Page 7 of A Virgin for the Rakish Duke (Romancing a Rake #3)

CHAPTER SEVEN

J eremy sat ensconced in a secluded corner of White's, the London club to which he frequented. He stared at the letter he had received at his London residence just a few doors down along St James Street.

Eleven days since the Chelmsford ball and an invitation to dinner from the Winchesters. Following six months of gruelling effort in trying to obtain such an invitation prior... Everything has been fast-tracked! And Harriet Tisdale is the key. I am sure of it.

Three men entered the room, looked around, and then spotted him. They approached. Reuben, Nash, and the only member of the foursome missing from the Chelmsford ball… Ralph Tisdale.

Christ. My luck…

“The Four Musketeers together again!” crowed Reuben, looking as untidy as usual.

“And look who we dragged out of the Exchange,” Nash chuckled, slapping Ralph on the back.

“I agreed to put aside business for the evening,” Ralph grinned. “My ships in Bristol are ready to put to sea, but I had reason to come to London first to renegotiate cover with those highwaymen at Lloyd’s.”

Jeremy forced a smile, waving a hand over his head.

“Such things are beyond me, old friend, but it is good to see you return healthy. We expected you at Chelmsford's bash.”

“Alas, my business in Bristol was urgent.”

An idea occurred to Jeremy then, a way to persuade Harriet to help him.

But I must test the waters first. If Ralph has mellowed in his attitude towards his sister, then it will do no good at all. Nor will it help if rumors have preceded me from Essex. It would not do for Ralph to hear that his sister is my betrothed.

“Your sister represented the family then?” Jeremy probed as a steward brought a bottle of red wine and four glasses.

Ralph's eyes caught Jeremy's as the drinks were poured. They were suddenly sharp, his face still.

“My sister? Whatever do you mean?” he asked, quietly.

Reuben guffawed at a joke he had just told, but Nash looked from Jeremy to Ralph quickly, sensing the tension in Ralph's tone and knowing how mercurial the Earl of Oaksgrove could be.

“She was there, was she not?” Jeremy said casually.

That reaction is all I need. He is as overbearing and protective as ever. A jailer more than a brother. No wonder she was so keen to give in to her passions. She has been kept in a cage all these years.

The image of Harriet swam up in his mind's eye.

Emerald eyes brighter than the actual jewel, shining out at him from behind the black raven mask.

The falls of silky black hair and the expanse of pure white, delicate skin.

The idea of her being imprisoned was unconscionable.

Jeremy had to suppress the urge to remonstrate with Ralph.

I must keep a clear head. I wish to pretend she is my betrothed, not actually become involved with her.

“She should not have been. I forbade it as I myself was unable to attend.”

The four fell silent, even Reuben becoming aware of the quiet menace in Ralph's voice.

“I only saw her, I did not speak to her personally,” Jeremy dismissed easily. “I say, this wine is excellent, I must remember to speak to the wine steward about procuring a few cases for the El Dorado .”

He noticed Ralph's hands tighten on his knees, eyes boring into his temples.

“Oh, did either of you chaps happen to speak to... to... what is her name again?”

“ Harriet ,” Ralph snapped.

Reuben and Nash both demurred, exchanging looks.

Jeremy simply smiled.

“I had not seen her for years. She does not have your coloring, I note. That fair hair of hers, something inherited from her father, I assume? He was blonde as a Viking, as I recall.”

Ralph's mouth twitched into a smile then. He seemed to relax, and as he did, the atmosphere that had descended upon the table also eased.

“No. Her hair is as black as mine, old boy. We both take after our mother in that respect. You must have mistaken another for her. She did not leave home that night, I can assure you.”

Jeremy raised his palms in mock surrender. “Ah, my mistake. It has been so long since I saw her last, I cannot for the life of me recall what Henrietta looked like.”

Ralph laughed, a booming, full-bellied laugh that was characteristic of him.

“ Harriet , Penhaligon. Her name is Harriet. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were trying to insult me. I am not against behaving as Monsieur Dumas had our namesakes behave and demand satisfaction.”

“A duel? How exciting,” Reuben exclaimed, rubbing his hands in wonder, “we have not had a spot of serious fencing for some time.”

“I still bear the scar,” Jeremy muttered, “when friend D'Artagnan here slipped and his blade scraped my ribs.”

He pointed to Ralph, who grinned wickedly.

“ Slipped ? Yes, I do recall that was the story I settled on.”

