CHAPTER ONE
1816
Oaksgrove, London
Harriet stood before her full-length dress mirror. The afternoon sunlight bathed her in a warm glow. Her dress was resplendent purple and dark blue, glittering in the sunlight with lighter shades that mirrored the sky. Her long hair was black, and her slightly tilted eyes, green. A smile played across her lips, lifting her rosebud cheeks. The mask that accompanied the dress sat on the dressing table beside her, a black raven—emblem of the Earls of Oaksgrove.
If only Mama and Papa could see me. Would they be proud? I hope so.
For a moment, behind her in the mirror, she could see the tall, slender woman with flowing black locks and the green, tilted eyes that her daughter had inherited; sitting on the bed and watching her with a proud smile.
“You are beautiful, Harriet. Enjoy this moment. A ball is a celebration of beauty and you will be the center of attention.”
“And who knows, perhaps you will meet your husband this evening? He had better be worthy of you.”
That was the deep voice of her father, with his long, shaggy light-colored mane and square-jawed face. Sitting next to her mother, one strong arm protectively around her, as Harriet had seen many times when they were alive.
“Who knows indeed,” Harriet whispered, letting the memory of her parents fade.
She could not think of them without some sadness, even today when she was at her happiest. They had been taken so suddenly from her and Ralph. Neither of them had been given the chance to say goodbye.
Ralph copes by throwing himself into the role of Earl. Master of the house and my guardian. Perhaps a little too zealously, but I must forgive him that. He only wants to protect me. As Mama and Papa did.
And this evening, Ralph would escort her to the masquerade ball of the Duke and Duchess of Chelmsford. She snatched up her mask, affixing it to her face, and dashed from her rooms. Along the carpeted hallway past the many landscape paintings created by her father, down the stairs to the second floor, and along the hallway there to her grandmother’s rooms.
She knocked quickly and opened the door. In the sitting room with its south-facing windows, she saw her grandmother sitting in her favorite seat, looking out over the gardens planted by her daughter-in-law, Harriet’s mother.
“No, child,” Agnes Tisdale, Dowager Countess of Danbury, began, “I was not in conference.”
“I did knock, grandmama,” Harriet grimaced.
“Barely,” Agnes replied with a pointed chin.
She had a croquet hoop on her lap and wore her customary black, mourning that had begun for her husband and continued for her son and his wife. She had a strong jaw and the Tisdale’s fair hair, though the only color remaining was white.
“What do you think?” Charlotte asked, turning in a circle with arms widespread.
“A truly beautiful example of Corvus Corax,” Agnes noted.
Harriet tilted her head, a birdlike gesture, confused. Agnes rolled her eyes expressively.
“Child, your parents should have paid more attention to your tutors. It is the Latin name for the raven.”
Harriet smiled, removing the mask and shaking her raven-dark hair loose.
“Ah, Latin was never my strong suit, though I did love my natural history studies.”
“They gave you and your brother a great deal too much leeway when it came to choosing your studies. He wanted to do nothing but ride and shoot, and you wanted to run wild in the woods. Your parents would not be told. They were too keen to see the pair of you happy, even if unhappiness was in your own best interests.”
Harriet gave her grandmother a level look, taking a seat opposite her.
“You do not fool me, grandmama. I remember the stories Papa told me about his upbringing. I think you indulged him as much as he indulged Ralph and me.”
“I did. I was foolish. And look what happened, child.”
She wagged a stern finger at Harriet, who took it and kissed it. Agnes allowed a rueful smile to break through her customary stern expression, drew her granddaughter to her, and kissed the top of her head.
“I am glad that Ralph has overcome his usual excessive protectiveness and is taking you to the Chelmsfords’ ball this evening. A bird should be free, not cooped up in a cage. Even one as gilded as Oaksgrove.”
Harriet rocked. “I am so excited I could barely sleep! I am sure that by the end of this evening, I will be asleep before my head hits the pillow,” she laughed, “I have not been to a ball since my debut. Not to a luncheon or a promenade in Chelmsford. This estate has felt like a prison at times.”
