Compromised Miss. Anne O'Brien
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what her mind informed her was only right and proper. Her mind, of course, had the victory.
‘You don’t have to, my lord. We both know my honour was not compromised.’
‘I know it, as do you. But unfortunately the polite world is not kind to even the veriest whisper of scandal. It can be cruel and malicious. If you have any ambition to attract a husband, you must be aware of the dangers for you if gossip wags its spiteful tongue.’
He watched her as she thought over his words with utmost seriousness. She frowned a little as she replied, as if her words were painful to her, as they were. ‘It seems to me, my lord, that there are far more advantages for me in this arrangement. All you get is an unsuitable wife and the Ghost.’
‘And it’s important to me.’ Surprising her, and perhaps himself, the Earl took her hand in his good right one and Harriette felt an arresting sparkle of light ripple through her blood. His clasp was firm around her fingers, strong with more than a hint of possession. Never in her life had she felt so dominated by a man. She was intensely aware of his forceful presence and their seclusion, of the strength of his will when he had set his mind to a course of action. His words confirmed it. ‘Let us have plain speaking between us, Miss Lydyard. Is there someone whom you love, to whom you are promised?’
Harriette shook her head.
‘Then we are both without entanglements and of an age to enter into this agreement of our own free will.’
‘But that isn’t so. I think there is a lady close to your heart.’
His brows twitched together. ‘I don’t…’
‘A lady named Marie-Claude.’
His eyes flashed a warning. ‘No. Whatever I said in delirium, you misunderstood, Miss Lydyard. She is nothing to me.’ His response held a hard bite. ‘I promise to be an attentive and tolerant husband. I will defend your name and your honour with all the power I have. I will not make more demands on you than you are willing to give—and in return you will allow me use of the Ghost. Miss Harriette Lydyard, will you do me the honour of accepting my hand in marriage?’ His proposal held none of the warm emotion that might be expected in a bridegroom towards the woman who would put her future into his hands, but he kissed Harriette’s fingers, lips cool on her skin, that stirred a hot little flame in her heart. ‘It would please me, restore us both to the good graces of polite society and solve all manner of problems for you.’
A proposal of marriage. Harriette floundered in a morass of indecision. How remote, how austere he was, as if it meant nothing to him. And perhaps it didn’t. She could not do it. It would bring her more sorrow than happiness.
Then the Earl smiled at her. What an impossibly charming smile he had, making him too dangerously attractive. And suddenly Harriette found herself tottering on the edge of forgetting all her clear reasoning as to why she should not take this step. It was so very appealing. Her gaze was caught by his so that she felt as if she were pulled along as by waves in a strong tide. If she were not careful, she would be dragged inexorably below the surface and then she would be lost…
‘Miss Lydyard? My future hangs on your reply.’
‘Really?’ She looked askance.
‘Really, Miss Lydyard!’ His mouth firmed into an impatient line.
She must give him an answer of course. And did so with dry appreciation. ‘Your tongue is as smooth as French silk, my lord. The only thing I regret is that, if I do agree, it will please my brother.’
‘He is no longer of any concern to you. For you, Miss Lydyard, if you will accept my offer, you now belong to me.’
It was outrageously proprietary. Intensely possessive. Very male and very confident. Harriette’s heart leaped within the confines of her outmoded bodice. And again, a harder beat, when his clasp tightened and he pulled her slowly towards him. Was he intending to kiss her? Fear struck.
‘I should tell you, my lord, that not only can I not dance, but I have never been kissed, either.’
‘Then it will be my pleasure to show you how it is done, to consolidate our agreement.’
As a kiss it surprised her. It was very gentle, the softest of meetings of lips, hardly more than a sharing of breath between them. Harriette felt he had made an effort not to frighten her, but now fear was not in her mind. She sighed, taking a step closer, and, sensing it, the Earl slid his good arm around her waist and drew her closer still, firm against his chest, his thighs, whilst his lips warmed and teased. Enveloped by his arms, it was as if all her senses became startlingly alive so that his scent, his touch stroked her, to fill her with a delight that she could never have imagined. Gentle as it was, it reduced her to a shimmer of liquid pleasure. Until he released her, tilted his head as if struck by a thought, before placing a final caress between her brows.
‘So we are agreed? It would not be appropriate for me to kiss a lady who was other than my betrothed.’
And Harriette, hopelessly entranced, gasped at his slide into light humour. How could she possibly tell him that he had stolen both her breath and her heart in that one simple undemanding gesture? ‘Then I must accept, mustn’t I, for I am not in the habit of allowing any gentleman to kiss me. But one thing I would ask.’ She lowered her eyes so he would not see the anxiety that began to build in her chest again.
‘Since you saved my life, I think I am duty bound to grant whatever you request, Miss Lydyard.’
‘I don’t want a society wedding. Not at some fashionable church in London under the eyes of the ton. Not in the midst of your Corinthian set.’
‘Very well. Then where?’
‘Here. With a special licence.’
‘Then it shall be so.’
Relief swept through her, and astonishment that he would agree so readily. He had not even asked her to explain, something she did not wish to do. ‘If I am to escape, then let it be quick. Do you know a bishop, my lord?’
‘I think I can lay claim to it.’ Then, ‘My name is Lucius,’ he prompted.
‘Lucius.’ She tried it on her tongue. Heavy. Classical. Aristocratic. She must have frowned.
His mouth was a touch sardonic. ‘If you don’t care for it, try Luke.’
‘Is that what your family call you?’
‘My brother, Adam, does.’
Harriette tried it in her mind. Luke! She liked it. It suited his dark good looks. ‘Then I will.’
‘So we are decided. As long as I don’t have to wed you in this garment.’
‘I doubt your own coat will be redeemable—although I’m sure you have any number of such fashionable garments. I should tell you I took a knife to the seams. I thought you were bleeding to death.’
‘Then I must thank God you did. Although Weston might not be too happy at the destruction of his masterpiece.’
‘Whoever Weston might be, he did not have to deal with an emergency! I promise I won’t wed you in boots and breeches.’
‘I can ask for nothing more, Captain Harry.’
‘I am very grateful.’
Reaching out, he startled Harriette by running a finger along the edge of her jaw, lifting her chin so that she must look up at him. Then with a swift movement belying his bruising, Luke swooped and kissed her again, hard and sure.
His demeanour might be cool, but his mouth held the heat of a searing flame. His previous kiss had warmed her with pleasure. This was a brand that scorched her, fire consuming every inch of her body. It stirred a hunger in her of which she had no experience. It turned her limbs to water. Harriette pressed her hands against his chest, not to make a distance between them but simply to savour the warmth of his body, the solid beat of his heart under