Damsel in Distress? (8 page)

Philip turned towards his friend. “If you were anyone else, I would call you out for such a comment,” he hissed. “Harriet’s not that sort of lady.” He ignored the memory of her naked body as it flashed in his mind.

Jasper took a step back from him and hastily apologised. “You’re right, that was uncalled for. I’m used to the company you usually keep. I’m wrong to assume Harriet would be anything like the others. Nor would I let my wife visit any of your other women,” Jasper hastily added, trying to dig himself out of the hole he’d dug for himself.

If Philip’s emotions weren’t already raw from the conversation he’d just had with Harriet he may have seen the funny side of Jasper’s comments. He strained a smile onto his face but the look of surprise in Jasper’s eyes told him it was closer to a sneer than he intended. His friend made a comment about not neglecting his others guests and quickly left him on his own.

Philip watched his friend make a hasty retreat and then returned his attention to where he last saw Harriet. He signed; she wasn’t there. He started across the room. Now might be a good time to rescue her from whatever company she managed to find herself in.

A hush swept across the room and for a brief instant an opening showed on the dance floor. He recognised the shimmer of her dress and stepped closer.

He stopped short at the edge at the dance floor. The man dancing with her was none other than Lord Writeson, a scoundrel of the most dubious regard. Philip’s blood pressure rose as Harriet’s body passed close to Lord Writeson’s. He’d told her expressively to stay away from that man.

A wave of rage he dared not examine rushed through his veins. He pushed through the gathering crowd until he reached the edge of the dance floor where he was forced to watch the remainder of the set.

Writeson’s eyes followed Harriet’s every move. His hand lingered a fraction too long with every touch. Harriet didn’t avert her gaze from his either and she didn’t appear to notice the game Writeson was playing. Philip hoped it was her innocence that kept her from slapping the man’s hand away and running from the room. His pride demanded she reject Writeson’s advances but, to his irritation, she stayed until the dance was finished. There was even a flush of pleasure on her face when the musicians lowered their instruments.

Philip disregarded decorum and entered the dance floor as soon as the music stopped. He seized Harriet’s arm as Writeson escorted her past, bringing them to an abrupt halt in the middle of the floor.

“See here, Eaglestone, get your own partner, mine’s taken,” Writeson protested.

Philip levelled a withering look at the dandy and hauled Harriet closer and wrapped his arm across her shoulder. He fought to ignore the whispers and the not-so-quiet comments he could overhear from the crowd. He knew he would pay for his familiarity of Harriet’s person. The gossip columns would be rife with details tomorrow.

“I think it’s time you were offered some refreshment, Harriet.” He tried pulling her away from Writeson, but she resisted.

“What are you doing, Philip?” she asked. “Can’t you see we’re dancing?”

“Is that what you call it?” He struggled to keep his voice level, but it was hard to tell what volume he was speaking at with the roaring in his ears. “Because from where I was it looked as though you were preparing to indulge in sexual relations.”

“Philip!” Harriet gasped and tried to wrench her arm free. “How could you say such a thing? I was enjoying the pleasure of the music with a superb dance partner.” She smiled at Lord Writeson.

Philip couldn’t restrain himself any longer. How dare she smile like that at another man? She was his. His arm snaked around her waist and he pulled her away from Writeson and into his arms. The musicians started up again. To his relief it was a waltz. He was claiming his dance now.

“Oh.” Harriet’s breath came out in a sigh that went straight to his groin. He pulled her closer still and started to dance, in part to hide the evidence of his reaction to her and in part because he just had to hold her tightly in his arms.

Holding her so close was a pleasure he never thought he would feel with his clothes on. He was loath to hold her at a proper distance from his body but he had already risked enough gossip tonight. The music was lively and he made sure they swept the entire dance floor, each turn pulling her a fraction closer to him. The song ended all too soon, but they remained in each other’s arms a moment longer than they should. As the other dancers applauded the musicians, Philip was captivated by Harriet’s blue eyes and was unable to step back from her warmth. Her breath came in small gasps and her face was flushed with pleasure. Her eyes shone with joy and not a touch of pity and he was afraid he could easily be lost in them forever. Again the vision of her naked body came to mind. He shut his eyes in an attempt to chase it away…or keep it close, he wasn’t sure which.

