Lady Harriet's Unusual Reward (7 page)

Harriet had stood throughout his speech and listened. She then smoothed the skirt of her gown and presented the little buttons at the back for him to do up. He felt awful. She must hate him now.

Then she turned around, cupped his cheek and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

“They are so big…” She drew a circle about an inch and a half diameter over her breast. “And a dark rose colour, I suppose. Now, I think we should all go to Gunther’s this afternoon for an ice. I really want one. I do not understand why, but I always want an ice the day before… Well, you know what I mean. And I have a feeling I may be staying abed tomorrow with a headache.”

He grinned.

“Gunther’s it is.”

Chapter Ten

Harriet was feeling miserable. She turned onto her side and faced the door, listening to the sounds of the house as everyone prepared to leave for the Dowager Duchess of Halimead’s Garden Party. Stephen’s mother’s entertainment was going to be a grand affair and she was stuck in bed, her stomach cramping so badly that it made her feel sick. Worst of all, Stephen knew why she was abed. When they’d had that encounter in the library and he had touched her breast, she had winced and he had worked it out. How terribly embarrassing.

Embarrassment washed over her again. In the far reaches of her mind, she knew she should not feel shame and that this was just a natural part of being a woman. But it was so messy and undignified and painful… for her at least. At her finishing school, some of her friends had no pain at all and stayed abed just a day for the worst of the bleeding to pass. Some poor girls were abed for almost a week. Harriet in some ways counted herself lucky. She was usually only abed for two days and the pain was, for the most part, tolerable. Some months it was worse than others. And she refused to have her mind addled with laudanum.

But for now she was in too much pain to read and that was annoying. She moaned into her pillow and muttered an unladylike profanity.

She heard the snick of the door and expected to see a maid. Instead, Lord Stephen, hurried in, locked the door and stood, back to the door as if he had just broken in, which she supposed he had, in a way.

She yelped, pulling her covers up to her neck as she scrambled to sit up.

“Lord Stephen, you cannot be in my bedchamber.”

“And yet I am.”

“It is most improper.”

“Yes, it is. But so is you sitting yourself on my lap in the library.” He turned a wolfish smile on her. She inched closer to the centre of the bed as he advanced on her. He didn’t mean to… Not here… Not when she had her courses.

“My Lord, I beg you, come no closer.”

He stopped, scowling and ran his fingers through his hair.

“Harriet, I was only teasing. Do you really think I would hurt you? I brought you a couple of things. I know I should not be here but… I used to sneak into Sarah’s bedchamber when she had… umm… her headaches… to cheer her up. She used to be miserable and look forward to it. I am sorry. I should go. You are not Sarah. I was not thinking clearly.”

Harriet’s heart seemed to be beating in her throat. There was certainly a huge lump as she looked at his big brown doleful eyes. He looked like a dog who had just been kicked.

“What did you bring me?”

He was just turning, but he swivelled on his heel—his expression changing as fast as lightning, back to the wolfish grin.

“So my lady, you are only interested in my visit for the gifts I bring.”

Harriet adjusted the bedclothes so that they lay smoothly across her chest and waist, her legs now straight against the mattress.

“Until you agree to marry me, my lord, I see no other reason to allow you into my bedchamber.”

“Ah I see.” He sat down on the edge of the bed without waiting for an invitation. Harriet could feel her cheeks burning with embarrassment and excitement. He lifted a hand and cupped her cheek, his cool touch soothing the warmth of her discomfiture. “Beautiful Harriet, do not look so afraid.” He placed a book on his lap then dug into his coat pocket and produced a little jar of some kind of balm. “Rub it on your belly between your navel and your… uh… lower hairline, shall we say. It will soothe any pain though it will not take it away entirely. You may find you need it rubbed on your back. Do not put it any lower and wash your hands afterwards. There are chillies is in and it will hurt badly if you touch your eyes or other sensitive body parts while it is on your hands.” He looked meaningfully at her lap and Harriet bit her lip. She understood which body part he meant.

“Thank you,” she said, not sure how to recover from this intimate conversation despite the fact nothing much had been said.