Jeremy joined in with the boisterous laughter now, pouring himself and his friends another glass of wine each.

Now I know. Ralph is as restrictive as ever, and Harriet was not at the ball with his permission. First thing tomorrow, I shall ride to Oaksgrove and give her my ultimatum.

A secret for a secret.

Harriet awoke from dreams of being pursued by Eloise de Rouvroy, intent on vengeance for the theft of her lover.

She had been running, desperate to reach the safety of Oaksgrove but unable to find her way.

Ralph had appeared in the dream atop a horse.

She had begged for his help, and he had glared down his nose at her in judgment, turning away as the French lady appeared, eyes murderous.

“You have tainted the Tisdale name. You have dishonored the memory of our parents!” Ralph had scolded. “I tried to protect you from men such as he... I can protect you no longer.”

Harriet had awoken as she had screamed to her brother that she had not intended to dishonor their mother and father. Just to experience something of life. A taste of freedom.

She stared at the ceiling of her bedchamber, chest heaving. Morning light seeped into her room around the edges of the curtains. The dream had left an unpleasant sensation, an anxious tension.

I have done nothing wrong. I attended a ball that Ralph had no right to prevent me from attending. I was mistaken for another and...

And she had indulged desires within herself that she had not known even existed. Had allowed her brother's closest friend to... She closed her eyes, but the memory of Jeremy's face, his touch, and even his scent were far too strong in the darkness behind her eyelids.

A knock came at the door. Harriet knew the sound of her lady's maid.

“Come in, Marianne,” she called out.

The bedroom door clicked open, and Marianne hurried into the room and over to the window. She was petite with hair of dark bronze and a round, pretty face that made her look younger than her years. She peeked around the edges of the curtains.

“Whatever is the matter, Marianne?” Harriet frowned in befuddlement.

“Begging your pardon, Lady Harriet,” Marianne whispered in her strong country accent, which dropped the H sound at the beginning of words, “but a carriage has just arrived. It is Master Ralph and another gentleman. I thought you would want to know.”

Harriet jerked bolt upright in bed, throwing back the bedclothes. She dashed to the window, looking down into the courtyard of Oaksgrove. Her brother's carriage had rolled up, and he was just alighting.

“I did not expect him back so soon!” she squeaked, panicked.

“You don't think he found out about you slipping out last week, do you? I swear that Mr. Beecham never knew you wasn't in your room. I made sure!”

Harriet was no longer listening. Another man had stepped out of the carriage and was standing in the courtyard while Ralph pointed out some facet of the architecture, talking animatedly.

The man was Jeremy Cavendish. As Ralph talked, Jeremy glanced around as though he could feel Harriet watching him.

Moments later, their eyes met, and Harriet felt as though they were the only two people in the world.

She found herself leaning on the window frame, knees trembling under that cold, blue-eyed gaze.

This is what it feels like to be a sparrow fixed in the gaze of a hunting hawk. I feel like prey, and I do not know that it is a sensation I dislike…

She was dressed in her shift, a thin slip of cotton that exposed a little more than the ankles of her bare feet.

Perhaps Jeremy could see that she was not fully proper, but even if he could not, Harriet felt a shivering thrill at the knowledge that he might.

She dug her toes into the carpet, tensing her thigh muscles as a wave of delirious excitement swept through her.

Then, Ralph was looking around, and Jeremy's eyes tore from hers.

The spell shattered, Harriet let the curtains fall back across the window, and turned to Marianne.

“I do not think he has found out, or he would not be so amenable. He looked like he was enjoying showing off the house to his friend. I need to dress quickly and go down to greet them. Please lay out a morning dress for me.”

Marianne hurried to the wardrobe, flinging open the doors and selecting a garment.

Harriet's selection of garments were plain and uninspiring.

The gown that Ralph had commissioned for her to wear at the Chelmsford's ball was the finest she had ever owned.

Suddenly, Harriet felt resentment that she would stand before Jeremy in a drab dress, wanting to appear before him as she had at the ball.

I must stop this! He is not a man I can ever have, nor can he have me. Oh my, what a thought! If he is going to insist on his mad plan, I would be better looking as drab and plain as I can!

“My letter to the Duke of Penhaligon definitely went with the first post on Wednesday last week?” Harriet hastened to ask as Marianne helped her button up a dress of navy blue that covered Harriet from chin to toe.

