Page 24 of A Virgin for the Rakish Duke (Romancing a Rake #3)

CHAPTER TWENTY

“ W e were almost caught. And by the very person who has the most to gain by tainting my name with scandal,” Jeremy groused as they strolled back to the church through the village.

Ahead of them, Simon walked arm in arm with Eloise. Jeremy noted the number of times Eloise contrived to look back towards them, but put it to the back of his mind.

“From this point on, I think we should agree to keep our relationship on the footing that we settled upon at Oaksgrove. The image of an engagement until I have the Opera House, but with no substance behind it.”

It is the only sane course. Lord knows I have sailed close enough to the wind already. First, by agreeing to meet Eloise at the Duke of Chelmsford’s ball with a set of handcuffs, no less. Then, engaging in intimacy after intimacy with Harriet. I have been mad!

“I agree,” Harriet said, after a heartbeat’s hesitation.

Jeremy looked at her, not missing the uncertainty.

“You agree, surely. This was never intended to be a genuine betrothal. It was born out of the necessity of the moment. Honor and common sense demand that we go back to the original sense of the plan.”

“I am in agreement,” Harriet nodded, her voice shaded slightly with... what? Disappointment?

Jeremy recognized it in himself, felt the same pang of loss that he fancied he could detect in Harriet's voice. But he refused to give in to those feelings.

Emotion will not cloud my judgment any longer. My goal is to exceed the achievements of my ancestors, and I will allow nothing to stand in the way of that.

“Good. I do not wish a partner in my enterprise, but Simon seemed to be suggesting it would be the only way. I may have to consider taking him up on the offer.”

“That has nothing to do with me,” Harriet said firmly.

“I did not say that it did.”

“Your face said it even if your mouth did not.”

“My face said nothing, I assure you.”

“Is Simon Winchester betrothed to Eloise de Rouvroy? This is the second time I have seen them together,” Harriet asked.

Jeremy was taken aback by the question. It had not occurred to him to wonder, and he did not know why it should be of interest to Harriet.

“I do not know. I should like her to stay out of my affairs, so hopefully they are.”

They had turned from a twisting road lined with cottages onto the village High Street, with the steeple of the church visible at the far end. There were few people abroad at this time of day, with most of the village's residents at their respective jobs, either as traders, craftspeople, or farmers.

“You did not always think so,” Harriet murmured quietly.

He glanced at her. “I did not, but my feelings towards her changed.”

His mind was still wrestling with the predicament posed by Simon Winchester, but he was aware that Harriet seemed subdued. He was increasingly aware that he did not like it when she was so quiet, preferring the energetic and lively young woman that he had pursued through the streets of London.

It does not matter. She only needs to play her part, and I mine.

Did he still suspect that Harriet was in league with Simon Winchester?

He could not see what she would gain by such an alliance, but equally could not discount the possibility.

It gave him some disquiet to think, though.

She was handsome, extraordinarily so. She made his heart race and his breath catch.

No woman of those he had taken as lovers had inflamed his senses the way she did.

Put it from your mind. Put aside the art. Put aside the woman. All that matters is the El Dorado…

But that ambition, which had once been able to keep him awake at night, now seemed pale and unfulfilling. He scowled at the feeling of emptiness that came with the thought that he and Harriet would never be lovers again.

“Can you not answer?” Harriet asked.

Jeremy started, realizing that she had been speaking, but he had been so lost in thought that he had not heard. He was gazing down the street but not seeing what was in front of him. His eyes were turned inward.

“I am sorry, I did not hear the question,” he replied.

Harriet followed the line of his gaze to where Eloise tossed her coal black hair, revealing a long, pale neck. Her eyes were fluttering back to Jeremy as she did so.

“What changed your feelings towards her?” she asked.

“Being caught by the Winchesters and the Duke of Chelmsford, of course, and being forced to lie about you being my fiancée,” he said, simply.

“But that would not change your desire for her, surely?”

“Evidently, it did, because I no longer feel for her what I once did.”

He looked down at Harriet, feeling the tug of her emerald eyes, so bright and intelligent. She had hair as dark as Eloise's, an attribute he was particularly drawn to. But Harriet's pale skin was luscious, her curves capable of making his mouth water. Eloise simply did not seem as alluring.

