It seemed purely paranoiac. He shook his head to dispel thoughts of Simon Winchester. The disturbingly well-connected Simon Winchester.
“Yes?” he replied, voice rising in pitch.
A small sound came from behind the curtain, an exhalation as though of surprise.
“I thought I heard you get up,” Harriet said.
“I did,” Jeremy replied, moving closer still.
He reached out to the curtain and allowed his fingers to stroke its velvety surface without betraying his touch. When he feltpressure from the other side, he snatched his hand away. He heard the minute gasp again and returned his hand to the curtain.
There was a small sound as of stockinged feet shuffling over plush carpet. The curtain swayed, and the pressure came again. This time, he found his fingers coming into contact with something soft.
Not her hand reaching out as I am. Not her fingers, as it was the first time…
He pressed his hand inward, and the curtain molded itself around the form on the other side. Jeremy pressed with all five fingers, feeling the deliciously soft contours, feeling the substance of what he was touching give way, submit before his probing. Even through the thickness of the drapes, he could feel the island of hardness at the center of that mound of femininity. He pinched it between thumb and forefinger and heard the urgent intake of breath from the other side.
A wolfish grin settled onto Jeremy's face. Thoughts of trust and conspiracies vanished from his mind. Thoughts of seduction and a particular kind of adventure became foremost.
This is ill-advised…
A small voice chastised him. The same voice that had told him it had been foolish to indulge in games with Eloise De Rouvroy on a night when he should have been winning over the Winchesters. He didn't listen then, and he did not listen now. While resuminghis tactile study of what was surely a breast through the material of the curtain with one hand, he pressed the other against it lower down.
Harriet squeaked, and he felt her figure stepping back quickly. No,leapingback. He grinned and prepared to tear the curtain aside, when a sharp knock rattled the door. Mrs. Painter's voice followed.
“Milord? Milady? I am sorry to disturb, but his Lordship the Earl of Oaksgrove is without. I had clean forgotten that he had made an appointment today for the furnishing of a dress to his sister. I am terribly sorry, but I simply cannot let a man of his rank stand on the pavement, not when he has a longstanding appointment.”
“I am a Duke. I outrank him,” Jeremy snapped, moving to the door.
Or trying to. Harriet reached through the curtains to seize the tail of his coat. He halted, glancing over his shoulder. She was still concealed by the curtain, only a bare arm visible.
“But he made an appointment. I must admit him. Do you know him, Your Grace?”
“I do, we are old friends.”
“Oh, then all is well. You will not mind sharing the shop with an old friend.”
The relief in Mrs. Painter's voice was palpable.
“Remain where you are,” Jeremy whispered, doubtless quite unnecessarily.
That bare arm seemed quite naked all the way to the shoulder. He wondered if she had removed her shift as well. He looked back towards the door, and Harriet flattened her hand against his back as though to push him away. Instead, she ran it up between his shoulder blades and beneath his long hair to the nape of his neck.
He fought the urge to arch his back, refusing to give her the power over him that she sought. His skin seemed to ripple at her caress. His battle was not so much for control as a savage pleasure derived from prolonging the sensation through denial.
Ralph's faint voice reached him along with the voice of a woman greeting Mrs. Painter. And then he heard the proprietor make mention of a Duke.
The sensible course of action is to go through so that Ralph never sets foot in this room and risks finding Harriet. But I am not going to do the sensible thing because that would not be anything like as thrilling.
He remained where he was as Harriet's stroking hand descended his back and almost lingered at his waist.Almost, because as the door opened and Ralph stepped into the room, Harriet's hand dropped further and squeezed Jeremy's buttocks.
“Penhaligon, old chap. What a coincidence that you were coming in here as well as I. What brings you here?” Ralph exclaimed.
“The same as you. A present for a young lady. But mine is not my sister,” Jeremy spoke with a grin that he knew Ralph would recognize.
“Ah, you old hound, you!” Ralph chortled, slapping Jeremy on the shoulder, “I thought it was about time you had a new bit of...”
He looked back at Henrietta, who watched him with a raised eyebrow and a secretive smile.
