“Aye. I’m aware all right.” Oliver’s fingertips grazed her jaw as he pressed up against her. “Don’t pick him, Harry. Pick me.”
Confusion plunged Harriet’s brain into a fog-like state as Oliver’s mouth met hers. He was kissing her, even though he thought she was male, which was not only strange, but also highly illegal. Were it not for the fact that she was indeed a woman.
She’d barely managed to process this before something distracted her from it. Not the kiss, which she meant to put an end to with a hard shove, but something wet and sticky in her snuggly fitted trousers.
Oh no. Not now.
She placed her palm on Oliver’s chest and pushed him until he was forced to retreat.
A pained expression filled his eyes. “Not good enough for you?”
“It’s got nothing to do with that.”
“He’s too fancy, you know. That sort of man will set his sights higher than on a compositor with ink-stained fingers. Provided he even leans that way.”
Although the comment was made in anger, Harriet knew it was true. As much as it stung, she had more important things to consider right now. “I need to use the privy.”
Oliver gave her an odd look. “Right now?”
“Yes.” She shoved her way past him and ran to her bag, acutely aware that her situation was not getting any better.
“What the hell, Harry?” He fell quiet for a moment as she tore her bag open and started rummaging through her things, searching for the cotton padding she always carried with her. And then… “It looks like your trousers are stained. Did you sit in something?”
“No.” She was always so careful to pay attention to when she might next expect her courses, but she’d been busy and distracted lately, and if she wasn’t mistaken, they’d come a bit early.
“Well, it looks like you’ve pissed yourself,” Oliver stated with a chuckle.
Harriet muttered an oath. “I haven’t…”
She gritted her teeth as she realized her bag did not contain the supplies she needed. Brilliant! Closing her eyes, she tried to figure out what to do next. She could perhaps use a cravat in a pinch, though she’d need more than one if she were to hold everything in place.
Swallowing, she settled on the best course of action and glanced at Oliver. Now that she knew his secret, she was certain he’d keep hers as well. It might even make him feel better if he were to find out she didn’t appeal as much as he’d thought. Unless he felt betrayed on account of her deception.
Never mind that. Time was of the essence. She couldn’t afford to question herself any longer.
“I need your help,” she said, hoping he’d make this easy on her.
He snorted. “First you reject me and then you come running. A fine friend you are, Harry.”
“My name isn’t Harry.”
He gave her a puzzled look before rolling his eyes and shaking his head. “Sure it is.”
“No. It isn’t. It’s Harriet.” When all he did was give her a blank stare, she admitted. “I’m not male like you think. I’m female, and I’ve just gotten my courses. That’s why my trousers are stained.”
His eyes widened as his face turned ashen. “You’re not joking?”
“I’m not. Please, Oliver, I need your cravat.” She sighed when all he did was stare at her in mute silence. “I’ll be sure to buy you a new one. Promise.”
“All right.” Moving stiffly, he undid the knot, unwound the length of linen from around his neck, and handed it to her, his hand trembling.
“Thank you.” She grabbed the cravat and ran for the privy. “Be right back.”
When she returned some five minutes later, Oliver was sitting on a stool, hugging himself while he stared at the floor. Hearing her enter the room, he glanced in her direction, blinked rapidly, and rushed to his feet. Pausing as though unsure of what to do next, he studied her with alarm.
“Are you sure you’re not male?” he eventually asked.
She produced a startled laugh. “Positive.”