“You are looking hard at a woman you ostensibly have no feeling for,” Harriet muttered.

“I am not looking at her,” Jeremy replied.

The look that Harriet gave him was disparaging. She gave a sad smile and a slight shake of the head, lengthening her stride.

“I may have been looking in her direction, but my mind was elsewhere,” he protested after her.

He realized that he was trying to justify himself to Harriet and clamped his mouth shut, refusing to allow himself another moment of weakness.

“Of course, Your Grace ,” she murmured drily, “and your feelings for her vanished in a moment for no reason too. I understand.”

Jeremy refused to be baited into hurrying to catch up to her. Harriet had reached the carriage, which he had instructed to wait at the church. The driver helped her in and held the door open for Jeremy.

“It was a pleasure to finally meet you in person, Your Grace,” Eloise purred.

She stepped out of the shadow of the lych-gate. Of Simon Winchester, there was no sign.

“Likewise, I'm sure,” Jeremy replied with a formal bow.

“I should very much like a more private audience with you soon. We did discuss it in our... correspondence, after all.”

“I'm afraid I am very busy since the Chelmsford ball. As I'm sure you are aware. Lord Simon seems to know all about my business.”

“He talks of little else. It is rather tedious. I did not believe you to be so dull,” the French lady sighed dramatically, putting a hand to Jeremy's arm.

Jeremy felt cold to the contact, only able to think that it was not Harriet's touch.

Part of Harriet's allure was that she did not throw herself at him.

She was fierce when roused, but never wanton in her behavior prior.

Once upon a time, a woman as forward as Eloise would have his blood up. Now, he was… indifferent.

“I'm afraid I am probably as dull as Lord Simon then. Now, if you would excuse me?”

He bowed again and turned to the carriage.

“How is Lord Ralph, Your Grace? Has he finally returned to Oaksgrove?” Eloise suddenly called out.

Jeremy froze, glancing back over his shoulder at her, who watched him with smoldering intent.

“I do not know. I understood him to be traveling to Paris at some point. Do you know differently?”

“I do not, but he has a habit of turning up in the oddest places and at the most inconvenient times, no?” she winked.

Jeremy stepped towards her, anger surging at her innuendo.

He stepped into the shadow of the lych-gate with her, the structure obscuring him from the carriage.

She shrank back into the far corner, arms spread as though bracing herself.

Her eyes were heavy-lidded, watching him from beneath long lashes.

Her bosom heaved, revealed by the falling away of a scarf that had covered what her dress left exposed.

“What the bloody hell do you mean? Spit it out, madam. I will have no more games,” he muttered fiercely.

She gasped, either frightened or putting on a very good act. He suspected the latter and stepped closer.

“Do you blame me, Your Grace? Jeremy ? Your letters to me lured me out here from London. You were the bright, shiny bait in that lure. The infamous Duke of Penhaligon, the greatest lover in England. The most debauched Duke of his generation. The Merry Duke, isn't that what they call you?”

She came out of the corner into which she had allowed herself to be backed. Now, Jeremy retreated until his back struck wood. Eloise put a be-ringed hand to his chest, stepping close enough that he could feel her breath.

“A man I killed. He no longer exists,” he waved away.

“But could he be revived, like Lazarus? For the right laying on of hands?” she asked in a husky whisper.

She leaned close to kiss him, but Jeremy caught her wrists, holding her away from himself at arm's length.

She twisted from his grip, mouth loose in a sneering, silent laugh.

Then she was darting back towards him, and he felt cold steel clamp around his wrist. With shock, he looked down at the manacle that gleamed dully around his left hand. Eloise held the other end aloft.

“Perhaps we might pick up where we left off. Restraint was the subject of our last letter. And not the sort Englishmen are usually expected to show, eh?” she purred with a mischievous smile.

Just then, the gate creaked, and Jeremy turned back in time to see Harriet standing there, taking in the scene.

“Do excuse me, Your Grace. I merely wanted to tell you that I think I will walk home. It is a fine day and only a few miles. Good day to you.”

