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He hefted the blade. Over his shoulder, Harriet could see a wooden dummy carved in a rough approximation of a human torso. There were several nicks and cuts in its polished wooden surface, indicating blows that had landed.
“I’m sorry to have disturbed you. I will leave you to your sparring,” Harriet said.
She turned to go, though she felt curiously reluctant to. Edward reached for her, stopping just short of touching her arm.
“No, don’t go. Forgive my uncouth state. I have a shirt somewhere here. Stay, if it pleases you. Perhaps conversation will help us both find slumber.”
Harriet was torn. She knew that she should withdraw. That only scandal could come from being alone with this man in his own house at this ungodly hour of the night. Speaking of undress, she gathered the dressing gown tightly about herself to cover her petticoat, reminded suddenly that she was hardly in a state of full-dress herself. Edward left the doorway, tossing his sword aside onto a table and striding across the room for a shirt that lay in a heap on an armchair.
She cautiously followed him into the room. It was high ceilinged and long. Dark timbers crisscrossed the vaulted ceiling and bookcases lined the walls. A thick carpet had been neatly cut away along the middle of the room to leave an expanse of bare, stone floor, marked and scuffed with age.
“My, this is quite a room,” Harriet said.
“This is the Long Library. It is the heart of the house, the oldest part, and the center of the structure. It used to be a medieval keep and was extended and reshaped over the centuries.,” Edward said, pulling a shirt on over his head and stuffing it into his breeches.
“I hope I wasn’t disturbing you.” Harriet sat, perching on the edge of a seat, keeping her dressing gown tight around her.
She looked towards the discarded sword.
“An outlet to vent some steam,” Edward said. “And I had quite a lot of it building up after the events of this evening.”
“Oh?” Harriet knew she shouldn’t pry but couldn’t help herself.
“It is all to do with the conversation we had out in the garden tonight. Another young lady who does not subscribe to my way of thinking.”
“Ah, this is a daughter whom has been promised to you by her father, but she does not wish to marry?” Harriet said boldly.
Edward barked a laugh. “Hardly, madame. This is a sister who does not wish to marry the eminently suitable man I have chosen for her.”
“I see. Well, I may not be the most sympathetic audience for you, Your Grace. I do not agree, as you know.”
“No, you do not. You believe the same as Rebecca, that you are completely free to choose.”
“Perhaps it is only high-born men that have that freedom,” Harriet said challengingly.
Edward looked at her, dark eyes sharp and unreadable.
“Do you think so? Do you think that I am free?”
“I would say so,” Harriet said boldly. “You have wealth and power. Others are not so lucky.”
“Such as yourself? I detect a personal note to your words.”
He sat opposite her, leaning back in the chair, and crossing his legs, watching her intently. Harriet was acutely aware of his close proximity, only a few feet separating them. She could see dark hair on his chest through the half-tied laces of his shirt. Sweat still matted his dark hair. The man was a physical specimen, of that there was no doubt. Harriet found it difficult not to look at him in that way, to focus on his conversation.
No man she had met had left her so intensely aware of her own body. She shifted in her seat and noticed a slight smile playing across his lips. He knew it too.
CHAPTER 20
Edward had been annoyed at hearing the disturbance outside, believing it to be an unwanted disturbance. Probably by his Aunt Olivia, wishing to remonstrate with him over Rebecca. Flinging open the door and preparing to deliver a tongue lashing, he had been surprised at the young woman he had found standing there in her nightclothes. For a moment, he had been unable to place her identity. Then he remembered the Worthinghams whom he had offered his hospitality to.
A different branch of the family to that scoundrel Lucius. I must remember that. They probably don’t even know each other. I believe there are Bolton’s up in Scotland somewhere and I know nothing of them.
He found himself welcoming the interruption if it came from her.
An excellent kisser and a ferocious one. She actually bit me. I still can’t quite believe it. That has not happened before.
As they began to talk, he found himself relaxing more. After a few minutes, she seemed to as well, sitting back in her chair and then tucking her bare feet up under her.