She looked out of the window at the gardens that her mother had loved so much; at the woods beyond which clustered thickly around the southern end of the Oaksgrove estate and included the ancient grove that the estate took its name from.
Though she had the freedom of the grounds and the woods, it felt limiting to know that she was not permitted to go beyond without either Ralph or her grandmother as escort. Not permitted to ride or be carried by carriage alone, either, and never to travel in any carriage that did not belong to Ralph and, therefore, was kept in a state of meticulously good repair.
“Your brother bears the weight of an Earl. Guardian of this house, these lands, his sister and aged grandmother both. It is a heavy burden, and he does the best that any man can,” Agnes remarked somberly, her voice dry with age.
“Of course he does,” Harriet murmured, “and I am one year away from my majority. Then I shall be able to carry some of that weight myself.”
A knock at the door was followed by the door opening, almost before the sound of the knock had reached them. A tall young man with long legs and a shock of coal black hair stepped into the room. He wore an overcoat and carried a top hat. Behind him was a groom carrying two suitcases as well as Oakgrove’s butler, Mr. Beecham.
“Ah, you’re both here. How fortuitous! I just wanted to say goodbye. I received a letter this morning and must bring forward my plans to travel to Bristol. I shall be away for about a month, I should think.”
He spoke in a clipped voice, ever efficient when talking of business. He had the same green eyes as Harriet, his prominent jaw looked out of place with his lean physique, the former from his father; the latter from his mother. Harriet felt a cold chill run through her.
“But this evening is the Chelmsford ball, Ralph… You were to escort me,” she reminded, rising from her seat.
He clapped his hands by his chest. “Ah, yes, I appreciate you must be disappointed, Hattie. But there is nothing for it. I must be in Bristol by daybreak to catch the tide. My ship is due to sail, and I must speak to her captain regarding his trading instructions. There will be other balls.”
It was put in dismissively, as though this occasion were of no consequence.
To him, it quite possibly isn’t. He has the freedom to come and go as he pleases. It does not matter to him that he will not attend the ball. But to me, it is the first time in more than a year that he has agreed to allow me to leave Oaksgrove!
“But Ralph, I have been so looking forward to…”
He looked at her tolerantly and crossed the room to take her hands. There was a kindly look on his face, but also a resolute expression.
“Dear Harriet, I assure you there will be other occasions, but no other chance for me to conduct the business arrangements that are for the good of us all. Please don’t make a fuss.”
Agnes frowned. “No, Ralph, your sister has gone to a great deal of trouble for this evening. Surely, she can be accompanied by—”
“No,” Ralph snapped, “she will not attend alone. Under no circumstances!”
“I am a grown woman…” Harriet protested weakly.
“Only just, and with no experience of the world,” Ralph added.
“But how am I to gain experience of the world if I am locked away here!” Harriet cried.
“Hardly locked away. You have the run of the estate. I am merely saying that you cannot attend the Duke of Chelmsford’s ball,” Ralph said patiently, “come to think of it, Beecham, I would like you to keep a close eye on my sister.”
He directed this last to the butler who stood behind him. The man was shorter than his master and stocky with close-cropped red hair and a freckled, pale-skinned face with blue eyes. He nodded sharply.
“As you say, mi-lord,” he said in a steely tone, glancing once at Harriet.
“And I will hear no more on the subject from you, Hattie. It is for your own good. Perhaps I will find a suitable husband for you during my time in Bristol, think on that.”
He kissed her forehead and gave her hands a squeeze. He smiled benevolently, and Harriet returned the smile weakly.
The house was a prison once more.
“If you will excuse me, I think I will take the air for a while,” she breathed shakily.
Without waiting, she left the room, heading downstairs and for the nearest door that would let her out into the grounds. The hallways and rooms of Oaksgrove seemed smaller all of a sudden, and she felt a craving for fresh open air.
***
“Psst! Harriet, are you alone?”
Harriet was startled out of a reverie that had engulfed her as she walked through the gardens of Oaksgrove. Beside her was a low wall of stone that separated the gardens from the woods beyond. A head of fiery, gold hair was peeking above that wall, framing pale blue eyes.