She slammed the gate shut, and Jeremy heard her retreating footsteps. He managed to take one step after her when Eloise clicked the other end of the manacle shut around one of the wooden posts that supported the roof of the lych-gate.

“What are you doing, woman! Release me!” he roared.

The French woman wagged a finger at him. “Now, now, Jeremy. You should speak much quieter. These are consecrated grounds after all, and you do not want the good Reverend to hear us.”

She held up a key and placed it on a bench seat on the other side of the lych-gate shelter from where she had shackled Jeremy.

“I shall give it to you… in return for a kiss,” she began in a sing-song voice.

“Go to hell,” he growled.

She laughed musically and walked away.

Harriet did not know the way back to Oaksgrove, but she knew the general direction.

She hurried out of Woodham Walter towards Danbury, aware that the river was to her left and it flowed to the south of Danbury.

If she chose roads that kept the river to her left, she would surely arrive back home eventually.

The distance proved greater than she had imagined, though, and Oaksgrove did not seem to grow any closer with each step that she took.

The sun felt hot on her head, even with the shade of her bonnet.

But that did not bother her. Nor did her aching feet.

She thought only of Jeremy and Eloise. The handcuffs clamped to his wrist, the other end in Eloise's hand.

After everything he had said about not taking chances with his plans, the second Eloise de Rouvroy batted her eyelids, he became a senseless male, incapable of thought originating above the waist.

She was angry at him and then angry at herself for being angry at him.

What did I expect? He is a rake and a scoundrel! The kind of rogue that brings manacles to a ball with the intention of restraining a woman he intends to meet there. The kind of man who suggests such a game in correspondence with a woman he has never met!

It was a lucky escape for her. Eyes opened to the reality of a man for whom she was becoming increasingly attracted to, and... and... nothing. It had been physical attraction and nothing else. And now it was over.

Tears pricked at her eyes as she walked, knowing that once she set foot on Oaksgrove soil once more, it would be unlikely she would be allowed to leave it again until Ralph's return.

And how long will that be? Days? Weeks, or even months? To return to my old life, always second place to Ralph's business. Excited at an invitation to a ball or a dull luncheon, only to be let down again.

She needed to harden herself against the effects of men upon her. Harden her heart. Avoid disappointment. If she expected the worst, then it could never break her heart.

It was only when her cheeks grew wet that Harriet realized she had been crying.

She scrubbed at them desperately with the heel of her hand, furious at her own weakness.

Once she returned home, she would write to Jeremy, calling off their plan and asking that he not visit Oaksgrove again without Ralph's presence.

She could not tell if the ache in her chest came from surrendering her freedom again… or from losing him .

He was never mine. I allowed myself to begin to hope that it was so. I gave myself to him. But this is what becomes of giving yourself to a rogue. I was a fool, and he was probably laughing at me with his French lady.

By the time the sun was almost directly overhead and Harriet judged it to be midday, she had not seen the river that she was supposed to be following for some time. What she had thought would be a simple journey was now anything but, and she was only growing hopelessly lost.

Walking back in the direction of Woodham Walter was out of the question, even if she could be sure of the right way. There was too much chance of running into Jeremy or his beau. Instead, she set out in what she hoped was the right direction.

Eventually, she stood, exhausted, hungry, and thirsty, in a dell surrounded by trees.

The road wound up the far side, visible in breaks in the woodland, and Harriet could not face the climb.

She sat for a time on a stone wall beside the road until it became too uncomfortable.

Climbing the wall, she walked through the woods, over mossy, stony ground ribbed by tree roots, until she reached a small, babbling stream.

She decided to rest there, nestled in a comfortable bower made up of a curve of ancient roots which drooped over the shallow but clear stream.

Perhaps a little rest and time to reorient myself is what I need.

Stripping off her shoes and stockings, she dabbled her feet in the cool water and even sipped a little to quench her thirst. It was so unlike anything that Ralph would ever have permitted, so unorthodox and so… free. True freedom. She forgot about feeling tired or lost for a while.

She could remain here as long as she wished, and she would for no reason other than she wanted to. That she could.

With the water cool over her bare feet and the air about her warm, drowsiness soon overcame Harriet. She settled back against the tree, letting her eyes grow heavy, until she slipped into a slumber.