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He came up beside her, brushing aside sprays of flowering shrubs on the narrow path. Their pungent scent filled the air. “Why are you angry?” he asked.
“I am not angry.”
“You are giving a good imitation of it then. I seem to have a positive genius for making you angry. And yet I never mean to do so.”
If he weren’t so irritating… No, that wasn’t fair. She was angry at the situation and at herself for creating it. Recalling the animation in her mother’s voice when she spoke to Ferrington, Harriet wondered what she was going to do. She kept the parasol bobbing between them, hiding her confusion. “Was there something in particular you wished to speak to me about?”
“Yes. Any number of things. None of which I can recall just now.” He touched her elbow. “Here, will you sit? This bench is in the shade, so you can close that dashed parasol.”
“I…” His hand had shifted to the small of her back, warm and insistent. She couldn’t think of a reason to refuse.
They sat. He took the parasol gently from her hands and shut it. “That’s better. Now I can see you.” He smiled.
Why must he smile? From the beginning, that smile had been her downfall. It was open and warm. So terribly alluring.
“I thought we should talk about our future,” he went on. “And I also wished to tell you, as I didn’t have the wit to do yesterday, that I sincerely, ah, admire you.” He cleared his throat.
Admirewas such a paltry word, Harriet thought. She’d never noticed that before. He was straining for compliments, the man who’d been so fluent when they were together in the forest. She’d forced him into an uncomfortable position. Harriet couldn’t bear that idea. It worried her so much that she leaned forward and kissed him.
And discovered a remarkably effective means of silencing a man.
Indeed, it was useful for driving every thought from one’s own head as well. The touch of his lips required all her attention. He was, it seemed, something of an expert in gently fiery, tantalizing kisses. The strength of his arms as he pulled her nearer on the stone bench demanded even more concentration. Really there was no room for anything else in her consciousness. She could only respond, shifting with him, pressing closer, twining her fingers in his dark hair. It felt a bit like a dance, and yet not like that at all.
When his hands began to wander, Harriet discovered spikes of sensation and waves of desire that swept all else before them. Her parasol fell over with a clatter. It was made of satin and lace and would be spoiled by dust. Harriet could not have cared less.
She nearly whimpered when he drew away. Her pulse was racing, and her breath was near a pant. He was breathing hard, too, she noticed. “I see this engagement business has both advantages and drawbacks,” he said in a thick voice.
Harriet groped for the scraps of her reason. She had no idea what he was talking about.
“One is allowed more privacy,” the rogue earl continued. “But only enough to make one want…a great deal more.”
More, thought Harriet dreamily. Yes, she wanted that.
“I’m more thankful than ever that your grandfather wants a quick marriage. They tell me this reading of the banns in church takes three weeks?”
“Three Sundays,” Harriet managed.
“Ah, too bad Sunday is just past and we missed our opportunity.”
Harriet came back to earth with a jolt. If the vicar read the banns, all would become public and official. As things stood now, people might hear of the engagement, but mistakes could still be claimed.
“Well, the details don’t matter, do they?” Ferrington said, taking her hand and kissing it.
She tried to ignore the wave of heat ignited by his touch. Of course they mattered. There was the detail, for example, that no one had spoken of love. She pulled her hand away and stood. “I should go in.”
“Perhaps so,” he said with obvious regret. “It’s all I can do to keep my hands off you.” The words sent a thrill through Harriet as he bent to pick up her parasol and began brushing off the dust. “I don’t care for this thing, but I didn’t wish it ill,” he added with a wry look.
A tender and teasing smile this time, joined by an irresistible glint in his dark eyes. Harriet found herself transfixed by his lips and leaning toward him.
In the next instant, the parasol fell back into the dirt, and they came together as if their lives depended on it. The rogue earl’s muscular body pressed against hers, kindling all her senses. How had she never known that physical passion was easier than thought? And so much more compelling? The world dissolved in a whirl of desire.
“Oh dear,” said a feminine voice behind her. “I’ve done it again. So maladroit.”
Harriet pulled back. The Duchess of Tereford stood a few feet away. Clearly, she had just come around a corner in the path.
“I do beg your pardon,” she said, taking a step backward.
Naturally, they separated. That was the correct thing to do, the only thing to do. Ferrington again retrieved the parasol, though this time, he seemed to wish to hold it in front of him like a shield. Harriet squared her shoulders, wondering how disheveled she looked. Rather tellingly so, she assumed. “Hello, Cecelia.” She liked the duchess very much, but she did wish that her friend hadn’t arrived at this particular moment. Or…perhaps, on the other hand, it was providential that she had. Harriet’s senses were still swimming.
