The Rogue and I (12 page)

“You didn’t!” exclaimed Meredith.

“I did. It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her Lord Garret still loves her.”

He still
what?

Harriet nearly let go of the screen as she staggered back. Her feet pattered on the floor and a breath heaved out of her as she fought to keep her grip, her arms stretched out like her Lord and Savior to keep hold of the ends of the screen.

“What was that?” hissed Meredith.

“Our butler said we have a few rats scattering about.”

Rats?
Harriet bit down on her lower lip and glanced down. Nobody had told her about
rats!
She twisted her hips, flicking her skirts, making sure there were no little running bags of filth about her slippered feet.

The rustle of silk signified the two girls sitting on the sofa before the fire. Her arms still outstretched, her fingers gripping the thin frame of the screen—she couldn’t risk letting it go—Harriet leaned her head forward, desperate to hear, wishing she could see through the dratted screen.

“Thank goodness I did not tell her. My Edward never would have forgiven me if I did.”

“And can you imagine the poor man himself if you had told our Harry?” Meredith added, her voice full of relief.

“I know,” Emmaline said sympathetically. “She would cut him to ribbons with such wonderful stuff.”

“Harry is indeed too proud.”

Harriet opened her mouth aghast at their censure. She was not too proud. If anything, she was a model of humility. It was that blasted man who was arrogance itself.

“She does hate him and I suppose with some right,” Emmaline said. “But I do not think she would yield to any man who loved her.”

“Too true,” Meredith agreed effusively. “How many times has she proclaimed that no man is good enough and that she shall never marry?”

That was only because she’d been hurt so badly! No. Wait. Garret didn’t love her. She had tried again and again years ago to convince him that he did indeed still love her. Why would he suddenly change now?

Unless seeing her again had awakened his love. Could it be possible? Could he have been hiding his feelings for her all this time?

“Do you think he will ever tell her?” Meredith inquired.

“I pray he does not,” Emmaline declared passionately. “I may even beg him not to do so.”

What? Why? Harry couldn’t imagine a happier moment than him proclaiming loudly that he loved her. Or at least she didn’t think she could imagine anything more perfect.

After all these years of planning out every moment of sharp conversation, she knew it had all been just to ensure she not be hurt again. Every harsh word, quip, and cut had been designed to protect her injured heart.

But surely, she was not so horrible? Hadn’t he done exactly the same?

“Harry is a veritable gorgon,” Emmaline said. “I love her dearly, but she would rip out his tender heart and insist he feed upon it before she would accept his love.”

Oh lord, had she really acted so badly to deserve such censure?

“So, the poor man must suffer with his undeclared love?” sighed Meredith.

“It must be so,” Emmaline said, her tone intractable.

“Shall we go back before we’re missed?”

“Yes.” Skirts rustled as Emmaline, no doubt, stood, “I do hate being separated from Edward.”

“And you truly marry tomorrow!”

“I do. And then nothing shall make me unhappy again.”

Harry rolled her eyes at that rather dramatic statement. Granted, if anyone deserved such a mythical life it was her cousin. She had her doubts about its fruition though.

The two girls hurried back into the drawing room, the door shutting quietly behind them.

Harry very carefully let go of the screen lest it crash to the floor then staggered out from behind her hiding place. She stopped in the center of the room, staring into the warm flames of the fire.

Garret loved her.

It certainly explained why he was acting the buffoon. A slow smile started at her lips, then tilted them up so high her cheeks hurt with it. Harriet lifted her hands to her cheeks, unable to believe the sudden change in her fortunes.

He loved her!

All these years of suffering, over! In one fell swoop, the past would be forgotten. Joy of the most profound kind washed over her and she twirled around holding her arms out.

A full laugh rang from her lips. Gasping, she clapped her hands over her mouth. Then her feet began to dance under her. She did a little jig of happiness. With all their acrimony behind them, they would be earth shatteringly, nauseatingly happy.

Just as they should have been before the world had so cruelly stepped in with reality five years ago.