Closing his eyes was a mistake. The enticing image of Harriet’s naked body was replaced by one of her dancing with Lord Writeson. His eyes snapped open but the vision was seared into his memory.

Chapter 16

Harriet was caught off guard by the intensity of Philip’s gaze. It cut through to her core and for a moment she thought that perhaps he could pluck her memories to the surface of her mind.

He shook his head slightly at her, grabbed her hand and led her to a darkened corner of the room. He drew her slightly behind a potted plant, so they were out of sight from the most vicious gossips.

“What are you playing at, Harriet? With someone trying to kill you, you should keep a lower profile.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” she sniffed. Harriet crossed her arms over her chest. His abrupt change of demeanour was off-putting. He was radiating a fury she wanted no part of.

He stepped in close to her, invading her personal space. “That dance, or whatever you call what you were partaking in out there!” His voice rose enough that several curious heads turned and strained to see who was arguing in the corner.

“Which one are you talking about?” Harriet kept her voice calm. She was not participating in a shouting match. “The one with you or the one with Lord Writeson?”

“Writeson, of course.”

“Whatever was wrong with it? I had the absolute best time. I don’t think I’ve ever danced like that before.”

Philip moved in closer until their noses were practically touching. “You were looking at each other as though you saw dessert. Everyone noticed.”

“Everyone? Or just you, Philip?” Her heart climbed into her throat, waiting for his answer.

“Look around you, would you? You almost caused a scandal! If it wasn’t for my intervention, you would have been all over the gossip columns tomorrow.”

Her heart gave a kick and dropped to her stomach. “If you don’t want to draw attention to me, then why are you yelling?”

“I’m not yelling!” he yelled.

“It certainly sounds like it to me,” she muttered to herself. “Come outside, if you must put me in my place then.” She turned from him and led the way through the crowd towards the terrace. Harriet wouldn’t be treated like a child. She had enough of that type of treatment from her father.

She stopped short with that thought and Philip, who was stomping along behind her, ploughed into her back and sent her hurtling forward into Mrs Barrett, upsetting the tea cup the elderly lady was balancing on a saucer along with some biscuits.

“Oh my, I’m so dreadfully sorry,” Harriet stammered as she fought to right Mrs Barrett and herself. Harriet grasped the skirt of the older lady’s dress to maintain her balance. Unfortunately the dress was made of the finest silk. A tremendous
rip
cut through the noise of the party. As one, the entire room turned towards the sound just in time to see Mrs Barrett topple over with Harriet left standing there, clutching the fabric of what was left of Mrs Barrett’s dress.

Silence filled the room before Mrs Barrett’s scream filled the void. Gentlemen surged forward to offer assistance and Harriet was momentarily relieved there were no flashes from cameras in her eyes.

The memory of lights flashing was gone before she could analyse it further. Philip touched her arm and gently pried her fingers from the remains of Mrs Barrett’s dress.

“Are you all right?” he asked. His voice was barely audible above the roar of the crowd.

Harriet nodded her head and whispered, “I remembered.”

Understanding crossed Philip’s face and he took her hand and placed it on his arm as though he was striving to insert some dignity into the situation. He pushed almost rudely through the gathered crowd and out the door onto the veranda and down the steps and out into the garden. He didn’t stop until they reached a place where the lights didn’t penetrate. He pulled her behind a tall bush and, surprisingly, there was a bench there, hiding as though it was waiting for them to greet it on this moonlit night.

Harriet sank onto the bench to catch her breath. The ordeal inside pressed upon her and she realised that Philip was right, it was too early for her to spend the night out. Her head hurt dreadfully but it was with a start that she realised the more her head hurt, the more it remembered. Unfortunately it seemed as though those memories were too fleeting to hold onto long enough to evaluate. With a deep breath she lifted her head to observe her companion.

Philip paced in front of her, back and forth between the opening in the hedge and the wall at the back of the garden which they were so close to. She hadn’t realised they had walked so far.

