To Ruin a Rake Page 12

  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.

  Hearing her name, Harriett stopped to allow her father to catch up.

  A smile wreathed his face as he greeted Lily. Turning to Harriett, he asked the same question he asked every Sunday. “Will you be taking lunch at home today?”

  “The Seymours have invited me to dine with them, with your permission, of course,” she answered meekly.

  “Of course you may, my dear,” he said with an indulgent smile.

  Though she knew his motives were less than generous—her lunching with Lily meant more Sunday roast for him—she was nevertheless grateful. Once he and Cat broke away, Harriett quickly filled her friend in on the details of the Penworth ball disaster.

  “Good heavens, he actually kissed you?” hissed Lily, her eyes wide. An eager grin spread across her face. “What was that like?”

  A blush stung Harriett’s cheeks, and she cast a nervous glance at Lily’s mother and father up ahead. “It was exceedingly awkward.”

  “Is that all?” murmured Lily, eyeing her with open doubt. “An ass his lordship might be, but he is a most handsome ass.”

  “Lily!”

  “Well, he is!” whispered Lily. “Oh come, you must at least acknowledge it.”

  “Yes, but that isn’t the point,” Harriett finally answered. “The point is now he has crossed the line entirely, and I’m not sure how to go about redrawing it—if such is even possible.”

  Laughing, Lily shook her head. “How I wish I had your problem! Kissed by a handsome duke—I should have held on for dear life in the hope that someone would come along and witness us in the throes of passion, screamed compromise, and forced him to marry me.”

  Such a thought had never even crossed Harriett’s mind, but it stood to reason that others might see him as prime husband material. “You don’t know him as I do,” she muttered. “I don’t envy the woman that ends up tied to him.”

  “That much is obvious,” said her friend as they approached the house. “Even so, if I thought I could catch his eye and take him off your hands, I would. I’d find a way to tame the wild beast—after I’d bagged him,” she added in a whisper as they began to climb the steps.

  Harriett glanced at her friend, saw she was grinning, and relaxed.

  ~ * ~

  Monday dawned, and Harriett resumed her vigilant waiting. Nothing. Tuesday also passed without event. She didn’t at all miss His Obnoxious Grace—but it was always a good idea to keep one’s enemy in sight. That was what was making her lose sleep. The memory of his kiss had nothing to do with it.

  Wednesday she spent at home, as was her custom. Instead of enjoying her leisure, however, she could only worry about what he might be doing while she was gone. No doubt the blackguard had been waiting for her to be away before coming back to the Hospital. What trap would she walk into tomorrow morning? What would she say to him?

  The following day, however, Nurse Hayes confirmed he had not visited during her absence. When he did not deign to show himself Thursday either, Harriett finally allowed herself to wonder if he’d conceded the battle. It was a fantasy she entertained for no more than a few seconds. No. Manchester wasn’t the sort to give over.

  But where was he? No matter how she longed to know his whereabouts, she dare not inquire after him. It would surely get back to him somehow, and then he would gloat. Besides, she didn’t care if the devil had fallen off a cliff.

  After a Manchester-free week—a week she ought to have thoroughly enjoyed, but hadn’t—she stopped trying to figure it out. Friday afternoon found her coming home weary after a long day of dealing with an absent laundress, struggling through negotiations with a recalcitrant builder, and managing a rather vile stomach complaint running rampant among the children. She prayed God the first and last items on that list of misery never again happened on the same day.

  “Harriett!” whispered Cat as the door blessedly closed on the world.

  She turned to see her sister peeking out from behind the stair. “Why are you hiding like that?”

  Cat waved at her to quiet down. “Shhh! He’ll hear you!”

  “Who?”

  “Lord Manchester.”

  Harriett’s heart leaped—fro
m upset, she told herself. “He’s here?”

  Her sister nodded and beckoned her to follow.

  “Why? Why is he here?” Harriett asked, refusing to budge.

  A golden brow arched, and Cat replied, her voice barely audible, “Why is it you’re always asking me questions to which you already know I don’t know the answer? I’d tell you if I knew.”

  “Blast it all, Cat—this is serious,” Harriett hissed, dragging her sister back behind the staircase. “That man is my sworn enemy. For a week he’s gone missing and now the devil turns up here? There has to be a reason, and it cannot be to my benefit. Oh, I wish he had fallen off a cliff! He’s up to no good, I tell you.”

