Page 31 of A Virgin for the Rakish Duke (Romancing a Rake #3)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

H arriet put her head close to the door of the dressing room, listening for anyone passing by.

Jeremy stood close behind, waiting to hear that the way was clear.

Beyond, in the theater's auditorium, they could hear the applause of the audience and cries of encore and bravo.

The performance was over, both the public performance by the actors and the private performance for its audience of two.

She was acutely aware of Jeremy's physical presence close behind her. His scent made her head spin, the feel of him made her want to press herself back and against him, feel his hardness once again.

It did not take much to undercut my resolve. If he is the feckless rake, the arch-seducer, then I have been well and truly hoodwinked. Taken advantage of. Though I don't think I much care…

She opened the door a crack. The corridor beyond was empty. She stepped out, and Jeremy followed. He took her hand and led her along the corridor until they reached another door. The noise of many footsteps and a babbling conversation came from the other side.

Jeremy opened the door and then discreetly pulled Harriet through with him. They stepped into a crowd that was making its way ponderously from the auditorium to the lobby. Some of the passersby looked at them curiously, but most were too intent on their animated conversations to notice.

Jeremy offered his arm, grinning at Harriet as she took it and they fell into step with the rest of the crowd, eventually stepping into the wider space of the lobby.

“Penhaligon!” came the voice of Alfred Winchester.

Harriet looked around in the direction from which the voice had come. She saw Alfred and Margaret Winchester making their way towards them.

“Lady Harriet, too. Oh, how delightful!” the Winchester Matriarch chimed, greeting the pair with a warm, affectionate smile.

“What did you make of it, Penhaligon?” Alfred boomed.

“Very amusing. Very humorous,” Jeremy commented non-comitally.

“Humorous? Did you think so?” Margaret asked, puzzled, “I thought the subject matter was rather serious.”

“Although, there was certainly a dry wit on display,” Alfred nodded thoughtfully, “yes, I see your point, Penhaligon. A most astute observation.”

Harriet realized she had been holding her breath after Jeremy's blind punt on what the subject of the evening's play had been. They, of course, had not seen a spoken word of it.

“Jeremy is a man of many hidden talents,” Harriet added, enthusiastically, “I have only just discovered one of them.”

She was, of course, speaking of his talent as an artist, but she now remembered their most recent activities. She felt herself blushing, felt Jeremy pat her hand, and looked down demurely.

“And what is that, dear?” Margaret asked gently, treating Harriet as though she were a shy doe.

“He is an excellent artist,” Harriet mumbled, still thinking of the double meaning to her earlier words.

Jeremy cleared his throat. “One doesn't like to brag when one is descended from a master. My great-grandfather was renowned for his paintings.”

“Humility is indeed commendable,” Alfred declared, “a saintly virtue.”

“A very modest and humble couple indeed,” Margaret nodded. “Our dear Simon has been at pains to point that out and reassure us concerning the foul rumors that we had recently become aware of.”

Harriet and Jeremy looked at each other, taken aback. “Jeremy seems to have a friend in Simon that even he did not know of,” she said with a smile.

“You do indeed, Penhaligon. And here he comes now,” the Earl said, glancing behind them.

Simon was threading his way through the crowd, his eyes fixed on Harriet and Jeremy all the while.

“Good evening, Linwood,” Jeremy greeted as the man reached them, using his courtesy title.

“Your Grace!” Simon boomed back, far too hearty.

“I believe I owe you a debt of thanks,” Jeremy said with a smile.

Harriet could see the effort it required, though, in the tension around his eyes.

“Oh? And what for, pray tell?”

“For singing Jeremy's praises to your parents,” Harriet replied.

“Ah, think nothing of it, old chap! I would hate to see a man condemned in the court of public opinion on the basis of gossip and rumor. Not when he has so much to offer.”

“ Quite ,” Jeremy finished.

“Where were the two of you seated, by the by?” Simon suddenly asked, “I noted the Penhaligon box was empty.”

The Earl and Countess of Sutton now looked at Jeremy quizzically, but with the blank expression of innocent curiosity on their faces. Not suspicious, just curious .

Harriet opened her mouth to speak, but quickly realized that the wrong answer might give away the lie that they had been watching the play at all.

