To Tempt A Rogue (10 page)

Once she began eating, Harriet did not stop until she had consumed every morsel. Rested and full, she pushed herself away from the empty tray. Now that her most pressing physical needs had been met, Harriet's naturally determined spirits began to rise.

The memory of her morning encounter with Mr. Wainwright still rankled, but for some reason she did not feel quite as powerless. She knew of course it would be impossible to remain here but she most definitely did not want to leave meekly and mildly, without any fuss or bother.

She had been deceived, brought here under false pretenses and she intended to depart making Mr. Wainwright regret ever trying to make a fool out of her, or any other woman. Harriet had learned from his actions this morning that he was an accomplished flirt and she planned to turn that weakness against him, to teach him a lesson he would not soon forget.

She also intended to take a memory for herself from this dismal, unsettling experience. For all his irritating habits—and they were numerous—Mr. Wainwright was still a favorably handsome and appealing gentleman. Though Harriet would like to have stated otherwise, she knew in her heart she was not immune to his charm.

She knew also that she was not a person made for wild, passionate emotions. Still, a part of her yearned to be spontaneous and daring and uninhibited. To disregard strict propriety, to allow herself to experience an evening in the company of a dashing man as a
woman,
not a
lady.

It would be a challenge to spar with him again. Harriet was unsure if she could equal him in guile and strategy, but she felt she was his match in intelligence and pride.

Well, such a daring feat would require a great deal of preparation. Harriet rested her elbow on the chair back in front of her and lay her cheek in her hand. She would need to look pretty tonight, a difficult task in the best of circumstances. Yet, with the right gown, a flattering hairstyle and the shimmering glow of candlelight, it might be possible to transform herself into a woman of vast appeal.

Heavens, Mr. Wainwright had shown an interest in her person while dressed in this hideous gray gown. Lord only knew how he would react when she was garbed in silk and lace.

Harriet glanced over at the porcelain jug and basin set in the washstand in the corner of the room and wrinkled her nose in distaste. “I will need to do more than spatter cold water over my face to prepare for tonight. I want a proper bath.”

Kate's eyes filled with doubt. “I can't imagine how you will manage such a feat in this place. Why, the stables back home are cleaner than most of the rooms in this castle. And all the servants I saw today look as though they would break out in a rash if they ever got near a bar of soap and tub filled with water.”

“Well, there must be a copper tub somewhere in the castle, because Mr. Wainwright appeared quite clean.”

Harriet folded her hands in front of her and waited. After a few moments Kate shrugged her shoulders and ambled out of the room, muttering with each step. Close to an hour later, the maid returned with two scrawny lads carrying an awkward-sized tub.

Under Kate's watchful eye the tub was filled with hot water. Once the lads had left, Harriet quickly removed her gown and undergarments and donned a warm wrapper. While Kate built up the fire in the hearth, Harriet added several drops of lavender oil to the tub, then inhaled deeply as the pungent, spicy scent wafted through the room.

“You'd best hurry before the water cools,” Kate admonished.

Though the chamber still held a slight chill, Harriet allowed Kate to remove her wrapper. She dipped a toe into the glistening water, then cautiously stepped into the tub, sinking down slowly. It felt heavenly.

“I believe I shall just lie here and soak for a few minutes,” Harriet said. “Would you please find my green silk gown? If we drape it by the fire, the worst of the wrinkles should let out.”

“The green silk?” Kate's eyebrows raised. “Isn't that a mite fancy?”

“Not for tonight.”

“Is there to be a ball? Or a dinner party? Or some other form of entertainment?”

“The green silk, Kate,” Harriet insisted, giving no further explanation.

As Kate grumbled and stalked away, Harriet swirled a coarse cloth into the water and began to wash. She was glad her sister had insisted she pack several cakes of her favorite lavender soap, for the familiar smell relaxed and comforted her.