Harriet looked around. Not for Ralph, he would have left without a second thought. But for Beecham. A very loyal servant and one who took his instructions very seriously.
There was no sign of the butler in the gardens, but Harriet could not be certain that the man was not watching her from one of the house’s windows.
“I think so, Jane. I will meet you at the gate,” she whispered back.
The gate that allowed access to the grove and the woods beyond was a quarter mile along the wall.
“That is far too far! I will meet you at the arbor over there. The wall is not high.”
The head disappeared behind the wall. Harriet hurried along the path to the rose arbor that was a few yards away. She walked under the bright red and white flowers, breathing in their heady aroma. Jane Sullivan appeared atop the wall, scrambled over it to drop to the other side before carefully sidestepping her way through the clutching rose thorns. She grinned at Harriet, who could not help laughing at her friend’s brazen daring.
“What would happen if you fell and twisted an ankle?” Harriet chided gently, “Or tore your dress on a rose thorn?”
Jane shrugged. “I would get the dress repaired, and as to the ankle, Papa is frequently hobbling about on crutches with gout. I should pretend the same.”
The idea of the slender, quick-footed young girl being afflicted with an illness that struck down old men was comical. Harriet laughed despite the sadness that threatened to drag her down into a pit of despair.
“I know you well enough, Harriet, to see through that smile. I arrived just in the nick of time. Whatever is the matter?”
She threaded her hands through Harriet’s arm, hanging on tightly. They walked through the rose arbor.
“Ralph has been called away on business. I will not be attending the Chelmsford ball after all,” Harriet said despondently.
“What rot!” Jane exclaimed. “I am being escorted by my cousin Phillip Hamilton of Heybridge. He is entirely respectable and would gladly provide an escort for you from among his brothers. I think his next younger brother, Edmund, is to take clerical orders. You cannot get more respectable than that.”
“I wish it were that simple,” Harriet sighed. “It is not the lack of an escort that prevents me from attending, but that Ralph himself cannot be there. He is very protective, as you know, ever since…”
They reached the end of the arbor, and Harriet stopped. She looked back over her shoulder at the house. In one of the windows on the second floor, she thought she saw movement, as of a figure standing at the window, watching.
“Let’s stay here for the moment. Where we cannot be seen,” she murmured.
Jane peered through the interlaced roses at the house.
“Is your brother spying on you?” she demanded, sounding outraged at the notion.
“Not personally. He asked Beecham to keep an eye on me, and the man takes his orders far too literally.”
“The man is a servant! And you are the lady of the house now. You can order him not to.”
“He will not take my orders where they contradict his master’s.”
Jane frowned, stroking her chin as she always did when thinking.
“And will he bar you from leaving the house?” she asked.
Harriet nodded.
“Then we must sneak you out. I have sneaked myself out of the house enough times,” Jane said.
Harriet laughed in astonishment.
Sneak out against Ralph’s orders? The very idea is… well, it is quite preposterous. I could not… could I?
“Beecham will be fully occupied around dinner time with preparation for dinner. And I will be expected to be in my room dressing. He will not know if I dress for the ball instead,” Harriet began, excitement at the plan growing within her.
“Exactly! If you send a note down to Beecham telling him that you feel unwell and will take a light supper in your rooms, then you will not be missed for hours!” Jane encouraged.
“I could even instruct that my meal be left for me in the sitting room while I rest in my bedroom. He would not dare put his head in there unless I gave leave. Which I will not!”
Harriet giggled, and Jane echoed her. It was mad and reckless, but it was also exciting, both the idea of attending the ball alone and disobeying Ralph.
“So? Are we going to defy your brother and go to the ball?” Jane asked.
“Yes!” Harriet said emphatically.
CHAPTER TWO
“Penhaligon, old chap. You are slowing down the game. We await your hand with bated breath!” called Reuben Ridlington, the Earl of Colchester, from beneath a thatch of brown hair. An hour into the Chelmsfords’ ball, and his cravat was already draped over a bust with his collar undone.
“Play it for me, would you?” murmured Jeremy Cavendish, Duke of Penhaligon, distractedly.