“We took seats in the gods. The box is being renovated, there is a leak in the ceiling, and the carpet was utterly ruined,” Jeremy put in smoothly.

“The… gods ?” Alfred asked.

Harriet's heart stopped, fearing that their subterfuge was about to be discovered. But Jeremy immediately disarmed the small crowd with a charming smile.

“If I cannot have the privacy of a box, my next best choice is the anonymity of a seat in the gods, where I may enjoy the performance without the distraction of whispered voices, pointed fingers, and idle gossip.”

“And quite right!” Margaret agreed with a sage nod. “Now, if you will excuse us, I see the Earl of Whitstable, and we must pay our respects. You are still free for dinner on Saturday at Sutton Hall? We might discuss the Opera House then.”

Jeremy bowed his assent, and the Winchesters withdrew. Simon remained.

“What exactly is your game?” Jeremy muttered coldly after the Suttons had left earshot.

“Game? No game, old man,” Simon replied a touch too insolently, “happy to help.”

“You were not always so happy. And your interrogation into our seating plan was not exactly idle conversation, was it?” Jeremy demanded.

Harriet did not understand at first the reason for Jeremy's tension around the lordling. Now, she pondered that seemingly innocent question in a new light.

Did he ask because he knows we were not in the auditorium? Was it intended to be a trap? Why?

The two men were glaring silently at one another, and Harriet was acutely conscious of the increasing crowd in the lobby as more filed out of the main auditorium. Pivoting with Jeremy's arm, she turned him towards a still-quiet alcove.

“Perhaps we might discuss the matter in privacy?” she smiled sweetly.

Simon followed, beaming at her suggestion, while Jeremy glowered.

“Speak plainly, sir,” he muttered, keeping his voice frosty, “you clearly had a motive. What is it?”

Simon remained silent for a beat until they had well and truly reached the refuge of the alcove.

Then, he spun like a string marionette to regard the pair.

“Very well. I know for certain you were not in attendance at the play. Really? You found Cato humorous? Which begs the question, what were you doing? I saw you arrive, with you dressed as a maid, Lady Harriet. What was that about?”

Jeremy tensed, and Harriet suddenly felt that she was holding him back rather than simply holding his arm.

“Why would I be dressed as a maid?” she chuckled awkwardly, as though perplexed by the question.

Before Simon could answer, her gaze snagged on movement beyond him. Her grandmother materialized from amid the crowd with Beecham at her elbow. Beecham’s head snapped in her direction, and he started forward with remorseless intent.

“Gentlemen, would you please excuse me for just a moment?” she murmured distractedly.

Jeremy dashed a kiss against her cheek, then held her hand to his mouth for a long breath. Harriet blushed at the public intimacy, thrilled by it. She headed towards Agnes, attempting to bypass and ignore Beecham along the way. But the butler stepped in front of her.

“Lady Harriet. I must ask that you accompany me back to the Imperial and thence to Oaksgrove.”

Harriet almost scoffed. “I shall do nothing of the sort, Beecham. I am enjoying my time in London, and the Duke is a respectable and honorable chaperon. I am quite safe.”

“It is not your safety that concerns me, Lady Harriet,” Beecham intoned. “It is...”

“Harriet, at last! I thought you might be here when I found that you had not returned to the Imperial,” Agnes sighed in relief as she reached Harriet’s side. “We must depart forthwith, my dear.”

“Why, grandmama?” Harriet frowned. “You know I am quite safe with the Duke of Penhaligon, an old friend of Ralph's.”

Agnes tried for a disarming smile. “Of course, dear. It is just that—”

“Lady Harriet?” A man’s voice cut across the words.

Harriet turned. Jeremy was engaged in conversation with Simon, who was smirking as he spoke. The Duke’s face was intent, and his hands were clasped behind his back. He was hearing something he did not like. But it was clear, neither of them had called her name.

The man who had , stepped into view presently. He was dark-haired and handsome, with honey-brown eyes and a chiseled face, offset by dimples that softened his cheeks when he smiled.

“Good evening, Lady Harriet. I must say, I did not anticipate meeting you so soon or in such a place,” he smiled, his voice carrying the lasting hints of a French accent. “But having spied you from afar, I could not help but make my introduction to you. Long may we both remember it.”

