"I suppose we do." Her fingers touched her lips as if to check that they were still in place. "If you will excuse me, I have a ball to get ready for."
Chapter Five
What the hell had he been thinking? That she'd needed a kiss to shock her out of whatever game she thought to play with him? But as it turned out, everything had shifted onto him. Damnation if he didn't want the chit.
He made his way to Benedict's, the gaming hell his closest friend owned. Much of the success of Benedict's was due to Oliver, but that was the way it should be. His father had nearly destroyed Benedict's family. He'd certainly nearly bankrupted them as he'd done his own.
Much of Oliver's fortune had gone into creating Benedict's. He was a silent partner. And though his friend would not accept any additional funding, once the gaming establishment had opened, Oliver had done his best to patronize the place, infusing it with his funds. He was a decent card player, but damned if anyone in this town legitimately believed that for as many times as he lost.
At the moment, he waited in Benedict's office, a spacious room set behind a wall of paneling and mirrors that framed the gaming room. He'd already helped himself to his friend's brandy and sipped thoughtfully. Why had he agreed to his mother's proposition? Because the poor woman had already wasted too much of her life on worthless Lords Davenport. Though he'd done his damnedest to not become his father, his accident had prevented his mother from moving on in order to stay at his side and assist him.
"Help yourself," Benedict drawled as he entered the office.
"You know I always do."
"You bought most of it, might as well enjoy it." Benedict lowered himself into a chair adjacent to where Oliver sat, propping up his injured leg on the settee. He absently rubbed at the knee, crediting the achiness to the unusual chill in the air.
"I told my mother I would find a wife."
Benedict paused mid-sip and grinned. "She was undoubtedly pleased."
"She was."
"It is about time. Have any prospects?" Benedict asked.
"No, but I have secured a matchmaker for myself."
"That should be interesting."
"Well, I've been out of society long enough, I don't know any of the marriageable women. Nor do I truly want to, but there is only so much pestering a man can endure." He took a swallow of the amber liquid. "Were she not so inclined to have grandchildren, I'd let the bloody title die with me."
"No you wouldn't," Benedict said.
His friend was right, damn him. Still, Oliver liked to pretend that he didn't care. But much of the last several years had been driven by his desire to right his father's wrongs. Would he have bothered if he didn't care about the Davenport name? Likely not. He could have simply made a fortune and paid off the debts and left it at that. But, instead, he'd repurchased all the Davenport properties that his father had lost in wagers and games of chance and repaid all of his debts and then some.
"So how did you find this matchmaker?"
"She's not officially a matchmaker, we merely have a deal. She needed something from me and agreed to help me with this in exchange. She knows everyone. Talks to bloody everyone. Talks all the damned time, actually."
Benedict chuckled.
"What?" Oliver asked.
"There's a problem with her. I can tell. I know you, Oliver."
It was irritating that Benedict could read him so well. He would make a phenomenal card player if he ever chose to gamble himself, because he would be able to identify every player's stance. Benedict owned the gaming hell, but he never gambled. Oliver shrugged. "I want her."
Benedict leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. "The matchmaker?"
"Yes."
"But she is married?"
"No."
"Too old?"
"No. She is a virgin. I don't seduce virgins." He drained his glass and set it down on the table to his right.
"So marry her."
Oliver eyed his friend and let his words sink in. Marry Harriet. He'd been given the opportunity to do precisely that once upon a time. He knew their families would approve.
"I'm glad I could solve all of your problems."
"I haven't agreed with you."
"Yet. You'll get there." Benedict stood and retrieved a ledger book and set it down. "Now, then, let us discuss this matter of you losing nearly fifty pounds in here last month."
Marry Harriet? That would certainly solve two problems. He wouldn't have to bride hunt. And he could have that bite-size morsel all to himself. Whenever he wanted. His cock stirred at the thought. It was a bloody brilliant plan, and he wondered why he hadn't thought of it himself.
…
The entire time Lottie helped Harriet dress and arranged her hair, she had relived Oliver's kiss. What had he been playing at? He knew she'd been lying about having a lover; no doubt he could tell precisely how inexperienced she was once he'd kissed her. Still, he had kissed her.
To tease her? To distract her? To torment her?
She wasn't certain.
Tonight was about Iris, she reminded herself. If all things went as Lord Ashby had planned, then he and Iris would be engaged by the end of the night. That is what Harriet should be concentrating on, since she'd helped him follow through with the plan.
It would do Harriet no good to dwell on a kiss that had meant nothing to Lord Davenport. It mattered not that it had been nearly earth-shattering for her. Though only his lips had touched her, she'd felt him all over her body. She'd kissed him back, too. Never mind she hadn't known what to do, she'd followed his lead.
Of course, it had been her first kiss. Her only kiss. Perhaps that was how all kisses were. She would ask Iris, but then she'd have to confess that she'd allowed the boorish and brooding Lord Davenport to take liberties with her. And for nothing more than to humor himself. Not only that, but this ball was a special gesture for Iris from Lord Ashby. It was not the time to pull her friend aside and question her about kisses.
He saw her as a joke, she knew that. He'd said as much six years before when their mothers had tried to create a match between the two of them. Then he had desperately needed her dowry, and still he'd said no. Her mother had excused his rejection, claiming that it had more to do with him being brokenhearted after Catherine Finney had dissolved their would-be betrothal. They hadn't been officially engaged, but everyone had assumed that they would marry.
Then his accident had happened. He'd disappeared from Society for an entire six months while he'd healed, and Catherine had waited for him. When he'd returned, with a bad limp and a cane, she'd backed out. Two months later she'd married Lord Burgess.
The rest of the evening went by in a blur. Harriet was so distracted, she hadn't fully enjoyed Iris's expression when Lord Ashby had declared himself to her. Harriet's mind, instead, focused on two things: Oliver's kiss and getting over to the Burkes townhome to begin her plans for the training space.
She hadn't yet told Agnes or any of the others, because she first wanted to ensure that everything would be feasible. Playing matchmaker for Lord Davenport didn't promise to be a simple task, but it was a small trade to be able to have a private space to continue her training.
…
Once Oliver had decided to marry Harriet, he needed to know what she was doing with her time. For the past two days, he'd been spying on her, for lack of a better description of his behavior. Since he'd handed her a set of keys to the townhome she insisted on borrowing without explanation as to her intent.
He wasn't precisely watching her as he was the string of servants who were carrying in the most bizarre of items. Thus far, he had counted no fewer than seven hay-filled mattresses, and at least two stuffed figures, much like scarecrows. He had no notion as to what she was up to, and he had agreed to not ask any questions.
As far as he was concerned there was only one reason to use a mattress. And she sure as hell better not be doing that with another man. Nor did she require seven different mattresses to do it.
Was she opening a brothel? He actually chuckled. Prim and proper Harriet even discussing the activities that took place within the walls of a brothel would have her blushing. There was only one way for him to uncover the truth behind her plan, which was why he currently leaned against the wall inside a darkened storage room.
He had to wait only a quarter of an hour before Harriet herself strode in. He knew it was her because he recognized her voice. At the sound of her laughter his gut tightened. It made him wonder if there was anything about her that wouldn't create some visceral reaction in him.
He had selected the small storage room off the ballroom, which is where he discovered all the mattresses grouped together in the center of the floor. Evidently, he'd missed a delivery of one, because in total, there were eight. All laid out they presented a large padded rectangle underneath the great chandelier. A most peculiar discovery.