He had long blonde hair and fierce blue eyes above a hawk’s nose and bold mouth. He looked every inch the Teutonic barbarian, a testament to his Germanic heritage on his paternal grandmother’s side. He leaned on a marble balcony, looking down onto the ballroom of the Chelmsford Manor. On the index finger of his left hand idly spun a set of keys. His eyes roamed the gathered guests.
This evening must be planned with military efficiency. I must impress the Winchesters, show myself to be the very image of the respectable English gentleman. But then there is Mademoiselle de Rouvroy. How can a man be respectable when confronted with such temptation?
“Are you sure, sport?” Nash Sullivan, Viscount Maldon, asked.
He flipped a coin over his fingers with dexterity, eyeing the pile that had accumulated over the course of the hour.
“There is quite a pot built up,” he noted, “and you will require every penny if you want to go ahead with this pipe dream of owning the Winchester Opera House.”
Jeremy turned from the balcony, then peeled back the corners of the hand of cards that lay face down on the table. He casually tossed forth a couple of coins.
“I’ll take another,” he said, discarding one of his cards.
“And raise the bet? You’re feeling confident. Which makes me feel poor. I will fold,” Reuben muttered, turning over his cards with an expression of disgust.
Jeremy grinned, the smile of a rogue.
“Your trouble, Colchester, is that you are too cautious. Even when we were at school.”
“I got whipped half as many times as you,” Reuben pointed out, leaning back in his chair and fetching his wine glass from a precarious perch beside the bust which wore his cravat.
“And I got twice as many girls as you. It was worth the whipping,” Jeremy shrugged. He looked across the table at his other old school friend, who watched him with shrewd, green eyes.
“I will meet your wager and take two!” the fox-haired fellow declared with gusto.
Reuben guffawed at the boldness, clapping his hands together. Jeremy winced, looking back over his shoulder at the gathering guests below.
“Keep it down, would you, drunkard!” he hissed, “I do not wish it to be public knowledge that I am up here gambling with you two reprobates.”
“Which reprobates would you rather be seen with?” Reuben quirked a brow, supping deeply of his glass of ruby red wine.
“None. The Winchesters are Puritanical when it comes to gambling and drinking. Their only liberalism comes in their appreciation for music and theater. I must be as lily white as they if they are to sell to me.”
“Yes, well, you should probably be down there with them instead of up here with us then, old chap,” Nash smirked, “and it is your hand.”
Why am I not down there with the rest of Essex society? I risk everything by indulging in a game of cards. And by meeting with a certain Mademoiselle.
He knew that there was a self-destructive streak in him. An urge to resist anything he saw as compulsion. That included the social rules that a duke was expected to abide by. Rules that he knew he must abide by if he was to achieve his goals.
And match my ancestors. Every one of them has accomplished something, left their mark.
Jeremy returned to the balcony, putting his black wolf mask in place to conceal his identity. His eyes skimmed across the sea of preening peacocks and women striving to achieve beauty through baubles and glittering precious metals. His mouth curled in disdain. He could not see the Winchesters yet. His eyes fell upon a woman who had just entered the room below. His roving gaze froze upon her.
A black dress? Surely not. Who would be so bold? Ah, not black. I see the way the light catches it. Purple and navy blue with a raven mask, unless I miss my guess. And hair the color of rich loam…
She moved into the room with hesitant grace, her eyes flitting constantly. A smile played across her lips. A smile of pleased wonder. A debutante, perhaps? Or at least a young lady unaccustomed to such occasions.
Her shoulders were pale as milk, as was the expanse of bosom which her dress revealed. Jeremy found himself breathless as he watched her. The dress was expertly crafted, clinging so that it revealed and hinted at the body beneath without overtly revealing more than was decent. The way she wore it was even more sensual. She had grace and femininity but also a naivete that he found alluring.
Jeremy realized that his mouth was dry. He licked his lips, picking up a full wine glass that he had not touched since he had arrived. He took a swallow.
Something made her look up.
Perhaps the movement of his arm reaching for the glass.
Her eyes met his.
It was like an arrow passing through him. It was too far to detect the color of her eyes, but close enough that he could see they were not dark. Jeremy stared back at her, seeing her freeze just as he had.
