Harriet knew she could not stand there forever. Should not be secretly spying on himat all, in fact. She could not claim the moral high ground on the matter of their betrothal if she had been behaving as a voyeur.
Coughing, she kicked the door shut behind her with her heel, and Jeremy jumped at the noise. He spun to face her, and despite her best efforts, she barely managed to bite back a gasp.
His chest was broad and bulging with muscle. His abdomen was rigidly defined, and his stomach sleekly flat. His underclothes did little to disguise his manhood, and Harriet tore her eyes away from that part of him, mortified that he might have noticed her looking. Her cheeks flamed brightly.
“I brought you some dry clothes. You and Ralph are of a similar height, I think. I hope they fit.”
She came halfway into the room, holding out the bundle at arm's length. Jeremy advanced to take them, and his fingers slipped along hers as he did so. Harriet shivered, unable to face him.
“Thank you. Though I still insist it would have been easier simply to return to the house.”
“No!” Harriet shot back, “Beecham would have reported to Ralph, and he would never have forgiven me. Or you, for that matter. He must not know. Now, please, dress.”
“I must dry myself first. Or his clothes will bear the marks of water, and it will raise suspicions.”
It was an entirely reasonable point that Harriet could not help but concede. Jeremy set the clothes down on a chair shrouded by a dust sheet. He went to stand at the fire, this time keeping his back to it. Harriet turned away, going to the window and gazing out over the woodland pool below.
“Have you thought any more on my proposal?” he eventually asked into the cozy silence. “The one you deny already agreeing to by letter.”
“I think that letter must have been sent by my friend Jane. She had urged me to accept,” Harriet replied.
“Then I must thank her. It is crucial to me.”
Harriet forgot herself enough to glimpse over her shoulder at him.
He stood with hands clasped behind his back, which made his pectorals stand out. His eyes were sky blue, as piercing as an eagle's. There was the hint of a smile on his face.
“Why is it crucial?” she asked.
“All you need to know is that I must be well regarded by the Winchesters,” he answered.
“And that should satisfy me? I risk my reputation and my freedom, yet aren’t owed an explanation as to what I shall be risking it for?”
Jeremy sighed, half in concession. “It is sensitive. But relates to a property I wish to purchase. That Imustpurchase.”
“Yes, evidently. But I do not see how property can be so important. Unless you are like Ralph and only care for expanding your wealth.”
Jeremy strode toward her immediately, standing before the window. “I amnothinglike your brother. He has always been obsessed with status and wealth. Even at school. I do not desire money for money's sake.”
There was naked passion on his face, his eyes ablaze. Harriet believed him. There was authenticity and honesty in that anger. She licked her lips, feeling the temptation to agree. Temptation born out of her desire to remain close to this man. To dance with him. To be seen by others as his fiancée. To know that those others believed that she and Jeremy were kissing in corners. Kissing andmorein the way of young engaged couples.
She turned away, shivering at the desire that pulsed through her, trying to maintain her self-control. Jeremy caught her arm, spinning her back to face him.
“I promise you that I will keep your secret. About the Chelmsford Ball. And offer you a secret of my own for you to keep. A trade. My reputation in your hands. Yours in mine.”
I could look into those earnest eyes all day. And all night. Oh, how I wish I could look up into those eyes from my bed, while he is above me... Oh my! Where did that thought come from!
“There is no stream here to kick you into,” Harriet said breathlessly.
“Thank goodness,” he grinned back, “and you would not stamp on my feet while I am wearing neither shoes nor stockings?”
Harriet could not help but smile, too. “I could not.”
His nearness carried the lingering trace of his cologne—spice threaded with warm wood, as if the water had failed to wash him clean of it. The scent suited him: a Viking warlord with leather and steel in his blood.
Would it be so bad to indulge in this fantasy for a month? To be in his company, hold his hand, be kissed by him in the pretense of being betrothed. He is extraordinarily handsome and Herculean in his masculinity.
“I see the temptation in your eyes,” Jeremy said softly, that rakish smile of his returning. “You cannot hide from me.”
