”
“The motion of the carriage combined with all the punch and dancing, likely,” said her father with a grunt as he scooted over to clear the space in front of her.
“Yes,” said Cat, a smirk in her voice. “That’s probably it. I’m sure you’ll feel better the instant we stop.”
Eleven
Although his face still stung, Roland whistled a merry tune as he walked back. He wore Harriett’s hand print proudly for all to see and speculate over. Soon all of London would know Harriett Dunhaven for a vicious hellcat and not the tragic figure everyone thought her.
Fortune had smiled on him tonight, for his friend the footman had entered just prior to her slap. A moment sooner, and the fellow would have witnessed a very different scene. Timing was everything.
His good humor was short-lived, however. The situation with Harriett had drastically changed. Damn it all—kissing her had not been part of his plan. He’d only meant to give her a good scare before calling her bluff. Instead he’d all but thrown her down and tossed up her skirts.
Another moment or two and she would have let me... By George, she’d been disturbed and no mistake! He’d seen it in her eyes, felt it in the pounding of her heart, in the flushed heat of her skin. And her desire had inflamed him like nothing he’d ever known. For a moment, just a moment, he put aside the enmity between them and allowed himself to enjoy the memory. Her curves against him. The softness of her lavender-scented hair. The warmth of her silken flesh as he’d nuzzled against her neck to whisper into her shell-like ear.
The taste of her.
He burned with desire. It was a certainty that his brother had never kissed Harriett like that—if he’d ever even kissed her at all. Her reaction had been too unpracticed, too shocked.
An hour later, Roland shifted against the squabs, chagrined to find himself again aroused at the thought of her. It was the height of irony that he should feel such powerful lust for a woman who hated him. She had to go. Before he did anything stupid. He could not afford to be near her when the mere thought of her was enough to make him want to rut like a wild beast.
But how to be rid of her? She was like a bulldog with a bone in its teeth with regards to the Hospital, and he didn’t know how to make her let go. If he dismissed her, she would go to the other governors, complain, and then he would be required to justify himself. The problem lay in that there was no justification. None he could admit to, anyway.
He rubbed his jaw and considered the contrast between the petal softness of her lips and the iron hardness of her palm. The woman had a hell of a swing. Still, it had been worth it, that kiss. The knowledge that she was no more immune to lust than he was most gratifying. He would not be the only one suffering tonight.
Inspiration struck him, and he grinned in the darkness. Harriett Dunhaven had unwittingly given him the key to unlocking the bulldog’s jaws.
~ * ~
Despite a restless night, Harriett arrived at the Hospital promptly the next morning to carry out her duties as usual. She’d be damned before letting Manchester think her craven. But though she waited in anticipation of continuing their battle, her foe did not appear that day. Nor did he show himself the next. Then came the weekend.
She looked for him at the Wilmington ball, but he did not attend. She looked for him at a garden party hosted by Lord and Lady Brantley. Not there. Nor was he at the Ludley ball. She didn’t bother looking for him at church.
“And you’ve heard nothing at all since the ball?” whispered Lily as they filed out of St. James’s, picking up the thread they’d dropped upon entering an hour ago.
Harriett shook her head. “Nothing. You don’t think he’s fallen ill?”
“Wouldn’t that be convenient.”
A quiet snort of laughter escaped her. “Lily! You ought to be ashamed to say such a thing while we are yet beneath the church’s spire.”
“Rubbish,” said Lily as they squeezed through with the rest of the crush. “It’s nothing you weren’t thinking, yourself.”
It was true. “Perhaps, but I didn’t speak it.”
“What was it the vicar said just now? Oh, yes—‘to think in sin is to sin’,” whispered Lily in a quiet mockery of the minister’s pious speech.
Giggling under their breath, they emerged into the bright sunshine. The crowd spread out, everyone glad to take in the fresh air after their time in the packed cathedral.
