"There have been no other suitors for her?" he asked.
"No. But not for lack of interest. Men like her. Everyone likes her. Her smile alone could brighten even the darkest of days. But any attention she's given she brushes off and excuses." Agnes bit down on her lip. "I'm not certain I should be telling you all of this."
"Are you sharing secrets she's told you in confidence?"
"Of course not."
"Merely your own observations?"
"Precisely."
Agnes's perceptions weren't wrong. Not as far as he was concerned. Harriet was intensely likeable. It was surprising she wasn't married, but he was damned glad she wasn't. He couldn't deny what Agnes said about Harriet's smile, though he'd partially thought the effect was only on him. But something about the genuineness and ease of her smiles made the world seem like a better place.
Good God, he was waxing poetic about the woman. He needed to bed her soon before he tried his hand at a sonnet.
Oliver had grown weary of the game. Courtships and wooing were not things he excelled in. He wanted Harriet in his bed. As his wife. Today, he'd ensure that would happen.
Earlier that day they'd agreed to meet to discuss the outcome of the party. They had one evening left. They were to walk together to the pond, and she was to give him her suggestions on which lady he should pursue. An exercise in futility if there ever was one. So he had an alternate plan. He waited for her on a bench by the back gardens that led out to the pond, rose gardens, and maze.
She stepped outside and walked down the steps toward him. "My lord, you're looking rather dapper this afternoon."
He waited until she'd put her gloved hand into the crook of his elbow. "Thank you. I'm afraid I can't return the compliment, though. You appear to be exhausted. Did you not sleep well last night?"
She sucked in a breath but didn't dare look over at him.
He chuckled. "Very well, I shall not torment you, except to say that I can still taste you, and your cries of pleasure still ring in my ears."
"Oliver," she chided. She stopped walking. "I shall not walk with you if you will not behave the proper gentleman."
"I can never promise that." His gaze fell to her lips. "But I do promise to not speak one more word about last night. Or how you wrapped your legs around my ears." He held up a hand. "Last comment."
She eyed him warily, then nodded. But he could have sworn she'd bit back a smile.
"The weather is quite overcast," he said noncommittally.
"Indeed. I suspect we'll have rain by this evening. I do hope it doesn't interfere with us returning to London tomorrow."
"The roads around here do not tend to flood very often. Everyone should be able to return."
"See how pleasant we can be when we're having appropriate discussions."
"Propriety is overrated, if you ask me."
"Yes, well, I didn't ask you."
The subtle green hill lowered them to the path he'd created that ran along the pond. They walked in silence for several moments.
"I need to rest," he told her.
"Of course." He sat on the stone bench next to the quiet pond. She remained standing and turned to glance out at the water. "They're beautiful," she whispered once she caught sight of the swans.
He nodded. "The black one is my favorite."
Just then she swam into view, graceful and lean with her proud curved neck.
"Why is she your favorite?" she asked.
"She is different than the others. She demands your attention with her graceful curves and dark shadows." He wanted to say more. About how she, too, was beautiful in a way that was different than the rest of the lithe beauties in London. Harriet's smile lit up a room. Her laughter, a soothing balm to any injury. And her passion. He was surprised she hadn't been snatched up by some other man. He was thankful, though, that they had missed the signals. Their loss was most assuredly his gain.
His pants grew uncomfortably tight as he thought of her writhing in pleasure last night, the way she'd arched into his touch and cried out his name. First from his hands and then from his mouth. He'd never wanted any woman the way he wanted her. He had a seemingly unquenchable need to have her and only her.
"Thank you for the practice room," she whispered.
"A lady has interests, she should pursue them," he said plainly.
"That's quite forward thinking of you."
"I have many facets."
She smiled. "I do believe the changes we made to your hair and the shave are working." She reached out a hand as if to touch his face, then pulled back abruptly. She was drawn to him as he was to her, yet she fought against it so fiercely.
"I've heard more than one of the ladies comment on how handsome you are."
"Have you agreed with them?"
"Oliver, you know you are a handsome man. Are you begging for compliments?"
"Only from you."
She waved her hand dismissively then reached into a hidden pocket at the side of her skirts and withdrew a folded paper. "I've narrowed your list down to these candidates, but I would entertain a different list if you have suggestions."
He shifted his legs and set his cane on the seat next to him, though he said nothing.
She'd stepped closer. He could smell the sweet scent of her hair rinse. She glanced down at the paper in her hands, then back up at him. "Your eyes are rather terrifying," she said.
"A pity. I do hate to frighten people."
"They are so intensely blue though sometimes appear nearly silver. It is as if you have a storm brewing in their depths, much like when something rolls in over the ocean."
He pulled her to him, and she fell onto his lap. "Have you spent much time thinking about my eyes, sweet Harriet? What else about me do you find terrifying?"
Her eyes widened, and her breath caught. "The way you make me feel." Then she frowned as if she couldn't believe she'd actually answered him.
"The way you make me feel is rather terrifying as well," he said.
He was running out of time. He knew their mothers would be coming by this way, and he needed to time the kiss perfectly, else this plan wouldn't work at all.
He lowered his mouth to hers as he caught sight of the group coming around the bend. But then the plan was lost as she opened her mouth to him. Her tongue swept forward, and he gripped his hands into her hips to hold her still.
"You have no idea how much I want you," he said. Then he kissed her again.
"Lord Davenport, I will ask you to please unhand my daughter!"
Chapter Thirteen
Harriet's mother's voice tore through her, and she bolted upright so quickly she nearly fell to the ground. Oliver grabbed her hand and steadied her but didn't release his hold. She faced her mother and all the others with her, including his mother and the rest of the matrons.
Her face flamed. She was doomed.
"That was not what it looked like," she stammered. Which was ridiculous because, of course, it was precisely what it had looked like. There was no legitimate way to excuse such an embrace. She tried to pull her hand from his grip, but he would not release her. Instead he grabbed his cane with his other hand and came to his feet. Still he said nothing.
"My lord?" his mother said.
"We were kissing," he said as though it were no different than saying they were cooking or gardening.
"We could see that," his mother said. The other women snickered behind their gloved hands.
Embarrassment ate through her insides. She wanted to turn heel and run as far away as she could, but his grip on her hand was too strong. She kept her gaze to the ground, unable to bear the weight of the other women's glances.
"I trust you will do the honorable thing," her mother said.
"Of course. Harriet and I were just discussing my engagement," he said. "Our engagement."
She whipped her head around and glared at him.
"I think it would be best if we continued this inside," his mother said. She turned and faced her friends. "If you'll excuse us, we must handle this private family matter." She ushered Oliver and Harriet forward while she and Harriet's mother followed behind.
"Kindly release my hand," Harriet ground through her teeth.
"Do not make this worse than it already is, Harriet," her mother said softly.
No one else spoke the entire rest of the walk back to the house. Oliver opened the first room they came to. The small study boasted a table with a slanted top. It was an architect's table, if she wasn't mistaken.
But now was not the time to inquire about that. In fact, she didn't care if he'd designed and built Buckingham Palace. Once the door closed behind the four of them, she jerked her hand free and stepped as far away from him as she could manage.
"I refuse to marry you," she said flatly.
"Are you mad? Everyone saw you. Us. There's no explaining that away. They caught us kissing."