The reply carried a barb, and again Harriet felt the tug of familiarity. Not only the sound of the voice, but the attitude displayed by the tone. It had been mocking, sarcastic even. The voices were muffled by the sound of footsteps passing by, servants or other guests. Then the door handle was turning.
Harriet jumped and picked up her skirts, running to the nearest bookshelf and taking refuge behind it.
Why am I running and hiding? This is nonsense. I have done nothing wrong. I am reacting from pure panic, and I do not know why!
She heard the door open and stood for a moment, screened from sight by the bookshelf, breathing hard and fighting to control her racing heart.
“Ah, my woman in black at last,” came the second voice she had heard.
Harriet realized that the skirts of her dress were still visible, just beyond the edge of the bookcase. She snatched them close, out of sight. Now that it was undisguised by the closed door, she fully recognized the voice.
It belonged to a friend of her brother's, Jeremy Cavendish, the Duke of Penhaligon. She pressed her hands to her chest as though to quell the racing of her pulse.
The Duke was beyond handsome. She remembered his tall, broad-shouldered frame with a muscular chest that his shirt and waistcoat could not disguise. The flowing blonde hair and those piercing blue eyes. She and Jane had both swooned over him once.
Not a man I should be alone with, though. He has never struck me as a gentleman. No man with such hunger in his eyes can possibly be someone with whom a respectable woman is safe. He always reminded me of the old stories of Viking ravishers…
Her cheeks flamed at the thought. His footsteps were coming closer, slow and measured. It made her think of a predator stalking its prey. She picked up her skirts again and ran on light feet to the end of the row and around the next standing shelf.
There came a low chuckle. “I see the bird has flown. You were not so demure in your letters to me, Mademoiselle.”
That voice was silky smooth. It was refined and educated, deep and mellifluous. But the words he spoke conjured images in Harriet's mind that she felt ashamed of.
No respectable woman should think such things! What did this Mademoiselle say in her letters? It is none of my business. I should speak up and tell him he has the wrong person…
But then there was the small matter of her brother. If she was recognized, there was little uncertainty in the fact that her midnight adventure would be relayed to Ralph, who would never let her take a step outside of Oaksgrove Manor, let alone the lands!
He was walking the length of the bookcase, following in her footsteps. In moments, he would round the corner and be standing before her. Harriet ran again, racing to the far end and into the next row. As she rounded the end of the next bookcase,her hand caught a book that was projecting out from the rest. It tumbled to the floor with a loud slap.
“I do enjoy a chase… That, at least, is consistent with your last letter. Chasing and being caught, wasn't it? I think the word you used was…restrained.”
He chuckled again, and Harriet felt a tingling somewhere deep down in response. Her stomach fluttered, and her heart skipped a beat. The sound of something metallic reached her, like the jangling of keys. Lamps stood in alcoves at the far end of each bookcase. Harriet saw his shadow preceding him. He was not following her this time but walking along the end of the bookcases, cutting across and about to step out in front of her.
She whirled, but her foot landed on the fallen book. It slid across the polished stone floor, and her foot went with it. She stumbled and fell to hands and knees. There was a twinge of pain in her left ankle, and she cried out in surprise. A shadow fell across her, and she looked back over her shoulder.
He was as large as she remembered... His blonde hair showed in glorious disarray around the black wolf mask.
“I fear the chase is ended prematurely. And this book is the cause,” he picked up the offending volume and then laughed, “an ecclesiastical treatise on the proper behavior of men and women prior to and after marriage. Why, I had no idea you were so concerned with moral behavior. Let me help you.”
Before she could speak, the Duke had stooped and picked her up in his arms. Harriet found that her voice was frozen in her throat. She wanted to tell him who she was, that he was mistaken, but part of her didn't want the game to come to an end, nor the consequences that might come after.
The recklessness of her behavior took her breath away. Her heart hammered like that of a galloping horse. Her scalp tingled. She had never felt such an overwhelming, wanton thrill. The Duke's eyes bored into hers through the eye-holes of his mask. They were cold and hard but also brimming with barely controlled passion and desire.
“Your choice of costume is… inspired. It stands out so from the humdrum of the rest. I saw you the moment you entered the room.” His eyes roamed down her body, and Harriet found herself breathing deeper, her bosom heaving as she realized he was staring at her breasts. His hands, where they held her, became the center of her senses. One hand was around her back and mere inches from her left breast. The other was beneath her legs.
It is the first time a man has touched me, except for hugs from my father and brother. Oh my, if I feel this way for a mere touch on my leg, how will it be if he touches me elsewhere?
“Try not to blush, your skin is wonderfully pale and feminine. If you blush, I might think you less innocent than you appear,” the Duke murmured, his voice a seductive rumble that sent shivers of anticipation through Harriet’s entire being.
She bit her lower lip and saw his eyes widen slightly, his own lips part, and realized that he found the gesture alluring.
He finds me desirable. Heavens, I must speak or... or I do not know what will happen!
CHAPTER FOUR
Jeremy bore his quarry through the rows of bookcases, toward a chaise longue screened from the door—a nook made for reading, and for anything else a body might prefer to do in private.
He knew that in the game they played, the anticipation was almost as pleasurable as the act of love. From the letters he had exchanged with this French ex-patriot whose family had fled Napoleon, she regarded teasing as an essential part of the dance.Herwords, and he was happy to oblige.