  “Well, that’s a bit uncharitable of you, don’t you think? To say nothing of dramatic,” muttered Cat, looking up at the ceiling. “By the by, you never mentioned that the terrible, horrid, awful man was so very handsome.”

  Handsome? Harriett eyed her with alarm. “Cat, you cannot possibly—” Her sister’s shoulders shook, and her blue eyes sparkled with mischief. Harriett’s heart began beating again. “I fail to see anything at all amusing about this situation.”

  A saucy grin curled her sister’s lips. “You ought to try seeing it from my perspective. Oh, Harriett, just go in! You’ll never find out anything if you don’t. Do you really wish to rely on Papa to tell you the details after the fact?”

  Harriett thought about it. Cat was right. Besides, every second the man spent alone with Papa was a second he could be using to cause her grief. Without another word, she turned and marched down the hall, determined to oust the intruder from her turf before he could do her damage—if it was not already too late.

  Both men rose as she entered. Mortification flooded her as Manchester’s eyes raked her from the top of her mussed hair to the hem of her wrinkled, sick-spattered gown. In her haste, she’d forgotten her appearance—and smell. At one point during the day a child had vomited into her lap and it had soaked through her apron before she’d managed to rip it off. She’d tried sponging her skirt with warm water, but it hadn’t been terribly effective.

  Nevertheless, her nemesis came forward and bowed before her as if she were a queen. “My dear Lady Harriett, what a pleasure it is to see you again.” Without waiting for her to extend it, he took up her hand and kissed the back of it.

  The touch seared her flesh, awakening the memory of another kiss and causing her cheeks to heat. She snatched back her hand and dipped a quick curtsy. “Likewise, Your Grace.” Don’t do it, Harriett. Don’t you dare! But she had to know. “I trust you have been well?”

  A slow smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “I have indeed. Your concern warms my heart, my lady. It is most flattering to learn my presence has been missed.”

  Harriett’s temper very nearly blazed out of control. It was obvious now that he’d stayed away quite on purpose just to keep her in suspense! She focused on maintaining a calm appearance. “Yes, well, I was concerned for your health, Your Grace. You see, we’ve had a number of children fall ill this week with a most virulent stomach complaint.” She gestured at her stained skirts. “I thought perhaps you’d been laid low by it. It cheers me to know you have not suffered such a fate.”

  She stared at him, daring him to bite back and wishing looks could kill.

  “How very kind of you,” he replied, his mouth quivering with what she knew to be suppressed laughter. “I was just telling Dunhaven what a superb asset you’ve been to the Hospital. I came today to thank him personally for so generously permitting you to give of your time.”

  Her heart sank. So that was his plan! Since he could not go to the governors, he’d come here to enlist her father’s help. Papa already begrudged her any time spent on anything other than finding a husband. She looked to her father, expecting to see a frown of resolve on his face. Instead, he appeared quite…happy.

  Dread formed a lump in the pit of her stomach.

  “Manchester tells me you have made great improvements to the place,” said Papa, beaming.

  What in the seven hells is going on? “I have merely carried forward William’s plans.” She knew it was low of her to mention William in the hope of reminding Manchester of their near-familial relationship, but she was desperate.

  Manchester shook his head. “Nonsense. I have seen William’s original plans, and they are a mere shadow of what you have made into reality. And I speak not only of the facility itself, but of the processes involved in caring for its residents. Your daughter is quite brilliant, Lord Dunhaven. A true credit to you and your house.”

  She stared, dumbfounded, as her father’s cheeks grew ruddy.

  “Well, I have always thought highly of her, of course,” said Papa. “But then, as her father, I suppose I am a bit biased. Harriett manages everything here, you know. Takes after her mother who, God rest her soul, had quite a head for such things. I’d be lost without her.”

  Even as Harriett marveled once more, this time over her father’s compliment, Manchester’s smile broadened. “I can well imagine,” he murmured, his gaze burning into her. Then, a bit louder, “You are a blessed man, indeed, Lord Dunhaven.”

  “Quite so, yes. Quite so,” mused her father. He heaved a great sigh. “Still, eventually she will leave me, as all daughters must do.”

  Realizing what was going through her father’s mind, Harriett almost laughed. Papa was barking mad if he thought Manchester was interested in marrying her! “You are far too kind, Papa,” she said, fighting to keep from giggling. The compulsion to laugh faded as she caught sight of her enemy’s eyes.

