“Are you sure Lucy is happy with the room she’s been given?” Brody asked, pulling Harriet away from her thoughts.
She turned and considered the man who was so much more than she’d ever imagined. Not just an editor’s assistant, or a duke, or even a friend, but someone with whom she sensed she could have been happy, if life had dealt them a different hand.
“It exceeded her expectations,” Harriet said. “Mine too, I admit.”
“I’m glad.” He smiled warmly, prompting her heart into a hopeful flutter. “And you’re welcome to take a bath too if you like. Dinner can wait another half hour.”
“Thank you, but that would give your staff extra trouble. Besides, I thought I’d wait with my bath until I’m ready to retire.” She gave him a sharp look. “Unless you’ve determined I need one sooner.”
He laughed and crossed to the sideboard. “No. It’s fine. You can wait if you like. I generally like to have my bath before bed as well. Drink?”
She’d never tasted liquor before in her life. Only wine, the ale Brody had bought her and once, a glass of champagne. Brandy wasn’t something she was too keen on trying, but men did drink it, so wouldn’t it make sense for her to have some after the day she’d just had?
“Please,” she said, deciding that it would at least give her something to do with her hands.
They’d been fidgety ever since Brody had asked her to visit. Agreeing to do so presented her with a couple of challenges she would much rather avoid. For instance, she still had her courses and would have to hide that from Brody’s maids. There were too many people here paying attention. And what if Lucy accidentally let it slip that Harriet wasn’t a man? She never used the name Harry. Only Harriet.
“Here you go.” Brody held a glass toward her, and as she took it, her fingers brushed his. The touch was fleeting, though just as affecting as when he’d held her hands earlier today. Sparks shot up her arms and made her skin sizzle. Her gaze instinctively darted to his and the intensity she saw there rendered her breathless.
Unable to utter one word, she shook her head while once again wondering if she imagined the raw desire she was seeing, for if she didn’t…
Her stomached tightened and her knees grew weak. Brody grabbed her elbow. “All right? You looked a bit dizzy for a moment.”
“It’s, um…nothing. I’m fine.”
“Let’s hope this thing Lucy has isn’t contagious.”
“Yes.” Her voice sounded faint and husky. Unsure of what to do with it, she clinked her glass against Brody’s then sipped her drink. And promptly winced in response to the bite. The brandy was stronger than she’d expected, and now she was coughing as well. How perfectly marvelous when her intention had been to look suave.
Brody slapped her back hard. “I take it you’ve never had brandy before?”
“No,” she sputtered. There was no point in lying.
He laughed, though not in a way that made her feel more embarrassed, but rather like someone sharing a joke with a friend. “Perhaps you should have the port instead.”
“Is that milder?”
“Very much so.” He prepared a glass and was just about to hand it to her when he paused, deciding to set it down on a table instead. “Give it a try.”
She placed the glass to her lips, ever conscious that he kept his gaze upon her as she drank. The sweeter flavor was soothing and much more agreeable to her taste buds. “I like it.”
He chuckled. “Good. Feel free to help yourself whenever you like. It’s the bottle that’s farthest to the right.”
“Thank you. For everything. I’m in your debt.”
“Don’t think like that.” He suddenly reached up and brushed his fingertips over her brow. “You did well, cleaning the wound. Here too.”
His fingertip brushed her lip, the hot sensation the act produced shooting straight to her core. She gasped and watched his eyes darken. Her stomach tightened and her pulse began racing. Whatever doubts she’d had about his intentions before were promptly dismissed. He lusted for Harry.
No sooner had she determined this than he dropped his hand, muttered a curse, and removed himself to the opposite side of the room. Her heart ached from the loss, not only of his touch but in knowing that he would have no interest in Harriet, just Harry.
“Sorry.” He cleared his throat. “Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable there. It’s quite the cut you sustained though. It’s good to see that there’s little chance of infection.”
“Of course.” It would have been a reasonable explanation had he only touched her brow, but pressing his fingertips to her lips was overstepping by leaps and bounds. Surely he knew this.
Before any more could be said on the matter the butler arrived to announce that dinner was served.
“A tray is being readied for your sister at her request,” the butler informed Harriet once she was seated at the table. “I do hope that’s all right, but the maid attending her said she was hungry. She asked Cook to prepare a broth and some buttered toast.”