Harriet stopped, bracing her hands against her panting middle now that she’d danced her heart out. Who would have thought it. Love had grabbed her again and, this time, she would let go for nothing.

Chapter 13

Emmaline rushed down the stone steps. She glanced once up at the darkened house. A feeling of glee hummed through her. Clutching her cloak with one hand and a small bundle of white hyacinth in the other, she bounded down to the set of stairs that went all the way to the manmade lake.

It seemed impossible to believe that she was to be married in the morning! But it was true and there was just one last thing she had to do. Her skirts trailed along the dew ridden grass as she took the path to the right that traveled around the lake.

Moonlight shimmered down on the tall trees, giving her just enough light to make out the well-traveled way. She’d gone this way almost every day for three years. She’d been remiss in the last weeks, what with all the preparations to do for the wedding.

Slowly, she came upon the small grotto, its stone arches covered in moss and beautiful night blooming flowers. She carefully stepped inside her mother’s tomb, loving the sound of the small trickling stream that her father had arranged would go around the grotto.

It was like a small fairyland what with dewdrops lingering on the moss, shimmering in the moonlight. She approached the stone tablet that bore her mother’s name.

Alice Trent

Beloved mother and wife

Gone to God too soon

1755-1790

She’d traced the words over and over again with her fingers, somehow feeling it made her closer to her mother. She lowered herself down beside the grave and tucked her skirts under her. She placed the hyacinths on the stone and sat in silence for a few moments then said, “I wish you were here to tell me what to do, what to expect.”

There was no answer, of course, just the occasional ribbit of a bold frog and the rush of water.

“I’m going to be very happy. I wanted you to know.” Emmaline looked up at the stars that shone down every night on her mother and smiled slightly. It might be considered quite odd by some to spend the night before her wedding at a graveside. But she missed her mother so much. Tonight, she would sit with her. Lord knew when she’d be able to do it again.

***

F
ive Years Earlier

Devonshire

“If you marry her, I swear I will raise heaven and earth to make your lives an ongoing misery.”

Garret stood before the Duke of Huntsdown’s massive oak desk. A present from the king, it was carved with battle scenes commemorating the first duke’s military exploits. Even now, he hated this control that the old man exercised over his life, literally calling his son to stand on the Aubusson black carpet adorned with orange and gold lilies. “I am a man, far past the age of consent. You have no say in who I marry.”

The Duke of Huntsdown slammed his hand down on the desk sending the letters on its surface quivering. His blue eyes, almost as silvery as his thick hair, narrowed with fury. “The hell I don’t. You are the son of a duke not a solicitor.” The big man, who was clearly from warrior stock even if he did sit idly in the House of Lords now, stood. His six feet three inches was imposing mixed with his broad shoulders and sixty years of self-importance. “My God, Garret. Even if you were a lawyer’s son, a lawyer would rebel at such a match.”

“She is a lady,” Garret growled, uncowed by his father’s presence. Other men quaked in it, but Garret had long ago immunized himself to the terrors his father tried to inflict with his stare.

The Duke let out a bark of laughter. “A lady?”

“Yes.”

“What exactly are your standards, sir? I see that she is little better than a parlor maid.”

“You are talking about the woman I love.”

The duke shook his head. “No. I am talking about the woman you wish to bed.”

“Father—”

“No,” the duke intoned. “You listen. She is no one, from nowhere. Her parents are nothing. Her father is in constant financial difficulty from what I understand. Her mother barely clings to gentility and they live with friends unable to afford a place of establishment.”

“What does it matter as long as Harriet is—”

“Miss Manning is a very winning young woman. I am aware of it. Set her up as your mistress and let us have done with this conversation. I’ll give you the funds to set her up very prettily. But you shan’t marry her.”

“What you are saying is—”

“Practical.”

“Could you not be silent long enough to listen,” Garret protested. “I know you adore the sound of your own voice, but I will be heard.”

“You are on dangerous ground, boy.”

“I am not a boy,” he countered. “And I will marry her.”

