Page 20 of A Virgin for the Rakish Duke (Romancing a Rake #3)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

T he church of Woodham Walter was a mile or two from Danbury, where the Tisdales usually worshiped.

That was where Agnes was, escorted by Beecham.

Harriet rode in Jeremy's carriage, which had waited in a secluded byway for the Tisdale carriage to leave before driving up to Oaksgrove to collect Harriet.

“What subterfuge did we deploy for this occasion?” Jeremy asked as Harriet embarked.

“I am attending the church at Woodham Walter with Jane and her mother and father. It is their parish church, but as it is still Anglican, Beecham has no reason to report to Ralph. Attending church with a respectable family is hardly grounds for reporting concerns.”

Jeremy nodded curtly, gazing out of the window at the passing countryside. “I find this duplicity extremely taxing. It is far from honorable behavior.”

Harriet could not help but laugh, which earned her a stern look from Jeremy. She returned the look levelly.

My, but he is in a taking this morning. I wonder what has put him in such a dark mood.

“It is only necessary because of a subterfuge which you began,” she said brightly.

He shot her a dark look this time.

“I do not enjoy pulling the wool over the eyes of my oldest friend.”

Harriet swallowed her exasperation, refusing to allow the Duke to sour her mood.

The day was glorious, and she was out of Oaksgrove once again.

Only as far as the next village over from Danbury, but beggars could not be choosers.

Ralph was in Carlisle, or Paris, or Bristol.

Somewhere that was not Oaksgrove, and Harriet intended to make good use of her newfound freedom.

“Again, a situation that would not be necessary were it not for your... games.”

“I do not need to be reminded,” Jeremy groused.

“I think that perhaps you do. Neither of us chose to be in the situation in which we find ourselves, but we must make the best of it.”

He eyed her sideways. “I think you would choose to be in this situation, to be free of your brother.”

“Then you have severely misjudged my character,” she replied.

“Do you think so? You are not desperate to experience the sensations and sensuality the world can offer? The woman who dove into a dressmaker's on Oxford Street seems to be just such a person.”

Harriet felt like she had been slapped. There was an austere cruelty on Jeremy's face. It was taut and cold, eyes hard as steel.

What has gotten into him? He was doubting me, foolishly believing me to be in conspiracy against him, but this hostility is beyond everything. I will not put up with it.

She felt tears prick at her eyes, but refused to look away from him to hide them. They were born from the fire of anger more than hurt.

“ Your Grace , I was pulled into your life through your mistaking me for another. I was innocent and remain innocent, at least when it comes to any notion of plotting against you. I will not deny that I have enjoyed the freedom which our arrangement has afforded. And...”

She blushed, unable to control the reaction, “...and yes, I will admit I have given myself to you, and... thoroughly enjoyed it!”

If she was blushing before, her face was bright scarlet and hot now.

Her last words were delivered in a breathless rush but with the passion of conviction behind them.

A chink seemed to appear in Jeremy's armor.

A flicker of emotion, no more. But it was there.

In that beautiful face, so cruel and yet so handsome, there had been the ghost of a smile.

The suggestion that her words had touched him.

He glanced away, and Harriet watched his profile, wishing it did not make her heart and her stomach flutter.

A sculptor could spend his life attempting to capture that profile and consider it a life well spent. Oh my, but I am thinking some nonsense today!

Harriet looked away too, feeling as though her attraction to Jeremy was rendering her vulnerable to him when he was in this mood.

We have never discussed anything more than a month of pretense in order for him to secure the purchase of his property. Nothing more. Ralph would never allow anything more, and I would not come between friends. Or lose my brother, for that matter.

The carriage arrived at the parish church for Woodham Walter, Holy Trinity. The vicar, Edmund Hamilton, younger brother of Jane's beau Phillip, stood at the entrance, greeting his flock. He had a round, smiling face with bright eyes.

Jeremy alighted and offered his hand to Harriet. She took it, feeling the thrill that always came over her when touching Jeremy. She tried to bury the sensation deep down.

This is not the place or the time. We are here to cleanse Jeremy's reputation.

They walked towards the church and were greeted warmly by Edmund.