Harriet glanced at him distractedly. “I am sorry, sir. You have the advantage of me.”

“Ah, of course!” he laughed. “In my excitement, I quite forget myself. I am Henri de Rouvroy, son of the Comte de Rouvroy, Ambassador from Paris to London. I imagine your brother has spoken of me?”

Harriet frowned, turning all her attention to him now. “My brother is in Paris on business. I have not spoken to him in a number of weeks.”

“He… did not write to you?” Henri probed.

Harriet glanced at Agnes, who nodded, almost pained.

“He did, dear, but you have not yet seen the letter,” her grandmother said softly. “It arrived this afternoon at the Imperial, forwarded from Oaksgrove.”

“Regarding?” Harriet asked.

“I imagine to inform your esteemed self that I have agreed to be your husband,” the stranger professed.

Jeremy did not particularly relish being abandoned to the company of Simon Winchester and was suspicious of the lordling’s sudden keenness to cooperate. A nasty surprise was on its way, of that he was sure. He glanced to where Harriet was exchanging words with Beecham.

The man has the infernal impudence to bar her way! He may have leeway from his master, but that goes too far!

Jeremy was about to abandon the conversation with Simon when the man put a hand on Jeremy's forearm.

Anger surged within him at the brazen effrontery of both men.

He turned to face the lordling, just barely controlling his irritation, reminding himself that he needed Simon's cooperation—however inexplicable it appeared to be.

“We must speak about the Opera House, Your Grace,” Simon said earnestly.

That got Jeremy's full attention. For all the wrong reasons. He had the feel of a trap closing about him.

“I had a feeling the conversation would turn this way,” he replied icily. “Now, what was it you really came here to discuss?”

“Our partnership.”

Jeremy regarded the other man, saw the sly smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth, the wide eyes, and the flicking tongue that sprinted across dry lips. He was anxious… but also confident.

“We have no partnership,” Jeremy reminded slowly, playing his part.

“Not yet. But I think we should be partners in this venture. My parents have been persuaded of your suitability, but they can be unpersuaded soon enough. What, with your fiancée ... about to belong to another man.”

Jeremy dared a glance at Harriet, who had just been approached by a young, dark-haired man.

“What are you prattling about, Winchester?” he muttered, insolently using Simon’s given name instead of his title.

It earned him a slight narrowing of the lordling’s eyes, a twitch of a mouth, and all the telltale signs of irritation. Jeremy felt a stab of satisfaction at that, which was cut short all too soon by Simon’s own contented smile.

“Lady Harriet's brother has secured a betrothal for her. It will soon be made public, at which point you and I will need to scramble to persuade my parents that you are still a suitable candidate to buy the Opera House,” he began in a tight voice.

“They will be persuaded that you were either abandoned by Lady Harriet, to her detriment, or that her brother forced her to call off the engagement in favor of a more… unsuitable suitor.”

Simon smiled at the little jest he made, but Jeremy simply glared at him. His smile faded, and he licked his lips again, accompanying it with a dry washing of his hands.

“ If Harriet was indeed betrothed to another, then I would be without a potential wife, which I understood to be a condition of purchase,” Jeremy muttered, glancing Harriet’s way again as she remained engaged in conversation with the stranger.

“Certainly. To be sole owner? Yes, my parents would never consider selling to a bachelor. But as a partner alongside one that they trust implicitly?”

Simon spread his hands as though the answer was obvious. Jeremy could see it now, Simon must have known that Ralph had found a suitor for Harriet.

How did he know? Ralph is surely not friends with him. They do not know each other, of that I am certain. But he must have known, and that is why he suddenly became an advocate for me...

“And how am I to know you speak the truth?” Jeremy enquired.

Simon’s smile cut deep. “Because I can tell you the name of Lady Harriet’s betrothed. Her real betrothed.”

Jeremy’s jaw locked. He wanted to shake the words out of him, his fists knotting behind his back. “Go on…”

“Henri de Rouvroy,” Simon said smoothly. “Son of the French ambassador. Brother to—”

“ Eloise …” Jeremy finished, the name striking him like a blow.