“When I cut you off without a sou, what do intend to do? Hmm?” His father laughed, a mirthless sound. “Will you put your wife out to work? What noble employment will you seek?”

“You’ve already purchased a commission for me in the army. I am certain we can live on that pay.”

“Can you?”

“Yes.”

“And when I make it clear to every man in power that you are no son of mine and that you are to be cut from society like a cancer, how long do you think you shall survive in your precious regiment then?”

Garret’s stomach tensed and he felt a moment’s horror at his father’s control. “You would go so far?”

“To keep you from ruining yourself and this family? I would drag that girl through the mud.”

Garret couldn’t quite believe it. His father had always been hard, but he’d not realized how far the old bastard would go to have his way. “Then we have nothing more to say.”

Turning on his heel, he made for the door. God, all he wanted was to be out of the suffocating study and out in the cold, night air. He’d go to Harriet and they’d find a way.

“Garret,” his father called after him.

Garret halted. He couldn’t help it. He still wanted his father’s blessing. Perhaps, perhaps the old man would finally give in to what his son wanted.

“Do not be a fool,” the duke said softly. “You know I shall win in this. Do not cause yourself undue pain fighting it.”

“You won’t win father,” he said without looking back.

“Garret. You’re my son. Do as your father wishes, as God commands that you do.”

Garret stood frozen to the spot, his heart sinking. “No. I have no father. So, you have no son.” Quickly, before he could take the final words back, he marched from the room, slamming the door in one final note of defiance.

As he strode down the hall, he could still hear his father shouting his name. But it was too late for both of them. He knew exactly what he wanted. And no one, not even a duke, would stand in his way.

*    *     *

T
he Present

The Trent Estate

It was a good thing that Harriet had already almost lost her reputation once. For she had every intention of throwing it to the wind again. Peering into the dim hall, she tugged her green silk dressing gown tighter about her completely naked body. She could to this.

Well, she knew she could do it. She’d done it before. Yet, for some reason, this time, she wasn’t quite as brave as the first time she had tackled Lord Garret Hart. As an afterthought, she trotted back into her room and pulled open her bedside cupboard.

A fine bottle of brandy sat half empty.

If her uncle knew, he would have suffered a fit of apoplexy, but really, what was a girl to do when she wanted a good stiff drink and not that blasted watery stuff meant for
delicate
females?

No one in their right mind would call her delicate. Tonight, she was glad of it. Grabbing the bottle in hand, Harriet went back to her door and checked the hall. Once she was sure there were no others making a nocturnal journey, she closed the door softly behind her.

Clutching her robe closed with one hand and holding the bottle in the other, she tiptoed down the hall until, at last, she was in front of Garret’s door.

This was the moment.

If she was going to do it, she’d lower her hand from her robe and turn the dratted latch. Unfortunately, her hand seemed to be resisting. Her common sense, something that didn’t usually have anything to do with her actions, seemed to have command of her body. So, she stood there, her heart hammering so hard, her ears hurt.

Scowling Harriet gave herself a good scolding.

What was she? A pot of jelly to be sent quivering by the idea of— Well, rejection.

Yes. Yes, indeed. She was a pot of jelly.

No, she chided herself. Absolutely not. Harriet Manning was a resolute character. Harriet squared her shoulders and reached for the door.

Just as she did the damned thing opened.

She squeaked, a most undignified sound, as she came face to face with the very man she’d intended to drive bloody wild with desire tonight.

“Harry,” he whispered, his brows high with astonishment and his hand in mid-air from swinging the door open.

“Erm. Yes.”

He didn’t say anything. He grabbed her hand and yanked her in the room. He shut the door quickly. And locked it.

Harry tottered forward at his zealous tug. She turned back to face him, her hair falling over her shoulders.

He was still in full evening dress. His austere, black coat framing his broad shoulders. Lord, how she longed to press her fingers against his champagne colored waistcoat and peel it from his body.

“I was just coming to see you,” he said softly.