“It did. I took it to the post office in Danbury myself and handed it over to the post master,” the maid nodded.

Harriet breathed slightly easier. The letter had been the first bit of business she had attended to after speaking with Jane during their walk on Danbury Common the previous Tuesday.

Precisely a week ago now. In it, she had told Jeremy in no uncertain terms that she wished the rumor that they were engaged to be quashed and that she would have no part of his plan.

I should have written it the moment I returned from the ball. Why did I not? Still, it has been a week since Jane and I encountered that terrible de Rouvroy woman. Plenty of time for Jeremy to receive the letter and make other plans for his business. Whatever they may be.

Harriet hurried downstairs as Ralph's brash voice echoed through the foyer.

She slowed as she reached the entrance hall, with the breakfast room just off it to the left as one entered the house.

Men's voices resounded from that room. By the time Harriet reached the door, she had composed herself…

mostly. She feared that she would be scarlet within moments of seeing the Duke.

“Ah, there she is! See, old chap, hair as black as coal,” Ralph chortled.

He and Jeremy were seated at the breakfast table. Ralph was speaking around a mouthful of toast while Jeremy merely stirred a cup of tea.

“Yes… I see. I was certainly mistaken. I do not think I would make that mistake again. No other woman quite captures the essence of Lady Harriet Tisdale.”

“Indeed not. Black hair with light eyes is unusual enough. Green, even rarer. Do sit down, dear sister, no need to stand on ceremony. You remember my old school friend Jeremy Cavendish?”

Harriet took a seat opposite Jeremy. The only other place setting at the table was her grandmother's customary seat. The width of the table did not seem enough to separate her from the Duke. He felt very close… too close.

“Vaguely,” she answered. “I think it has been a long time, has it not?”

“Some years since I was last here,” the Duke harrumphed in response. Then, he narrowed his eyes, “But have I not seen you socially? In the Chelmsford Assembly Rooms, perhaps?”

“Hardly,” her brother scoffed while pointing his fork, “I do not frequent such places and would not dream of allowing Harriet to go alone.”

“No, I do not attend such events, Your Grace,” Harriet said primly.

“Such a pity. There can be few young ladies who do not enjoy dancing. Had you been present at Chelmsford's recent masquerade, I would certainly have asked you to dance,” he paused, “With your guardian's permission, of course.”

“Would you have consented?” Harriet asked of Ralph.

He was reaching for another slice of toast.

“For a friend? Of course! You would be safe enough,” her brother chuckled.

Jeremy beamed boyishly. “You see. Perhaps I can take this opportunity to reserve the first dance at the next event where we are both present?”

Harriet hid her blush behind a teacup. The idea of being held, even in the formal clasp of a ballroom frame, by Jeremy, was intoxicating.

“It will not be for at least a month, and the season will be over by the time my business has concluded,” Ralph put in between mouthfuls of toast, “but if there are any events scheduled by the time I return—then I'm sure Harriet will so promise.”

“I am not so sure I care for dancing overmuch,” she said instead.

“No, as I feared. I think you would be as well seeking a partner elsewhere, old chap,” Ralph shrugged.

Jeremy's eyes were like a physical touch made more intense by her brother's presence.

It made the expression in those eyes and the physical response it produced in Harriet even more illicit, forbidden, and therefore…

exciting. Under the table, she felt a touch and realized that Jeremy's foot was nudging hers.

She pulled her foot away and stood, using the excuse of reaching for a pot of honey.

“Allow me,” Jeremy said, rising also.

He touched the honey at the same time as Harriet, their fingers meeting around the ceramic pot. Harriet snatched her hand away, fleeing from the rampant desire that ignited within her at the contact.

I must get hold of myself!

“What brings you home so soon, brother?” she asked Ralph, resuming her seat and patting down her skirts.

“Some papers I needed to collect from my solicitor in Chelmsford. Too important to entrust to the post. I met Jeremy at White’s, and he said that he was returning to Penhaligon, so I offered him a lift. He hasn't seen Oaksgrove since the refurbishment.”

“And I have a dinner engagement tomorrow evening with the Suttons,” Jeremy added, adjusting the cuff of his coat. “Actually, I find myself quite alone for the appointment. If you are free, Harriet, perhaps you would like to accompany me? The Winchesters do love bridge, we could make up a four.”

“I'm afraid not, sport,” Ralph said firmly, “I return to London tomorrow morning so would not be available to escort Harriet. It is quite out of the question.”