Page 68 of A Virgin for the Rakish Duke
His answer came in the form of a roguish grin. “I have friends made during our... dalliance, among the company. I aim to dress you from their wardrobe. Let's hope tonight's play is not some historical drama, or you may end up a lady of ancient Rome or Greece.”
Jeremy realized that he was thoroughly enjoying himself. For once, his need for reckless thrills was coinciding with his more serious ambitions. Leaving the sketch and requesting that Harriet throw caution to the wind to meet him was reckless, but it also took the opportunity presented of bumping into the Winchesters.
And if it blows up everything with Ralph, then to hell with it. I only need another week. There is nothing he can do in that time. Dash him and everyone else!
They reached the room where the Drury Lane company stocked their wardrobes. The room was empty this close to curtain's up. Jeremy closed the door behind them and indicated Harriet should begin looking for an appropriate dress from the racks that lined the walls. She laughed as she began to rummage through them, drawing out fairy costumes, dresses last in fashion in the sixteenth century, and medieval paraphernalia.
“What made you draw the sketch?” she asked as she hunted.
“I may have had good reason to suspect you would throw my note into the fire without reading it otherwise,” Jeremy replied.
“Then perhaps you should not have stormed out of the National Gallery,” she gave him a sidelong glance.
Jeremy felt himself tense, felt the defensiveness creeping over him. He fought it, not wanting to push her away again.
So close to achieving everything I have ever sought. I must not sabotage it...
“I am... sorry,” he mumbled like an unruly juvenile.
“That sounded difficult,” Harriet snorted.
He sighed. “Not at all. It is a simple word after all.”
“Ah, but the word alone is not enough. There must be meaning behind it,” she purred wisely, picking a gown that seemed contemporary and holding it against herself.
“That looks lovely,” he remarked, seizing the chance to change the subject.
Harriet arched a brow, the curve of her lips betraying her amusement. She had caught him at it. His smile deepened as his gaze swept over her, imagining the dress on her. Whatever passed across his face made her nod her head.
“I think this is the one, and you will need to leave the room.”
Jeremy faced her, unmoving. “Must I?”
“Yes,” she said emphatically.
He stepped closer to her, holding her gaze challengingly.
She tried for indifference. “Look, you may have experienced a change of heart concerning your talent as an artist, but I...”
He kissed her before she could finish. What should have been a brief silencing touch deepened without thought. She melted against him, her body fitting into his arms as if it belonged there.Her hands slid around his neck, holding him close, pulling him nearer still.
When he finally drew back, breath unsteady, Harriet’s face was lifted to his, lips parted, eyes dazed with the same hunger he felt.
“What made you draw the sketch?” she whispered this time.
“You will not be deterred, will you?” he murmured.
“Not when you appear to be trying to distract me.”
Jeremy sighed. “Perhaps I begin to remember the pleasure which art brought me as a youth, and I regretted my reaction to my great-grandfather's picture in the National Gallery. It is a difficult thing to be constantly measured against those who have gone before and found wanting.”
There was sympathy in Harriet's face now. Her arms tightened about him, and she rose on tiptoes to peck his lips.
“I can appreciate how it would be wearing, but I am glad that you are prepared to accept that you have talent. The picture of me was wonderful, by the by.”
Jeremy shrugged. “A scribble. I am sure you make more of it than it is.”
He ended with a yelp as Harriet, very deliberately, stamped on his foot.