Tears started to build up against her eyes. She rubbed at them, trying to prevent them from rolling down her face. Her head hurt so much now it was hard to watch Philip’s pacing and the crunch of his footsteps upon the dry leaves scraped against her ears.

“Philip,” she whispered, “please stop.”

He reached the wall and turned back towards her and walked slowly to the bench. “Sorry, I think better if I’m moving,” he said as he lowered himself down beside her. “I owe you an apology.”

“I was the one who stopped right in front of you. You don’t need to apologise to me.” He was nothing if not a gentleman. She sighed. “It’s my fault we caused such a scene in there. And I fear with us leaving, we have probably caused an even bigger one.” Harriet stood up. “We should go back.” She started walking towards the grand house, but stopped when Philip grasped her arm. The heat of his touch warmed her skin and she felt safe again.

“Wait.” Philip’s voice was warm against her neck.

She stopped still and waited. What else was a girl to do? His hand slowly moved up and down her arm and with each stroke he drew her nearer. She no longer cared about the gossips inside waiting to pounce, nor did she care about Mrs Barrett’s dress or even the men who tried to kill her. All she cared about in that moment was the feel of Philip’s hand against her skin. Her arm tingled where he touched her, a hot flush rushed through her body at each stroke.

“Harriet,” he whispered.

She looked up into his eyes. Why had she not noticed how tall he was until this moment? She looked down to his hands. He held both of her arms now. They were so big, and strong-looking. Where had he got such strong hands from? What did he do to achieve his muscles?

She couldn’t help it. She needed to reciprocate his touch. She placed her hands onto his chest. When had he got so close? His body was practically touching hers from chest to hip. Her breasts brushed against him and a breath exploded from her lips, the pleasure being so great.

Philip raised his hands and gently cupped her face, tilting it to the angle he wanted. He moved slowly, so as not to frighten her, she supposed. His lips met hers. The touch was gentle to start with but soon both of them succumbed to the passion that had been flowing between them for the last week. It was now too great to resist. She opened her mouth to welcome him in. She twined her tongue with his and her heart skipped a beat when Philip moaned against her lips.

His hands dropped to her hips. She savoured the heat through her thin dress. He pulled her closer still and she was unable to stop her hips from jerking with the contact. Philip raised his head and smiled down at her.

“We should go,” he said but his lips met hers again and it was quite some time before he parted from her once more.

They walked in silence back to the house and slipped undetected onto the terrace.

“Wait,” Philip said again, but this time he turned her around and started repinning her hair. “It has come undone,” he said in explanation. “We don’t want you returning to the ball with your hair in disarray, do we?”

He was sliding the final pin into place when they were interrupted. “Lord Eaglestone, what are you doing out here in the dark?”

They both jumped at the voice and turned as one towards the newcomer.

“Veronica.” Philip breathed. Harriet stumbled as Philip pushed her behind him. “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

“Same as you, Philip, looking for someone to spend the rest of my life with.” Veronica smiled a cold smile. “And who is this
lovely
lady you are ‘helping’?”

Philip wouldn’t move for Harriet to get a good look at the lady he was talking to. She resorted to standing on her tiptoes to peek over his shoulder. She wished she hadn’t. One of the most beautiful women she had ever laid eyes on was illuminated by the light coming from one of the house’s many windows.

“No one you need to concern yourself with, Veronica. Is there a reason you are out here in the dark?”

A jolt of pain seared Harriet’s chest. Why was he talking about her as though she was nothing?

“I might ask you the same question, dear Philip, but I fear I already know the answer.” She shot another cold look in Harriet’s direction. She walked slowly towards him, swaying her hips with each exaggerated step and only stopped when she was a breath away from him. She ran a fingernail down his chest and Harriet felt a shiver traverse his body. “Any time you want to reacquaint yourself with a
real
woman, you know where you can find me,” she breathed and then turned on her heel and sashayed away.

A shudder ran through Philip’s body and once Veronica disappeared into the house he leaned against the rail and looked out across the garden.