“Your Grace, Lady Harriet!” he chimed, “I am thankful to see new parishioners always, but particularly the two of you. Phillip informed me you would be attending. He and Jane are inside, as is Lady Sullivan. Will we be seeing the two of you regularly?”

Harriet smiled kindly. “We certainly hope so. Such a pleasant church in a wonderful setting. And Jane has said many good things about your sermons, vicar.”

“That is most flattering. But I merely speak as the divine will moves me. I cannot take credit. Please be welcome.”

They entered the cool darkness of the church and moved along the central aisle before taking a seat in a vacant pew. Harriet could see Jane near the front, next to her mother and cousin.

“I do not see the Winchesters,” Jeremy muttered.

“I do not know if this is their parish,” Harriet pointed out, “though that is not the point of being here. It is so that people will see you attending church.”

He looked at her sharply. “I could have attended church in the chapel at Penhaligon.”

“But none would have seen you but the priest and your servants. We could have gone to Danbury, but I did not want to risk being seen by the vicar there, who knows Ralph. This is far enough removed that he will not hear of it, and Edmund Hamilton is a member of a prominent county family. And known to be devout. As is his brother, whom, I understand, was to take holy orders himself.”

Jeremy had tried to interrupt a number of times, but Harriet did not let him. She had endured enough of his coldness and criticism. As she spoke, his mouth closed tight, a straight, white line. By the time she finished, it turned up at the corners, just a touch.

“So your plan was that my association with these two holy brothers would purify my reputation if the Winchesters got wind of it?”

“Which they will. They are very active socially, and the Hamilton brothers are exactly the kind of men they would wish to associate with.”

“You have given this a great deal of thought,” Jeremy murmured.

“I have.”

“I will reserve judgment.”

“Please do.”

They sat in silence as Edmund took his place in the pulpit, following the rest of the congregation in prayer and song or just sitting and listening. Behind the pulpit was an enormous painting depicting Christ on the cross.

“A fine piece of work. Oil on wood,” Jeremy commented quietly.

Harriet had been lost in thought. She always thought of her parents when she went to church. In that sepulchral space, thoughts of the world outside, the present day, always fell away before long. Today, she found the thoughts of them particularly melancholic.

It is so unfair that they are lost to us because of an accident. A human failing. A badly driven carriage or a poorly repaired one. Ralph and I are left without parents because of it. Why?

She found herself on the verge of tears again, her emotions felt raw and wild.

Perhaps it was the passion with which Edmund spoke, evoking a strong response in her.

Perhaps it was the unending tension between her and Jeremy.

She was aware of him looking at her and gritted her teeth, not wanting to be the center of attention.

Can't he give me some privacy? Can't he see that I need it? Look away!

“Harriet, what is wrong?” he asked.

Now he is concerned? When he practically ignored my tears in the carriage! Why is he suddenly compassionate? The man is a walking contradiction!

“Nothing,” Harriet gritted, determined to give as little as he had given, let him taste his own medicine.

“Something clearly is.”

“We are in church, and the morning is wasted if we are frowned upon for talking by the other congregants,” she whispered back fiercely.

An elderly matron seated in front of them twitched, giving a half glance over her shoulder. Harriet clamped her lips shut tight, shooting Jeremy a glare. He looked amused, which annoyed her further.

“I am not usually a lover of religious subject matter in art, but my great-grandfather made a career out of it,” he continued.

Harriet couldn't help but look at him, watching as he gazed with rapt attention at the painting.

She saw that it had been painted across three large wooden panels, each connected to the other by hinges with elaborate metal work over the top, further connecting all three.

The matron glanced over her other shoulder, saw Jeremy's intent gaze, slightly leaning forward in his seat, and gave a nod of approval, looking back at Harriet for a moment with a thin smile.

Let us hope that this lady knows the Winchesters; we have certainly impressed her with Jeremy's devotion, though she had misinterpreted to what he was so devoted.

Harriet could forgive him his irascibility for helping her to make this illusion work.

The church became warm during the course of the sermon as the sun streamed through stained glass windows.

The pews were well-occupied, and Harriet found herself sitting closer to Jeremy as late-comers joined the end of their pew.

Her thigh touched his, her forearm against his elbow as he sat with his hands on his knees.