Page 29 of A Virgin for the Rakish Duke (Romancing a Rake #3)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
J eremy laughed aloud as he saw Harriet approaching along Drury Lane. He strode to meet her and was greeted with an insolent grin and a pose with hand on hip that warned him not to challenge her. Her eyes shone with mirth and with the promise of fierceness.
“Have you decided to take up a trade, Lady Harriet?” he inquired with a polite tone.
“Beecham took up a post outside my room at the Imperial, having written to Ralph in Paris to inform him of my... disobedience ,” she sighed with a roll of her eyes. “Therefore, I persuaded a maid to lend me her spare uniform so that I could slip past him. You promised to reimburse her, by the way.”
Jeremy chuckled. Harriet indeed wore a simple, dark dress with white lace at the neck and the cuffs of her sleeves. The very image of a well-presented maid.
“So, our time together is laid out for us. How long does a letter take to reach Paris?” she asked.
“In summer with calm seas… I should say a week,” he concluded after a ponder.
“And assuming Ralph sets off as soon as he reads it, intent on locking me away forever, he could be here in...?”
“A day or two after.”
“Enough time to attend the Winchesters' invitation and secure your Opera House,” she said with a thoughtful nod.
“Just about.”
She sighed and then smiled brightly. “Then I intend to make this week count and experience as much of it as I may. Ralph will be unbearable when he returns.”
Jeremy frowned. “I will speak to him. It is unfair that you should suffer on my account.”
She waved a dismissive hand. “It is what it is. I would not be the cause of ending a long-standing friendship such as yours. Better to enjoy myself while I may. Now—shall we go in? I have never actually seen a play before, if you can believe it.”
“I can believe it,” he said with a crooked smile. “But God no, not dressed like that. The Winchesters will be present; they never miss an opening night. They would make a spectacle of you before the curtain even rises. No, we must find you something more fitting.”
Harriet spread her arms helplessly. “My clothes are at the Imperial, and I do not intend to be cornered in a modiste's shop by you again.”
The innuendo in her voice caught him off guard, and his grin deepened. “Then I have another idea. How would you like to meet a few of the actors?”
Without waiting for a reply, he seized her by the hand and led her at a brisk trot away from the theater, turning a corner and along a narrow alleyway that separated it from the next building over.
A door halfway along the alley was marked Stage Door .
Jeremy rapped on it, and it was opened by a skinny man with a pipe clenched in his teeth and a cap on his head.
A look of shrewd suspicion melted into a grin as he recognized Jeremy.
“Your Grace! Welcome back, good sir. Been a while since we've had the pleasure!”
“It has indeed, Phillips,” Jeremy grinned boyishly. “I think that our favorite Miss Haverford would have skinned me alive had I tried to show my face. She… is not performing tonight, I take?”
“Left the company, sir. Gone to join Master Kinch's group at the Old Vic.” He leaned in closer then, “So between us, you're safe, sir.”
He moved aside to allow the pair entry into the building.
Jeremy led Harriet through a warren of narrow corridors, up and down rickety wooden stairs.
In the distance, somewhere in the building, Harriet could hear the murmuring babble of a large number of people, and quickly realized they were moving around somewhere behind the stage.
“Miss Haverford?” she whispered.
“An old friend that I rather offended,” he grimaced.
“Do I wish to know?” she asked dryly.
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.
“I will not hear any false modesty or belittling of your abilities. Only honesty.”
“Drat it all, woman. That hurt, and I was being honest!” he cursed.
“In that case, I am sorry, but it did not sound that way,” she replied with a modicum of chagrin, “now, if you insist on being such a brute as to remain in the room while I dress, will you at least turn your back?”
Jeremy gave her an elaborate, courtly bow and turned on his heel.
He waited, listening to the rustle of fabric as she stripped out of the maid's dress.
A flicker of movement caught his eye, and he saw a full-length dress mirror opposite him.
It was half obscured by a sheet, but the half that was visible showed him Harriet, standing with her back to him.
She bent over, pushing her dress down over her hips. Jeremy was presented with a perfect impression of her bottom, outlined by her shift as it was pulled tight by the descending dress.
Then she was stepping out of it and glancing back over her shoulder, presumably to check that he was not doing precisely what he actually was. Her eyes widened a touch as they met his in the mirror. Jeremy smiled ruefully as he closed his eyes.
“I wouldn't bother, you have already seen what you should not,” she grumbled.
Turning to face her, Jeremy opened his eyes, steadfastly refusing to look at the body outlined by the hugging material of the shift.
Harriet had folded her arms beneath her breasts.
In his peripheral vision, he could see her pulling at the fabric where it lay over her breasts.
The pulling tightened it, making the breast stand out, clearly outlined.
His eyes flicked downward, and he found her nipple standing proud against the taut fabric.
She had lifted one hand to stroke around the outline of her breast, eyes never leaving his face.
She knows what she is doing. And that knowledge is enough to break my self-control. But it will not.
Harriet bit her lip and gave a sharp intake of breath.
Jeremy's resolve broke in spite of himself, and he lunged for her.
But she danced out of his reach, laughing and circling him until she stood with her back to the mirror.
Reaching back while keeping him at bay with a hand planted against his heaving chest, she whipped the cover from the rest of the mirror.