Then someone passed between them, breaking their connection.
“Who is that?” he asked his two companions.
“Anything to distract from a losing hand,” Nash tutted, pushing his chair back. Reuben drained his glass and joined Jeremy at the balcony too.
“Who?” he asked.
Jeremy turned back to the ballroom, but the raven had been swallowed up by the crowd. He looked around, searching for any hint of black amid the brightly colored ladies and gentlemen. He could not see her.
“She has disappeared, but I will wager my purse that it was my French beauty. So, you two can keep your cards and this vinegar,” he pushed his wine into Reuben’s hand, “and I will go to my adventure. Enjoy your dancing.”
He grinned insolently, tossing a coin onto the table to cover Nash’s wager and flipping his cards over. Nash ground his teeth as he looked back at his own and saw that he had been beaten. Jeremy didn’t care. He laughed. The more he thought about it, the more likely it seemed that the raven temptress was indeed Mademoiselle de Rouvroy.
Who else would be so bold as to wear dark colors to a July ball? Only a French woman with all the sense of style and daring that went with that nationality. And were the French not typically dark of hair?
In his coat pocket, something clinked metallically. He tossed the small set of keys on his palm and thought of the use he intended to put the small, metal objects to. There would be time later to show his respectability.
Now was the time for adventure and pleasure.
CHAPTER THREE
Harriet exchanged glances with Jane as they walked towards the open doors of the ballroom. So far, Chelmsford Manor had proved a palace to Harriet’s eyes. She was conscious of the many well-dressed and sophisticated-seeming men and women around her, none of whom seemed to be paying any attention to the house.
I do not want to seem like a gawping debutante. But there is so much to see! And so beautiful. Everyone is beautiful. Bright and colorful! I feel quite drab by comparison…
Jane’s costume was a yellow rose with the flower forming her mask. Her golden hair was an extra layer of petals. Harriet could not see many ladies wearing the dark colors that she had chosen. Jane squeezed her hand.
“Your costume is stunning. Very striking. You should not be self-conscious,” she whispered.
“That is easy to say,” Harriet whispered back.
“Pretend we are the only people here. There is no-one looking at you. Behave as we do when we are alone. I promise that when the young men see the Harriet I know, they will all come toppling over each other.”
“Again, easily said,” Harriet murmured, swallowing as they stepped into the ballroom.
She felt as though she were stepping into the middle of a hollowed-out precious stone. A room made of diamonds, rubies, emeralds, and sapphires. Chandeliers glittered and threw off bright sparks of light that reflected from the jewelry of the gathered ladies. Mirrors gave the large room a sense of being even larger, giving it the dimensions of a cathedral. Lamps and candles cast a warm light that softened edges and picked out flattering highlights in hair and on skin.
Harriet forgot herself as she tried to take in everything, looking around with a smile of wonder on her face. A movement above drew her eye, and she stopped dead. A man was looking down from a balcony above. He had the mask of a black wolf and was the only person Harriet had seen wearing dark colors.
He is staring at me! No, I must be mistaken. He is probably looking at someone just behind me, or at… no, he is looking at me!
She could not look away. Her breathing came in quick pants, and her mouth went dry. A thrill ran through her body, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. That gaze was like a physical caress. Harriet could almost feel it. A hand that stroked through her hair, down her neck and spine. Her heart was attempting to break out of her chest, hammering.
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Raven.”
The contact was broken. Harriet looked away to the man who had spoken to her. A crowd of ladies and gentlemen swept by, and when she looked back, she could not see the balcony.
“A pleasure to meet you, Master… Lion,” Harriet stammered.
The man was a little taller than her with a lion mask and a mane of brown hair to match.
“A bold choice, but fitting,” he remarked.
“Pardon?” Harriet replied without thinking before getting some measure of control, “I mean, what is a bold choice?”
“Black on such an occasion. It does rather draw the eye. But fitting for a raven.”
“It is purple, though I can forgive you for thinking it black in this light. The raven is a bird connected to my family,” Harriet managed to reply, “no boldness intended.”
