Page 66 of A Virgin for the Rakish Duke

“My lady!” he said again, as though calling to her from a distance now.

“My lady!”

Harriet opened her eyes and found herself looking at a uniformed doorman of the Imperial, Grosvenor Square. She blinked, the memory of the dream still alive in her mind.

“Sorry to disturb you, my lady, but you have arrived. The Imperial,” the doorman declared, holding the door of thecarriage open. “Are… are you quite well? Should I send for a physician?”

Harriet stretched lazily, fighting the disappointment at the realization that it had all just been a dream. Terrifying in its beginning but wonderful by its end.

Wonderful as only a dream could be. And as far from reality as it was possible to be.

For she had forsaken Jeremy, given him up as unattainable.

And he has given me up. We are a means to an end for each other and will go our separate ways soon enough. Yet I wish the thought did not bring me such melancholy...

“No, it is simply very warm in this carriage, and I fell asleep. I am quite well, thank you,” Harriet murmured, accepting a hand down.

“You've forgotten something, my lady,” the doorman remarked, reaching back into the carriage and plucking something from the seat.

It was a small, white piece of folded paper. Harriet frowned as he handed it to her, then smiled her thanks and entered the Imperial. She ascended to her rooms, thankful that Beecham was not in the lobby on sentry duty, waiting for her. Closing the door behind her, she unfolded the paper and gasped.

It bore a simple sketch of a sleeping woman, drawn in pencil with a few skillfully placed lines. So skillful and elegant was the author that she could immediately make out that the woman in the picture was herself.

On the reverse of the paper were the wordsDrury Lane, Royal Theater,as well as a time and date. The date was today, and the time was later in the evening. Harriet found herself smiling when she read the scrawled words beneath the date.

Get rid of the butler. Dash them all.

Her smile became a grin. She lifted the paper to her lips, imagining she could smell the spice of his cologne, wanting to touch the pencil lines that had come from his hands.

What does this mean? Has he rejected the strict conditions I laid out for him? Does he assume I will come running? Because I fully intend to!

Those words chimed in her heart more than any love poem.Dash them all.

“Dash them all!” Harriet said aloud, laughing at the sheer joy of life and freedom, “dash Beecham! Dash Ralph! I am going to live life and enjoy it!”

The answer to her affirmation was a tap at the door that made her jump.

“Yes?” she called.

“Beecham, my lady,” came the reply.

“Go away, Beecham. I am changing,” she groused, looking down at the sketch once more.

He must have had pencil and paper on his person. The man who disavowed being an artist carried the tools of an artist with him.

I see you, Jeremy. I see the man behind the facade of the feckless rake.

“I have written to His Lordship in Paris, Lady Harriet,” Beecham intoned from the other side.

That made Harriet stride to the door and fling it wide.

“You have? On what matter?” she demanded.

“Regretfully, your behavior, Lady Harriet. I feel his Lordship should know how you have flouted his rules and sought to escape my observance.”

Harriet lifted her chin, seeing in the stolid servant in front of her a ball and chain such as prisoners bore.

He is Ralph's means of keeping me chained. I know both men think they have my best interests at heart, but I am done with pretending obedience. Time is short!