Trees surrounded it and obscured her view as they climbed the slope atop which the house sat. The woods were dark, deep shadows making them seem foreboding. Harriet shivered.
I must get a grip of myself. Woods are dark, and old stone is always dark. It does not signify anything. I know where I am going and who I am going to.
The carriage passed through a tall gate of iron-banded wood and stopped before an imposing stone portico. Ivy clambered over the walls around it and even across some of the windows. As Harriet alighted, Jeremy emerged. His eyes went over her critically.
“It is hardly the garment I would have chosen for such an evening,” he muttered.
“And a good evening to you, too, Your Grace,” she smiled drily. “This is a perfectly fine dress. Well made by an excellent seamstress.”
“It is not a patch on the gown you wore to the Chelmsford ball. I had something like that in mind. Not the same garment, obviously. Lady Margaret has already seen you in that one, it would not do to wear the same again.”
“Do you think that every family has the means to buy expensive ball gowns and then wear them once?” Harriet demanded, planting her fists on her hips.
He frowned, as though that was exactly what he had been thinking.
“I am here, and this is the best gown that I have,” she finished swiftly.
Jeremy reached into his waistcoat pocket and took out a fobwatch, consulted it for a moment, and then shrugged.
“We have an hour before the Winchesters arrive. I have a solution, I believe. Follow me.”
She bit her tongue as she followed him into the house, wanting to give him a good piece of her mind for his insolence.
I hope that my agreeing to this secret arrangement will not mean that he now rides roughshod over my feelings, believing me to be trapped. I would rather risk Ralph's ire by telling him I disobeyed first.
Penhaligon Manor was a brooding place of dark wood and sullen portraits. Dusty swords hung on the walls as they ascended the stairs with battered suits of armor on the landings. Sunlight filtered through the ivy that seemed to be trying to encapsulate the building, adding to the feeling of glowering age. Jeremy led her to the second floor and along a passageway, opening a door at the end.
Harriet found herself in a room that was empty except for a large wardrobe and a dressing table. A row of windows looked out over a tumbling arrangement of gardens bordered by the dark woods.
Jeremy swung open the wardrobe doors, and Harriet gasped as she saw that it was stuffed with glittering gowns in a rainbow of colors.
“Oh my, I have never seen such a collection,” she gasped.
He shrugged. “I fancy that they should fit you, and at least they are of the correct standard. I will send up a maid to help you dress.”
He turned on his heel, and without thinking, Harriet caught his arm.
“Have I done something to offend? Besides my terrible dress sense?” she smiled, trying to make light.
Jeremy glanced down at her, and she thought she saw a softening in his face, just for a moment.
“No, you have not. It is merely the weight of the occasion,” he said after a moment's hesitation.
That hesitation was enough to tell Harriet that he was not being completely honest with her. She could not think what it was she had done or said that could have put him out of sorts, though.
Why am I worrying so much over it? If he has decided to take offense because I wore a dress that he did not think grand enough, then it should be no concern of mine. Does he not need me more than I need him?
“I am sorry that I did not quite grasp the etiquette of the situation. I am unused to social occasions such as these. My brother rarely let me attend them,” she said, swallowing her irritation and trying to keep the peace.
Jeremy bowed his head, but she could spot the tension that kept his neck and shoulders rigid. She felt an urge to reach out to him, to work her fingers into the knots of tension in his muscles and try to caress them away. That led her to imagine him with his shirt off, again. The fact that she knew what he looked like bare from the waist up was thrilling. She felt her cheeks heat, and she turned away at once before she could go too far down the road of remembering what had happened between them just the day before.
We made an agreement. I insisted upon it. I will not be used by a rake as an object of his pleasure!
That thought had to be dismissed immediately, too, for the notion of being his plaything—something she already, in a sense,was—sent shivers up and down her spine. Her breath caught in her throat, and she tried to conceal the fact by coughing delicately.
“Excuse me, this room is rather dusty.”
The sentiment was true; of this floor and this room. The duke scanned about guiltily.