  He looked at her as might a hungry wolf.

  She swallowed, terrified. Papa didn’t know the truth about him. Not really. He knew about the incident at the funeral, of course, but that had been two years ago and he would be most willing to overlook it if he thought an advantageous match might be in order. Rage swelled in her heart. Manchester was counting on her poor Papa to try and force her to accept him as a suitor! He would pretend to court her and then at the last moment leave her humiliated.

  Squelching down her panic, she ran through the short list of options. There was only one thing she could do. “Gentlemen, I would love to stay and talk, but as you can see”—she again gestured down at her skirts—“I am much in need of freshening. Please, do continue your conversation without me. I shall return forthwith dressed in proper dinner attire. I assume you will be joining us for dinner, Your Grace?”

  “Of course he is!” boomed her father, openly delighted.

  The look on Manchester’s face was worth the price she knew she’d pay later. Triumphant, she sauntered from the room with her head high—and almost died of fright as she turned the corner and nearly ran smack into Cat, who’d been eavesdropping.

  Shooing her shameless sister on ahead, Harriett followed her to the stair then shoved past, catching her hand and dragging her along to her room. “Quick!” she hissed the moment the door shut behind them. “Help me get this blasted thing off!” She began struggling with the ribbons and ties on her gown, desperate to shed the offensive garment.

  “Here, let me.” Cat brushed Harriett’s trembling hands aside and took over. “So you invited your ‘sworn enemy’ to dinner. That seems rather counterproductive.”

  “I know,” Harriett moaned, grateful for her sister’s steady, nimble fingers. “But I had no choice. Not if I wish to keep Papa happy. Had I dismissed the blackguard, Papa would have been intolerable for a month.” She sighed with relief as her gown at last slid off. She nudged the stinking pile away with a toe. It would have to be washed thoroughly and dyed again. Or burned. “Help me into the lavender—no wait! The green, I’ll wear the green.”

  “I agree, it is a much more flattering color for you,” said Cat, going to the wardrobe and taking out the celery brocade contouche.

  Harriett scowled. “That’s not why—no, leave the stomacher. I don’t have time to change it out now. We’ll just hide the top with a fichu. As I was saying, that isn’t why I w
ant it. I don’t wish to wear anything that might be looked upon as mourning.”

  “Then you’d best take off that ring. Again.”

  She looked down at her hand and stilled. She’d forgotten she was even wearing it. “It doesn’t matter. He’s already seen it.” He kissed that hand…The memory made it tingle. “To take it off now would raise suspicion.”

  “And you wouldn’t want that after inviting him to break bread with you.”

  Ignoring her sister’s sarcasm, Harriett slipped on the garment Cat held out for her and switched to the more important issue at hand. “He’s up to some foul trick, complimenting me the way he did.”

  “How dare he extol your virtues in such a manner!” gasped her sister with mock vehemence. Her tone turned deadpan. “I fear the shock of it shall never leave me.”

  In spite of herself, Harriett laughed. “If you knew him as I do, you would question his sincerity, too. He can be charming when it suits his purposes, but underneath the thin veneer is a deep well of black-hearted intent. That man is out for blood.”

  Her sister paused in her ministrations to stare at her for a long moment. “Are you certain you are not making a mistake in assuming the worst?”

  “Completely. I know what his game is, Cat, and I intend to best him at it.” She held together the front-side pieces of the contouche over her mismatched stomacher while her sister threaded a fat, deep green ribbon through the loops in a lattice pattern. With shaking fingers, Harriett inserted a deep green, pleated fichu into the gap to cover the offending blue before her sister pulled the ribbons tight and tied them off across her front in a large, pretty bow.

  “There,” said Cat, stepping back. “Now what about your hair?”

  “I haven’t time for much, and Ann always takes so long.”

  “Sit,” commanded her sister.

  Harriett complied and watched as Cat took down her half-fallen bun, brushed out the heavy mass, and plaited it into a chignon.

  “Do you want any pins in it?”

  “No. It’s just dinner.”

  “Well, you must wear earrings, at least,” insisted Cat. She rummaged in Harriett’s jewel box. “Ugh. These won’t do,” she muttered, casting a pair of “emerald” drops back into the drawer. “You can get away with paste in the dim light at a ball, but not here...I’ll be back.”