Within minutes, the dirt and grime of the past few days fell away, leaving Harriet feeling not only clean, but renewed. She stayed in the tub until the chilling water forced her to reluctantly abandon her bath. Before she left, Harriet quickly scrubbed her hair with the lavender soap, then held tightly to the sides of the tub as Kate poured a bucket of clean, and rather cold, water atop her head.

Once the suds were washed away, Kate handed her a warmed towel. Harriet wrapped it securely around her body as she stepped from the tub. Hopping about on her toes to ward off the chill, Harriet rushed to be near the fire while she dried herself off.

Gracious, it was cold in this place! Even standing so near the fire she shivered, but Harriet admitted it might be from nerves or excitement, not just the temperature. She quickly donned her undergarments, a fresh chemise and clean stockings, then used the now damp towel to rub the remaining water out of her hair.

Kate brushed out the tangles and draped the long tresses over the back of a chair. The warmth of the fire aided in the drying. Harriet sat in reflective thought while she waited, working hard to ensure that common sense and a regard for propriety would not prevail and force her to rethink her daring plans for the evening.

“Come and sit near the window so I can arrange your hair,” Kate instructed. “I need the light, as pitiful as it may be, or else I'll make a total muddle of it.”

Though the maid protested, Harriet insisted that Kate dress her hair in an elaborate style, pinning up most of the long tresses in a topknot. One ripple of long curls was left free, cascading over her right shoulder.

The style was unique, and Harriet knew it showed off one of her better features by drawing attention to the exposed column of her neck. It also gave her the courage to forgo any jewelry, since it covered a portion of her bare bosom.

Harriet had been having second thoughts about her gown selection, but when Kate lifted it over her head and fastened it securely, Harriet knew she had made the right choice.

The dress was of the latest style and probably the prettiest garment she had ever owned. Fashioned of watered green silk, the gown boasted sleeves embroidered in gold thread, a high waist and a low, square-cut neckline edged with ivory lace.

The modiste had used all of her considerable skill to fit the gown closely to Harriet's form, and the skirt draped perfectly in both the front and back. The color brought out the green flecks in her hazel eyes and the delicate whiteness of her skin and the gold embroidered threads made the dress shimmer and glow each time she moved.

As she gazed at herself in the small mirror, Harriet actually felt pretty. Especially since she was not standing beside her beautiful younger sister.

Though she was ready, Harriet forced herself to wait until the clock chimed six-thirty before leaving the room. Arriving late would irritate Mr. Wainwright and catch him off-balance. She had every intention of controlling as many aspects of the evening as possible, but she was smart enough to realize that would not be an easy task. Keeping Mr. Wainwright puzzled was one way to give herself an advantage she knew she would need.

When she was at last ready to leave, Harriet snatched up a lantern. One final glance in the mirror boosted her confidence, confirming she truly did look lovely.

“Have a care, Miss Harriet,” Kate warned. Harriet nodded, taking the sage advice seriously. She made her way through the gloomy hallway to the dining room without taking one false turn. The rustling of her petticoats was a comforting sound, for as usual, Harriet encountered no one.

It seemed odd that such a large dwelling would not house an equally large staff. Then again, the overall unkempt condition of the castle attested to the fact that it was badly neglected. Harriet's anticipation built as she neared her destination, yet she paused a moment to gather all her bravado before taking the last steps into the dining hall.

Mr. Wainwright stood at the far end of the room beside the roaring fire. He was dressed less formally than she in a coat of deep burgundy, a stark white shirt with a low collar and simply tied cravat, a single-breasted gray silk waistcoat and gray trousers.

A goblet of red wine dangled from his fingers and Harriet could not help but notice that his hands, though strong and manly, were also elegant and refined.

The effect of his handsome, striking appearance was marred however, for he turned to glower at her the moment she moved towards him. “You are late, Miss Sainthill.”

“Am I?”

She gave an unconcerned shrug and settled herself in a chair at the long table. He huffed again, in annoyance she assumed, and moved to join her. Harriet waited until Mr. Wainwright had seated himself and turned his full attention her way before deliberately letting the shawl slip from her shoulders.