She continued somehow through a few minutes of small talk, promising the Lion a dance when the time came. He moved on before she realized that he had not given her his name, nor had she.
Perhaps that is the way of a masked ball. It certainly adds a little spice. Why, I have just had a conversation, alone and unchaperoned with a gentleman. It would not have happened had Ralph been here. I would have been steered to the edge of the room and seated with the old spinsters.
A sense of liberation coursed through her, making her pulse race almost as much as the eyes of the Black Wolf had. Now that she looked, she could see other men who had chosen the wolf mask. All looked quite ordinary, the men fat or thin, short or tall. None gave her the frisson of excitement that the gentleman atop the balcony had managed.
And with nothing but his eyes. Imagine what he could do with his lips. Oh my, what am I thinking?
She felt suddenly dizzy. Her senses were overwhelmed by light and dazzling color. She could not believe the brazen nature of her thoughts based on nothing but a pair of eyes.
I was not even close enough to detect their color. I must take care not to have any wine if this is how giddy I become after nothing more than a shared glance…
But it had been more than that. Something had passed between them, holding their eyes together. Something had made her heart pound as it had never before. Made wanton, reckless thoughts come into her head. She looked around for Jane but could not see her. The shock of realizing she was alone made her suddenly nervous.
It seemed as though the room were spinning around her, the masked faces crowding towards her. All staring. All judging. Suddenly panicked, Harriet started blindly across the room. She tried not to bump anyone while she moved as quickly as the crowd allowed her to. Some gentlemen tried to speak to her, and she did not remember what she said to disengage from them, only that she managed it.
Then a door opened, elegantly paneled to resemble the rest of the wall. A servant slipped in carrying a tray of drinks. Harriet stepped through and closed the door behind her.
The sense of relief was immediate. The hallway beyond the door was quiet and shadowed, lit by lamps arranged along its length in alcoves.
“Oh my, I did not expect a reaction like that. Perhaps Ralph was right in not allowing me to come here without him. Perhaps I am not ready…”
The very notion angered her. It smacked of cowardice, and she berated herself for squandering this rare opportunity for freedom. Realizing that she was standing with her back to the door, she forced herself to stand upright and walk.
“I will take the chance of some peace and quiet to explore this house…” she spoke out into the silence with conviction. “I will not shy away, and in a moment or two, I will return to the ballroom and… and mingle.”
The thought frightened her, but she embraced the fear, knowing that it came from stepping into the unknown. Stepping beyond her brother’s protective shadow. She quickened her step, taking in the paintings on the wall and evaluating them based on her father’s work and what he had taught her of art.
The hallway led to a larger passage, decorated with statues and busts under a high, ornately decorated ceiling. The figure of a lone gentleman standing before the statue of a woman caught her eye because of his dark costume. But on closer inspection, it was not the Black Wolf but a dark shade of green. As he began to turn in her direction, she slipped through a nearby door, suddenly unwilling to be engaged in conversation.
Now that was an odd decision. I came here to experience something of life, and that must include talking to people. Just because he was not the Wolf does not mean that I should avoid him. He might be a very nice gentleman.
She had decided to go back and speak to him when she fully registered the room in which she stood. It was a library. Immediately, she felt at home.
Mama would have loved this. So many books. How many happy hours we spent in the library at home, I looking for stories of adventure and she for poetry.
The shelves were two or three times her height, with the highest rows accessed by wheeled ladders. It was a veritable forest of books, lit by the flickering light of lamps suspended by wrought iron from the ceiling, which was painted in a scene worthy of Florence. Harriet found herself smiling in delight.
“Your Grace, how nice to see you again. I trust you are well?”
The male voice made her jump, coming as it did from just beyond the door that she had just stepped through.
“Waverton, nice to see you again, too. Quite well. Are you enjoying Chelmsford’s obvious largess?”
The replying voice sounded familiar to her. She could not quite place it, partially disguised as it was by the door. Harriet found herself stepping closer to it, listening.
“It is certainly very grand. A statement of wealth.”
“When one has wealth, there should be no need to make a statement of it, do you not think?”
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!
Keep an eye out for the full release on the 25th of August
