"What is it that you want, Harriet?"
"I want a love match. I want a husband who would"-her voice choked a little-"love me." The last bit came out in a whisper.
Something tightened in his chest. He knew it couldn't be his heart, because that had died years before. "The ceremony will be at nine Sunday morning. I've taken the liberty of ordering you a dress."
She flinched almost as if he'd struck her. "Of course you have." She stood there quietly for a moment, watching the couples move gracefully across the dance floor. "Am I to ever have any control in my life again? Ever a say in what I do or how I spend my time?"
"Contrary to what you might believe to be true of me, I am not a monster, nor am I an unreasonable man. You will have every luxury money can buy, and before you tell me that doesn't mean anything to you, consider the resources you will have, to do as you wish for your beloved charities. I know that as the sister of the Duke of Lockwood you've had access to some monies, but I'd wager your allowance with me will be significantly larger." He moved her closer so he could lower himself to her ear. To others it likely looked like a lovers' embrace. "And I've already been clear about your activities with your little group. You will have freedom, Harriet. Resources. All I ask for is you to warm my bed."
She swallowed visibly but never moved her eyes off the ballroom floor.
"And you may dance with whoever asks. Do not sit out on my account." He tapped his leg with his cane.
She looked up at him then, sympathy shining in her eyes.
He didn't want her pity.
"I've actually never cared for dancing. It's far too awkward for me to find a suitable partner as I'm so short I end up staring at the gentleman's navel."
He chuckled. "You're not that short."
"Perhaps not, but it certainly seems that way at times."
"I think, for me, you are the perfect fit."
Chapter Fourteen
Harriet left her fiancé's side to seek out the comfort of Agnes, Justine, and Tilly. Everything was happening too quickly.
Her life had turned completely upside down, from losing the Ladies of Virtue to now losing the dream of having a marriage built on love and affection. Instead, hers would be built on manipulation and desire that would likely wane once he bored of her. Where would that leave her?
Her friends gathered off to the side of the refreshments table. Agnes's warm blue eyes landed on Harriet, and she smiled.
"I won't say congratulations, though the situation warrants it, because I know this wasn't your choice," her friend said as she reached them.
"Thank you." She put on her best smile. "I suppose things could be worse."
"Most assuredly," Justine said. "I heard that Margaret Potter was recently betrothed to Lord Brickfield."
Harriet winced. "He's twice her age."
"At least," Agnes added.
"Not to mention I believe he's shorter than her," Matilda said.
"You and Lord Davenport make a striking couple," Justine said.
Agnes nodded. "Yes, you cleaned him up quite nicely."
Harriet's eyes landed upon him immediately. While he wasn't the tallest man in the room, he still had a commanding presence. His broad shoulders and tapered waist cut a fine figure in his black waistcoat. His intense silver-blue eyes landed on her, and warmth spread through her entire body. His lips curved in a smile.
She had shaved him and given him a haircut, but his face had not changed. He'd always been handsome. She'd always thought so, at least. But here, now, with his eyes on her, he was breathtaking.
He was hers.
Would he always look upon her with desire heating his eyes? Perhaps, but it was doubtful. Desire didn't last forever, and he'd already admitted that he could never love her.
They chatted quietly for a few more moments, and then Oliver's friend Benedict came over to them.
"I believe this is our dance, Lady Justine," he said with a tight bow.
She nodded and allowed him to sweep her onto the floor.
"I must be missing something," Harriet said. "When did they get introduced?"
"Yesterday, perhaps," Tilly said.
They walked idly over to the refreshments table and each grabbed a lemonade before moving off to one of the partitioned areas separated by a screen and some potted topiaries. Harriet led them around to the back side of the screen. She longed to be free from all of these people.
"I heard that this entire party was so Lord Davenport could find a bride," a voice came from the other side of the partition.
Agnes gripped Harriet's arm, and they all fell silent.
"Yes, my mother made me come, though I begged her not to," another girl said.
"He is richer than Queen Victoria herself," a third girl said. Harriet recognized the voice as belonging to Felicia Collins.
"I'm thankful someone else is saddled with him. I cannot imagine him touching me," the first girl said.
"They don't call him the Monstrous Marquess for nothing," Felicia said.
Yet that had not stopped the girl from flirting shamelessly with him the entire weekend. Harriet should have encouraged that match when she'd had the chance. The thought of him doing to Felicia what he had done to her the other night, though, left Harriet with a hollow feeling.
"We can all agree that everyone's favorite spinster saved us all," the second girl said.
Harriet knew her mouth was open, but she simply couldn't believe her ears. This is what he'd been trying to tell her about girls being afraid to be in the same room with him and about her not behaving as if she had a gun to her back forcing her to marry him. She was being forced, but she most assuredly wasn't afraid of him. Had this been why he'd felt compelled to compromise her? Because she was the only woman who saw the man he was and not whatever ridiculousness these girls spoke of?
Monstrous Marquess. That was laughable. There was nothing remotely frightening about him.
The girls' voices faded as they moved away from the screen.
"I cannot believe that," Harriet said.
"You are not everyone's favorite spinster," Matilda said. "In fact, I've never heard anyone refer to you in such a way."
"What?" Harriet waved her hand dismissively. "I care not what they said about me. I am a spinster. Or I have been. And everyone does like me." It had often been what Malcolm said had prevented her from getting the attention of men. She was too likable. Too much like everyone's little sister. She'd always thought the notion ridiculous, but perhaps it had merit. "Monstrous Marquess? Since when have people called him that?"
"I've heard it a time or two," Agnes said. "But I don't think it's the prevailing consensus."
"I might not have picked this union , for my own reasons, but that doesn't mean that he is … whatever they said." She realized then that hiding in the midst of their engagement ball would only prolong such rumors. He needed her to show the rest of these people that she wasn't afraid, he wasn't a horrible monster. Good heavens, the man was delicious to look upon. What was the matter with those girls? "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to play the attentive fiancée."
She made her way back over to him, knowing full well that he watched her every move.
"It unsettles me when you look at me like that," she told him when she reached his side.
"In what way am I looking at you?"
"As if I am the last piece of cake on the tray."
He chuckled. He leaned down close to her ear. "That's because I desperately want to put my mouth on you."
The mere mention of such wickedness had desire gathering between her legs. She shifted her stance.
"Sweet Harriet, do you recall how you came apart in my arms? I'll never tire of the way you taste." He leaned up but kept his intense eyes locked on hers. "I would kiss you right now if it wouldn't scandalize the entire room." He picked up her hand and pressed his lips to the exposed skin at the top of her wrist. "Don't look so alarmed, my dear. I meant I would kiss your lips. The rest is for us and only us."
It wasn't a declaration of love by any stretch of the imagination, but it was heartfelt and honest. She wasn't happy about the way things had happened. She had clung to the dream of marrying for love for so long. Perhaps she hadn't given any thought to the benefits of marrying for lust.
…
It was the morning of her wedding, and Harriet moved through the ministrations with detached awareness. She hadn't seen much of Oliver since the evening of their engagement party. He'd made himself scarce, which frankly worried her. She knew that for some men, the hunt was where all the excitement lay. He'd caught her. Could he already be bored with her before they'd even begun?
She shoved down the thought. None of that mattered; regardless of how either of them felt, they would be married.