"After I'm done exploring you with my mouth, I want you to sit atop me and ride me until neither of us can breathe. I want to watch you come apart again and again with my cock inside you."
"Enough," she whispered. She nearly ran to get away from him, pushing her way through the crowd and not even bothering to look back at him. Damn him for teasing her in such a way. For making her want things she knew he'd never give her. She swiped at the tears and melted into the crowd gathered in the nave of the building.
She didn't know to what end he played this game. What was the purpose in making her want him? Did he want her to beg him, or was he simply trying to scandalize her? Either way, it was too much. She'd have to send a message later telling him their agreement was over. She and the rest of the ladies would have to find another place to do their exercises and practice. Perhaps she could speak to Lady Somersby.
Harriet refused to give Lord Davenport the pleasure of allowing him to use her in a wicked jest. He might expect that she had not fully comprehended all of the wicked things he'd said to her, but she'd understood every single word.
She knew all about the goings-on between a man and a woman. She'd been eleven years old when her sister had gotten married, and she'd hidden under the bed to listen to her mother explain it all the night before Helen's wedding.
Then, after their conversation had ended and her sister had retired for the evening, her mother had coaxed her out and offered to answer any and all questions she'd had. Harriet knew enough to know that she only ever wanted that kind of intimacy with someone she trusted, someone she loved.
That was what her heart wanted.
So why did her body seem to want something else entirely? What was wrong with her that her body seemed to crave that intimacy with a man she did not trust in the least? A man she could never love.
A man who most certainly did not love her. And it all came down to that four-letter word.
Chapter Seven
Harriet obviously hadn't believed him, and instead thought he was jesting with her. He'd seen the tears shimmering in her eyes before she'd effectively disappeared into the crowd and he'd lost her.
He knew he shouldn't have said those things to her. No true gentleman would ever speak in such a way to a lady. But he never claimed to be a gentleman in anything but title, and she'd strained his patience to its limits. Testing him, accusing him of teasing her or simply lying. He did want her, and he didn't understand why she refused to believe that. Simply because of some asinine thing he'd said to her six years before? He'd kissed her. He'd pressed his very hard, very real desire against her. Still she hadn't believed him.
She'd see he was quite serious soon enough. Which was why he currently sat in her older brother, Malcolm, the Duke of Lockwood's study.
The man in question breached the doorway and stopped short. "Davenport, this is a surprise."
"Lockwood."
"I'd heard you were back into Society full force, but I don't suppose we've run into each other outside of Benedict's."
"Yes, though I try to never venture farther than that fine establishment, it would seem my mother insists I have more of a presence."
"Mothers," Malcolm said with a roll of his eyes, but there was genuine affection in his tone. He came and sat in the chair next to Oliver instead of across the desk. "I'm assuming you've some purpose to this visit, or did you simply miss my handsome face?"
"I've come about your sister," Oliver said.
"Helen? Whatever for? She's expecting her third child, you know. Living quite happily just outside of Salisbury."
"Don't be daft, Lockwood. Not your married sister, your other sister."
"Harriet?" He leaned back in his chair, lay his hands across his stomach, and did nothing to hide his surprise. "This ought to be interesting."
"I wish to marry her." He gripped the knob at the top of his cane. Despite how close he and Catherine had come to a betrothal, he'd never actually had to have this conversation with a father or a brother. "I am not here for your permission, nor your blessing, simply a courtesy of my intentions." No one and nothing would deter him from this. He would have her.
"You want to marry Harriet?"
"I do."
Malcolm frowned. "Whatever for?"
"Come now, man, she is your sister. Certainly you can't be that surprised that a man would find her desirable."
Malcolm schooled his features. "No, of course not, but she has never before had any serious suitors."
"For that reason you believed her incapable of warranting one?"
"No, but I did wonder if perhaps the fact that everyone sees her as I do, the perfect little sister, everyone's best friend, might have impacted her in the romance area." Malcolm was quiet for a few moments before he spoke again. "Am I to believe that you're in love with her, then?"
Love? That was preposterous. He wasn't even certain he had a heart. "Good God no, I am incapable of love. Suffice it to say I want her." He leveled his gaze at Malcolm. "Shall I elaborate?"
He held up a hand and shook his head. "Please do not. She is my baby sister, after all."
"And a woman, nonetheless," Oliver said.
The study door flew open and a fuming Harriet stormed in. "Is it not enough to mock me in private, my lord, but you must come to my home and do so in front of my brother?"
Oliver turned to Malcolm. "She doesn't believe my intentions are true."
"Harry, love, he's just expressed an interest in marrying you and not once did he even inquire about your dowry. Don't be a goose," Malcolm said.
She blew out a breath. "He does not want to marry me."
"Don't frighten him away," Malcolm chided. "It is your first proposal. Indeed, your first true suitor."
She closed her eyes, and blush stained her from the top of her forehead to where her bodice rested against her glorious cleavage. "Splendid. Now the two of you can torment me together." She turned to her brother. "Malcolm, for unknown reasons he is having fun at my expense. I certainly hope you did not give him your blessing."
"I didn't have to," Malcolm said.
"I didn't ask for it. Merely expressed my intentions." Oliver stood. He did not wince when his leg protested. He'd learned long ago how to manage the pain, how to hide it from those around him. "My sweet Harriet, your brother does not wish to listen to me extol on all your physical virtues. And you do not seem to believe me. I shall endeavor to appeal to your pragmatic side. You are firmly upon the shelf, I do believe they call it, and I am in need of a wife. We are a match made in convenience, practicality, whatever you wish to call it." He leaned down and put his face an inch from hers. "Desire, above all else. Do not think, for a moment, that you can evade me. I want you, and you shall be mine."
…
She watched him walk away. Her heart pounded so loudly in her ears she was positive others could hear it as well. Her foolish body had melted at his words.
I want you, and you shall be mine.
Her mind, however, was not so easily deceived, thank the heavens. She whirled on her brother. He stood and backed away from her.
"Harry, I've never seen you this angry. Hell, I don't think I've ever seen you angry at all."
"That man is infuriating. And stop calling me Harry. It was sweet when I was a child, but in case you haven't noticed, Malcolm, I am a grown woman!" She stormed out of the room and went directly outside to hail a hack. Normally she'd go to see Iris in such a situation. Perhaps it was wrong to categorize her friends, but in matters of the heart, Iris had always been her first choice. But today she needed Agnes and her cool thinking. Besides, Iris had already proven that she was susceptible to a man's seduction. Harriet knew she would be, too. She doubted Oliver would even have to ask before she'd start removing her clothes. Good heavens, when had she become such a wanton?
Agnes, thankfully, was not one to be swayed by a pair of intense silver-blue eyes. Or a searing kiss that had obviously melted part of Harriet's brain. Or the wicked things he'd said to her, wicked things he wanted to do to her, that had left her with desire-soaked pantaloons. Good heavens, but he had a mouth on him, in more ways than one.
Marry her. He was ridiculous. And her heart was even more ridiculous for beating faster at the thought. She would not sit back and endure her torment simply for his enjoyment.
Once she was escorted into Agnes's family townhome, she quickly located her friend in the library. She was busily sketching into a book, her brow marred with concentration.
"You will never believe what has happened," Harriet said.
Agnes looked up, and her eyes widened. She set down her pencil. Without saying anything else, she closed her book, rang for a servant, and ordered tea to be sent directly to her bedchamber. Then she hooked her arm with Harriet's and led her up the staircase.