“It always helped Sarah’s headaches.”

“Ah yes. I can see it having a curative effect on one’s head.”

“Quite.”

“What else did you bring me?”

“A book?”

“An interesting book?”

“Probably not. You have probably read it. But I had no idea what else to bring.”

He held out the spine to her.

“Northanger Abbey,” she read. “Oh I do like Jane Austen.”

“But you have read it?”

“I have. But I am happy to read it again. I must say though, Lord Stephen, I expected something more daring from you.”

“More daring. Such as?”

“Oh I do not know… Fanny Hill perhaps.”

“Fanny Hill? Pray tell, how does a gently bred daughter of an earl even know of such a book?”

“Oh come now, Lord Stephen, what do you think young ladies do at finishing school?”

“I thought you learned manners and how to snare a husband.”

“Well clearly I was not very good at that when even with a promise from you to do absolutely anything I ask, you still will not marry me. Just as well I filled my time learning about Gothic romance novels and salacious books that the government has banned.”

“Touché, my lady. So, have you read it?”

“Alas, no. If my father had a copy, it is not in his library and is well hidden. And while the young ladies at the finishing school knew of it, none were able to acquire a copy. Have you read it?”

For the first time ever, Lord Stephen Charville’s colour heightened slightly. “I have.”

“Do you have a copy?”

“I do.”

“May I read it?”

“No. Not until after you are a married woman and are no longer an innocent.”

Was he suggesting that he was willing to marry her? As she searched his face to understand his meaning, she realised his gaze was on her breasts. It moved slowly up to her lips, before eventually coming to rest on her eyes. They were heavy-lidded with passion now and she drew in a slow breath as he leaned forward, pressing his lips against hers.

Both his hands speared into her hair, tied loosely in a braid which hung down her back. He pressed her back onto the pillow.

As she parted her lips to allow him to slip his tongue into her mouth, he groaned in frustration, lifting himself onto his feet, without separating their lips. He kissed her for a few more moments, his tongue lazily sweeping her mouth then rasping against her tongue. He slowly withdrew, placing a final peck on her lips. As he stood straight, he caught her hands in his and placed a kiss on each set of knuckles.

“I shall sneak back in after the garden party to tell you how it went. I shall miss you. Remember to wash your hands after using the balm.”

He executed a quick bow and was gone in a few seconds.

Harriet lay for a few moments just watching the door. What had he meant about letting her read Fanny Hill once she was married? Did he intend to marry her? Surely it would not be his place to give someone else’s wife a profane book to read. Oh the man was such a puzzle to her. If she thought about it too much she would end up with a headache as well as a bellyache.

She opened the jar of salve, pulled down the covers and tugged up her nightrail. She may as well give it a try.

****

“Charville, not seen much of you this week. Where the devil have you been?” Stephen looked up from his conversation with the elderly Lady Bovington-Smythe to Lord Adam Cavanaugh and smiled genially at him.

“Cavanaugh, I have been busy showing the Earl of Oldbeck around. He has been out of society and I promised his sister I would look after him.” Stephen nodded at William who was standing talking to the Dowager Duchess of Halimead, the current duchess and Mary. A loud laugh echoed around the area and Stephen’s relatives smiled indulgently. He loved his family. They really did not bow to society pressures and had accepted Harriet’s brother and sister-in-law to-be readily.

“Yes, I had heard. I am also hearing gossip about you and Oldbeck’s sister. Really, Charville? Harriet Weatherby?”

Stephen bristled.

“That’s
Lady
Harriet to you.”

“And what if imbecility runs in the family? Is that what you want for your heir?” The man nodded in William’s direction.

“While your poor sister may be a pleasant enough young lady, she does have one thing that does not recommend her to me as a marriage partner. You. I would fear that my heir would be born with your bucked teeth, sticking out ears and disagreeable nature. Now while I believe the Earl of Oldbeck’s condition does not run in the family, I would much prefer to take the chance that my son or daughter be agreeable and charming like the earl than resemble you in any way, my lord. Now, I do believe my sister-in-marriage is trying to catch my attention. I must attend her. Good day to you, Cavanaugh.”