Both of his dark brows shot upward. “Though I must confess that is a lovely gown, won't you feel chilled in such a skimpy garment?”

Harriet caught the note of censure in his voice and bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. “Thanks to that blazing fire, I feel quite comfortable. And I have my shawl to protect me from the draft.” She extended her hand and touched his sleeve lightly. “Oh, and thank you for the compliment. I am pleased that you admire my dress.”

He stiffened at her touch. Harriet's entire being tingled with wayward excitement. This time she did allow a slight smile to emerge. Deciding the only way to stay in control was to face him, eye to eye, she lifted her chin and kept her gaze steady.

Mr. Wainwright reacted by dropping his stare, but not before she could read the puzzlement in his eyes. Splendid. Pleased with the start of the evening, Harriet reached for the empty crystal goblet set before her and held it towards him.

He raised his hand and a servant stepped forward to fill the glass. It was then Harriet noticed there was a second servant, standing in the back of the room, craning his neck to have a look at her. She resisted the impulse to wave in his direction.

Aware that Mr. Wainwright's eyes were trained upon her, Harriet took a judicious sip of the wine then carefully set her glass down. She noted the linen cloth covering the table, the delicate china plates, the rows of polished silver flatware. Apparently dinner was going to be a far more civilized meal than breakfast.

“Did you have a pleasant day, Miss Sainthill?” Mr. Wainwright asked as the first course was served.

“I had hoped to go exploring in some of the chambers of this fascinating place, but alas, I needed to tend to other matters.” Harriet waited until he had eaten several spoonfuls of soup before trying it herself. After three swallows she could still not identify what she was eating, but the hot broth felt warm in her stomach and had a mild flavor. “Please, tell me some of the history of this noble castle. Has it been in your family for countless generations?”

“No.”

“Oh. Is it a recently acquired purchase?”

His eyes narrowed. “I do not own the castle.”

“You are a tenant here?”

“I lease the property.”

“You live out here by choice?” Though she was striving to keep her voice low and sultry, there was no way Harriet could disguise the surprise she was feeling at this latest revelation.

He shrugged and resumed eating. “I take it you object to the location?”

“ 'Tis rather remote and uncivilized.”

“I like it.”

“Yes, it somehow suits you. Well, now I understand why you have no trace of a Scottish brogue in your speech. Where did you grow up?”

He put down his spoon and turned to her with a look of pure annoyance. “What possible interest could it be to you where I was raised?”

Harriet leaned toward him. She resisted the urge to flutter her eyelashes, presuming she would look like a demented ingenue. “I find everything about a handsome, dashing man such as yourself to be of supreme interest.”

He sputtered so much the flame on the candle set near the edge of the table flickered. Harriet made a move to thump his back to help him swallow but the look he gave her changed her mind.

“You stated most emphatically this morning that our relationship would never be more than strictly business, Miss Sainthill,” he said hoarsely.

Harriet gave him a provocative, knowing half-smile and daintily wiped the corners of her mouth with her napkin. “True, yet I never said what sort of business, did I, Mr. Wainwright?”

She had timed her remarks perfectly to coincide with the removal of the soup plates. Mr. Wainwright raised his eyes in question, but said nothing in front of the servant, as Harriet had hoped. The only hint of his growing agitation was the drumming of his fingers on the table near his wine glass.

Changing tactics when the fish course was unveiled, Harriet concentrated hard on introducing neutral, innocuous topics. She held her breath as she waited to see if Mr. Wainwright would allow her to take the lead. After an obvious hesitation and a clear glower of warning, he answered her question about the dreary weather, and followed by making a remark that spring was his favorite season.

By the time the game birds were served, they had achieved a natural, mundane flow of conversation. After the culinary success of the first two courses, Harriet was anxious to try the next, even though her stomach was fluttering with nervous energy.

But the birds were not up to the standards of the previous dishes. They must have been a hasty, last minute addition for the skin was barely golden and Harriet could see that the juices running onto the plate were pink.