He bowed curtly and moved in Elizabeth’s direction. Smiling politely at the Dowager Countess of Hempstile as he passed.

“Stephen, darling.”

“Oh God, Lizzie, I think I have all but announced my betrothal to Lady Harriet Weatherby,” he ground out.

“Well, given that your names were linked in the scandal sheets, I suppose it was only a matter of time before it was the honourable thing for you to do, brother-in-law, dearest.”

“Poppycock, Lizzie. And tell me, why are you not in the country?”

Lizzie looked around her to check no one could overhear then she opened her fan and spoke very quietly.

“There was bleeding.”

“Bleeding.”

“Oh Christ, Stephen, you were a married man.”

“Yes, yes, I understand. What does that mean? Are you still…?”

“I am. The physician said that some ladies bleed throughout. There is no rhyme or reason to it. But it could mean that I am losing the baby. Theo wants me to remain abed, but you know me.”

“Yes, I do,” he muttered. Why did women always refuse to follow their husband’s instructions? Always seemed to think they knew better. “Just be careful, Lizzie. Anyway, what am I going to do about Harriet?”

“Well since you seem to be on given name terms with her, I’d marry the chit if I were you. Especially since you seem to have been kissing her quite thoroughly in the garden the other ni… Oh dear, what is wrong with William?”

He heard it then—William’s voice raised and angry.

“Take it back, you s—s—scoundrel.”

Stephen turned to see Cavanaugh standing grinning at William, Mary pleading with William, her hand on his arm, trying to pull him back. William wrenched his arm free from his fiancée.

“Oh come now, Oldbeck, I meant no harm. She is clearly not of our class. I just assumed she was a courtesan. A lovely courtesan, I grant you.”

“She is no whore. Sh-she is g-g-oing to be my wife.”

Fans wafted all around him as Stephen hurried over to the scene as gasps of horror were shushed so that the unfolding drama could be heard.

“What’s wrong, Oldbeck? Can’t bear for the babe in your kitchen maid’s belly to be born a bastard? Come on, old man. She’s been running off to the necessary every twenty minutes. She is obviously with child. Oh god, it is yours, is it not?”

Stephen reached him just in time to catch his coat sleeve and pull the punch wide, allowing Cavanaugh to dodge the fist. He threw his other arm around Oldbeck’s waist and pulled him away, dragging him towards the house.

“No!” hollered William. They reached Elizabeth.

“Take Lord Oldbeck to your mother’s morning room. I’ll take Miss Callahan to Her Grace’s bedchamber. Call me when he’s calmed down,” Elizabeth directed.

“Very well.”

“I want satisfaction,” cried William.

“I want a quiet life, Oldbeck. It seems we are both to be disappointed,” Stephen grumbled.

When they reached the calm, blue-decorated morning room, William began to pace around the room.

“He said Mary was a whore.”

“He did,” said Stephen calmly, taking a seat on a high-backed chair and watching the younger man, ready to respond if he got too agitated.

“I cannot have that, Charville. A man has to look after his lady.”

“I agree, Oldbeck. But a garden party is not a place to be throwing punches. It is the
only
reason I intervened.”

“It is?”

“It is.”

“Hmph!” He began pacing again having stopped to glare at Stephen. “It is just not acceptable, Charville. I should challenge him to a duel.”

“Oldbeck, have you ever shot a pistol?”

“No.”

“Have you ever fenced?”

“No.”

“Have you ever had a lesson on how to box?” Oldbeck was now beginning to look like a surly youth.

“It is not my fault my father refused to send me to Eton.”

“No, it is not, but you are ill-prepared for a duel. Besides, they are illegal. It would be bad enough for anyone else to go to prison but I doubt you would cope.”

“I want ret… retr… repribrution.”

“Retribution, you mean.” Stephen sighed heavily and studied Oldbeck. Cavanaugh had been out of order. But what to do? “Let me think on it. Perhaps we can come up with something that will not get you thrown in prison but will get you some measure of satisfaction and a feeling that you have fought for your lady’s honour.”